'You OK, Trumper?' Tulpen asked. There seemed to be one cool eye regarding him, and one warm.
'Just fine,' he said, covering her leaking breast with his hand. 'You OK?' he asked.
'I'm better.'
He touched her stubble and looked at his hand lying there, the way one might look at an old friend with a new beard. They were both naked, except that he still wore his right sock. Baby Merrill nursed fiercely, but Tulpen wasn't looking at him. Her expression part smile, part frown, she was examining closely Trumper's new prick.
Bogus felt pleasantly embarrassed. Maybe they should get dressed, he suggested, since Ralph and what's-her-name, Matje, were coming over. Then he bent down quickly and kissed her lightly on her stubble. She seemed about to ... but declined to follow up this timid beginning. She kissed his neck.
OK, thought Bogus Trumper. Scar tissues take a little getting used to, but I want to learn.
38
The Old Friends Assemble
for Throgsgafen Day
IN THE KINGDOM of Thak, they really knew how to throw a Throgsgafen Day. For weeks before the fest, wild boars lay about in marinades and great elk were hung to ripen on the trees; barrels of eels crowded the smokehouse; cauldrons of rabbits, rubbed with sea salt and apples, were simmered in the fat of a rendered bear; a caribou - of a now-extinct species - was stewed, whole, in a vat stirred with an oar. The fall fruits, particularly the blessed grape, were harvested, mashed, allowed to ferment, strained and sauced, and last year's long-aging brews were rolled out of the cellars, tapped and tasted, distilled and tasted again and again. (The common drink in the kingdom of Thak was a urine-sour, murky beer, a little like our own American beer when flat, mixed with cider vinegar. The special drink in Thak was a distilled brandy made from plums and root vegetables; it tasted like a mixture of slivowitz and antifreeze.)
Of course, Throgsgafen Day actually took more than a day. There was the day before Throgsgafen when everyone had to sample everything, and the night before Throgsgafen when everyone had to prepare to make merry. On the morning of Throgsgafen, small parties were held to compare hangovers, and these flowed right into the main event itself - a continuous meal, lasting some six hours. Then vigorous physical exercise was recommended for the men, whose terrible athletic verve needed some release. This took the form of combative sports and sex. The women took part in the latter event; they also danced and made half-hearted attempts to de-gunk the castle.
On Throgsgafen night, all the lords and the ladies carried great troughs of food and left-over debris through the villages, throwing out scraps to the wretched little peasant children. This was a sobering part of the evening, but the party returned to the castle at midn
ight to toast all the dead friends of Throgsgafens past; this went on until dawn, when a special court of the Council of Elders was traditionally held to determine penalties for all the murders, rapes and other petty crimes which had occurred in abundance over the exhausting holiday.
Our own tame, dry-turkey version of Throgsgafen is indeed an embarrassing substitute, so Bogus Trumper and his old friends were determined to inject the spirit of Akthelt and Gunnel into the affair. A bold gathering was planned. Despite the unpredictable qualities of Maine in November, it was decided that Couth and Biggie had the only castle worthy of housing such a bash.
The presence of large dogs lent an original Throgsgafen flavor to the outing. One of the dogs was Ralph's. He'd bought it in celebration of Matje's growing pregnancy, and also for her protection on the New York streets. An uncategorizable beast named Loom, it made the trip to Maine from New York a bit trying. Trumper drove his Volkswagen with Tulpen beside him holding baby Merrill in her lap; in the crammed back seat, Ralph and his pregnant Matje fought with Loom. A burdened roof rack on top of the car held Merrill's crib, warm clothes, baskets of wine, booze, and such oddities as rare cheese and smoked meats which Biggie and Couth couldn't get in Maine. Biggie was handling the main dishes.
The other dog - Trumper's birthday present to Colm - was already in Maine. A Chesapeake Bay retriever with a thick, oily coat like a used doormat - Couth called it The Great Dog Gob.
Trumper and Tulpen didn't have a dog. 'A baby, forty fish and ten turtles are enough,' Bogus said.
'But you should get a dog, Thump-Thump,' Ralph said. 'You're just not a family without a dog.'
'And you should get a car, Ralph,' Trumper said, aiming his stuffed Volkswagen up the Maine Turnpike. 'A great big car, Ralph,' Trumper said. Loom, the backseat beast, was salivating down his neck.
'Maybe even a bus, Ralph,' said Tulpen.
By Boston there was no room left in the tiny glove compartment for any more of Merrill's awful diapers, and Matje had to stop to pee eight times because she was pregnant. Trumper drove furiously, his dull gaze riveted straight ahead; he ignored the wails of Merrill, Ralph's endless complaints about the leg room and the ominous breathing of Loom. What was I ever thinking of? Bogus wondered. It seemed to him a miracle when they finally arrived at the fog-shrouded sea-house glazed with falling sleet.
Gob and Loom hit it off right away; they romped themselves into a slaver of slush and mudflat muck, and Colm went wild trying to contain the brutes.
This day before Throgsgafen was an indoor day, and the menfolk organized pool games and bantered about who had brought what.
'Where is the bourbon?' Bogus asked.
'Where is the pot?' said Ralph.
'We're out of butter,' Biggie told Couth.
'Where is the bathroom?' Matje asked.
Biggie and Tulpen had a discussion about the smallness of Matje's belly. She was a wrenlike creature whose degree of pregnancy, which was almost term, resembled a small cantaloupe.
'God, I was much bigger,' Biggie said.
'Well, you are much bigger, Big,' Bogus said.