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| Stories Bingo’s Home Bingo’s Lair |
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Part One, Chapter 12 Peter found it was already half past nine when he entered the library Monday morning. It took longer than he thought to reach the university from the motel. Another delay came in finding the library and a parking place. The librarian he had corresponded with was waiting for him; she extended her hand and introduced herself. They chatted for a moment. The librarian studied Peter, "You look tired. I hope the journey here was not too much for you," she said. Peter shook his head. "Just a little more involved than I expected. I'm ready to work." "Good. Good. My student assistant has prepared a room for you to work in. This way." The librarian led Peter through a maze of bookshelves, through an area filled with tables and chairs, past more bookshelves, and finally to a door. She opened it. "There is a microfilm reader and the microfilms you were interested in viewing. My assistant has also pulled volumes of journals and marked articles she thought might be pertinent. There is a plug for your laptop. If you need anything else we can help you with, please ask. She is with someone now and will stop by when she is free. We hope you enjoy your week here, Mr. Hanson. Good luck." Peter thanked the librarian; the librarian left smiling. Peter placed his things on the table. He sat down and thumbed through the microfilms; they were all here. He was amazed. He might actually get some work done once his head cleared. Peter spread out his books and notebooks into piles. He set up his laptop, checked to make sure it was operating properly. He opened a notebook and found the list of articles he wanted to check. He rolled his chair over to the stacks of journals the assistant had pulled. Yes, several were on his list. He set those aside. He thought he would take a brief look at the others. There might be an article he should not miss. Peter was reading quickly through one of the marked articles when he felt something at his back. It was as if the skin on his back were being pulled. It did not hurt. It was a feeling he had experienced once before, in the antique store, on Saturday morning. He said, "Alice?" Peter raised his head and stared at the wall. "Alice?" "Yes, Peter. It's me." "You're the student assistant?" Peter laid down Studies in the Age of Chaucer, he put his hands on the table. "Yes, work study. I have another year before my undergraduate degree. Peter?" "I had trouble enough looking at my own face in the mirror." He paused. "Alice, I don't think I can bear to look at you." Peter heard the door shut. A chair moved across the carpet, he heard her sit. "Because of who I am?" Alice said quietly. "I don't know who anybody is. I don't think there is a reasonable explanation for what happened to Bring. I don't . . . I don't know how to see myself." "Peter, I'm not sure that there is anything I can say that would justify it. Peter," Alice laid a hand on his shoulder. "Please look at me." Alice removed her hand. "Not the Alice you met this weekend." He heard her chair move away, she sat down again. "Please look at the woman who lived in your world not so long ago. A mother who did anything to protect her child. Anything. Peter, it was not enough. I was beaten, Car was beaten. My body, Peter, was sold to others to use as they wished. Peter, I had no say in what was done to me, except those times when I did anything willingly to protect Car. Peter, please turn around. It was not all bad. Some were kind to me, kind to us. There were times when all I had to do is hold some poor, frightened man, hold him while he sobbed for misery, for grief, or for terror. Peter." She moved to a spot close behind him. "Peter, that world you call your own, you can't imagine how I lived or what I did in order to survive in it." He heard her sit on the floor by his chair. "Bring is about to enter your world for a time, you saw how she prepared for the game. What her expectations were, her misunderstandings. The game showed her how strange, beautiful and terrifying your world is. Can you think of any other way?" Peter shut his eyes and lowered his head. "Peter," she said, "I'm a whore and what I went through with Bring Saturday night was . . ." Alice stopped. "Peter, you can't imagine what I've done as a whore." She laughed. "Peter, please look at me." Alice was quiet. Peter shook his head. "Alice, I'm afraid if I look at you I'll be lost again." "And if you don't, I'll be lost. Peter, if I had not known that you would be here, if I had not hoped and feared, I would have called in sick. Peter, have you ever been raped?" Peter shook his head. "Alice, I want to be angry at you, at the people who orchestrated that . . . that . . . what was done to Bring. I want to cry." Alice stood, "I'm behind you, Peter. I'm going to take you in my arms. Peter, I'm a whore and that's one thing a whore knows how to do." Alice bent over Peter and wrapped her arms around him. She laid her head down on his back. "Peter. What is the Morte Arthure? Martha said I should ask you." Peter shook his head. He was fighting back tears. "Is it a poem about a king, King Arthur, noblest of kings? What is a king? Is it a poem about war? How does the poem describe the killing of knights? What language does it use? Do you think of it as a minor work of art? Is it something you think Belinda would understand, would have understood Friday