DISCLAIMER: As to the RGB, I don't own anything but a piece of imagination and an ability to feel affection. None of those are extremely profitable in the financial sense. So I happily don't make any money of my activities in this field.
NOTES: Sandy A., you are the most helpful beta-reader an author can dream of! Thank you!
INTERLUDE 3: Ongoing Battle
... Fascinating. Who will be the first to surrender?
Well, it's no use to delude myself. That's probably an ongoing battle. I wonder why can't he accept me without any conditions? Mother says I must be proud because of their high expectations. Well, I am. Sometimes. But other times... No, that's enough. Such musing is pure waste of time and energy. If one of us has to accept the other, then I shall be the one to accept. It is reasonable, and it will definitely make everything easier... for every person involved. Chances are.
... And Peter is still being circumspect. I can't define whom he trusts less - me or himself. Nevertheless, he has changed subtly. Of course, the status quo can be restored as soon as he regains his strength and returns to his previous life style. I am not so self-assured as to consider myself to be capable of preventing it. I do, however, feel responsible - and protective, which is even more irrational. Does he really require that, or is it just a product of my imagination?
I must be objective. I. Must. Be. Objective.
... Just why do the people invent so many methods of channeling hatred and displeasure, while there are so few ways to express the opposite feelings?
Part 4. OVERLOAD PROTECTION
"Egon, are you a certified nurse?" I wondered aloud, feeling an interesting mixture of amusement and frustration. I had to be losing my touch! Twenty-two days of additional trouble and my patented whining - and I was still there, in his room, being looked after, handled with with annoyingly endless patience, made to keep studying and even entertained, when possible. Grrh!
"Not yet, I am practicing on you for my final exam," he replied from the kitchen.
The kitchen wasn't Egon's natural element, but the results of his efforts were always edible, and when he really paid attention to what he was doing, it was even tasty. Nevertheless, three days ago I had claimed my rights to take part in culinary adventures. I was not fond of cooking, by no means, but... Hell, I couldn't let him do everything for me, could I?
I sniffed thoughtfully. Oh! Grilled chicken? I wonder, rice or potatoes...
I can't explain how it all got put together, but I stayed at Egon's even after I could limp on my own again. Funny, but I caught myself not wanting to go back to my old room. Nothing personal, of course! What's the difference between two rooms - or roommates, anyway? Well, Egon was much more well-balanced than Jeffrey. That's all. Oh, yes, his mind was also ten times more penetrating and less penetrable; meanwhile I still had a problem to solve - I wasn't going to let him off the hook until he cleaned that garbage out of his head. So I watched him, waiting for the proper moment to force him into a second session. It was a respectable reason for staying there, wasn't it?
I had learned a couple of things about Egon, but he'd never given me such an opening again. I couldn't say he was evasive, either. Still my investigation hadn't moved on. I had to admit Egon tickled my curiosity. He was the first person who I couldn't crack - even after three weeks of living together. Well, at least I was right, when I estimated the amount of challenge...
Hell, I couldn't even say what he thought of me!
Just a minute! Since when had that made any difference?
I hate it, when I can't understand myself!
Perhaps, he was doing that on purpose. There are different ways to manipulate, and curiosity is quite a reliable one.
Stupid! Why, in the first place? There is absolutely no way he could use me. Studying? Well, yeah, funny... Patronage? Ha, I've never seen anyone who would be less interested in his social status. What else?
I got up and headed for the kitchen.
Egon was setting the table. I paused in the doorway, watching him. Sure, football doesn't demand such deft fingers as physical experiments obviously do, but it teaches you to appreciate precise movements. Egon could be absentminded as hell, but he was never clumsy.
Again, how does he manage it?
"Peter, you should not put too much strain on that leg yet."
Fantastic! Now he can say that I am absentminded!
"Yes, Mommy," I grunted, lowering myself onto a stool and picking up a fork and knife. If my nose wasn't lying, I wasn't going to be disappointed... Mhm-m!
