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From: Uther Pendragon <nogardneprethu@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} "Formez vos Bataillons" 1/4 -- Uther -- (MF MF wl)
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Date: Fri, 16 Jul 2010 08:10:02 -0400
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<1st attachment, "story_assm.txt" begin>


  This material is copyright, 2010, by Uther
  Pendragon. All rights reserved. I specifically
  grant the right of downloading and keeping one
  electronic copy for your personal reading so long
  as this notice is included. Reposting requires
  previous permission. 
  If you have any comments or requests, please e-mail
  them to me at nogardnePrethU@gmail.com .
  All persons here depicted, except public figures
  depicted as public figures in the background, are
  figments of my imagination. Any resemblance to
  persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
  
  
  Formez vos Bataillions -- 1/4
  Uther Pendragon
  nogardneprethu@gmail.com
  
  MF MF
  
  
  
  "Maman," Cat called from the train aisle. A woman
  ahead of them was nursing a baby.
  
  "Come back here, mon chat. Yes, it is a beautiful
  sight." Jeanette wasn't going to let the poor woman
  think that she was doing wrong. "But it is a
  private event. When I fed you that way years ago,
  other people left us alone. Come back to your seat.
  Maybe when they are quite finished, she will let
  you see her baby then."
  
  "Sometimes, Cat," Bob added, "curiosity is good.
  Sometimes it is wrong." He pulled his feet back so
  that Cat could get inside to sit beside him. The
  train was far from full, and they had taken two
  facing seats for the three of them. "Curiosity
  about the world is wonderful. Curiosity about other
  people sometimes makes them feel bad." He was much
  more concerned about his daughter's keeping the
  curiosity about the world. But child rearing is a
  joint task, and Jeanette was in charge. She had
  more tact than he ever had, and she was likelier to
  be blamed for Cat's not acting tactfully.
  
  'Now,' Jeanette thought, 'he's teaching her that
  one shouldn't watch a woman nurse when it makes her
  uncomfortable. Too bad he didn't practice what he
  now preaches. Oh well, it's better than now
  preaching what he'd practiced. And, after all, he'd
  only leered at us in private.' She waited until the
  woman had burped the baby and put him to the side
  before she got up and nodded to Cat.
  
  "I'm really sorry," she said. "Cat has great
  curiosity and no manners. Wait six years. She does
  want to look at your baby."
  
  "I heard. That's quite all right." The woman moved
  as far back as she could in the seat. When Cat
  stood against the seat back, she moved her knees to
  allow her closer. Cat stared; the baby seemed
  indifferent to the attention. He was in a car seat
  with some toys dangling from the rim, and those
  were taking his attention now.
  
  "I think this is enough, mon chat."
  
  "Thank you for letting me see your baby."
  
  "You're welcome." And they trailed back to their
  seats.
  
  "Happy Cat?" asked Bob. He was less worried than
  Jeanette that Cat would annoy another passenger.
  Passengers who were easily annoyed by first-graders
  deserved little consideration. He was more worried
  that Cat would explore some mechanical device on
  the train that would hurt her.
  
  "Elle est tres belle."
  
  "Vraiment, a moins qu'il soit tres beau." Actually,
  Jeanette didn't think the baby was particularly
  cute, though it was a cuter boy than a girl.
  
  "Maman! est-ce-que vous croyez le bebe est un
  garcon?" Actually, Jeanette hadn't any evidence.
  The clothes looked more like a boy's baby clothes,
  but it wasn't as if he were dressed all in blue.
  
  "Je ne sais pas." And when Cat looked about to go
  ask. "Nous avons gene la bonne dame trop. Peut-etre
  *je*, ta maman, demandai plus tard. Tu ne demandas
  jamais." As Bob said, inquisitiveness was all very
  well, but it could easily become rudeness. Bob and
  she tried to keep the rule that Cat could ask them
  anything, but she would have to learn that she
  couldn't ask other people too many questions. The
  problem was that once that was established, what
  you could ask whom was a whole universe. Anyway,
  she'd told Cat to let that one woman alone.
  
  They'd brought some books, both old and new, to
  read to Cat to keep her amused. Bob was reading one
  of the old ones and Jeanette was deep into a
  mystery from the library when Cat's attention
  wandered.
  
  "Can we go eat now?"
  
  "Are you hungry?" There was a snack car on the
  train. While they had brought their own food, the
  tables were probably necessary. "We can eat when
  Maman gets to a stopping place." Jeanette found a
  stopping place before Cat started to nag her. She
  took Cat to the ladies' where they both relieved
  themselves and washed their hands. When Bob and Cat
  got to the snack car, the mother and the baby were
  there.
  
  "Is your baby a girl or a boy?" Cat asked. So much
  for 'jamais.' 'Never' had come quite soon.
  
  "He's a boy. His name's Billy."
  
  "Hello, Billy. My name is Cat."
  
  "And my name is Bob Brennan. I'm sorry our daughter
  has been bothering you."
  
  "I'm Grace Johnson. It hasn't been a bother."
  
  "Vous avez eu raison, Maman," Cat told Jeanette on
  her arrival. "Il est un garcon."
  
  "English, mon chat. It is not polite to speak a
  language in front of other people which they do not
  understand."
  
  "You were right. He is a boy. His name is Billy."
  
  "Hello Billy."
  
  "And this is Mrs. Johnson," put in Bob. "My wife
  Jeanette."
  
  "Hello," said Jeanette. "If you can tolerate us a
  bit longer, do you mind if we join you? Pulling Cat
  from this table would be a struggle."
  
  "Go right ahead."
  
  "We have carrot and celery sticks. You're welcome
  to them. They're not on Billy's diet right now, I
  can tell." Mrs. Johnson accepted some carrot
  sticks. Cat, who was much more interested in Billy,
  did not. She waved a finger within his reach.
  "Cat, no!" Jeanette said, pulling the arm back.
  "You don't touch another person without his
  permission."
  
  "I wasn't touching him. He wouldn't grab my finger
  if he didn't want to." And, of course, Maman had
  touched her without her permission. But Maman made
  rules; she didn't follow them.
  
  "In this case, Mrs. Johnson is the one to ask
  permission. And ask it first."
  
  "Mrs. Johnson, do you mind if Billy grabs my
  finger?"
  
  "That's all right, Cat, but don't let him put it in
  his mouth. He's teething."
  
  "Yes, ma'am." Cat went back to waving her finger in
  front of Billy. He smiled when he grabbed it. She
  pulled it back, but only enough to keep the game
  going. Mrs. Johnson watched for a moment, then
  checked the change in her purse.
  
  "Do you think you could watch Billy for a minute
  while I get another burrito?"
  
  "No." Bob thought the checking the change suggested
  that she might be running out of money. "You watch
  Billy, and I'll get the burrito. Anything else I
  should know?" With her head-shake, he went to the
  machine. In his opinion, nursing mothers deserved
  all the help they could get. Nursing mothers who
  could keep Cat amused were worth gold. He brought
  back the burrito and gave it to her. When she
  offered him the coins, he shook his head. "It's a
  small recompense for the intrusion you suffered,
  and for your graciousness about it. Besides, we
  invested more in things to keep Cat amused, and
  they provided less amusement." He nodded towards
  the car seat.
  
  Billy was finding Cat as fascinating as Cat was
  finding him. When he tried to pull her finger into
  his mouth, Bob tapped the car seat to his right,
  when that caught his attention, Bob tapped the car
  seat to his left. He let go of Cat's finger to
  search for the new sounds.
  
  "Two fingers, Cat, like this." He held up two
  fingers together. She followed his direction, and
  Billy caught them again. When she wouldn't let them
  in his mouth, though, he began to get bored.
  
