Beetle Juice (4 page)

And yet he hardly knew her, really, which meant she hardly knew him. They were no longer children. She was attractive, oh yes, but he did not trust this at all. He picked up a fleetingly unguarded thought in her mind. “Don't you have a boyfriend?”

“Dung!” she swore. “You caught on.”

So she did have a boyfriend. Her interest in Wetzel had to be something else. “Why are you trying to seduce me?”

“Damn, I was too obvious. Now I've blown it.” She sighed. “Okay, you won the game, and I have to submit gracefully, even if it's not the way I figured. You're too damn smart. You're right: they want to know something about you, and they can't fathom it, so they sent me to weasel it out of you.”

“Weasel what?”

“How you're hiding. They know you've been snooping on the other children for years, you had to have been, because their minds were unguarded and open to you. But there's no sign of it in your thoughts. You're just an ordinary innocent boy. How do you do it? That's what they want to know, and they know you won't tell them voluntarily.”

So he
had
succeeded in hiding in the storm shelter. That was gratifying to confirm. If it was true.

Wetzel shook his head. “I wish you had come to me of your own accord, Willa,” he said. “Then I would have trusted you.”

“I wish I had too. I've blown it, but that's the least of it. I really do like you, Wetzel, always did. There's something about you. But I tried to betray you, and you don't deserve it. I know myself now to be dishonest, and I hate it.” She met his gaze, and he saw that her eyes were bright with tears. “I won't bother you any more. I wish you well in life, Wetzel. I doubt that we will meet again.”

It might be a ploy, but he was moved. “What happens to you if you fail?”

“At least I can leave you with the truth. That boyfriend—I love him, but he is using me. For this. Failure means I'll lose him.”

Almost, he relented. “Willa—”

“Hold your course, Wetzel. I'm lost, in this respect, but you aren't. Fare well.” And she held out her hand.

He shook it, appreciating the honesty of their parting. Had she kissed him she might have won him, and she knew it. Then they walked back to the class, and separated.

“That's too bad,” Weava said sympathetically after they had sex. She had picked it up from his turbulent thoughts, and given him what he might have had with Willa, defusing that frustration to an extent. “Otherwise you might have made it with her. She's a good girl, but was put in a situation.”

“I understand,” Wetzel said. “She did what she had to do. But still it hurts.” Then he had an alarming thought.

“No,” Weava said immediately. “I was not party to that ploy. I thought she merely wanted to surprise you with her identity, and perhaps leave her scheming boyfriend for you. I know you have secrets; I believe you are entitled to them. Telepathy magnifies the sexual experience, yet there is one aspect it diminishes: mystery. Some of the allure is lost when the partners have no secrets from each other. That is one reason I refused to interrogate you about this, so they evidently sought elsewhere.”

That had not occurred to him. “I intrigue you because I have secrets?”

“You do, Wetzel. Our sexual relationship is temporary, until you discover your were-form and find romance, but it's fun. You will make some girl a fine partner.”

He liked her tolerance and her support. “That partner can't be you?”

“I am seventeen years older than you, almost twice your age. You would find that tiring in time. But more important, I am dedicated to my profession. I will never stop teaching. You are surely destined for more dramatic things. You are a creature of adventure, externally and internally. I refuse to tie you down to a relative dullard like me, whatever the appeal of the moment.”

Wetzel wanted to protest, but realized she was correct. She had also found a very nice way to let him know she wasn't interested in a long-term romance with him.

“And you are uncommonly perceptive and rational,” she added, smiling.

He had to laugh. “And you are expert in finessing awkward expectations.”

“I'm a teacher. It comes with the territory.” Then she kissed him, and everything was fine.

“You are,” he agreed. Maybe if he were really lucky he would find a girl who would become a woman like her.

“And you have a rare touch with a compliment,” she said.

He felt a surge of emotion. “Let me love you, this moment.”

