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Description
"I'm back," Inlé called on entering the apartment.

"Good," his mother called back. "I wanted to talk to you."

Meeting Inlé in the living room, his mother continued, "I'm going out tonight. I met someone shopping the other day, and he and I hit it off rather well."

"Giving up on Father, eh?" Inlé said expressionlessly.

"Inlé, please!" his mother cried, straightening her long, dark-blue skirt. "Your father has been missing for years. We don't even know if he's still alive. You know I still love him. With all my heart."

"But ... ?" Inlé coaxed.

"Exactly," his mother agreed. "But I need someone here while he's gone. You need a father figure around."

"This is not for me," Inlé argued stonily.

"You're right," his mother agreed again. "Like I said, I need a man around. Someone to keep me company, at least."

Inlé sighed. "Mother, I do not blame you, nor am I otherwise upset. You very much need company, as you said. And perhaps this man will be good for you. I am glad that you are not holding on too hard to the past."

Pouting, his mother said, "You sound so cold, saying it like that."

"Perhaps," Inlé agreed, walking his mother to the door. "Go on, I will be fine. I am used to being alone, so tonight will not be much different with you gone."

"But I'm usually right here for you if you need me," his mother worried.

"Do not worry, Mother, it is fine," he reassured her. "I will spend most of the night in my room. Do not worry, have fun with this ... ?" he gently elicited an identity.

"His name's Cecil," she said. "Well, not exactly. That's what he told me to call him. You'd like him."

"I am sure I would," Inlé said, softly pushing her out the door. "Now go, lest you be late meeting him."

Looking at her watch, his mother cried, "Ah! It's almost five thirty?!" She began to run down the hallway as she waved back to her son, "Bye, love! Wish me luck!"

"Luck," he replied. "And do be careful, mother." He watched until she was out of sight, then closed the door behind him.

Inlé stood in his room, watching the sun set. And set. And set.

When the sun finally passed below the horizon, Inlé retrieved the silver band from his wrist, stretched it to the height of a door against his bedroom wall, and stepped through into the forest by the pond.

At the lakeside, Inlé said, "I am here, as desired, Lady. Where, then, are you?"

"Here," the voice bubbled. A woman, nude, rose out of the water to the waist. Her long hair was tangled with reeds and other water plants, and hung down to enticingly cover her form. But for her mottled skin--it being the bruised, pastel blue-greens and white-pinks of the drowned--she would have looked human. Beautifully so.

"Ah, a fideal," Inlé said. "I might have expected."

"Yes," she answered. "I thought you might."

Inlé sat on the shore, looking straight out to face her. "So. How shall we complete this arrangement? You offer the pot, what have I to offer you?"

"Interesting boy," the fideal gurgled, "most decide what they have to offer before asking for the demand."

Inlé said, "I care little for such frivolities, as what I value is not that which you value. Knowing this, I let you set your terms."

"Yet this is no surrender," she slid ashore to sit beside Inlé, arms about her legs. "I see that you may well destroy one so low in the courts as myself with little worry. So my price must, I suppose, be reasonable ...

"Still," she continued, more closely inspecting him, "you are beautiful to my eyes ... You've yet to know a woman's love ..."

She mused to herself quietly for a few moments. "Ah, perfect."

"Have you then decided my fee?" Inlé asked.

Her smile was large and genuine--never a reassuring thing--as she said, "They say age ripens the wine, and you are delicious now.

"My fee, then, is this: When love have you known and so of woman, thus whence be lost, return you here for love of mine own bosom."

"And consider this," the fideal said, grabbing Inlé's chin and leaning in to kiss his mouth, "a down payment, lover." With that, she disappeared, replaced by a large, iron cauldron. Inlé had Coire Ansic.

Inlé stood and pulled two bands from his left wrist. One band was stretched out so that it was large enough to encircle the cauldron, the other was shrunk to circle the inside of forefinger and thumb. Inlé held the larger ring over the cauldron and the smaller rested on his upturned palm. As the larger ring dropped over the cauldron it rose from the smaller, a miniature of itself.

"Oooh, nice trick, lover," the fideal bubbled approvingly, unseen but still seeing. "Care to take me along, too? I promise to be good." She paused, then teasingly continued, "As good as you want, at least ..."

"Nay, Lady," Inlé answered, returning the rings to his wrist and pocketing Coire Ansic. "I would not remove you from your home."

"Very well," she said, in a forlorn echo. "But do remember me. I will keep in contact."

