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TWENTY-THREE

“Maybe she’s never coming,” Gaea said.
“You could be right,” Chris replied.
He dipped his scrubber into the soapy water, swished it around, and raised it again to the big, pink wall of flesh.
They were in the Bathhouse, which was simply one of the sound-stages on the RKO lot which had been used for an Esther Williams spoof and then left idle for the task of Gaea’s Bath. The light was dim. The walls and ceiling were wood, the huge sliding doors closed. Somewhere hot rocks had been heaved into hot water, producing clouds of steam. Sweat poured off Chris and Gaea alike.
The scrubber was simply a big pushbroom with stiff bristles. Gaea’s hide, though soft to the touch, seemed unharmed by this implement, no matter how hard Chris used it. It was one of the minor mysteries.
A panaflex wandered by, scanned the scene, shot a few feet of film, and then drifted away.
“You don’t really think that,” Gaea said.
“You could be right,” Chris said, again.
Gaea shifted. Chris stood back, as any movement of Gaea’s bulk entailed hazards to normal folk who happened to be in the way.
She was reclining, face down, her head resting on her folded arms. She was in about two feet of water. When she settled down again her head was turned, and one massive eye tracked him. He was cleaning her right side, from the waist to the shoulder, working his way toward the upper arm. It would take him a while.
“It has been a long time,” Gaea went on. “What  . . .  eight months now?”
“Something like that.”
“Do you have any idea what she’s doing?”
“You know she was here twice. You know I wouldn‘t tell you if I saw her again.”
“You are impertinent, but I love you. Anyway, I know she hasn’t been here.”
Which was true. She had warned him that that was the way it would be, but it was still hard. Chris was badly in need of moral support.
On the other hand, this job as bath attendant was not as bad as he had feared it would be. It was obviously intended to demoralize him. He did his best to let Gaea think it was working, dragging his way to and from work on those days when she called for a bath. But it was just a job. Once you got over the bizarre nature of it, it wasn’t much different than painting a house.
He worked his way along her side and down the outside of the arm, cleaned his scrubber again, and began rasping away at her elbow and upper arm.
“When she gets here  . . . ” he began, then trailed off.
“What?”
“What will you do to her?”
“Kill her. I’ve already told you that. Or try to, anyway.”
“You really think she has a chance?”
“Not much of a chance. She’s overmatched, wouldn’t you think?”
“Anybody can see that. Why don’t you just  . . .  go out and hunt her down? She couldn‘t escape you for long, could she?”
“She‘s very crafty. And my  . . .  sight doesn’t include her anymore. She worked that part of it very well.”
Gaea had made oblique references to blindness before. Chris didn’t know for sure, but suspected that was Snitch.
“Why do you hate her so much?”
Gaea sighed. The clouds of steam swirled violently.
“I don‘t hate her, Chris. I love her dearly. That’s why I’m going to give her the gift of death. It’s all I have to give her, and it’s what she needs. I love you, too.”
“Are you going to kill me?”
“Yes. Unless Cirocco can save you. With you, death won’t be a gift.”
“I don’t understand the difference.”
“With you, it will be agony, because you’ll miss Adam’s love. You’re young, and nothing so good as Adam has ever happened to you.”
“I understand that part. I don’t understand why it’d be a favor to Cirocco.”
“I didn’t say favor. Gift. She needs it. Death is her friend. Death is the only way left for her to grow. She will never find love. But she can learn to live without it. I did.”
Chris thought about that, and decided to take a chance.
“You sure did. You substituted cruelty.”
She raised one eyebrow. Chris did not like to look into her eyes, even from a distance. There was too much ancient pain inside them. Evil, too, much, much evil . . . but he had started to wonder where evil comes from. Did one just decide to become evil? He doubted it. It must be a slow thing.
“Of course I’m cruel,” Gaea muttered, closing her eye again. “There is no possible way for you to get the perspective on my cruelty, though. I’m fifty thousand years old, Chris. Cirocco is just over a hundred, and already feels things eating away at her soul. Can you imagine what I must feel?”
“You mean three million, not—”
“Of course. What was I thinking of. You can do my back now, Chris.”
So he got the stepladder and climbed up with his scrubber and a hose. Her back was soft and yielding under his bare feet. She purred like a cat when he scrubbed between her shoulderblades.