“I thought you'd never ask.” They had just had sex, but she used her power to enhance his virility so that he could do it again. This was a pleasant response, but still a diversion from his real wish to love her romantically. She was still handling him, interpreting his emotion conveniently, and making him like it without hurting his feelings. Sex was easy for her to give, rather than love.

“But I could love you, if I let myself,” she murmured as they finished. “I always liked you, and had to rule myself sternly not to favor you in class. You are worthy, Wetzel.”

“Thank you.” What else could he say? Through all the years he had never realized that she favored him, despite his mind reading ability. He had known better than to even try reading hers, sure she would recognize the feather touch.

“You are appealing to women,” she continued. “Whether they are immature or adult. This helped you in drama; the girls liked to play opposite you.”

“I thought they just liked dressing up and acting.”

“That, too.”

In the following year not only did the class become fully proficient in sexual expression, they started discovering their alternate forms. Each day Weava conducted a group session wherein they all blanked their minds and made themselves receptive to whatever might come. At first it seemed like a pointless exercise, but then a girl abruptly made an exclamation and transformed to a songbird. She had found her form.

Thereafter others found theirs, becoming cats, horses, hawks, crocodiles, and bears. There seemed to be no predictable pattern; the changes were random. Until only one was left: Wetzel.

“You have a form,” Weava assured him. “Everyone does. You merely have to discover it.”

“But where is it? Why am I so slow?”

She considered. “Sometimes a person doesn't like his other form, so refuses to use it.”

“Like the boy who became a skunk,” Wetzel agreed. “He wasn't pleased.”

“Yet it's worthy. All forms are worthy. A were-skunk can patrol silently at night, guarding premises, and can really stop an intruder.”

“I don't want to be a skunk.”

“Whatever you are, it will be worthy,” she said. “There is that in you that is very special. It merely takes time to manifest.”

“You are handling me again, preparing me for disappointment.”

“Stop that!” she flared. Amazed, he realized she was angry; the heat of it beat at his mind. He had never seen her even annoyed before. “I am telling you the truth. You are special, and your alternate form will be special. I know it.”

“I apologize,” he said quickly, awed by her rare emotion. “But how do you know?”

“We can't predict the exact forms, but sometimes we can get a general notion. Something is looming in you, something truly remarkable, unlike any our village has seen before. It will amaze everyone. We have to ensure that it emerges properly, and that you are ready for it, because there could be liabilities along with its power. So that you don't—” She broke off.

“Don't what?”

She frowned, then answered. “Don't reject it.”

“Why would I do that?”

“The liability might seem to make it not worthwhile for you. This is too important to allow rejection.”

“
That's
why you're with me! To be sure I don't mess it up!”

Now he saw tears in her eyes, just as he had with Willa. “I'm so sorry, Wetzel. It is true.”

He schooled himself to be rational. She had never promised him a long association, only a temporary one. That was unchanged. Only her reason was different. “Damn.”

“You have a right to be angry. Everything I have told you is true. I just did not tell you the whole of it. You are worthy, I do like you, it is for the moment, but I would have had to be with you regardless. This can not be left to chance.”

Had he handled himself better with Willa, he might have won her. Instead he had thrown her away on a technicality, angry because she was assigned to interrogate him. It was pointless to do the same with Weava. “Please, if it's so important but I might mess it up, I want you to be on my side.”

“I will help you in whatever way I can.”

“That's evasion. I want you as my friend. I need to know I can trust your advice, whatever it may be.”

“I
am
your friend.”

“You're my teacher and my lover. That's not the same.”

“
And
your friend. Read my mind.”

He did. Her thoughts and emotions were mixed, but she truly wanted what was best for him. She always had. She did not love him, but intended to do right by him.

“I apologize for doubting you.”

“No need. You are right to be skeptical. No one likes to be used.”

“How am I being used?”

“If your were-form turns out to be valuable to the village, you will be required to remain here, regardless of your preference.”

“Why would I want to leave?”

“I don't know, but there are indications you will not be satisfied here. So your freedom may be at stake.”

