She did love him. She wished he would simply relax into her love for him instead of listening to the doubts that attacked him like viruses from time to time. This latest crush on her from Dan Farnham was no more serious to her than a third-former’s would have been. But it was anguish to Ben.
Was it fair to interrupt him now? Perhaps she should resume her own work. Cynthia had a study of her own, but whereas Ben’s was messy with unanswered letters, stacks of papers, open books on the desk and on the chairs and on the floor, hers was tidy and even dusty. His was a working study; hers was a museum. She would let herself rest through another weekend, and then she would return to her work. She needed to pick up her research again. But later. Tonight she sought other satisfactions.
“Are you at a good stopping place?” she asked from the doorway.
He swiveled to face her. “You’re up,” he said. “I heard nothing.”
“You were with the virgin at the homecoming bonfire,” she said. “I should be jealous.”
“You should not,” he said. “The virgin is a bit too dense, I fear.”
“Let me see.”
“Can you?”
She told him that her vision had cleared. He waved the paper toward her, and she came forward to take it. She read:
THE VIRGIN ALONE AT THE HOMECOMING BONFIRE
The pagans knew a thing or two of fire.
(I’m not about to make a study list
Of functions: heat, light, cleanliness. Let’s kiss
The lesson plans goodbye for half an hour.)
I mean more primitive matters still:
The way it flickers, seduces the eye,
Pumps sparks deep into the hard night sky,
Bonds us together, obviates my chill.
It’s life, they said, that elemental heat
(Combined with earth, with air, with wetness) makes.
We celebrate that life-heat now. It aches.
The sparks spill past the stars, die at my feet.
Why am I bitter? Here’s a cryptic hint:
The hottest fire springs from the coldest flint.
“You’ve got some syntax problems,” said Cynthia.
“Yes,” said Warden. “How do you read the situation?”
“She’s a frustrated old maid,” she said. “Not that old an old maid, but never married. And she teaches, and she’s attending the homecoming bonfire, and she’s bitter because she seeks sexual fulfillment, and she can’t have it.”
Warden smiled. “That’s very good,” he said. “You don’t think I need to put some lively teenagers in there anywhere? Cheerleaders with their skirts flying up, strapping football players with bulging crotches?”
“It’s very sexy now,” she said.
“So are you.”
He stood up and held her to him.
“Leave the lights on,” she said. “Just pull down the shades.”
Instead he dropped to his knees, lifted her tee shirt and kissed her midsection. She felt a surge of heat and slid down onto the carpet with him. She pulled at his shirt. He unbuttoned her jeans.
“ls this wise?” she giggled. She did not stop what she was doing.
“No,” he said. “I love you.”
“Love you,” she said. She was kicking now to get the jeans off when they heard the door to their apartment slam downstairs. “Mr. Warden?” came the voice from the living room. It was a student. She froze.
“What?” called Ben. His voice was shaky.
“It’s Robert Staines,” came the voice. “I was wondering if I could ask you about the grade on this poem.”
“Hell,” said Ben. “What’s he doing off his dorm during study hall?”
“We should have known better,” she said.
“Mr. Warden? Is it okay?”
Ben was sitting up and tucking in his shirt. “I can’t come downstairs right now, Robert,” he called.
“No problem,” came the voice. “I’ll be right up.”
“No!” they both shouted at once, but it was too late. He was Robert Staines, star athlete, and he took the stairs three at a time. Cynthia was struggling to pull her jeans back on and to hide her most private parts behind Ben on the floor when he saw them.
“Oh. Mr. Warden. Mrs. Warden.”
“Go downstairs, Robert,” said Ben.
“Yes sir.”
“Leave the apartment.”
“Yes sir.”
“Do not interrupt my wife’s physical therapy exercises again.”
“Yes sir. I’m really sorry, Mr. Warden.”
“Just leave now. I will meet you in the common room.”
Robert Staines left even faster than he had appeared.
Cynthia lay on the floor and laughed. She had never felt so humiliated.
“I will never, never set foot in the dining hall again,” she said. “I will never be seen on this campus by anyone ever again.”
“That bastard came charging up here deliberately,” said Ben.
“No.”
“Yes,” said Ben. “I know that boy. He’s devious.”
“‘Physical therapy lessons’? Do you think he’ll believe it?” Cynthia laughed helplessly at how awful it all was.
Warden started to laugh with her.
“It was our own fault for acting so impulsively,” Cynthia said. “I’d just like to die right now, that’s the only problem.”
Warden stood up and finished tucking in his shirt.
“Mr. Staines is going to wish he were dead after I finish talking with him,” he said. “He’s supposed to be studying in his room, not traveling around the campus. And not by himself.”
“Don’t be too long with him,” said Cynthia. “Walk him back to his building and then hie thee hither.”
“You’re awfully forgiving this evening.”
“Not at all,” she said. “I just want to finish my therapy.”
SCENE 16
The number rang eight times before somebody answered.
“McBain House.”
“Is Hesta Mccorkindale there, please?”
“No,