  "Let it go, Cat. Ta memere told ton pepere that one
  should always quit playing with a baby before the
  baby gets bored. Then he might be interested next
  time."
  
  When Mrs. Johnson gathered up her child to return
  to her seat, Cat started to follow her.
  
  "Mais non, mon chat. You wanted to come eat. Now
  eat."
  
  Cat sat with ill grace, but the first bites of food
  tasted good. She ate some carrot sticks, a piece of
  celery stuffed with peanut butter, and half a tuna
  sandwich. Jeanette put the other half away for
  later. Cat was easily filled, but she emptied out
  quickly. Last, she gave Cat a pickle slice that
  she'd packed especially for her. Cat accepted the
  dictum of 'dessert last,' and she enjoyed pickles
  for dessert. By the time they passed him on the way
  to their seats, Billy was asleep. The adults nodded
  to Mrs. Johnson. She got off somewhere in Virginia,
  and Bob got up to help her get a suitcase down from
  the upper rack.
  
  By that time, Cat was tired of sitting. Bob would
  really rather walk, himself, and Cat gave him a
  perfect excuse. He walked with her the length of
  the train until they couldn't go forward. When they
  had walked all the way back, he held her up to see
  the rails and ties running away from them.
  
  "Sot Papa," said Cat. "They aren't moving, we are."
  Then she leaned back against his chest and looked
  her fill. Papa might be silly, but he was also big
  and strong.
  
  Bob enjoyed the feel of Cat in his arms. Sure, she
  was heavy, and he wasn't as strong as he had been
  once. But he could remember holding Cat when she
  was tiny, so tiny that her diaper in his palm would
  put her neck in the crook of his elbow. Those days,
  she used to look up at him in absolute trust. He'd
  never betray that trust, even if she called him
  silly now. The problem, of course, is that
  fulfilling that trust meant letting her run free.
  And, when she ran free, he couldn't really protect
  her. Well, he'd enjoyed her infancy. He'd enjoyed
  her as a toddler. He would enjoy her as a grade-
  schooler as long as she was one.
  
  He had been bitter once -- once? he'd been bitter
  for decades -- about how his father had gone off on
  business trips for most of his childhood and Vi's.
  Now, he saw how much his father had missed. The old
  man had made his choices, and he'd regretted his
  choices, but he hadn't chosen selfishly.
  
  By the time they had eaten a second snack -- mostly
  celery for Bob and Jeanette -- and returned to
  their seats, they had time for only two books
  before they pulled into Southern Pines. Kathleen
  was there to meet them.
  
  "Alone?" Bob asked.
  
  "Catherine Angelique, look how big you are now."
  And, after the kiss, "There is only so much room in
  this car, Bob. Charles stayed back so you could
  have the leg room. Try to get all the luggage in
  the trunk, though." Almost everything fit. The rest
  went between Jeanette and Cat except for Cat's back
  pack. That went behind Bob's legs while he enjoyed
  the leg room. At home, there were greetings before
  they started unloading the luggage.
  
  "Je vous aime. Memere," Cat said to her
  grandmother. Having been warned minutes before, she
  walked to her decorously and hugged her legs. Kate
  returned the hug. "Sharl!" Cat then cried. She
  raced to him and collided with him. It was
  something between a hug and a tackle, but Charles
  could handle it. He lifted her for a mutual hug,
  and she ran her hands through his hair. Charles was
  one of her favorite people, and his kinky hair was
  one thing which she enjoyed most about him. When he
  could set Cat down, Charles helped tote their stuff
  up to Bob's old room.
  
  "Sorry about this," Bob said. "When you figure that
  each outfit weighs less than half of what one of
  mine does, it's incredible how much you have to
  pack for a little girl."
  
  "Well, the books weigh more than yours do. Maybe
  not one volume, but one hour's reading sure does."
  Bob laughed in agreement.
  
  "I'm glad to see you," Kate Brennan greeted her
  son, "but don't you want to rest after your trip?"
  
  "Sitting down is the last thing I want now. We
  didn't walk here, after all. I'll move slowly,
  though. Is it hotter than it was when I was growing
  up, or has Chicago spoiled me? I feel as if the
  Carolina sun is punishing me for leaving home."
  
  "It punishes those of us who stay here, too. With
  all apologies to Chaucer, July is a crueler month
  than April."
  
  "If I'm going to be moving, is there anything
  useful I can do?"
  
  "Well, the lawn has been drying out. You know where
  the sprinkler is."
  
  "I'll get it. You'll have to tell me where to put
  it."
  
  Bob placed the lawn sprinkler at his mother's
  direction. Jeanette and Cat came out to join them
  and appreciate the breeze. Bob turned the water on
  at the wall spigot he knew well. Cat looked at the
  water arching up on the hot day.
  
  "Portcullis!" she said. "Maman? ..."
  
  "It's your grandmother's. You have to ask her."
  
  "Memere, my I play in your lawn sprinkler, please?"
  Cat had been going to ask Memere. Her permission
  was automatic. Maman was the one who made up all
  the rules.
  
  "If your mother permits, dear."
  
  "Maman?"
  
  "Change into your bathing suit, and bring a towel.
  And wear flip-flops in the house." Noting that
  she'd been right about all the rules, Cat scurried
  inside.
  
  "Portcullis, dear?" Kate asked.
  
  "She knows the real meaning of 'portcullis,'" Bob
  said. That hadn't been Kate's question. When, for
  that matter, had Bob learned the word? It had been
  after his freshman year in high school that the
  town library was closed for weeks for some building
  problem. She'd dug up a "favorite poems" book to
  save Bob from his print-withdrawal -- to save
  herself, really. Bob wasn't one to sulk in silence.
  That had included something about Marmion and a
  portcullis.
  
  "We have a lot of lawn sprinklers around us in
  Chicago," Jeanette began. She knew what Katherine's
  question had been. "People let them cover the
  sidewalk. When we would go walking, your son would
  say, 'Let's run to get through while the portcullis
  is up.' The three of us would rush through while
  the sprinkler was watering the lawn instead of the
  sidewalk."
  
  "Dear, really, 'your son'? You know, children are
  pot luck. You take what you get. What I got was Bob
  -- and Vi. Husbands, on the other hand, are a
  matter of choice. I can remember you being quite
  insistent that you wanted to marry Bob, and he was
  as bad back then."
  
  "Don't tell him, but I still want to be married to
  him. That doesn't mean I approve of all his
  habits."
  
  "My lips are sealed, dear. It would only make his
  head swell worse."
  
  "Impossible."
  
  "I think, though, that reporting his misdeeds as
  those of 'your son' is rather implying a blame on
  my part that I don't deserve. Cat, for that matter,
  is more your luck than your achievement."
  
  "Isn't life full of enjoyments at that age?"
  Kathleen asked. She and Charles had followed Cat
  out the door and were now watching her run in and
  out of the sprinkler. Charles was holding the
  towel. "Did I miss anything but my niece's being
  cute?"
  
  Bob said, "Jeanette just announced that it was
  impossible for my head to swell."
  
  Kathleen looked a question at Jeanette.
  
  "Any more!"
  
  "Do you remember, dear," Kate asked her daughter,
  "the summer that the library was closed and I found
  Bob the book of poems that were not by Kipling?"
  
  "Who could forget?" asked Kathleen. Bob had first
  learned a poem and then sought an audience. 'Bob's
  hitting me,' would probably bring protection from a
  parent. 'Bob's reciting poetry at me,' wouldn't.
  
  "What, warder, ho; let down the portcullis fall,"
  recited Bob. "I'd forgotten."
  
  "I didn't know you could ever forget a poem." said
  Jeanette.
  
  "You know, dear, you can complain about your
  brother all you want..."
  
  "No!" said Kathleen. "It bores Charles."
  