We ate in silence - for a change. When I realized it, I thought he was being polite again (sometimes his manners made me feel like a Bigfoot's cousin), but as I raised my eyes I found out that quite the opposite thing was taking place, so to say. Egon wasn't silent not to disturb me, he was somewhere far from my needs, this table or even his plate because despite all my efforts I couldn't find even a bit missing from his portion.
"Egon?"
He sat there motionless, with his eyes glued to the table and lips slightly pressed together. Absolutely impassive.
"Egon?" I raised my voice reasonably. No reaction. I waved my napkin in front of his face. Result - zero.
The normal coefficient of distractedness was clearly going over the scale.
"Egon!" I barked loudly enough to make my own ears ring.
He turned his head with a jerk.
"Yes? Sorry, I was thinking."
"You were, weren't you?" I nodded sarcastically.
"Do you require anything?"
"Yes. To be introduced to the object of your concentration."
He closed his eyes briefly, then relaxed.
"It is not a female, Peter," he said in dry tones.
"No?" I asked in mock disappointment. "Too bad."
He snorted haughtily and looked at his plate with a puzzlement of someone who all of a sudden has found himself standing on the back of a crocodile swimming to the waterfall.
"That's food, Egon," I told him kindly. "Meant to be eaten."
"Oh, are you sure?"
"Relatively. What's the matter?"
"A miniscule deviation of its molecular structure has produced..."
"Egon," I interrupted him, distracted for a moment. "Can you see the molecules?"
"No, Peter. I can feel them."
I managed not to choke up on the juice that time, but I made a mental note to avoid drinking, while listening to Spengler.
"How?" I wondered, determined to corner him.
"Well, I believe the term is 'through the Force'..."
I dropped the fork and burst out laughing. What else could I do after our yesterday conversation, when I recounted that movie to him?
"... of gravity," he finished up calmly after a pause, effectively sending me laughing anew.
He didn't join me, becoming preoccupied with eating instead, but I caught a glint of amusement in his eyes. However, it disappeared much sooner than usual, and I remembered where we'd started.
"So, what's the matter?" I repeated, hoping to knock him off balance.
I succeeded. Partially.
He looked sincerely and thoroughly puzzled - well, for Egon, anyway. I mean he did raise both his eyebrows for a second.
"What do you mean?"
Wonderful! What could I say? 'You reminded me of a statue'? "I mean the thing which is eating you so that you can't eat your dinner."
"This is just a scientific problem, Peter," Egon replied immediately. "Pure hard science," he added, with a somewhat rueful smile.
I eyed him suspiciously. Sure, I didn't know him well, but for some reason something sounded strange.
So what?
Why those alarm bells? It had nothing to do with me!
I shrugged this weird worry off and got up.
"The dinner was almost good. Thanks."
"You are almost welcome."
I grinned and left the battlefield before he put me to work drying the dishes or anything like that. So when Egon came into the room I was already digging in my books, hoping to excavate a couple of things for my paper.
"I am going to the library," he said, checking some of his own notes. "Do you need anything?"
"Can you copy several pages from Tylor's?"
"Sure."
I scrabbled down some key-words and handed him the card. It was the fifth time since my unexpected settling down at Egon's quarters that he offered to bring some materials from the library, and as I was not the quickest walker around yet, I didn't refuse. Besides, Egon was as good at giving as I was at taking. Convenient! "Thanks. Be careful crossing the street."
"By all means." He hmphed, opening the door.
I returned my attention to the books as I heard the lock click.
Okay, sue me, but it was a relief to have a chance to study in peace. I mean I happened to be short of time between all the frat parties and other stunts I had to take part in, if I was going to be what I wanted to be. I had already found out as a kid that the proverb 'too smart for your own good' was painfully true. And my motto had always been 'say no to spare problems'.
Well, I didn't go so far as failing my exams, sure, but I cared enough not to be seen with my nose in a textbook too much. However, studying in front of Egon never made me uncomfortable. It would be beyond even my ego to be afraid of looking too smart in his company. Besides... Hell, I dunno... There was something about him that provoked me to use every damned cell of my brain - not to hide their activity. Must be that contagious way of his. I had never met anyone as deeply interested in... Ha! Almost in everything! Once he shocked me with criticizing some point in the history textbook because the author had used the text, which had been translated incorrectly - from Sanskrit. Funny, uh? Not yet. The funniest thing was that I caught myself believing him immediately.
