Thenceforth George cared for Peony from the time he woke until late afternoon, at which point Sylvia took charge. He dragged her along whenever he searched for edibles (feeding three people occupied most of their day and though they went about it with diligence, they lost weight and strength at a startling rate). As a consequence, he and Sylvia were rarely alone together. It was hardly the family life he had envisioned, yet it was not dissimilar to the life he and Rosemary had shared, albeit with greater responsibilities and less frequent sex. Sylvia had not visited him in the new shelter since the night after he had returned with Peony. He believed on that occasion she must have been grateful for his intercession on Peony’s behalf, and he told himself that in order to obtain sexual favors on a regular basis he might have to save other young women from exigent circumstances. He was tempted to coerce her by saying that he needed this consolation, that the strain of days spent worrying and watching out for the dragon was taking its toll (it would not have been an outright lie – his waking hours were marked by depressive fugues). Then seventeen days after Peony had entered their lives, Sylvia visited him again, crawling into the shelter as he was falling asleep.
A three-quarter moon shone into the shelter, gilding their bed of banana leaves, and when Sylvia mounted him she became a silhouette limned in golden light, her hair tossing about like black flames, an impression supported by the thatch crackling in the wind. She was eager and enthusiastic as never before, and George, fancying this increase signaled more than mere animal intensity, responded with enthusiasm. Afterward, however, she broke the post-coital silence by saying, ‘I don’t want you taking this personal. I had an itch I couldn’t scratch, you understand.’
‘Why would I suppose otherwise?’
Moonlight erased the marks of strain on her face and she seemed a younger, less troubled version of herself. ‘Because I know how men get,’ she said.
George scoffed at this. ‘They’re such primitive creatures, aren’t they? Quick to arouse and to anger. Otherwise they’re like backward children.’
‘About some things they are. Do you think I’m such a ninny, I can’t tell your feelings are hurt? I’m sorry, but I don’t want you to come away with the wrong idea.’
‘Let me assure you, I know exactly where we stand.’
Another silence stretched between them, and then George said, ‘One thing is puzzling. You told me intercourse was out of the question because you didn’t have your “medicines.”’
‘Peony says we won’t be here long. If you get me in a family way, I’ll fix it when we return to Teocinte.’
‘You believe her? You’d take the word of a child who’d stare into the sun all day if we allowed it?’
‘I’ve had to accept greater improbabilities. I’ve accepted that you brought us to this place by rubbing a dragon’s scale. People like Peony are often compensated for their impairment with a gift. But who . . .’
‘Don’t tell me you put any stock in that old business!’
‘Who’d imagine a solid citizen like yourself would be so blessed?’
‘Is that an insult in your view? Calling me a solid citizen?’
‘I didn’t mean it as such, but if that’s how you choose to interpret it.’
‘I suppose “solid citizen” must seem an insult to . . .’ George bit back the last of his sentence.
‘A whore? Is that the word you want?’
‘We’re trapped in this situation. It’s pointless to fight.’
‘Pointless it may be, but I . . .’
‘Stop it!’ he said, wrapping his arms about her and drawing her close, so that they were pressed chest-to-chest. ‘We’ve greater troubles to deal with. And greater enemies.’
‘Let me go!’
She sought to wriggle free, but he held her tightly. She pulled away from him as far as his grip permitted, as if to gain a fresh perspective, and asked, ‘What do you want?’
‘Just that we try to get along.’
‘This . . .’ Although under restraint, she succeeded in conveying that she was speaking of their closeness. ‘This isn’t getting along?’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘We share the work, we each do our part in taking care of Peony. What else is there?’
‘You could be pleasant.’
‘Ah! You want me to pretend.’
‘No! I want you to be like you were at the hotel. You remember. When you asked if I liked you when you weren’t pretending to be someone else.’
Amused, she said, ‘You don’t believe I was pretending then?’
He tamped down his anger. ‘I don’t care what you were doing, only that you do more of it. In spite of your faith in Peony’s clairvoyance, it could be months or years before we find our way home. We could be stuck here the rest of our lives. We need to make a better effort at getting along or we’ll drive each other mad.’
‘We don’t have to get along. We’re not married.’