  "... But your famous vocabulary only partly comes
  from reading Britannica. Part of it came from
  having an older brother with a use vocabulary well
  advanced for his age."
  
  "Who talked all the time."
  
  "Well, yes, dear. But you weren't exactly a sphinx
  yourself."
  
  Charles was splitting his attention between Cat's
  cavorting and what he privately thought of as the
  ongoing Brennan debate. He tried to defend Kath
  against any accusations, but 'not exactly a sphinx'
  was too accurate -- or too great an understatement
  -- for him to refute. He never understood how his
  talkative wife could bear to practice Freudian
  analysis. That involved so much silent listening!
  
  "He forgot the book, dear," Kate explained, "He
  remembered the poem."
  
  "Not far advanced was morning day," Bob began. He
  rather proved her point by continuing until "the
  grate descending razed his plume." The others
  talked around him without taking notice.
  
  "Isn't she a dear," asked Kathleen.
  
  "Then you can dry her off and get her into her
  regular clothes," said Jeanette.
  
  "Gladly. Are you sure that you want her out of the
  swimsuit? The weather is hot."
  
  "Not until she wants to do something else or it's
  nearly dinner time. And she can really dress
  herself. It's just that being a mother is a full-
  time job."
  
  "Yes, dear," said Katherine, "but it is another
  thing that you wanted. And, I must say, Cat is
  quite able to find ways of amusing herself."
  
  "True. My job is seeing that those ways don't put
  her in danger or invade some stranger's privacy.
  And, for all your 'potluck,' it's the Brennan in
  her. For all his complaints about faculty meetings,
  I've never seen Bob actually bored."
  
  "And Cat is starting to read, isn't she?"
  
  "She still prefers to have books read to her."
  
  "Yes, dear. But when the tipping point comes,
  you'll have more time to yourself. I can remember
  checking on them both. You realize that there has
  been silence for hours. Have they snuck off? Have
  they died? Are they plotting some mischief? Instead
  they were each lying down with a book. Now,
  Kathleen would lie on her bed. Bob, on the other
  hand, preferred the floor."
  
  "A carpet was soft enough at that age." Bob, having
  finished Scott, was ready to rejoin the
  conversation. "Probably relates to the square-cube
  law. And, you've never seen me bored because you're
  so fascinating yourself. If I don't have something
  else to look at, I look at Jeanette. One, only one,
  of the many reasons faculty committee meetings are
  so dull is that I don't have the option of looking
  at you."
  
  "Come here and dry off, Cat," Charles called. He
  thought she was starting to look tired. He dried
  off face and arms, lifted her onto the porch, and
  dried off her legs and feet.
  
  "Stay in the sun for the next ten minutes, mon
  Chat." Jeanette felt that politeness required
  speaking English in front of the others.
  Endearments don't count. All of them knew that much
  French.
  "Oui, Maman." The sun felt good; Cat was a little
  chilly. She sat down on the porch step. Memere,
  Sharl, and Tante Kathleen were all here. When she
  felt too antsy to sit, any one of them would come
  with her to explore the streets outside. And, when
  they did, Maman would insist she wear the flip-
  flops, if not shoes. Elle aime Maman, mais elle
  commande trop. She twisted her toes and listened to
  the talk over her head.
  
  Cat nearly went to sleep while they talked about
  Congress and global warming. Her listening was
  rewarded, though, when they got around to talking
  about her.
  
  "I still can't believe," said Kate, "that Cat can
  learn three languages at the same time. I'll admit
  that her English is still wonderful, aside from
  silliness like 'portcullis.' I'm not saying that it
  isn't happening; I'm saying that it isn't
  possible."
  
  "The ability to learn language is something we
  don't understand," Bob replied. "One of the Berlitz
  family was the clear heir to the schools from his
  birth. They decided that he should have some
  command of most of the languages they taught. Each
  member of the family was assigned a single
  language. He was raised speaking a different
  language with each person. If Jeanette wanted me to
  talk with Cat in French, she'd learn Jeanette's
  accent and my accent. It's happened."
  
  "Which is why I don't want you talking to her in
  French."
  
  "D'accord, ma femme."
  
  "See?"
  
  "But," Charles asked, "you still have time on task.
  If she can learn a thousand words of French, a
  thousand words of English, and a thousand words of
  Spanish in a given time, why can't she learn three
  thousand words of English in the same time?"
  
  "A guess?" Bob got nods from the others. "She isn't
  learning words so much as she is learning concepts.
  The world is a blooming buzzing confusion when
  you're dumped into it. That the swing-back-and-
  forth source of water is the same as the twirl-
  around-in-a-circle source of water is the same as
  the other designs is a task. And, remember, when
  you first see them, they are shiny shapes; it's not
  at all clear that those shiny arcs are streams of
  water. Compared to this, learning that they are
  called 'portcullis' and 'lawn sprinkler' and
  whatever the French and Spanish are is a minor
  task. Where Cat's language skills will be truly
  trilingual is in her thinking of the word meaning
  the thing. I, sometimes even Jeanette, think of
  'chien' as meaning the English word 'dog.' I don't
  think of it as meaning some animal running down the
  street."
  
  Cat got up to look at the dog Papa was talking
  about, but she didn't see it. It must have gone.
  Her front was dry, but her back was still wet. It,
  particularly the seat, was beginning to feel bad.
  She lay down on her front on the porch to get that
  into the sun.
  
  "See," said Kate gesturing to her granddaughter,
  "Bob used to lie like that."
  
  "Genes," Jeanette guessed. She looked fondly at her
  daughter. If they tried to make Cat lie down in a
  soft bed for an hour, they would have a battle
  royal. But she was quite content to lie on a hard
  wooden porch in the way of anyone who wanted to go
  back in the house. Maybe it was the nickname. She
  was behaving remarkably like a house cat. "How long
  to dinner?" she asked.
  
  "Well, dear, if there is something you want to do .
  . ." Jeanette shook her head and pointed to Cat.
  "Then, I was planning for an hour and a half from
  now."
  
  Kathleen saw the problem. if Cat dropped off now,
  her whole schedule would be off.
  
  "Want to walk the neighborhood?" she asked Charles.
  He nodded. He managed to suppress his anxiety.
  Alone, he wouldn't be the only black face out
  there; with Kath and Cat, he'd be quite
  conspicuous. Kath never worried, and it was her
  town. For that matter, he'd seldom had a problem
  here. And there were bigots in Philadelphia, too.
  "C'mon, Cat. Change clothes and we'll go out for a
  walk. Tante K'leen will help you change." Cat got
  up.
  
  "Flip-flops inside the house," said Jeanette. Cat
  obeyed, and she and Tante Kathleen went upstairs to
  change. She didn't need help, and Tante Kathleen
  didn't insist on giving it. Except for drying her
  back, she merely watched. And Cat was happy having
  an audience. When they came downstairs, Charles
  joined them. They walked together, while Kathleen
  told Charles -- and Cat were she interested -- her
  memories of the places they passed. They got back
  shortly before supper.
  
  At dinner, Cat was hyper to fend off sleepiness.
  Jeanette, Kate, and even Bob guessed the reason;
  the other two adults noticed the behavior. For
  once, the Brennan table had only one conversation.
  Whenever an adult started to say something on
  another subject, Cat objected. "Papa, you are not
  listening!" Bob, figuring it was better than the
  alternative, listened. The obvious alternative was
  to send Cat to bed right then. That would mean to
  stay there keeping her in the room physically until
  she collapsed into sleep. Which would risk having
  her wake in the middle of the night, ravenous. That
  didn't mean that he enjoyed the process. Kathleen,
  Charles and his mother were seeing a side to Cat he
  would have preferred that they do not.
  
  "Now, mon chat, it is time for bed," Jeanette said
  at the end of the meal.
  