He did not like the sound of this, buttressed by her genuine concern. “What is your advice, as a friend?”

She leaned forward and whispered urgently. “Depart. Leave the village. Now, before you transform. Only in this manner can you be assured of your freedom.”

“But then I would have to leave all my friends. And you. For a nebulous speculation that I may want to in the future. Does this make sense?”

“Yes, Wetzel, it does. We are dealing with probabilities, and they indicate that you could become a virtual prisoner here. That you could become unhappy. Even if I remained your lover, which I may have to do.”

His own emotions were becoming chaotic. “This would bother you?”

“Yes, because I want your sexual interest because you have it naturally, as now, rather than because you have no alternative, as may become the case. Wetzel, I want you to realize your full potential in every manner, and I fear you can not achieve that here.”

“You said you could love me if you allowed it. Would you allow it?”

“Yes. But I think that would not be enough. I am not your perfect mate now, and I will be less so as time passes. Especially once you achieve transformation. You thought I was being polite, but it is true: I would tie you down. I am not in your league for potential. I am not worthy of you.”

“Weava!” he cried, pained.

“It is the truth.”

And her mind, completely open to him, echoed that. She truly believed that he was destined for greatness, and that she would only be in the way.

“I can't do it,” he said. “This village has been everything to me. And you—I can't leave you. Not until you tell me it's over.”

“Trust me,” she said. “You must go.”

“I can't.”

She sighed. “If you should change your mind, don't consult with me or anyone. Just go without notice. That may be your best chance.”

That much he could promise, knowing he was unlikely to change his mind. “Agreed.”

“Let's not discuss this further. You need to keep it out of your thoughts.”

“I can do that.”

She smiled. “Yes you can. Do not tell me your secret. You may need it.”

Love for her overwhelmed him. “I'll tell you.”

“No!” Then, rather than debate the matter, she sent him the potency thought. Soon they were having sex a third time. By the time it was done he realized that she was surely right, and that he needed to keep his secret, even from her. He buried their dialogue in the storm shelter.

But why did she think he would want to leave the village and her, when no harm threatened him?

Time passed, and nothing happened. Weava encouraged him to go out and have liaisons with the girls of neighboring villages, but he demurred. He knew she was trying to get him out of the local village, so that he could more readily depart it forever. But he needed neither the girls nor departure, as long as he had Weava. He was in temporary love.

And realized one day when he visited the storm shelter, that the powers that existed in the village had known he wouldn't leave Weava, regardless what she told him. He was thoroughly smitten. So she had been free to tell him the truth as she saw it. He was already committed to the village. She bound him here despite wanting to free him. It was an irony she surely understood and was pained by.

He tried to make himself useful despite his indeterminate status as an incomplete person. Weava qualified him as an assistant teacher and demonstrator. He explained to the class following his own class how telepathy worked.

“Every brain constantly radiates thoughts,” he said. “They zip outward like little arrows until at last they lose coherence and are lost in the welter of the radiations of other people. It is like a lamp whose light becomes dim with distance. Only at close range, when the thoughts are dense and strong, are they really intelligible to anyone else.

“We do not send thoughts to specific targets, such as our friends; we merely send them out evenly in all directions. But when two heads come together, their radiations can interact. Normally they just pass through each other without touching. But when one person focuses on another, there can be a tangible interaction. His thoughts collide with those of the other person, like two boys running into each other, and the radiation from that collision then goes out. Some of those reflected thoughts return to that person's mind, and he knows what the other is thinking. It is only a tiny random sample, one part in a hundred or a thousand, but if the thoughts are massed on something like chocolate cake, that's enough to do it.” He smiled, as thoughts of chocolate cake suffused the classroom. “Some of that collision radiation returns to the person being snooped on, and he feels a feather-light mental touch. We will teach all of you to become sensitive to that touch, so you will always know when a mind is reading yours.” He looked at a girl. “I am focusing on your mind now, intercepting your thoughts. Can you feel the touch?”