I remembered that occasion again as I stared at one extract with disgust. I hated Greek, but I needed that to illustrate my statement. Moreover, I needed the most precise translation I could manage. So I sighed heavily and reached for the dictionary on the shelf to my left.
The job was even harder than I had foreseen, but eventually I produced ten lines and gazed at them doubtfully. Nah, it demanded checking, sure thing. I was greatly tempted to lay the translation aside at once - for Egon's correction, but that was not an option. Well, I like surprising people - but not in the way I seemed to have surprised Egon that time, when I asked him to do my math homework ten days ago.
Jeez, everybody did it, and I had never thought anything about it before - before he favored me with that incredulous look... "It would be dishonest - both humanly and academically. You are joking, of course?" The most unpleasant thing was that I just knew he wasn't faking. So I muttered something like "Joking, yeah," and found refuge behind a sheet of paper. I wasted ten minutes, waiting for my face to cool enough for me to start thinking straight. After that I looked the tasks through and found out that I could solve seven out of ten. The last three were hard nuts to crack, and I was ready to quit, when Egon sat down next to me and handed me a glass of orange juice. "Take a break, Peter." I did, and then he somehow naturally stayed there and showed me the way out of the dead end. When the tasks were finished up, I couldn't help grinning, strangely satisfied with the outcome. Since that day I had called for help several times, but never before I tried everything I could come with.
And that Greek text was about to drive me nuts! Frustrated, I leaned backwards and closed my eyes for a minute. Egon, you'd better come home until I drowned your dictionary in the bathtub... or elsewhere!
Whoa! I opened my eyes again and looked at the clock. 8:49. The library was within twenty minutes walk from our place.
My mind was made up even before I started guessing consciously. To be more exact, I didn't start guessing consciously at all, I just shrugged into my jacket and stormed out of the room as quickly as the necessity to favor my leg let me.
It was kind of dark in the streets, despite the lights. Sometimes I think that the darkest month of the year must be March, not November...
I saw them in an alley, a couple of blocks from the library. Four bullies, that sort of the scum, which worm out at night and look for someone to toy with.
And a blond as their current quarry. Held by two of the attackers. With his arms twisted.
Funny, the picture was fragmented, and I couldn't combine all the pieces.
As usual, no police, when you need them.
There are times, when conceptions of strategy and tactics lose their sense. The happening made me too furious for clear thinking. Well, sure, life is life, no reason to become hysterical. I can't say I was shocked, either. But... Dammit!
"Okay, boys!" I said as calmly as I could manage under the circumstances. Fortunately, I didn't have to shout because none of the five were making any particular noise. And it is much easier to start commanding, if you are not forced to yell to grab people's attention. Besides, yelling is a sign of weakness, and I couldn't afford being weak - physically I wasn't a match to either of them, especially now. "Hands up!"
It had some effect. The process came to an abrupt halt, and the whole company looked at me questioningly.
"Eric won't be happy, you know," I said conversationally, playing my trump card at once.
Eric was quite real - even too real, according to Jim West, one of my teammates. In his case the situation was kind of reversed because Eric was after him himself, but I was sure none of these morons was him. And if your brain is at least as big as your nail, you won't ignore the warning that your actions can meet with disapproval of the Night King of the town.
They were hardly bright, but not hopeless, too.
"Why?" asked one of them so peacefully that I had to restrain myself not to punch him.
"That guy is his cousin," I replied casually, genuinely grateful to the fact that Eric's noble ancestors were Vikings and his looks proved that, as Jim told me.
The effect was stunning. The foursome disappeared in the thin air.
I didn't bother to see them off and knelt beside Egon instead. Now, as my rage had evaporated, I felt sick with worry. His glasses were gone, and his face was pale and smeared with blood, gathering in the gash on his cheekbone and dripping from his split lips. As far as I could judge without looking closely that was nothing compared to what his wrists and ribs had to be like.