  "Pourquoi?"
  
  "Because you need your rest for tomorrow."
  
  "Pourquoi?"
  
  "Because you have had a busy energetic day today,
  and we got up early." Jeanette had sworn not to
  tell her child 'because I say so.' That didn't mean
  that she was never tempted, and it certainly didn't
  mean that she never cheated.
  
  "Pourquoi?"
  "Because we had to catch the train to get here."
  
  "Pourquoi?"
  
  "I keep six honest serving-men," recited Bob,
  "(They taught me all I knew);
  "Their names are What and Why and When
  "And How and Where and Who."
  
  "I can't hear that," Cat screamed. She climbed down
  from her chair, turned her back, and stuffed her
  fingers in her ears.
  
  "I send them over land and sea," Bob continued
  remorselessly.
  "I send them east and west;
  "But after they have worked for me,
  "I give them all a rest.
  
  "I let them rest from nine till five,
  "For I am busy then,
  "As well as breakfast, lunch, and tea,
  "For they are hungry men.
  "But different folk have different views;
  "I know a person small --
  "She keeps ten million serving-men,
  "Who get no rest at all!
  
  "She sends 'em abroad on her own affairs,
  "From the second she opens her eyes --
  "One million Hows, two million Wheres,
  "And seven million Whys!" As soon as he had
  finished, Cat unstuffed her ears and turned back.
  
  "I didn't hear that," she said. But her mother was
  there to catch her hand.
  
  "We are going upstairs now."
  
  "Will Cat walk with Maman, or will Cat be carried
  by Papa?" asked Bob. Given the choice, Cat limped
  sulkily towards the stairs.
  
  "Still want?..." Jeanette asked Kate over her
  shoulder.
  
  "Definitely!" Kate had handled tantrums. She wasn't
  going to let one deprive her of her granddaughter's
  company.
  
  "Sorry about that," said Bob.
  
  "She's tired," said Kathleen. "Maybe we shouldn't
  have taken that walk."
  
  "At that point, all we could do was choose when.
  Had she gone to sleep, she'd have had the tantrum
  when we woke her for dinner. And, flexible as young
  limbs are, I wouldn't have known how much was
  sleeping on the bare boards. It isn't the exercise;
  she had little on the train, though she walked the
  aisle more than she sat in her seat. It's the lack
  of sleep. When do you respond to sleepiness by
  heading for bed, anyway?"
  
  "Good question." Charles took that question to be
  directed to him. He was a pediatrician, after all.
  "I think it is something you learn slowly over
  time. Certainly, once you have finished a
  residency, you head for bed when the opportunity
  offers." They laughed.
  
  "Sometimes," Kathleen put in, "you even sleep." She
  had been the baby of the family for far too long.
  Since nobody else would, she liked to make the
  point that she was an adult.
  
  Charles kept quiet. He didn't know whether his
  embarrassment at Kath's mentioning their sexual
  activities to her family was because they were her
  family or because they were white. Although it was
  the 21st century, although they had a marriage
  license, he still felt a frisson of fear about
  fucking a white woman south of the Mason-Dixon
  line. And, really, although her family knew that
  those activities were part of marriage -- they'd
  even provided opportunities before the marriage --
  it was still something you didn't say. The list of
  things the Brennans didn't say was quite short.
  
  They shared stories of all-nighters. Some of Kate's
  stories were ones her children hadn't heard. The
  matron they remembered had once been an art-history
  major romantically involved with an older man at
  the graduate school of business.
  
  "Two years, Mother," said Kathleen.
  
  "Well, two years -- nearer three in age -- was
  significant back then. He was a grad student, and
  in business school. I was an undergraduate, and in
  something pure. My parents weren't scandalized, but
  many of my classmates were. And, of course, I
  didn't tell my parents enough to be scandalized
  until I was enrolled in the MAT program."
  
  "And you complained about me."
  
  "Well, I introduced them to Russ when everyone came
  to my second graduation. He was out and employed by
  then. I didn't announce it to them by saying he'd
  be sleeping in my bed."
  
  "And was he?"
  
  "Now that would be telling," she said. Charles
  laughed.
  
  "I was just wondering whether there was anything
  that Brennans didn't say."
  
  "That depends, dear, on the Brennan. And, of
  course, to whom. Kathleen, as I just said, kept you
  very secret from us. She may have told her
  classmates. Bob didn't tell us much about Jeanette,
  but we never figured out whether that was keeping
  secrets. He later claimed it was something that
  should have been obvious."
  
  "You knew I was dating her. If you didn't know it
  was love, it took me a while to figure that out for
  myself. And it took longer for me to tell her.
  Besides, at some point quite early, it became Bob-
  and-Jeanette. After that, Dad would have been
  shocked were I to betray a confidence. Even the
  louts who bragged to their friends 'I got to second
  base last night' weren't saying that to their
  parents. What was Dad's memory of my report before
  I signed the app for road construction?"
  "'I really think she really likes me.' Not terribly
  clear, dear."
  
  "But that was the news. That was what I brought
  away from the discussion. Jeanette liked me, or I
  thought she did."
  
  "Well, dear, for someone so articulate, you never
  actually said anything about how you felt about
  her. I'm glad you told her. Indeed, the first time
  that you mentioned love for her within my hearing
  was when you were addressing her. Now, we did have
  hints. You told us that you had to get to the track
  meet because Jeanette was running. Did you ever
  watch a boys' track meet?"
  
  "They held a couple of joint meets. Otherwise, to
  echo my daughter, pourquoi?"
  
  "My point, exactly. We were clear, indeed you
  sometimes told us, that you went there to watch
  Jeanette run."
  
  "And it was incredibly important that he was
  there." Jeanette had come downstairs. "Once Greg
  brought me to a meet, and I fell down. I came in
  dead last. Greg tried to console me. He was being
  nice, but all I could think of was that Bob
  couldn't hug away the embarrassment."
  
  "We were talking about how little Bob told us,
  dear."
  
  "Well, part of the secrecy was for me. Like when he
  asked me to go steady."
  
  "I never heard about that, dear."
  
  "Precisement! I told him I didn't want to have
  dates with anybody else, but my mother would kill
  me if I went steady with him. They had to know when
  he took me to the dance. They didn't know about the
  other times we met. By that time, I was telling my
  mother as little about my life as possible, but Bob
  was especially secret. High school was bad enough.
  You never knew when something your fellow students
  knew would get back to my parents. After all,
  everybody went into the pharmacy.
  
  "Anyway," she continued, "Cat is sleeping on the
  pad in your room. I'm sorry for the behavior."
  
  "Don't worry about the behavior, dear. I've raised
  two, and seen worse. Believe me. The pad, on the
  other hand..."
  
  "Do you remember what happened the last time you
  two shared a bed?"
  
  "It wasn't the last time, dear. And the sheets were
  washable. So, for that matter, was I."
  
  "The mattress..."
  
  "It's a water bed. You know the cover is
  waterproof. And Cat enjoys it so much. When you lie
  on it, the bed jiggles."
  
  "Well, you don't mind, but Cat does. I don't want
  her strongest memory of this trip to be
  embarrassment."
  
  "In that case, dear, as the adult who wants it,
  it's my duty to have a plan to eliminate the
  occasion for embarrassment."
  
  "Really, she's getting better. But I have fears for
  tonight. When she finally got to sleep, she went
  deep."
  
  "And so should we all," said Kathleen. "It's been a
  long day. Sorry I wasn't more help on dinner."
  
  "You were a great help, dear. That walk was
  precisely what was needed. And it wasn't a long day
  for me -- expectations, of course. But I'm not the
  one who drove all day. Really, I enjoy your
  presence. I'm not expecting you to entertain me."
  