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TWENTY-THREE

“Maybe she’s never coming,” Gaea said.
“You could be right,” Chris replied.
He dipped his scrubber into the soapy water, swished it around, and raised it again to the big, pink wall of flesh.
They were in the Bathhouse, which was simply one of the sound-stages on the RKO lot which had been used for an Esther Williams spoof and then left idle for the task of Gaea’s Bath. The light was dim. The walls and ceiling were wood, the huge sliding doors closed. Somewhere hot rocks had been heaved into hot water, producing clouds of steam. Sweat poured off Chris and Gaea alike.
The scrubber was simply a big pushbroom with stiff bristles. Gaea’s hide, though soft to the touch, seemed unharmed by this implement, no matter how hard Chris used it. It was one of the minor mysteries.
A panaflex wandered by, scanned the scene, shot a few feet of film, and then drifted away.
“You don’t really think that,” Gaea said.
“You could be right,” Chris said, again.
Gaea shifted. Chris stood back, as any movement of Gaea’s bulk entailed hazards to normal folk who happened to be in the way.
She was reclining, face down, her head resting on her folded arms. She was in about two feet of water. When she settled down again her head was turned, and one massive eye tracked him. He was cleaning her right side, from the waist to the shoulder, working his way toward the upper arm. It would take him a while.
“It has been a long time,” Gaea went on. “What  . . .  eight months now?”
“Something like that.”
“Do you have any idea what she’s doing?”
“You know she was here twice. You know I wouldn‘t tell you if I saw her again.”
“You are impertinent, but I love you. Anyway, I know she hasn’t been here.”
Which was true. She had warned him that that was the way it would be, but it was still hard. Chris was badly in need of moral support.
On the other hand, this job as bath attendant was not as bad as he had feared it would be. It was obviously intended to demoralize him. He did his best to let Gaea think it was working, dragging his way to and from work on those days when she called for a bath. But it was just a job. Once you got over the bizarre nature of it, it wasn’t much different than painting a house.
He worked his way along her side and down the outside of the arm, cleaned his scrubber again, and began rasping away at her elbow and upper arm.
“When she gets here  . . . ” he began, then trailed off.
“What?”
“What will you do to her?”
“Kill her. I’ve already told you that. Or try to, anyway.”
“You really think she has a chance?”
“Not much of a chance. She’s overmatched, wouldn’t you think?”
“Anybody can see that. Why don’t you just  . . .  go out and hunt her down? She couldn‘t escape you for long, could she?”
“She‘s very crafty. And my  . . .  sight doesn’t include her anymore. She worked that part of it very well.”
Gaea had made oblique references to blindness before. Chris didn’t know for sure, but suspected that was Snitch.
“Why do you hate her so much?”
Gaea sighed. The clouds of steam swirled violently.
“I don‘t hate her, Chris. I love her dearly. That’s why I’m going to give her the gift of death. It’s all I have to give her, and it’s what she needs. I love you, too.”
“Are you going to kill me?”
“Yes. Unless Cirocco can save you. With you, death won’t be a gift.”
“I don’t understand the difference.”
“With you, it will be agony, because you’ll miss Adam’s love. You’re young, and nothing so good as Adam has ever happened to you.”
“I understand that part. I don’t understand why it’d be a favor to Cirocco.”
“I didn’t say favor. Gift. She needs it. Death is her friend. Death is the only way left for her to grow. She will never find love. But she can learn to live without it. I did.”
Chris thought about that, and decided to take a chance.
“You sure did. You substituted cruelty.”
She raised one eyebrow. Chris did not like to look into her eyes, even from a distance. There was too much ancient pain inside them. Evil, too, much, much evil . . . but he had started to wonder where evil comes from. Did one just decide to become evil? He doubted it. It must be a slow thing.
“Of course I’m cruel,” Gaea muttered, closing her eye again. “There is no possible way for you to get the perspective on my cruelty, though. I’m fifty thousand years old, Chris. Cirocco is just over a hundred, and already feels things eating away at her soul. Can you imagine what I must feel?”
“You mean three million, not—”
“Of course. What was I thinking of. You can do my back now, Chris.”
So he got the stepladder and climbed up with his scrubber and a hose. Her back was soft and yielding under his bare feet. She purred like a cat when he scrubbed between her shoulderblades.

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