He flinched slightly at my touch and looked up at me, squinting.
"Peter, I am most grateful, but it was hardly the wisest action in your life," he said sternly. "What if they didn't believe you? One against four is not the best odds, especially taking into account your leg. Are you all right?"
"You don't get it. They wouldn't have risked..." I began, but the sense of his words registered and stopped my thinking process. "Am I...?" I choked up at a half-question. "Isn't it my line?"
"Which one?"
"Forget it," I mumbled. "Egon, you look like..."
"Spare me your usual definition, Peter," he interrupted. "My hearing has gotten enough abuse as it is."
"Looks like not just your hearing", I muttered, helping him up very carefully. "Anything broken?"
"I don't think so."
"Why didn't you call for help, you idiot?" Suddenly I felt my knees shaking, and it made me all the angrier. "They could have killed you!"
"I doubt it."
"You... what?!"
He sighed with exaggerated patience. "They were not armed, Peter. All they needed was some... entertainment."
"And you decided to provide it?" I barked.
"Well, it was not necessarily my free choice..."
"Okay, Egon. Let's start from the beginning. Why didn't you..."
"I didn't see any policeman nearby, and certainly I couldn't ask innocent people to become involved in a fight."
"A fight? It was more of a beating!"
"Peter, you are overreacting," he interrupted again. "If I am not too good at self-defense..."
I silenced him by raising my hand palm forward. Must have looked pretty tragically.
"Egon, you better tell me at once... Are you crazy?"
"Hmm... May I consider this question later?"
"You are lucky," I agreed. "We are going to a hospital first."
"It is highly unnecessary," he protested. "I am entirely all right."
"Why is it so hard to believe?" I grumbled. "Besides, admit it, if the situation were reversed, you'd drag me to a hospital, regardless."
"Very probably. I would doubt your ability to estimate your condition correspondingly," he agreed dryly.
"So do I."
He was evidently set to argue, but an attack of dizziness seemed to make my point for me as I scarcely managed to catch him, when he swayed.
"Any other claims?" I inquired serenely.
"Not now," he said. "Would you, please, release me?"
Egon had to be really unwell, or he'd have never put it so lamely as to let me know that I'd hurt him. Besides, he'd have realized his request was senseless, all things considered.
"Sorry!" I told him softly, releasing my grip slightly. "Better?"
To my utter astonishment, he snorted with wry amusement. "Centuple." In a second he added seriously, "That's me, who is sorry. It was tactless."
For the first time in good ten years I didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. I decided against both, for a while.
"Egon, let's get you to a hospital, preferably before you make me lose the remnants of my wits."
"We seem to be short of time, in that case."
I couldn't help chuckling, even as I felt him lean on me heavier than before.
"A good guess. You in the mood for a little walk?"
"Yes."
Damned succinct.
"You look to be in the mood to faint rather than walk," I said kind of sharply.
"I won't," he promised quietly.
"Come on, then," I sighed.
"Just a minute, Peter. My folder..." He turned to the right. "Your copies are there."
The guy was something else. Literally, because I couldn't come with the name of the category he belonged to. On the other hand, he could be the only specimen.
I didn't let him bend, and picked up the folder myself, determined to save my comments for a more suitable moment. Then we started for a main street to find a cab. I didn't like the idea of walking for Egon, but I liked the idea of leaving him alone and seeking for the phone somewhere even less.
It took us about ten minutes to get to the crossing. As we stood there in the ring of light, waiting for an auto, I had only one way to monitor Egon's condition, so I resumed our talk.
"You know, I ruined your rep considerably."
"We don't choose our relatives," he said with a faint curve of his mouth.
At least, he was quite alert. "I wonder... Didn't you see them?"
"No, I didn't."
"Egon, even you couldn't be that nearsighted."
He arched an eyebrow at me. I groaned. "Don't! Just don't tell me you were thinking!"
His lips twitched.
I glared at him. "You reckon it's funny?"
"Don't you?"
