The Catswold Portal полностью

“We spent a lot of time together. We used to walk along the sea early in the morning after she had made the pies. She had a cook to do the breakfasts, but she always got up at four to make the pies.

“She loved the early morning sea. She loved fog pressing against the breakers, loved the wind. On Sundays we would go down to Point Lobos and walk there, watching the waves crashing on the rocks. She thought it good that I wanted to be a painter; she never thought it was sissy.”

He slowed and turned the corner, and directly ahead of them was a theater marquee. She glanced at it and went cold. The legend on the marquee jolted her so hard she swallowed back a cry. Across the white face of the sign, in bold black letters, were three words that filled her with fear and confusion:

THE CAT PEOPLE SIMONE SIMON

How could there be a movie about cat people? She didn’t understand; she felt betrayed, exposed.

Braden was saying, “Pretty good old B movie. Ever see it?”

“I don’t—I don’t think so.”

“About a girl turning into a cat. A silly story, but it’s well cast. Simone Simon is good in it. She really looks like a cat—more like a pampered house cat, though, than a panther. The special effects are good—Jacques Tourneur directed it.”

“A—a silly story?”

“Girls turning into cats. I like science fiction, but people turning into animals…” He grinned and shrugged. “Too silly.” He turned into a parking area.

She said nothing. They got out and he held the restaurant door open for her. She felt cold. She shivered as she followed the waitress.

There were yellow flowers on the table. She touched them, sniffing their scent on her fingers. When the waitress had gone, she said, “What would you do if that story about cat people was real? If you were to see someone change into a cat?”

“Faint dead away,” he said, laughing. “Or run like hell.”

“I suppose it would be disgusting.”

“I suppose it would—the arms and legs changing, fur sprouting all over, the shape of the head…Make an interesting series of anatomical drawings.”

She toyed with her napkin, folding it into a small square, then smaller. She felt disappointed in him.

But what else would she have expected? She thought, I am a cat person. I am that disgusting creature. I am your cat—the little calico who sleeps on your pillow. She said, “Do you dismiss anything you don’t understand?”

“Of course not. Would you like the waffles? They’re really very good.”

“Waffles would be fine.”

When the waitress had gone he said, “Would you like to see the movie? It might be fun.”

She didn’t answer.

“Come on, Melissa—I’d like to see the damned movie!”

“You said you weren’t much for that sort of thing, so why bother?”

“I only meant…I like Simone Simon. It would be fun with you, anything would.”

“But you…”

“I only meant that things like that, things that can’t really happen, people turning into cats—I just meant…Don’t stare at me like that. What the hell’s wrong? Oh, Christ. It seems silly to make such a movie, not silly to see it. Does that make any sense to you?”

“I—yes, I suppose it does.” But it didn’t. She watched the waitress set down his coffee and her tea, and she pushed her cup away.

“Are you all right? Are you not feeling well? Do you want me to take you home?”

“I’m fine.” She looked at him steadily. “Your pictures aren’t real. And reflections aren’t real. They’re not the real world any more than cat people are.”

He started to speak, but she pressed on stubbornly. “For one thing, reflections make things go backward—your right hand is your left. They are illusions. So how can you say a movie about other illusions is silly?”

The waitress brought their waffles, letting her eyes slide down Melissa’s bright tunic and pants.

Braden passed her the butter. “That’s just the point. Light and reflections are real. The physics of light photons, electromagnetic radiation—all that is real.”

The waitress came back with their orange juice, and apologized for having forgotten it. Melissa tasted it with curiosity. Cressteane Palace had orange trees. Five gardeners were kept to do nothing but maintain the spells for growing the delicate fruit, which was served only to the royal family.

Braden spread butter on his waffle and passed her the bacon. He gave her a deep, needing look, as if he wanted very much for her to understand. “Physics, the action of light, is a real science. But a woman turning into a cat is—that is just impossible. Physically, medically, scientifically impossible.”

She ate in silence. There was no way to argue with him.

And why should she? What difference did it make? He was an upperworlder—they were different. Totally, irreconcilably different.

He signaled for more coffee, wondering why such a discussion should upset her. And why the hell he was so strung up.