  Bob and Jeanette stayed downstairs with her,
  though, while Kathleen and Charles went up to bed.
  The day had been grungy enough to suggest a shower
  before bed, though they had showered in the morning
  before starting out.
  
  "Save water?" asked Charles.
  
  "Not here." Not that sharing a shower really saved
  any water. At home, the hot sometimes ran out; it
  never did when one showered after the other. She
  took her robe with her and headed for the bathroom.
  
  When Charles replaced her, he mused on Kath's odd
  sense of propriety. They couldn't be in the shower
  together when her family was downstairs, but she
  would make suggestive comments to them. Well,
  understanding Kath was hard enough; understanding
  Kath when she was dealing with her family was
  impossible. Actually, there were four interactions.
  She genuinely loved her mother, but she hadn't
  quite got over adolescent rebellion. Fighting her
  brother was too good a sport to abandon. The truth
  was that she and Bob had enjoyed their childhoods
  and reenacted them on visits home. She and Jeanette
  were good friends. Her relationship to Cat was
  close to adoration -- mutual adoration, often
  enough. He returned to the room wondering what
  limits Kath's propriety would place on their sex
  life. She'd packed her diaphragm. He didn't need
  sex every night, but his picture of a vacation
  involved relaxed sex.
  
  "Lock the door," Kath greeted him. He did so before
  hanging up his clothes. He put his pajamas and robe
  on the other bed beside Kath's nightie and robe.
  When he had put his glasses on the night stand,
  neither of them wore anything but rings. He slid
  under the covers to touch her everywhere along her
  length. The twin bed with a footboard was confining
  after the queen-sized one they shared at home which
  would let his feet hang over. But the close
  quarters could be fun, too.
  
  Kathleen felt the familiar warmth of Char beside
  her. After their kiss he started to speak.
  
  "No words," she whispered. "Let's be absolutely
  silent." She felt him nod against her head. Then he
  began stroking her again. She eased back against
  his warmth while his hand played all over her body.
  A huge hand as it encompassed her breast as her
  hand certainly could not -- a clever hand as two
  fingers rubbed her areola on each side of the
  nipple while another brushed the nipple very
  lightly. Their next major purchase had to be a
  piano, those clever fingers had to play something
  more than her body, pleasant as it was to have them
  play her body.
  
  He started to slide his right hand under Kath's
  body. When it stuck, he stopped. She raised herself
  to allow him passage. When that hand cupped her
  other breast, she eased back down. His erection was
  jammed against her. He used his left hand to pull
  it up to pass between her legs. She raised that
  leg, and he took advantage of the easier access to
  cup her mons with his left hand. When she eased the
  leg back down, his erection was trapped between her
  legs and his hand was trapped where he most wanted
  it to be. He slowly stroked her labia with two
  fingers.
  
  He and Kath had fallen into a pattern over their
  time together. He saw that she got hers, and she
  saw that he got his. After a certain point, of
  course, he'd get his unless she held a gun to his
  head. (After a later point, he'd get his unless she
  pulled the trigger.) But it was nicer to have your
  lover worrying about you than having her worrying
  about herself. Even though Kath could be a wicked
  tease, some of those times had been his most
  explosive orgasms. Often, of course, they had
  mutual sex, sometimes even mutual orgasms, (On
  really special occasions, he could bring Kath to a
  series of moaning climaxes and then get his relief
  in her still-quivering body. But that wasn't for
  this house.) But those times he made sure that she
  was well on the road before he got close. One
  complication was that Kath was quite capable of
  multiple orgasms under the proper conditions. He,
  on the other hand, had left his teen years far
  behind. On those nights, he'd see that she got
  hers; then they'd see that they got theirs. Tonight
  was probably not a proper condition. Tomorrow night
  might well be. All the time he was thinking this,
  he was stroking her to readiness.
  
  She was reveling in the strokes of Char's magic
  fingers. She'd gone from post-trip tension to
  luxurious relaxation to quite another sort of
  tension. The sounds of Bob talking to Jeanette from
  next door when they had come up only set her back a
  little. The heat was building. When he removed his
  hand from her breast to reach for the bag
  containing her diaphragm, she came almost all the
  way back. His insertion would be silent. The
  consequent motion would cause sounds which would be
  unmistakable throughout the house. She grabbed his
  arm. Then she held a finger to his lips.
  
  He thought Kath's worries were silly. But making
  love to a worrying partner was a serious problem.
  He slid out of bed. His hand was fine for
  preliminary orgasms. The one orgasm of the night,
  however, deserved his mouth if not his phallus.
  Kath moved, trying -- he noted -- for silence, to
  lie diagonally on the bed with her legs off. He
  knelt between her feet and kissed up her thighs.
  When his lips got to her labia, his hands went to
  her breasts. Lick a labium; brush a nipple; lick
  the other labium; tweak the same nipple; lick her
  clitoris. The variations could be endless. He
  enjoyed them all. That she did too was evidenced by
  her gripping his hair to pull his face against her
  vulva.
  
  She enjoyed Char's tongue as much as she enjoyed
  his fingers. His teasing delay, only stimulating
  one thing at a time, visiting her clit so seldom,
  felt frustrating now, but she knew they would take
  her higher. She even enjoyed his special, wiry,
  hair. She played with it when she didn't need to
  pull him into her to increase the stimulation. As
  she soared, she let go with one hand to grab a
  pillow. Her last willed act was to pull it over her
  face. Then the fire burned through her.
  
  He knew Kath was close when she reached for the
  pillow. He squeezed both nipples while licking her
  clitoris. When she stiffened, he sucked her
  clitoris while pinching the nipples. He let go of
  the nipples when she moaned, but he kept sucking
  her clitoris as she arched beneath him. When she
  relaxed, he straightened. He got to his feet and
  swung her straight on the bed. Then he got in
  beside her and pressed his length to hers. He held
  his love as she recovered her breath.
  
  She came back from rapture to comfort. Char was
  there, and he was holding her. She experienced his
  gentleness now, only knowing his strength by memory
  and by the muscular chest against her face. As she
  recovered her strength, she petted his torso. She
  knew that he didn't want her hands below his waist
  until she was ready to do something about the
  resulting arousal. When she had her breath back,
  she reached over to turn on the lamp. She'd sworn
  after the first time she had watched his face while
  she sucked him off that she would never again do it
  in the dark.
  
  The lamp light, Kath's mouth on his nipple, her
  hand on his thigh, all hardened his erection. She
  got to her knees and edged away. He lay flat as
  close to the center of the bed as he could get. She
  climbed over his right leg. These motions, when she
  was intending only the practical action of shifting
  their relative position in a too-narrow bed, were
  more erotic than any poses Playboy had ever
  printed. Of course, what she was preparing to do
  might have fed his arousal, too. He scooted up the
  last inch in the bed and put both pillows under his
  head. She wanted to watch his face while he came,
  and he wanted to watch her mouth as she brought him
  off.
  
  She clipped her hair back again. She didn't want it
  obscuring her sight. She rested one hand on his hip
  while she took him in the other. She slowly let
  herself down until she had the tip of his cock in
  her mouth. Char's face looked expectant. She bent
  further until her mouth was full of him. She
  managed to watch his face as she rose up. He smiled
  at her, but he was beginning to look concerned. She
  licked the shaft all the way from the base to the
  notch in the head. When she swirled her tongue all
  the way around the head, his look of concern
  deepened. She was about to tease him with more
  licks when the sound from the next room penetrated
  her consciousness. The bed in there was sounding
  the beat that she'd been afraid her bed would
  sound. Well, they wouldn't hear her and Char, now.
  Should she? But, first, she engulfed the head to
  keep Char entertained while she considered.
  