"Not a damned little bit!"
"There is no need to make so much noise, Peter."
"Just wait until they tell me you will live, and I'll do my best to make you wish for them to be wrong," I promised.
Egon glanced at me. "Thank you," he said after a tiny pause.
While I looked for any matching answer, a car appeared. Strange, but the driver even didn't comment on our less than presentable exterior. I would have doubted his eyesight, but he headed in the right direction even before I realized it was high time to tell him one.
An hour later I was pacing along the perimeter of the waiting-room, torn between my worry and the tries to justify it to myself. It was pretty stupid! Nothing happened, right?
And that damned memory had nothing to do with this!
And I had no reason to boil over or to bite my nails.
And Spengler was simply too harmless, that's why I felt a little protective. No other reasons are needed, right? And there are none. Period.
I dived out into reality, when I bumped in the doctor, who was supposed to examine Egon.
"You can stop performing a tiger now," he suggested. "Nothing serious."
"Nothing serious?!" I repeat incredulously. "He was about to faint a couple of times!"
The doc looked at me thoughtfully.
"Only 'about to'? I was kind of shocked your friend made it here on his own."
I frowned at these contradictory statements. "Stop that damned word-playing, will you?"
"Sorry, I didn't mean to play," he answered earnestly. "Medically speaking, there is no serious damage, that is we don't have to operate; but humanly speaking, those rats knew what they were doing."
"Meaning?" I prompted with dark suspicion.
"Meaning, the next five days won't be the best in his life. I won't recite the list of his injuries to you because it is long and kind of frightening. The summary is that he is covered in bruises and has four cracked ribs, a sprained shoulder and a dislocated wrist. I don't include scratches. There is no internal bleeding, thank God!"
He paused for a while, as if giving me a minute to absorb the news. I think I didn't look overwhelmed with happiness because he went on meaningfully, "It could have been much worse."
"No kidding," I agreed sourly. "And it will," I added under my breath, remembering my promise and feeling more than up to fulfill it because suddenly I became outraged again - although somewhat differently.
"Praemonitus praemunitus, " Egon's voice delivered in his driest tones from my left. "Shall I seek for a refuge here?"
I turned to have a look at him. "Won't help," I stated succinctly.
For some reason Doc smiled. "You can strangle your friend a little, if you like," he told me, "just make sure he rests."
I grinned threateningly. "I'll take care of that."
"Hmm," Egon commented.
"No 'hmm', young man," Doc told him strictly. "Either you stay in bed, or you won't leave this place."
"Ever?" Egon inquired, dead-panned.
Doc chuckled softly. "Get out, both of you! Hope I'll never see you here again."
We obeyed.
Two cab rides per day - and I was paying only for a quarter of this luxury. A deal of the week! I, however, didn't feel like celebrating - I felt like breaking something, instead.
What the hell was going on with me?
I glanced sideways at Egon, who was sitting next to me on the back seat. "How are you?"
"A little tired and sleepy," he admitted with his eyes closed.
I sniffed indignantly. "Are you majoring in physics or understatement?"
He favored me with an expressively arched eyebrow. "Aren't these disciplines related, philosophically speaking?"
"Medically speaking, humanly speaking, philosophically speaking." I listed. "I've learned a lot about speaking today. Spenglerly speaking."
"Why are you cross with me?" Egon asked unexpectedly - and with... calm curiosity? Or something else?..
"I don't know," I blurted out, taken aback.
"I see," he said quietly after a pause and fell silent. So did I.
We got out of the cab and walked to our quarters, yet keeping silent. Despite or thanks to that I calmed down eventually. 'To hell with this! Nothing's happened,' I told myself firmly - and almost believed it.
Egon stopped in the hall. "Just a minute, Peter. I have to give a call."
I was going to move on, I swear, but my feet had an opinion of their own, and they planted me at the wall. Arguing with them would have made me look silly, so I leaned on the offered surface nonchalantly and all but whistled out of carelessness.
Meanwhile Egon came to the desk and dialed a number. Waiting for an answer, he also leaned on the wall, somewhat mirroring my stance. Any other time I'd have found that amusing.
