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Authors: Madeleine L'engle

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BOOK: Troubling a Star
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“There's no place like the Falklands.” The slight accent told me it was Jorge. “That string of islands is unique, and the islanders can be troublesome, adhering to their English ways as though they're more British than the British, and refusing to speak the language of the part of the world they live in.”
“Rusty speaks perfect Spanish,” Otto defended.
The ding-dong rang for the movie, and I got up from my corner and waved at the others before heading up the steps to the Womb Room. Benjy was operating the movie projector—it was an old-fashioned one, not a video—and I sat on one of the side benches. Siri and Angelique joined me, and Sam came and sat nearby. The room was darkened and the only light came from the machine, with which Benjy was fiddling. I felt very tired. I leaned back and closed my eyes. Siri and Angelique were talking about folk music, and Angelique promised to teach Siri some of the songs from her home island. “The melodies are beautiful,” she said. “Full of sorrow and joy all together.”
Jorge was sitting a few chairs away and turned toward us. “Well, Vicky, looking forward to the movie?”
I opened my eyes. “Sure.”
“And to getting to LeNoir Station on Eddington Point?”
“Yes.”
“And to seeing your friend, also named Eddington, isn't he?”
—You know that, Jorge. What's this about?
But he smiled disarmingly. “We started to talk about this once before, didn't we? In my old age I tend to get repetitive.”
“Come on, Jorge,” Angelique said. “You're far from being old.”
“And Vicky's too young to have known the explorer Eddington.” Jorge shook his head. “It's the very young who make me feel old.”
Angelique patted my shoulder. “Nonsense, Jorge. Vicky makes me feel young all over again.”
“A remarkable man, the first Eddington. Highly respected. If the present Eddington takes after him, he must have many special qualities.” He smiled at me.
“He does.” That was still true. I couldn't wipe Adam out just because he'd wiped me out.
Angelique asked, “Are you blushing, Vicky?”
Sam's voice was unusually gentle. “Don't tease Vicky.” He smiled at me.
Jorge said, “I didn't mean to tease, Vicky. But young love is always attractive to us old fogies.”
 
 
When the movie was over, Otto was waiting for me at the foot of the steps and suggested that I come into the lounge with him for a cup of mint tea.
“Sure,” I said. “I'd like that.”
There were only a few people in the lounge, and Otto took me to the table in the library corner where I'd been sitting earlier, a little isolated from the other tables. He ordered our tea, then leaned toward me. His eyes were amber, a little lighter than his tanned skin.
“Are you missing Cookie?”
“Yes.”
“I promised him I'd keep an eye out for you.”
“Thanks.”
“Some of the passengers—well, those you have come to know best—are okay for you. But there are those who may be part of multinational groups which have more interest in Antarctica than they should.”
I sighed. “I know a lot of countries want what they think is their share.”
“It is more than that,” Otto said, “but I think it will not be a problem for you. I will see to it.”
I looked my unspoken question at him.
He replied with another question. “Why did Cookie bring you with him on this trip, Vicky?”
“He didn't exactly bring me with him. Aunt Serena gave me the trip for a birthday present.”
“That is an amazing birthday present.”
“Aunt Serena is an amazing person.”
“Who is she, this Aunt Serena?”
“She's not really my aunt, at least not biologically. She's what we call a love-aunt, and she's old, even older than Sam, and wonderful.” I took a swallow of my tea, which was getting cold, and asked my own question. “Otto, are you on the
Argosy
purely for a vacation?”
He smiled, shaking his head slightly. “Not entirely. Wherever I go, I am an ambassador for Zlatovica, and I have some business here.”
“What kind of business?”
“It is confidential.” His voice was harsh. Then it softened. “You are intelligent and perceptive, Vicky. I told you that Zlatovica, though no longer under Soviet domination, still has Russian silos up in the mountains, silos which hold a deadly load. Perhaps even more dangerous, we still have a Chernobyl-type reactor, and while it appears to be functioning smoothly, we are aware of the potential horrors it poses. As you have observed, there are passengers from many countries on the
Argosy
, and it is possible that I may be able to do a certain amount of negotiation. I am not the only traveler to Antarctica who is here for more than pleasure.” He paused, looking at me. “For instance,” he said, “Jack Nessinger may be helpful to me in finding a source of affordable oil which my country desperately needs.”
“Is Jack here just on vacation?”
Otto shrugged. “Who knows? Perhaps the
Argosy
, like a golf course, is a good place to do business.”
The world of business was a total mystery to me. “You've spent a good bit of time with Jorge …”
“Jorge is a person of considerable knowledge and authority,
at least in South America. Can you think of anybody else who may be on the
Argosy
for purposes other than pleasure?”
“Otto, I don't know. Thinking that way is not—not within my frame of reference.” Certainly none of the lecturers, not Siri or Sam or any of the people I usually hiked with or sat with at Wrap-Up or for meals.
But Otto suggested, “Sam?”
“Sam! Sam's eighty-three.”
“So? We Zlatovicans do not have the American cult of youth. Sam is what I think you call savvy.”
“Sure he's savvy,” I said. “But I don't think he's into any international-intrigue stuff.”
“Ah.” Otto laid his finger briefly against my wrist. “That's why he's such a natural. He's experienced. He knows how to act like an innocent old codger.”
I thought this over. I didn't like it. I didn't believe it. Not Sam.
“And what about Angelique and Dick?” Otto continued. “Angelique comes from a country as small and poor as mine, and surely her beauty and sophistication open doors for her.”