  Bob and Jeanette had stayed downstairs with his
  mother. She asked him to turn on the TV for the
  news. When that program was over, she started
  watching the next show. Jeanette had a sudden
  suspicion that Katherine wanted to climb the stairs
  without witnesses. Was age taking its toll on her?
  Well, she could allow her her dignity.
  
  "Will you excuse *us*, Katherine? Cat isn't the
  only one of the family who had a long day." She'd
  got up. Bob was not particularly sensitive, but he
  had to have heard the 'us.' He'd got up too. Which
  meant that Katherine, the subtle Brennan, almost
  certainly had heard the hint. But she had made no
  protestation.
  
  "I'll watch a little more. Have a nice night. It's
  great to have you all here."
  
  "Nice of her to include us," Bob had said at the
  top of the stairs. "We know which one she really
  enjoys."
  
  "Well, while she'd manage Cat if we sent her alone
  -- not that Amtrak would -- I think our parenting
  adds to the pleasure of the visit. And, even before
  Cat, she was always welcoming."
  
  "Y'know, dear, 'You do it because your mother told
  you to do it' is a perfectly valid reason at this
  age. Some things have contexts beyond Cat's
  comprehension. Some things are matters of social
  convention. I've seen women feed their kids sugary
  Kool-Ade out of a baby bottle. Now, that is worthy
  of shame. Breast-feeding is not shameful, but it
  isn't something that the mother wants strange
  little girls watching. I don't think you'll be able
  to explain that to Cat for years; I'm not sure that
  you can explain it to me."
  
  "Mommy's reason for everything was 'Because I say
  so.'" In the room, she'd begun to remove her
  clothes. Bob had followed suit.
  
  "Well, it can be overdone; so can anything else.
  And in some moods, Cat isn't going to be reasoned
  into anything."
  
  "I just don't want to say that, Bob. Can you?"
  
  "Yes. Because my wife tells me to do it. Or,
  rather, to avoid saying that." He'd grabbed his
  robe and headed for the bathroom. When he got back,
  she'd taken her turn. She'd locked the door when
  she'd returned. Cat was good about knocking on
  doors, but -- in a sense -- this was her room, too.
  Bob had been lying on his side of the bed. She'd
  hung up nightgown and robe where she could grab
  them easily come morning. When she'd crawled into
  bed, they'd hugged. He'd kissed her deeply.
  
  He'd felt Jeanette's entire length against him.
  Their mouths had touched as their tongues danced
  with each other. Her sweet, soft, breasts had
  pressed into his chest. Her thighs had been firm
  and smooth against his cock, and he had pulled her
  butt to press them against it more firmly.
  
  "Oh, I love you," he'd whispered. She had known
  that he did. If it was more desire than love
  speaking at the moment, that was okay. She had
  desired Bob, too. She spent so much time as a
  student, so much time as a mother; that had been
  pure wife time, the purer as Katherine was there to
  answer Cat if she woke. She'd felt Bob's hands on
  her butt and his erection firming against her legs.
  He'd held her breast. She'd known he was willing --
  as he always was willing, had been willing on their
  first night -- to tamp down his desire while he
  built up hers. Her desire had been, though, already
  quite high. She'd brought his hand to her center to
  show him.
  
  He'd loved Jeanette, desired Jeanette. It had been
  only partly the transformation of the tensions of
  the day into sexual tension. The room, and the
  years he'd spent in the room in unsatisfied desire
  for Jeanette Jacobs, was another small part. Her
  skill with their daughter and kindness toward his
  family had, perhaps, been another sliver. Mostly,
  however, it had been that he had always desired
  her. She was the sexiest woman he knew. And he'd
  had her sexy butt and her even sexier breasts in
  his hand. Then she'd pulled that hand to her
  sexiest part. To crown it all, her cunt had been
  running. When she'd fallen onto her back, he'd
  stroked that moisture all along her cunt lips. When
  his finger had passed over her clit the first time,
  she'd gripped his shoulder.
  
  Even after she'd signaled her readiness to Bob,
  he'd taken his time. He'd hissed her breast up to
  the nipple; then he'd sucked the nipple. All the
  time, he'd been tickling her clit. She'd had to
  pull harder on his shoulder to start him moving to
  kneel between her legs. Then, once in place, he'd
  moved up above her while he'd moved into her. The
  familiar warm wedge had parted her lower lips. Then
  her entry had stretched while it had been rubbed.
  She felt the shaft glide through the entrance as
  the head went on to spread her deeper and deeper.
  Finally, she had been filled, filled with the love
  of her life. Bob had paused and shifted -- a
  shifting which had been exciting in its own right -
  - until his hands were on her breasts. He'd
  whispered before moving.
  
  "So, warm, so sweet. I love you." And he had loved
  Jeanette -- loved her all the more for the
  answering hug of her arms on his back, her legs
  around his hips. She had delivered an even sexier,
  more private, hug on his member buried in her. Then
  he had begun the old rhythm holding her breasts in
  his hand and gazing into her eyes in the dimness.
  He'd gone slowly and gently at first, and she'd
  responded with gentle raisings of her hips to meet
  him. Then, when his hunger had driven him more
  strongly, she'd responded more strongly.
  
  Their rocking had driven the bed's rocking that
  Kathleen had heard.
  
  Jeanette gritted her teeth as the tension rose. She
  was in Bob's arms. held by him, holding him as he
  moved above her and within her. Seven years of
  motherhood kept her from crying out, but her mind
  cried out as the fire flared within her. As Bob
  squeezed her breasts, the fire filled her --
  consumed her. She was the fire.
  
  He felt Jeanette stiffen under him, then rise
  against him. Finally, he felt her contract
  rhythmically around him where he was stroking
  through her moist warmth. That took him over. He
  drew out until only his tip was enclosed, He drove
  down and in and forward. Poised above her and
  buried deep within her, he pulsed and pulsed and
  pumped his essence into her. When he collapsed he
  was able to fall to the side. They were so wrapped
  together that he brought her with him. They lay
  panting face to face.
  
  "Love," he managed to say finally.
  
  "Love you," she replied. It was minutes before they
  restored the sheets and spooned together. It had
  been a long day, and Cat was a less immediate
  responsibility. She was with sa memere. They were
  soon deep in sleep.
  
  Meanwhile, Kathleen had made her decision. With Bob
  engaged in his own sexual activities-- somehow, she
  never worried about Jeanette overhearing her,
  although she was also engaged in her own sexual
  activities -- they wouldn't be overheard. The
  diaphragm might take too long, but she had a condom
  in her diaphragm bag for emergencies. This
  qualified. Char's expression went from frustrated
  to puzzled as she rooted in the bag and pulled out
  the packet. She couldn't spare his face any
  attention until she'd sheathed him. She crawled up
  in the bed, decided that putting a nipple in Char's
  mouth would put her head through the wall, and
  poised over his center. She watched his face as she
  grasped him and herself. His expression as she
  slowly impaled herself on him was as erotic as the
  sensation of his cock entering her, filling her.
  
  He'd been frustrated when Kath stopped all
  stimulation. The woman was a terrible tease,
  capable of starting conversations while he ached
  for relief. But she'd made in quite clear that she
  didn't want any love-bed conversation in this
  house. When she reached for her bag, he was
  puzzled. Inserting her diaphragm was his task, and
  they both loved having him do it. She'd said not
  to. The rubber was another puzzle. Then she was
  towering over him ready to take him into her. The
  sight of her nakedness above him, fuzzy as it was,
  aroused him powerfully. The smoothness as she
  engulfed him was even more exciting than his entry
  into her ever was. But he had to bring her along,
  and that would be difficult considering his present
  state. He reached his right hand between her legs
  as his left cupped her breast.
  