"Good evening!" Egon's voice jerked me back to reality. "Would you, please, take a message? Yes... Mister Ernest Spengler, Room 169... From Egon Spengler... Dictating. 'Sir! Certain circumstances prevent me from arriving at the appointment. I beg you pardon for the inconveniences caused.' That is all. When could you deliver it?" He paused, listening. "It is quite acceptable. Thank you kindly."
Egon put the receiver down and rubbed his temple with two fingers absently. Somehow he managed to look worse than before, and believe me, it wasn't easy.
"Headache?" I was surprised to hear myself inquire.
"Ah?" He turned to me, lowering his hand. "Oh. No, never mind. Let's go."
That time I nearly missed, but still grabbed him by the elbow. Fortunately, it was his good arm. Well, sort of.
"I do mind, you know," I informed him with pierce intensity.
"I am really, sorry, Peter." And - grrrh! - he was sorry! I didn't intend to cause trouble, and Doctor Dermott warned me that the medicine could have such a side-effect, if..."
"If..?"
"If I am not in bed in half an hour," he admitted reluctantly.
I looked at him thoughtfully. "Egon, don't you know any simpler way of committing a suicide? This one really sucks."
"Well, theoretically speaking..."
"No 'speaking' for you," I said firmly. "To bed. NOW!"
I propelled Egon to our quarters. Well, 'propelled' was an exaggeration, but still. I made him sit down on the couch, put the folder I'd been carrying for the whole evening on the table and went to hang our jackets. In those thirty seconds I was away Egon fell asleep. I sighed, took my own blanket from the bed and covered him with it.
As to my dreams, that was one hell of a night! It ended up with me bolting upright at the disgustingly early hour of 7:32 after it came to me in my sleep that it would be most like that genius to go to classes. I rubbed my eyes and looked around quickly. Yes, he was up.
"Over my dead body!" I growled and threw away my blanket, which had returned to me magically.
"Good morning, Peter." Egon stood in the doorway. "What's the matter? You do remember you are not going out till Monday, don't you?"
I frowned at him. "And what about you?"
"I evidently do remember," he replied.
I closed my eyes and prayed for a spare pack of patience.
"It must have slipped out of your excellent memory," I said with the most distinct pronunciation, "that you are not even standing up till Monday."
"The difference between our conditions includes my ability to walk effortlessly. And I think I am quite capable of standing," he remarked.
"Are you?"
He blinked and gave me a half-smile.
"I am not leaving for classes today, if that is what you are asking about."
"Good boy!" I commented, covering my relief with a smirk.
"But I don't consider myself confined to bed. Nevertheless, I... er... promise to behave myself."
"Thank you. It's high time to begin," I hinted.
Egon sat down on his neatly made couch with an air of exaggerated humbleness, spoiled by two different expressions somehow reflected in his eyes - a layer of well-hidden pain and a good amount of mirth.
I rolled my eyes upwards. "How come that I must listen to you, while you do everything your own way, all the same?" I complained.
The mirth was gone in a split second. "Does it look like that? I am sorry."
It was my turn to blink. The guy had the subtlest sense of humor of all the people I knew, but he took some topics too seriously, and I wasn't acquainted with the whole set yet.
"It wasn't a true reproach," I said carefully. "I know you don't wave me off."
And when these words were out, I recognized them as a clue to what had been bugging me since that day on the skating-rink. I cursed mentally. Okay, it's good to know. And what next? How am I supposed to handle this bit of information? Especially considering what I tried to believe in yesterday?
Before Egon could react, I grabbed my clothes and headed for the bathroom. "Don't dare to rise!" I reminded him, turning the doorknob in the wrong direction.
After breakfast I returned to my abandoned paper. While I was marking the needed extracts in the copies of Tylor's, Egon corrected my translation (he mercifully didn't comment on its quality) and then immersed in a book.
It was about 2 p.m., and we were discussing the future lunch, when a knock at the door interrupted this interesting process.
I groaned and went to let the visitor in.
