Sister Olav listened, stunned. A flush came to her pale face. She felt a lightness in her head and steadied herself.
'That sounds possible,' said Petrovitch. 'Very possible.'
'Who this guy believes he is was created during the trauma of our bringing him back to consciousness. And what did he become ? Someone vastly superior to this patrician Publius. And what did he do to Publius when he had him in a weak position ? He showed he was better than Publius and to all Rome, that had made him feel weak all his life. He wasn't half Greek. He was all Greek what they called "Greekling" all the time with impunity. And he was going to die that way. And what does he do in his re-creation ? He becomes the great Lucius Aurelius Eugenianus, and he brings his Hebrew slave woman and son along with him in his imaginary social rise. Now what man in reality, after fighting his way to the top of imperial Roman power and society, is going to legally marry another slave? Come on. He named his own son Petronius, which is a Roman name, which shows how much he wanted to be Roman. More than anything this poor Greekiing wanted to be Roman. And more than anything he hated the Romans. And if he had died his natural death, all his problems would have been resolved the way all problems are ultimately resolved. By the worms in the warm ground. He lived, and he became the great Lucius Aurelius Eugenianus, hero of Rome.'
Lew McCardle finished his third beer. Funny how everyone could hear the little refrigerator hum now.
'What about the scars?' said Petrovitch.
'Let's say you had a slave being trained for the arena and he wasn't big enough. They started them early. Maybe he was one of those boys who start out big and stop growing at thirteen. So what are you going to do with a tiny pugilist ? That's where we get the English word from. It's the first fighter. We found out in the hallway he could use his fists, no?'
'True,' said Petrovitch.
'All right, we need more time,' said Sister Olav. 'We don't have more time,' said Lew. 'That's what I am telling you.'
'I will not vote for moving the patient because of your conjecture and your fears,' said Sister Olav.
'I can prove he is not what he says he is. I can prove it is not conjecture.'
'How?' said Sister Olav, but it was an accusation as much as a question. 'A match with blunted swords.' 'Never. We are not Romans.' 'He will not be hurt.'
'No. Even if it proves he is not who he says he is, the revelation might be too much for him. No.' Sister Olav trembled as she tightly gripped the back of the chair she had refused to sit in. 'Especially if Eugeni was an arena slave do I not wish to see him confronted with this, like this.'
'And I vote yes,' said Lew. 'Semyon, what about you ?'
'If he is not what he says he is, what then?' asked Semyon.
‘I
solation for a period necessary to find out for certain who he is, or to find out what we don't know.'
‘I
can't approve,' said Sister Olav.
'You have made your vote,' said Semyon.
‘I
make mine. I find no valid reason not to give this test. As a matter of fact, I am suspicious of motives of those who would vote against.'
'Two to one,' said Lew humbly.
'Wait,' said Sister Olav. 'What sort of fencer?'
'An Olympic champion,' said Lew, directly.
'I see. That is unfair, of course,' said Sister Olav.
'Yes,' said Lew. 'We should, for three or four centuries, offer purses like ownership of Kuwait, Idaho, the Panama Canal, and then match our little fellow against what would be competing for them. That would be fair. An Olympic fencer; fencing isn't even a major money sport. If Moscow tomorrow decided to have one single sport, and no others, with which it would compete with the world, that would be fair.'
‘I
still vote no,' said Sister Olav.
That is your problem,' said Semyon Petrovitch. He finished the beer Lew had given him and left.
‘I
s there any way I can change your mind, Dr McCardle?' asked Sister Olav.
'No.'
That's being obstinate. May I ask why you are being obstinate?'
'Semyon might say that about you.'
'I think he has personal reasons for his vote. What about you ?' The match is on.'
‘I
hope Eugeni will understand. I hope he will forgive us. I am not proud to be associated with this project anymore.'
Lew so desperately wanted to tell her to get out in harsh and final terms. Instead he just nestled his big body deeper back into his chair. And she left without being told to.
He was lucky Petrovitch was no longer in love with her. He might have gone against him in that case. Maybe luck mattered. He opened another beer. He used to drink a lot of beer. Rocker City beer. Good old hometown beer. He remembered the summer nights Hot nights. Cold beer. A six-pack of Rocker and Ginny Jackson.
'Rocker, Rocker City’
1
he hummed
"The Texas beer that's gosh darn pretty. Drink Rocker, Rocker, Rocker City, the Texas beer from the Arkansas city. Rocker. The real beer. Rocker City, yeah.''
Tasted like piss. Always had.
Whatever happened to Ginger Jackson ? They drank Rocker City together. They had sex in the backs of cars. And he knew she didn't give it to anyone else. It was good with her. It was easy being with her.
'I know you'll never marry me,' she had said one night, parked behind the stadium, her bra dangling free from her shoulder.
'That's not true, Ginny, I just don' wanna get married now. But if I wanted to get married now. I sure would think of you. I sure would.'
'You're such a liar, Lew McCardle.'
'Don't you ever call me a liar.'
'You're a liar, Lew McCardle, 'cause you don't think I'm good enough.'
If he remembered correctly, that conversation had taken place before sex. Afterwards, he avoided telling Ginny Jackson she wasn't the kind of girl he would marry, just admitted that she was right, he wouldn't marry her.