  She loved him, and often respected his
  intelligence. Char could be so smart about so much,
  and then so stupid about such obvious things. She
  had already had hers. This was going to be his
  climax, and her view. She grabbed his hand before
  it reached her clit and brought it to her left
  breast. She rested her hands on his shoulders. With
  her arms straight, she raised her hips until the
  head of his cock was beginning to spread her
  vestibule. Then she watched his face as she lowered
  herself again. The warmth of his hands was
  arousing, the friction of his cock in her was
  arousing. The expression of wonder on his face was
  most arousing of all. She found herself timing the
  rhythm of her rise and fall around his cock to the
  sounds of the bed from the other room.
  
  He had to allow Kath her way on this, and her way
  was remarkably unselfish. As he held her breasts in
  his hands, he watched -- and felt -- her loins
  swing up and down over his phallus. Kath was beyond
  teasing now. She rose and fell around him as
  steadily as a metronome. As his arousal approached
  its peak, her pace seemed to increase. He gasped as
  he rose into her, lifting her entire weight as he
  shot and shot. She was still above him, engulfing
  him, her face enigmatic, while he panted in
  repletion.
  
  She watched Char's expression go from pleasure to
  concern to worry. In this position, with her arms
  straight and her hands on his shoulders, their
  faces were at the same distance while their groins
  met and parted. Worry turned to agony just before
  he bucked under her. The agony got even more
  intense as he throbbed within her. Then she watched
  it relax into deepest bliss. His hands fell from
  her breasts. He started to look concerned again,
  and reached between her legs. This time, she raised
  herself slightly so he could grasp the condom while
  he eased out. She took the condom from him, wrapped
  it in Kleenex, and dropped it into the waste
  basket. She handed him another Kleenex and took one
  for herself before she moved off and lay on her
  side. He turned on his and held her as the sounds
  from the other room sped again and then stopped
  with a smack.
  
  "But you didn't," Char said. She had, earlier. And
  she'd seen him come from a remarkable vantage
  point. Maybe she should do that more often at home.
  Anyway, Bob might not be listening -- from the
  sounds he was probably talking -- but it was no
  longer safe.
  
  "We'll talk tomorrow, somewhere outside. Get the
  lamp, will you." He got the lamp and it was dark,
  darker than it would be in minutes when her eyes
  readjusted. The magic fingers might be the greatest
  pleasure of being married to Char, but the long
  arms were another advantage. She would have had to
  move to reach the lamp. Life was good. "Thank you,
  God." It was the last words from either of them
  that night.
  
  Kate stayed down watching TV. She wasn't ignoring
  it, was following, even predicting the plot twists.
  But that didn't take all her attention. Now that
  she watched more television, she marveled that
  anyone, however immature and EMH, could have TV
  fill their thoughts. On another level, she enjoyed
  having her children sleeping in her house -- and
  her grandchild. The house was somehow much emptier
  with Russ in the graveyard than it had ever been
  with him at the office. And, of course, only her
  mind told her that five persons were asleep
  upstairs. But it still was much less lonely. 
  
  And, if they had sought their beds for another
  reason than sleep, that was great, too. Whatever
  her daughter thought, she did not begrudge her the
  enjoyment of an active sex life. Russ used to say
  that each of us carries a little copy of our
  friends -- even of our acquaintances -- inside us.
  Our behavior often responds, not to the actual
  person, but to that inaccurate copy. Well,
  Kathleen's copy of Kate was a woman who had
  obviously never explained to Vi how women could
  masturbate and that it was a morally-neutral but
  exceptionally private activity. She was reacting
  against a puritan who was quite unlike the mother
  she'd actually had. Someday, preferably when
  Charles wasn't there to be embarrassed, she was
  going to tell her daughter, "I know you're screwing
  Charles, dear. I assigned you to the same room,
  remember?"
  
  Anyway, both Kathleen and Jeanette had led their
  husbands upstairs. She was not going to supervise
  her children's sex lives, but she could approve.
  And wives making the first move brought her
  approval. Men could chase their wives; Russ had
  often enjoyed being the instigator. But making them
  put out more effort to get you than they would have
  to put out to get their secretaries was asking for
  trouble. No. Wanting sex, enjoying sex, being
  honest about enjoying sex, was the first step
  towards a happy marriage. And those were two happy
  marriages. 
  
  Jeanette was the best thing which had ever happened
  to Bob -- Cat, of course, but Cat wouldn't have
  come without Jeanette. And, she realized, the Bob
  she pictured with Jeanette happening to him had
  already been partly formed by his earlier
  relationship to Jeanette. The marriage might have
  come at an inconvenient time, but they had done
  wonderfully by it. And -- she reached over to a
  table to knock on wood -- this was the good life
  they had earned. Jeanette was finally getting her
  degree. Bob was teaching at Northwestern and
  publishing often enough to keep everybody happy. 
  
  Cat seemed to be fitting in at school. She was not
  only learning -- Kate had never worried about her
  intellectual progress -- she was getting along with
  her classmates. All Kate's worries about Inter-
  American had been for naught. Where the student
  body broke down into Latinos and Yanquis, Cat had
  been one of the Yanquis most ready to be friends
  with the Latinos. "I heard her talking French with
  her mother," wouldn't cause much of a scandal in
  that environment. Whatever her interests turned out
  to be -- it would serve Bob right if she decided to
  major in art history or economics -- having three
  languages wouldn't hurt. 
  
  Bob, who couldn't remember lying down screaming and
  kicking the floor about being taken from the toy
  department at Macy's was embarrassed by Cat's
  insisting on dominating the table conversation.
  Kate, who could remember the Macy's incident very
  well, was much less bothered by Cat's actions. And,
  at least, the worst punishment that had even been
  threatened was the recital of a teasing poem. And
  Cat was poor enough a liar that she took the
  fingers out of her ears just as soon as the poem
  that she claimed not to hear was over. A girl that
  bright would tell better lies if she had any
  experience telling them. So Cat seldom lied and Bob
  wasn't a secret child-beater. What had he said once
  about having the negative virtues? Kate wasn't
  going to supervise child raising, either --
  although Jeanette was kind enough to occasionally
  ask for advice -- but she could approve of that,
  too. 
  
  And, as the program drew to a close, it was time to
  enjoy Cat's warm body as well as warm thoughts
  about her. She got up, waited for the last scene,
  clicked off the first commercial, unplugged the
  set, and headed for the kitchen to get the timer.
  She had a remote somewhere around, but Russ had had
  an aversion to them. The TV had been Russ's, the
  network news his addiction. Joint property was a
  legal fiction; so much of what they owned was
  really one person's -- his TV, her cookware, his
  books, her books. She climbed the stairs -- slower
  than she had twenty years before but more rapidly
  than Cat had the last time. She changed to her
  nightgown and wore the robe to the bathroom. She
  made all her preparations including setting the
  timer for four hours before returning to her room
  and waking Cat.
  
  "Get up, dear. You need to visit the bathroom. When
  you get back, you can come to bed with Memere." Cat
  rose, reluctantly and groggily, but not sulkily.
  Kate helped her up on the toilet. The raised seat
  which had made it easier for Russ and still made it
  easier for her, made it harder for Cat. Cat had to
  be reminded to wash her hands, but -- when reminded
  -- washed them with good grace. Kate got into bed
  first before welcoming Cat into her arms. She
  turned off the lamp and hugged her granddaughter
  silently. Cat, who hadn't really been wide awake,
  settled down into the hug. Soon, they were both
  asleep.
  
  When the kitchen timer rang, she took a while
  waking up. It didn't sound like her alarm clock.
  Once awake, she woke Cat.
  
  "We're going to go to the bathroom again, dear. Do
  you have slippers?"
  