I laughed, but it was a faint laugh. “I know Angelique is gorgeous, but I really don't think she's a Mata Hari.”
“You watch old movies?”
“Sometimes, with my brother John. But, Otto, why would all these people with—with special interests—be coming to Antarctica?”
“It is neutral territory. That is important.”
If they were all after a piece of the pie, would it remain neutral? “Tell me a little more about Zlatovica.”
“We are, as you know, a small country. Landlocked, but with the benefit of many beautiful lakes. Now that we are again open to tourism, that has become one of our major industries, but I would not like to become another Monaco or Luxembourg. It is my dream that we become not merely a playground for the rich and idle of this planet, but that our mountains and lakes be available to the ordinary people of our land. You understand?”
“Yes. I think that's marvelous.”
He bathed me with his smile. “Ah, Vicky.” He reached out and touched my hand gently. “You have such good understanding. I have been trained all my life, even when we were in hiding, to be a prince. It is a heavy responsibility.”
One I could not comprehend. So I just nodded.
“Too many small countries, such as Vespugia, are burdened by debts to American and European banks. We, the Zlatovicans, are poor, desperately poor, but we are not under that burden, and now we have a rapidly evolving middle class. It is my deepest desire that our peasants all sit under their own vine and fig tree.”
I looked at him. He wore a pale blue shirt and a heavy blue cardigan. No rings on his fingers. Nothing to indicate that he was royalty. He continued, “Now that we in Zlatovica have reached a measure of independence I seek for true freedom, despite our many problems. Our economic growth is the envy of many emerging countries.”
“Otto, I'm really sorry to be a dunce about your country. I should know a lot more about Zlatovica than I do.”
He reached out and ran his hand lightly over my hair.
“Most people don't, Vicky. The iron curtain, which imprisoned us, also helped us to survive. Nobody knew what was going on inside. No one knew when my mother died under torture. Her body was too fragile for what they did to her, and it killed her.”
“Oh—Otto—”
“It is the way of the world. It is not only that torture is a useful way of eliciting information from the unwilling; it is also that it is enjoyable to the torturer.”
I put my hands over my eyes. Otto gently pulled them down.
“I wish you could stay innocent forever, Vicky. But there are not many good places or people left.” He sighed. “My father is no longer young, and the years under Soviet dominion were hard on him, desperately hard. He had to go from one hiding place to another. He has paid a heavy toll, physically. I must do what I can to help.” He looked at his watch, finished his tea in one gulp. “It is late, and I think the crew would like us to leave so they can clean up here.” I hadn't realized he had his red parka with him on the seat until he handed it to me. “Put this on and we'll go out on deck for a minute.”
“But you'll be cold.”
“I have on a very warm sweater, knit for me by my ancient nurse, who was my mother's nurse before me, right out of a fairy tale. Come on.”
I shoved into the parka and followed him across the room and out onto the deck, zipping up as the cold wind bit into me.
We went up to the front and suddenly Otto's arms were around me and he was kissing me, not roughly, searchingly.
Why was I astonished?
He'd sought me out. He'd made it clear that he liked me. Nevertheless, I was totally surprised. His lips felt a little salty. He tasted slightly of cigarette smoke. If it hadn't been for Adam's total rejection of me, I might have pulled back. But I didn't. It was a good kiss; I moved into it, feeling a wonderful tingling through my whole body.
Finally he turned away. “Thank you,” he said. “Sleep well, my dear Vicky.”
“You, too, Otto.” I wanted to say, “My dear Otto,” but couldn't quite manage it. Otto did not think I was too young. Otto trusted me.
He walked me downstairs, waiting courteously until I opened my cabin door. I took off his parka and gave it to him. “
A demain
,” he said softly.
“
A demain
.” At least I knew enough French for that.
Till tomorrow, Otto, till tomorrow.
I sat on the edge of my bunk. Otto made me feel beautiful. Otto put salve on the wounds Adam's letter had made.
I pulled out my notebook and began to doodle, and slowly the words of a lament kind of poem came.
Penguins play but do not love.
Does a penguin's heart go cold
When a skua flies above …
That was terrible. Stupid. It didn't begin to say what I felt about Adam's rejection. Why couldn't I write about it directly? I pushed my mind into writing something different,
something that had nothing to do with my pain, something maybe I could show to Siri for her to sing. Something maybe Otto could listen to.
Tell me, oh tell me, the one who sings,
Do angels really and truly have wings?
Do they call out with a cry like a bird
And then fly low to see if we've heard?
When they make their energy manifest
Do they put on wings to be fully dressed?
Is it really true, what I have heard,
That if it has feathers, it is a bird?
That was plain silly, and probably equally bad poetry, but later I'd probably copy it out for Siri.
I sat there, my head on my hand, and thought again of my conversation with Otto, and that not everybody on the
Argosy
was there for a vacation. Was Otto telling me more than I could understand? Surely Otto felt responsible to the entire planet as well as to his own small country. He had pointed out that the
Argosy
was neutral territory, and that was why it was a good place for representatives of various nations to meet and discuss plans, quietly. Quietly.
Surely Otto hadn't kissed me just to keep me from suspecting him of some kind of international skullduggery. That was not consistent with the Otto I had come to know during these few days. Maybe he wasn't the golden fairy-tale prince he appeared to be, but I certainly had no political importance which would draw him to me. In Otto's world of international
diplomacy, I was nobody. I had to believe that he walked with me ashore and sat with me on the ship and kissed me on the deck because he liked me. Me, Vicky, and not just because the two of us were the only people under twenty aboard.
BOOK: Troubling a Star
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