Description
"I'm back," Inlé called on entering the apartment.

"Good," his mother called back. "I wanted to talk to you."

Meeting Inlé in the living room, his mother continued, "I'm going out tonight. I met someone shopping the other day, and he and I hit it off rather well."

"Giving up on Father, eh?" Inlé said expressionlessly.

"Inlé, please!" his mother cried, straightening her long, dark-blue skirt. "Your father has been missing for years. We don't even know if he's still alive. You know I still love him. With all my heart."

"But ... ?" Inlé coaxed.

"Exactly," his mother agreed. "But I need someone here while he's gone. You need a father figure around."

"This is not for me," Inlé argued stonily.

"You're right," his mother agreed again. "Like I said, I need a man around. Someone to keep me company, at least."

Inlé sighed. "Mother, I do not blame you, nor am I otherwise upset. You very much need company, as you said. And perhaps this man will be good for you. I am glad that you are not holding on too hard to the past."

Pouting, his mother said, "You sound so cold, saying it like that."

"Perhaps," Inlé agreed, walking his mother to the door. "Go on, I will be fine. I am used to being alone, so tonight will not be much different with you gone."

"But I'm usually right here for you if you need me," his mother worried.

"Do not worry, Mother, it is fine," he reassured her. "I will spend most of the night in my room. Do not worry, have fun with this ... ?" he gently elicited an identity.

"His name's Cecil," she said. "Well, not exactly. That's what he told me to call him. You'd like him."

"I am sure I would," Inlé said, softly pushing her out the door. "Now go, lest you be late meeting him."

Looking at her watch, his mother cried, "Ah! It's almost five thirty?!" She began to run down the hallway as she waved back to her son, "Bye, love! Wish me luck!"

"Luck," he replied. "And do be careful, mother." He watched until she was out of sight, then closed the door behind him.

Inlé stood in his room, watching the sun set. And set. And set.

When the sun finally passed below the horizon, Inlé retrieved the silver band from his wrist, stretched it to the height of a door against his bedroom wall, and stepped through into the forest by the pond.

At the lakeside, Inlé said, "I am here, as desired, Lady. Where, then, are you?"

"Here," the voice bubbled. A woman, nude, rose out of the water to the waist. Her long hair was tangled with reeds and other water plants, and hung down to enticingly cover her form. But for her mottled skin--it being the bruised, pastel blue-greens and white-pinks of the drowned--she would have looked human. Beautifully so.

"Ah, a fideal," Inlé said. "I might have expected."

"Yes," she answered. "I thought you might."

Inlé sat on the shore, looking straight out to face her. "So. How shall we complete this arrangement? You offer the pot, what have I to offer you?"

"Interesting boy," the fideal gurgled, "most decide what they have to offer before asking for the demand."

Inlé said, "I care little for such frivolities, as what I value is not that which you value. Knowing this, I let you set your terms."

"Yet this is no surrender," she slid ashore to sit beside Inlé, arms about her legs. "I see that you may well destroy one so low in the courts as myself with little worry. So my price must, I suppose, be reasonable ...

"Still," she continued, more closely inspecting him, "you are beautiful to my eyes ... You've yet to know a woman's love ..."

She mused to herself quietly for a few moments. "Ah, perfect."

"Have you then decided my fee?" Inlé asked.

Her smile was large and genuine--never a reassuring thing--as she said, "They say age ripens the wine, and you are delicious now.

"My fee, then, is this: When love have you known and so of woman, thus whence be lost, return you here for love of mine own bosom."

"And consider this," the fideal said, grabbing Inlé's chin and leaning in to kiss his mouth, "a down payment, lover." With that, she disappeared, replaced by a large, iron cauldron. Inlé had Coire Ansic.

Inlé stood and pulled two bands from his left wrist. One band was stretched out so that it was large enough to encircle the cauldron, the other was shrunk to circle the inside of forefinger and thumb. Inlé held the larger ring over the cauldron and the smaller rested on his upturned palm. As the larger ring dropped over the cauldron it rose from the smaller, a miniature of itself.

"Oooh, nice trick, lover," the fideal bubbled approvingly, unseen but still seeing. "Care to take me along, too? I promise to be good." She paused, then teasingly continued, "As good as you want, at least ..."

"Nay, Lady," Inlé answered, returning the rings to his wrist and pocketing Coire Ansic. "I would not remove you from your home."

"Very well," she said, in a forlorn echo. "But do remember me. I will keep in contact."