  "Flip-flops." And she put her flip-flops on while
  Memere got into slipper. She hadn't needed to go
  when Memere had gotten her up, but she did need to
  go by the rime they got to the bathroom. Memere
  pulled up her nightie and helped her up. When she'd
  got down and wiped herself off, Memere sat down.
  
  "Wash your hands, Cat, while I use the toilet." She
  could hear the water gush out of Memere, just like
  it did out of her. When Memere got up, she wiped
  herself and washed her hands. "Back to bed, Cat,
  it's the middle of the night. We've loads more
  sleeping to do." She didn't really feel sleepy, but
  the water bed was fun, and so was being hugged by
  Memere. She yawned. Maybe she did feel a little
  sleepy.
  
  "Still awake, Cat? Tell me about your trip here,
  but whisper. We don't want to wake anyone else."
  Kate turned off the lamp and tried to pay attention
  to Cat's story about the lady on the train and
  Billy. She was barely awake, but she lasted longer
  than her granddaughter did. Cat's pauses grew
  longer and longer. She fell asleep in the middle of
  a sentence. 
  
  When the alarm woke Kate, Cat was already awake in
  her arms.
  
  "What's that, Memere?"
  
  "That's an alarm clock, dear. Different ones sound
  different." And she could never bear to listen to
  Russ's again. "Let's get up and go to the
  bathroom." They both used the facilities, both
  washed their hands. She brought Cat back to the
  room while she dressed. Modesty was a weird idea;
  after all, she'd seen Cat naked many times. Changed
  more than one diaper. Still, Cat's eyes ob her were
  somewhat disturbing. She decided that Cat gave
  everything that much attention. She'd watched Kate
  prepare food as though she were memorizing her
  moves. But Cat's clothes were in Bob's room. "I'm
  going to fix breakfast, dear. Do you want to come
  watch or go get dressed?"
  
  "I'll get dressed." Cat had remembered something.
  Ordinarily, watching Memere cook was great fun, but
  this was a special day. "Je vous aime, Memere."
  
  "And I love you, too, Catherine Angelique, ma
  petite fille." Cat went and knocked at the door of
  Maman. Hearing nothing, she knocked again. There
  was stirring and bed noises. She waited. 
  
  When the knocking woke her, Jeanette untangled
  herself from Bob. She got up, put on her slippers
  and then her nightie and robe. She waited by the
  door until Bob had his robe on. By that time, she'd
  awakened enough to know that they were in Bob's old
  home. The knock, however, was Cat's. She'd
  recognized it.
  
  "Bon jour, Maman. C'est le quatorze, nest-ce pas?"
  
  "Good morning, mon chat. Do you need to go to the
  bathroom?" That was an important question. If Cat
  didn't, Jeanette did.
  
  "I have been. I washed my hands." She showed her
  hands, although they were completely dry. For some
  reason, perhaps because Papa was right behind her,
  Maman was speaking English. She knew to answer in
  the language used.
  
  "Alors, m'attends s'il tu plait." Jeanette went
  into the bathroom. When she got out, Bob succeeded
  her. With six people in the house, the bathroom
  could be busy in the morning. There was, however, a
  half-bath downstairs. Waiting for a shower was a
  minor inconvenience. 
  
  "Maman. c'est le quatorze, nest-ce pas?" Yes, she
  checked her cell. This was the fourteenth of July.
  Bastille day, which the cell didn't tell her. The
  next model probably would.
  "Mais oui, mon chat. Mais nous ne chanterons pas
  avant le petit dejeuner." It was going to be the
  fourteenth all day, but Cat wasn't of an age to
  wait. At least let Katherine get through breakfast
  and her first cup of coffee before Cat's song.
  (Although Brennan coffee couldn't make that much
  difference.) It would be a good idea if Kathleen
  and Charles ate first, too, Although she had warned
  them, at least. "Ta memere, ta tante Kathleen, et
  ton oncle Charles devront manger avant tu chantes.
  Tu, aussi, devra manger. Et avale!" Cat was
  learning, slowly, to swallow before she spoke --
  actually, she was better than Bob about that -- but
  she was quite excited about this song. Jeanette
  didn't want her singing the entire thing with her
  mouth full. She gave her yesterday's clothes to
  wear -- she hadn't bathed, after all -- and sent
  her downstairs. 
  
  Bob checked the hall before entering his room.
  Charles and Vi weren't up yet, although their door
  looked open a crack as though they were waiting for
  him. Jeanette was in the process of dressing. He
  watched while there was anything to watch; then he
  began to don his own clothes. When they got down
  there, Mom was cooking up a storm and talking to
  Cat. If Cat was antsy, she was trying to hide it. 
  
  "Dining room this morning, dear. This table won't
  hold six."
  
  "Very well," said Jeanette. "I'll be the waiter.
  You're doing more than your share."
  
  "Well, dear, I know where things are. It's not as
  if I had somewhere else to go." Bob sat next to Cat
  and her telephone book -- they'd brought it from
  Chicago a couple of years ago, the local phone book
  was too scrawny to help. He poured syrup on her
  waffle, spread it around with her fork, and then
  used her fork and his knife to cut it into bite-
  sized pieces. The sausages on Cat's plate had
  already been cut into thirds. When Jeanette brought
  in his plate, he began on it. She joined him, but
  rose to get filled plates for Charles and Vi -- for
  Kathleen, he didn't want to make an enemy of
  Charles who fought his wife's battles. That was
  totally useless; Kathleen was more than capable of
  fighting her own. He wouldn't want to meet Charles
  in a boxing ring, but he couldn't hold a candle to
  Kathleen when it came to verbal battles. He went
  back to get his own third waffle. Mom followed him
  in carrying her own plate. He expected Cat to ask
  for more. Why not? He'd eat what she left. Instead
  she sat there looking more antsy but making no
  effort to get up.
  
  "Have you finished, Memere?" she asked, At her nod,
  she continued, "Charles? Tante Kathleen?" They both
  had finished and told her so. She got up. Before
  Bob could admonish her that she should ask to be
  excused, she began to sing.
  
  "Allons enfants de la patrie." She was a trifle
  shaky, and Charles waited until he thought he'd
  found her key. He did join her on the last word.
  
  "Le jour de gloire est arrive." Now Kathleen was
  singing along, too. The trio got through the whole
  song letting the first singer sound the loudest.
  
  "Oh, darling," said Kate at the end, "that was
  marvelous." And it had been. If Cat wasn't going to
  challenge Marian Anderson's reputation any time
  soon, neither was any other grade-school girl. And
  she sang incredibly well when you considered that
  she was Bob's daughter. 
  
  "Sharl," Cat said. "You can sing! I didn't know men
  sang."
  
  "Men sing in church," Jeanette said. "You've seen
  them. Many men sing, just not all of them."
  
  Kathleen thought that 'singing better than Bob' was
  damning Char with faint praise. But, after all, Cat
  hadn't said that. She'd merely said that he could
  sing, and he certainly could.
  
  "You mother told us the surprise you were cooking
  up, Cat," Charles said. "We thought we should join
  you."
  
  "But was Memere surprised."
  
  "Surprised, Cat. Flabbergasted. And it was a great
  surprise. Now, does anybody want anything else?"
  
  
  To be continued in part 2
  Formez vos Bataillions 
  Uther Pendragon
  nogardneprethu@gmail.com
  
  
  My thanks to Denny for his help with this story.
  
  
  The index to almost all my stories:
  /~Uther_Pendragon/index.htm
  
  All the stories written so far about Bob and Jeanette Brennan:
  /~Uther_Pendragon/brennan.htm
  
  The entirety of this story:
  /~Uther_Pendragon/brennan/vos.htm "Formez vos
  Bataillions"
  
  The first story about Bob and Jeanette:
  /~Uther_Pendragon/brennan/forever.htm "Forever"
  
  
  

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