'If I was rich. If I came from Hill Springs or some fancy place, you'd marry me.'
'Yeah? Why?'
"Cause you love me, Lew.'
'I like ya.'
'Nah. Ya love me. Love's becoming one with someone, livin' day by day with them, and havin' a niceness with 'em. It takes more courage to love than you have, Lew McCardle.'
'Shit. I'm All-Conference tackle.'
'You'll never see me again, Lew.'
'What are you doin' ? Get your mouth out of there.
,
‘
I want to show you what you're missing.'
'Not with your mouth.'
‘
I want to,' she said.
But he had seen her again in Austin, and she hadn't gained that much weight, and she had a boy of nine, and she wore a cheap purple print dress that made her body look lush with the extra pounds.
And all they did was say hello, and she had introduced her son to a football player who used to be her beau, and there wasn't a chance to get her phone number, and he had forgotten to ask her married name and, besides, his marriage at the time of that meeting in Austin was just beginning with Kathy.
Opening another beer in Oslo, Norway, he remembered reminding himself how Ginny was just not the sort of girl you married if you were going somewhere.
And he had gone somewhere.
And now he would retire successfully, shortly. A little more successful than he had anticipated. He was doing all right. He was doing fine. He could have phoned home from the office and it wouldn't have cost him a cent.
He could talk to Kathy for hour
s if he wanted. And Houghton Corporation would pay.
He opened another beer and felt a strong urge to ask the little fellow about his marriage in Rome, one slave with another. If Eugeni was a slave. Which he probably was.
Lew McCardle didn't phone home that afternoon and got very drunk.
Twen
ty
five
In this time, when there were no slaves and no arenas, I found myself matched again. Olava e
xplained that no matter what hap
pened, I should remember that I not only was important historically, but more so as a person whom she respected.
Olava said I was more important than all the gladiators who had ever lived because I had been chosen by the unseen god of her cult to bring history to these times. I begged her not to trouble her spirits over me, for what had happened was a good thing. And I told her to inform Lewus of my gratitude.
'What we need is a price. Now, you say Lewus represents wealthy patrons. Can we get four of the large flying machines with their slaves that run them? I know everyone is a freedman today, but I would find the machines useless without their slaves. So 1 am sure some sort of contractual arrangements can be had whereby those who run the machines will be paid by the sponsor of the match for a period of, let's say, five years.'
'It is not that sort of match, Eugeni. There will be no payment.'
'You don't have crucifixion today?' I asked, to reaffirm what she had told me before.
'No,' she said.
'Then I will not fight'
'No one is forcing you, but if you are willing, then a demonstration would be most useful to my work.'
'I would be happy to be useful to the god Science for two machines and their crews. And the currency for their sustenance. Is gold and silver still the main currency now?'
'I don't think you understand, Eugeni. It is a match, not for political and economic gain, but for you to show you are telling the truth.'
'If Lewus does not pay the price, he will never know,' I said. 'There should be great interest in the man brought back from the dead who fights again for his life. The small man versus the giants. Does this little man have the secret of eternal life? Can he be killed at all?' I said. I wanted to show her the benefits of such a match.
'There will be no blood, Eugeni. Blunted weapons,' said Olava. 'People can be killed with blunted weapons,' I said. 'Everyone wears padding,' she said. 'That is
silly,
’ I
said.
'That is what we have today. It is called fencing.'
'Then think how much better a real match would be. You cannot tell me people have changed so much that blood draws no interest. Real blood, Olava. I would wager that even members of your cult would love real blood.'
The first drops of tears, hinting a reservoir of them held back by a dam of will, appeared in Olava's eyes. She obviously felt sad for me.
'I will not take less,' I said. But I knew nothing was offered, even as I entered the building that morning on which the match was planned. There were polished wooden floors, which meant no blood was ever spilled. The arena was square, with a high ceiling. There were wooden seats, which meant it was not built to last. There were few seats.
Lewus spoke to a man dressed in white with a small red patch over his left chest. A thin metal basket rested atop his head. Olava said the basket was a helmet to protect the head and face. The red spot was supposed to represent the heart. When you touched it with a blunted sword, you won. The man was large, but much smaller than Lewus.
There was an offering of weapons on a wooden table. There was a thin sword with a blunted tip which, if the tip were sharpened, could be very effective for thrusting but would require great finesse in blocking. It would be a disaster in close, because the pommel did not have nearly enough weight for smashing. That, , according to Olava, was the epee.
There was a slashing blade of such uselessness it belonged in a field for harvesting. This, Olava said, was a sabre. I could fight epee or sabre, whichever I chose. The epee was the blade that allowed only the thrust. The metal was exceedingly fine.
Semyonus wrapped a grey bag around my arm and pumped it tight to test the calibre of my blood, as he explained. Someone had done this every day along with gathering a sample of my urine.
The physician looked at me and tried to say something. But he only patted me on the back and said something to Olava. 'What did he say ?' I asked. 'He said you'll be all right.'
Olava spoke to Lewus. She told me she told him that it was not only immoral but unfair, because of my age and the quality of the fencer and also my leg wound, which was healing.
The fencer had won awards for worldwide contests called the Olympics, similar to those of the ancient world, more ancient than I.