At first all I could do was to gape at the newcomer. The similarity was stunning, but at the same time they were absurdly unlike each other. Spengler Senior (I wouldn't have needed his visit card to guess his name) was a couple of inches shorter and broader than his son. But the striking difference between them was of another sort. He was at least ninety degrees colder. Egon looked... well... sunlit... you know, this hair and all... while his father seemed to be covered in ice.
He dismissed my presence as a minority, unworthy of any attention, and looked straight at Egon.
Egon stood up, placing one hand on the couch rail casually enough to fool anyone, and met his gaze squarely.
The air in the room seemed to start humming - or even sparkling.
I hesitated, at a loss whether to leave the stage or to stay. I mean I don't like being ignored, all right, but there was something more than that in the situation at hand.
I'll never know how Egon sensed my doubt. He didn't look at me, yet he spoke, and, well... I wasn't so unfamiliar with the standards of etiquette as not to understand WHAT he did - deliberately, I was sure.
"Peter, let me introduce Doctor Ernest Spengler to you," he said calmly. "Sir, this is Mister Peter Venkman."
The frosty blue gaze rested on me for a moment, and I was honored with an almost unnoticeable nod. For some reason I didn't grin in response, but bowed my head a little and answered with as much courtesy as I could under the circumstances, "Pleased to meet you, sir. Heard a lot about you."
Judging by the grimace, which crossed his face for a second, my last phrase was a mistake. On the other hand, Egon seemed to be suppressing a smile of amusement. So I had hit both the targets. Meanwhile I was seemingly forgotten once more as that snowman turned his attention to Egon again.
"You didn't come to the hotel."
"I sent you a message."
"Have you changed your mind?"
"No, I haven't."
"Neither have I."
"I have never expected you to."
"Very well." He nodded briefly and left the room.
Egon watched the door close with unreadable expression. Then he simply sat back down on the couch and reached for his book. But I stretched out my hand and moved the volume out of his reach.
"Egon, how far does your love for explosions go?"
"Not so far as to place a good amount of dynamite under your bed, in spite of the mighty temptation."
"But it includes self-explosions, uh?"
Egon tensed visibly. "Peter Venkman..." he began warningly.
"Egon Spengler," I interrupted, adjusting imaginary glasses. "Nice to meet you."
The tension drained out of him, leaving something else in its place. I recognized it as weariness. He sighed softly.
"Peter, isn't there any other - and more suitable - object to apply your remarkable stubbornness to?"
"No," I affirmed bluntly.
"That's a pity," he said, retrieving his book.
"Egon, stop making a fool of me!" I heard my voice increase in volume, but I could do nothing about it. "You have been bottling too much and for too long. In such cases explosions are inevitable! Uh, that compression and other stuff, you know."
"So, your opinion is that I have already reached the critical mass?" he inquired ironically.
"I think you have already crossed the deadline," I said meaningfully. "Or would you like to make this idiom literal?"
Egon interlaced his fingers and looked at them. "Peter, it is an absolutely stupid and insignificant matter."
Yes, he could be an immovable object, all right. I had no other way out. So I addressed to his overdeveloped sense of justice.
"Maybe, I can learn, why I had to talk you out of the heartfelt embrace of those four nice boys?"
The trick was kind of dirty, true. And I wished I hadn't said that as soon as I caught him looking away guiltily.
"Egon, I didn't mean..."
"No, you are right," he replied quietly. "I am being ungrateful. You are entitled to know."
Despite this admission, he didn't start at once.
"I think you deduced as much as Doctor Spengler and I being related," he said dryly, at last. "To be more exact, he is my father, as you have probably guessed. We have our share of disagreements, and you witnessed one of them. That's all."
'Disagreements'?! A disagreement of that sort, when at least one of the persons involved is so not himself that he walks straight in the hands of four violent morons? When the other one doesn't even ask, what has happened, though it's that obvious why the appointment didn't take place?
"The inhabitants of Laconia would have been most envious, you know," I told him.
I didn't have to clarify my words to him.
