Read Online Smoke Ghost & Other Apparitions by Fritz Leiber - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Fritz Leiber
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their relationship. No matter how delightful, this meet-at-the-corner, kiss-in-the-dark business could not go on forever. They really ought to get married.
My friend began to wonder if she could be concealing something shameful about her background. Now when he walked arm-in-arm around the square with her, he fancied that people were smirking at him and whispering behind his back. And when he happened on a group of the other young men of the village, the talk would break off suddenly and there would be knowing winks. He decided that, whatever the cost, he must know.
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IT WAS near May Eve. They had met in the orchard opposite the old stone wall, and she was leaning against a bough crusted with white blossoms. Now that the moment had come, he was trembling. He knew that she would tell the truth and it frightened him.
She smiled a little ruefully, but answered without hesitation.
"What do I do in the village? Why, I sleep with all of them â the farmers, the preacher, the schoolmaster, the mayor..."
There was a stinging pain in the palm of his hand. He had slapped her face and turned his back on her, and he was striding up the lane, toward the hills. And beside him was striding an Old Man in Black, not nearly so jolly as he had remembered him, cadaverous in fact and with high forehead deeply furrowed and eyes frosty as the stars.
For a long way they went in silence, as old comrades might. Over the stone bridge, where once he and she had dropped a silver coin into the stream, past the roadside shrine with its withered flowers and faded saint, through the thin forest, where a lock of his hair and hers were clipped together in a split tree, and across the upland pasture. Finally he found words for his anger.
"If only she hadn't said it with that hangdog air, and yet as if expecting to be praised! And if it had happened only with some of the young fellows! But those old hypocrites!"
He paused, but the Old Man in Black said nothing, only a certain cold merriment was apparent in his eyes.
"How can she do it and still stay so lovely?" my friend continued. "And how can they know her and not be changed by it? I tell you I gave up a great deal for her! But they can enjoy her and still stick like leeches to the same old lies. It's unfair. If they don't believe in her, why do they want her?"
The Old Man laughed shortly and spoke, and the laugh and the words were like a wind high above the earth.
"She is a harlot, yet whosoever possesses her becomes highly respectable thereby. That is a riddle."
" I have not become respectable."
The Old Man showed his teeth in a wintry smile. "You really love her. Like old King David, they desire only to be warm."
"And she really sleeps with them all? Just as she said?"
The Old Man shook his head. "Not all. There are a few who turn her away. The philosopher who stays in the little cottage down the road and scowls at the religious processions and tells the children there is no god. The nobleman whose castle stands at the head of the valley. The bandit who lives in the cave on the hill. But even they cannot always endure life without her, and then they get up in the chilly night and go to the window and open it, and the bandit goes to the frost-rimmed mouth of his cave, and they call brokenly in the moonlight, hating themselves for it, and she comes, or her ghost."
The Old Man turned his head and his sunken eyes were very bright.
"They are weak," he said, "but you may be stronger. It's a gay life in the crags."
"Old Man," my friend answered, "you've shown me two paths and I'll take neither. I won't leave her and freeze to death in the crags, no matter how gaily. And I won't share her with those fat hypocrites. I have a plan."
And he turned and went whistling down the hill, his hands in his pockets.
Â
When he had almost come to the village, he saw a tall hay-wagon coming up the lane. There were two rich farmers on the seat, with still collars and thick vests and fat gold
My friend began to wonder if she could be concealing something shameful about her background. Now when he walked arm-in-arm around the square with her, he fancied that people were smirking at him and whispering behind his back. And when he happened on a group of the other young men of the village, the talk would break off suddenly and there would be knowing winks. He decided that, whatever the cost, he must know.
Â
IT WAS near May Eve. They had met in the orchard opposite the old stone wall, and she was leaning against a bough crusted with white blossoms. Now that the moment had come, he was trembling. He knew that she would tell the truth and it frightened him.
She smiled a little ruefully, but answered without hesitation.
"What do I do in the village? Why, I sleep with all of them â the farmers, the preacher, the schoolmaster, the mayor..."
There was a stinging pain in the palm of his hand. He had slapped her face and turned his back on her, and he was striding up the lane, toward the hills. And beside him was striding an Old Man in Black, not nearly so jolly as he had remembered him, cadaverous in fact and with high forehead deeply furrowed and eyes frosty as the stars.
For a long way they went in silence, as old comrades might. Over the stone bridge, where once he and she had dropped a silver coin into the stream, past the roadside shrine with its withered flowers and faded saint, through the thin forest, where a lock of his hair and hers were clipped together in a split tree, and across the upland pasture. Finally he found words for his anger.
"If only she hadn't said it with that hangdog air, and yet as if expecting to be praised! And if it had happened only with some of the young fellows! But those old hypocrites!"
He paused, but the Old Man in Black said nothing, only a certain cold merriment was apparent in his eyes.
"How can she do it and still stay so lovely?" my friend continued. "And how can they know her and not be changed by it? I tell you I gave up a great deal for her! But they can enjoy her and still stick like leeches to the same old lies. It's unfair. If they don't believe in her, why do they want her?"
The Old Man laughed shortly and spoke, and the laugh and the words were like a wind high above the earth.
"She is a harlot, yet whosoever possesses her becomes highly respectable thereby. That is a riddle."
" I have not become respectable."
The Old Man showed his teeth in a wintry smile. "You really love her. Like old King David, they desire only to be warm."
"And she really sleeps with them all? Just as she said?"
The Old Man shook his head. "Not all. There are a few who turn her away. The philosopher who stays in the little cottage down the road and scowls at the religious processions and tells the children there is no god. The nobleman whose castle stands at the head of the valley. The bandit who lives in the cave on the hill. But even they cannot always endure life without her, and then they get up in the chilly night and go to the window and open it, and the bandit goes to the frost-rimmed mouth of his cave, and they call brokenly in the moonlight, hating themselves for it, and she comes, or her ghost."
The Old Man turned his head and his sunken eyes were very bright.
"They are weak," he said, "but you may be stronger. It's a gay life in the crags."
"Old Man," my friend answered, "you've shown me two paths and I'll take neither. I won't leave her and freeze to death in the crags, no matter how gaily. And I won't share her with those fat hypocrites. I have a plan."
And he turned and went whistling down the hill, his hands in his pockets.
Â
When he had almost come to the village, he saw a tall hay-wagon coming up the lane. There were two rich farmers on the seat, with still collars and thick vests and fat gold
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