when you first met her? If she understood, accepted a poem like the Morte, would that make her normal? What is normal? What if she came from a place where war was the worst thing there was? What if striking someone in anger or for pleasure, instead of being called normal, is it normal where you live? Do you watch football? What is football? Instead of being called normal was considered bad, what if she came from a place like that? Peter," Alice gave him a squeeze, "I have to go soon. I have things to do. I have to try to pretend I am doing things." Alice released him and sat back down on the chair. "Peter, please look at me." Peter was still. "Peter, we live in two different worlds. I have lived in yours. Try to imagine living in mine. Was being a whore bad because I had sex with countless people? Was I a bad person because I did that?" Alice stood. "Peter, where I live, sex isn't bad. Oh, there are bad things one can do, but sex itself isn't bad. Peter, what was bad for me wasn't the sex. What was bad was that I wasn't able to be free to decide one way or the other. Is that normal where you live? Are people normally doing things they don't want to do? Are people as unhappy as I was? "Peter, how does one prepare a person like Belinda to be in your world for a day, a year, four years, even longer?" Alice went to the door. "I'm going. Good luck on your project." Alice opened the door. "I love you." She started to go out. "Car wanted me to say hello." She shut the door. Peter tapped his head against the table. He lifted his face, "Alice?" Peter turned his chair. The room was empty. "Alice?" He stood and went to the door, opened it, glanced quickly in both directions. He saw a person in rolled braids, a black suit walking away from him. He took a step toward them. "Alice?" She stopped. He went up to her, he touched her arm. She turned. She had been crying. Peter hugged her. "Alice, can you come back? We have some talking to do." She nodded her head slowly and followed him back to the door to the room. Peter said to her, "Can we do this again? I'll go in. You walk in on me." He used a finger to push a tear from her cheek. "Is that okay?" Alice nodded. Peter walked in the door. Alice came in. She stood in the doorway. She was dressed in a dark double-breasted men's suit. Her hair was braided and coiled around each ear. She wore a black velvet choker. A finger touched the scar over her lip. "Peter," she said. Peter walked to her, holding out his hand. "Alice." Alice took his hand, looked at him shyly. She smiled tentatively, "Peter, I . . ." Peter took her in his arms, hugged her, held his cheek against hers. "I'm so glad to see you. I wasn't sure . . . I'm so glad." Alice nodded. She stood back. "I see you've found everything." There were tears in her eyes. "I have to sit down. Sorry." She sat in the other chair. Peter sat down, rolled his chair close to hers. "Car?" "Day care. There's good day care back home. He loves it." "I don't know what to say." Peter shook his head. "Peter, I . . ." She stopped. "I wondered if you would like to stay with Car and me for the rest of the week? I . . ." "Yes, I'd like that." Peter reached out his hand, she took it. Alice said, "There are ulterior motives, I'm afraid." She smiled at him. "I would dearly love another snuggle or two. And," she squeezed his hand, "Car would like a ride in your van." She squeezed his hand again. "You would have your own room." She gave him a shy smile. "Home cooking such as it is." "And snuggles." Peter smiled. "I'd like that." "And there is more." Alice paused. "Martha and the others decided it was best to call Jan. She's flying out Wednesday. She can stay, too." Peter sat back. "Thanks. Thank you." He leaned forward again. "Bring?" "Belinda slept, was sleeping when I left. She wants to go to the buggy shop today. I think she's planning to work there for a while. They have a woodworking shop, machine shop, blacksmithing set up. She's good there. She's needed." Alice smiled. "The others aren't as expert as she is at setting tires, fixing axles. They've been in a mild panic while she was preparing for the game." Alice paused. Her eyes started to fill with tears. "It will take time. I hope she can forgive me." Peter shook his head. "And you?" "Tottery." Alice took his hand. "I am still not sure. What I was, I wanted no one else to see, ever." She squeezed his hand, touched her lip, covered his hand. "Who I am I'm . . ." She looked at him. She shook her head. Peter smiled. "Alice, you're a beautiful person. Look at . . ." He blinked. "It was you, wasn't it, walking on the sidewalk on the edge of town Friday. You were walking, playing something." "A recorder." She smiled, she watched Peter's face. "And there were kids with you, playing recorders also, a whole bunch of kids and crazy, happy dogs walking along the side walk." "That was us. Music class, the dogs love the lesson also. Maybe you could join us in music class some time." Alice squeezed Peter's hand. "But it was a busy street, doesn't the noise of the cars drown out your music?" Alice smiled a large smile. "I tell them if we practice, if we try really hard, one day we will be louder than all the cars." "We still need to talk. We need to talk a lot," Peter said. "We're really good about talking about things where I come from." She glanced at him. "We call where I come from Start." Alice smiled brightly. "I'm sure Jimmy told you, we talk about everything."
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