"It is really nothing, Peter," he repeated. "My father just doesn't share my scientific preferences. He, in particular, doesn't approve of the theme I have chosen for my research this year. He tried to... persuade me to change it. He thinks I'll waste my time and... influence my family's reputation."
"Is that all?"
Egon looked away, but answered with the frankness I couldn't help but admire, "That's the summary."
Well, after those two days I could well imagine a part of the rest...
"So, will you change it?" I asked softly.
"The theme?" He shook his head. "Of course not."
My expression had to be unbelieving because at that moment I didn't control it. Egon got me right - and elaborated. "It is my research, my academic career and my life," he replied firmly. "So the choice is mine, too, whether he admits it or not."
"I have always thought of you as of an obedient child," I confessed in a minute. "Were you..?"
"It depends."
"On what?" I prompted.
Egon chuckled. I'd never heard him laugh before - and it was not the way I'd like him (or any 'good guy'!) to. "On the definition of the complex conception of 'an obedient child'."
I waited - and was rewarded.
"I wasn't too ill-mannered, I hope," Egon said with a wry smile. "And for the most time my parents' opinion about many things coincided with my own. But sometimes it didn't."
"And you followed your own," I muttered positively.
"Precisely."
"But how could you know you were right, not the other way round?"
"The specifics of our disagreements excluded such absolutes as 'right' and 'wrong', Peter. That was the matter of a principle. For example, is it right or wrong to play the piano?"
I had no answer, so I just stared at him.
"My mother took after her parents and became a pharmacist," Egon continued. "But she is a musician at heart. When I was four years old, she taught me to play the piano." Egon paused and glanced down at his hands. "I suppose my progress was acceptable because she looked... really pleased, especially when I improvised. My father, however, considered it a waste of time, excusable for a little boy, but not for a grown-up. So when I was six, he forbade this activity. His argument was that I wouldn't manage my studies, if I spent hours playing. Well, I managed."
This time there was no continuation.
Frankly speaking, I felt sick.
"And your mother? Didn't she... object that prohibition?" I asked.
"My parents agreed on dividing the spheres of influence," Egon responded. "My mother never interfered in the program of my studies or anything connected with that." Suddenly he smiled. "It sounds ridiculously solemn even to my own ears."
My sense of humor had to be taking vacation. I somehow didn't find it amusing, again. I imagined that kid all too vividly.
No, I didn't pity him. Once Heinrich Beoll wrote that some people were simply beyond being pitied. Now I understood this remark even better than I'd have liked to.
But it didn't mean I had nothing to say to Spengler Senior.
"And you haven't resigned to it yet, regardless, have you?" I inquired quietly. "That's why you were out of your head." I fixed his gaze with mine. "Isn't it easier to break free completely?"
Egon's stare sharpened to the piercing force of a laser.
"Easier?" he repeated. "Peter, what's the matter between your father and you?"
Oops!
Uh-oh!
Er...
My mind was blank, and I was speechless. You'd think, by that time I had had to become immune to this combination of frankness and penetration. But I hadn't.
"Whatever he did to you, he didn't imply anything evil, I am sure," Egon went on, eying me intently.
"That's right, he didn't imply anything," I echoed automatically - and bit my tongue. That was a bad, bad slip. And I could have gotten away with it from anyone, but not from that guy.
Egon frowned and closed his book altogether.
"Do you actually think he doesn't care?"
"Egon, we were speaking of you, if you remember..." I said, preoccupied with picking out an apple on the plate, standing beside my elbow. It was a pathetic move, and I winced inside at its awkwardness.
"Some things can be only mutual," he said softly and without any apparent connection with our previous talk. "Friendship is one of them."
Wow! Who had said anything about friendship?!
He must have sensed my panic. "Overload protection, if you prefer," he suggested.
I glanced at him suspiciously. "And the fuse and wire's relationship is mutual? I doubt it."
A corner of his lips curved up. "Are you willing to argue this point with me?"
"No, thanks," I replied hastily. "I value my innocence too much."
"Did you say 'innocence' or 'ignorance'?"
I threw an apple at him. The biggest one.
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