Chapter 13

I waited till the light had changed at Pennsylvania, and we were headed toward Louisiana, before I answered. "I think the best way to answer that one is to remind you of Tina."

"True." I didn't look her way, but I suspected Cecelia was nodding – I have known her for a while now. "I have, of course, only known her for two years – shy of that, actually, since she returned in December. And she is older now than she was then. She's 12 years older than you, as I recall."

"Yah. So she's what..."

Cecelia beat me – she's far better at math than I am. "She is 54 now."

"And though she looks good, C, she's showing her age – and some of it probably is what I did to her." What I'd done was leave her without a word, back in 1990. "That kind of strain has to hurt. When I met her, she wasn't but 27, younger than we were when we met. And she looked good. And she was something like what I'd say my ideal woman would be like."

"And how did she look back then?" I glanced over at Cecelia again, and saw her watching me. "I am not jealous, my husband," she said. "And if this topic makes you uncomfortable, I shall drop it forthwith; I have no desire to discommode you. But I am curious. I know how you viewed me at first, and how you see me now, and I know something of your taste in feminine pulchritude. But I am desirous of learning more, and this seems a useful opportunity."

I grinned. "You're just plain curious, C, and you might as well admit it."

"I thought I just did," she told me, and I would have bet her eyebrows were up in a quizzical expression.

"Yeah, but you took about 27 words to say what two would have done as well." By now I was on Lomas going west, having crossed the freeway on Louisiana and made the turn. "Anyway, back then Tina was ... well, she was clearly Hispanic, but as you can see she's got more Spanish blood in her than Indian. She's never been muscular, not like you, but her arms weren't skinny, and they were firm enough. She had a ... her figure was on the small size of medium, and her legs were like yours, in the same proportion to her torso as a man's legs are, instead of being long. Her skin's always been that light brown color, and her hair too, except it wasn't going gray then. And..." I looked over at her, and all I saw in her face was concentration on what I was saying. "And when ... when we were ... alone ... her stomach was flat, and ... and she was firm all over."

"I'm embarrassing you, Darvin, and I apologize." I felt her hand on my arm for a moment, and then her fingers slid down and squeezed mine where I had my hand on the gearshift knob. "But I do, now, have a better idea of what sort of woman once attracted you, and just how far I diverge from that. I am, of course, assuming that Tina is a fair representative of the standard; you did make it difficult for me not to draw that inference."

"Yeah, she's about there. I was with some who were different, but most were along the same lines." I looked over at her again, briefly because we were in traffic. "You ain't, though."

"No, I'm not. I am not physically like Tina as she is now, nor as you have described her. And knowing that, and knowing that today no one – not even Tina Morales as she appeared in 1980 – could tempt you from my side, tells me just how great your love for me is."

I nodded. "Trust you, Cecelia, to take this whole subject and make that point with it. Sometimes the way you trust me scares me. I ain't that good, you know."

"When it comes to your grammar, my husband, you aren't as good as a two-year-old. But I love you anyway – and that is why I trust you. Until and unless you present me with indubitable proof that you do not merit my trust, you have it in full. But when I say that, I speak theoretically only; it is as though I were to discuss the ramifications of evolution, knowing that we evolved from ratlike mammals about as much as we descended from the mothership Arcturus."

I chuckled. "I'm rubbin' off on you, C. That's my kind of illustration."

"It is. It is also beside my point. Were you not driving, I would punish your ribs."

We were approaching Girard, and there was a church building on the corner. "If you want I'll pull in there, and while you poke me in the ribs I'll turn you over my knee and spank you."

Cecelia giggled. "If you think you can accomplish that feat, by all means turn in. 'Attack us now – we grow annoyed at your foolishness.'"

"Aye aye, Captain Kirk. But you'll find I'm not Balok – you may push all that iron around, but I'm bigger than you are."

"Bigger, and more foolish as well, if you think that you can subdue me without injury to yourself. But—" and her hand rested warmly on mine again "—I shall not resist you. Any other man I would harm with fists and feet if he attempted to do me harm, but you I shall cheerfully submit to all the days of my life."

By now we'd passed the intersection, and were just about past UNM Hospital as well. "I pity the man who tries to rape you, Cecelia. He might succeed, but he'll bleed for a month afterwards. You'll mark him, I don't doubt that."

"I do not wish to prove your case. You say it admiringly, and I admit that with the training I have received from you I would give any rapist a serious fight. But I'm a woman – I have lived with the potential of rape my entire life. Most women never face that brutality – but all women fact the possibility of it. It is in our anatomy, Darvin."

"True, true," I muttered. "Sorry. I sometimes get so impressed that I forget that underneath all that competence you are in fact a woman. No, I don't forget you're a woman – I forget that as impressive as you are, in some ways you are no more than any other woman."

"That is a very kind and flattering apology, and I accept it without regret. I know you had no intent to offend me. Nor did I mean to convey the impression that I was offended, for I wasn't – at least, I wasn't offended at you. There are things that we shall always see differently, on an instinctual level, simply because you're a man and I'm a woman. We discovered one such area in August, when we discussed the way in which our love for each other and for Darlia would affect our reactions in a crisis. And this is another. Neither point of view is right, neither is wrong. They are simply different. And I know, Darvin, that you loathe rape as surely as I do, even if you can't see it, as I do, 'from the inside.' And I treasure the fact that you have cared enough about me to prepare me, with armed and unarmed techniques, against anyone who would impose himself upon me in that way."