Patan Chapter Two
As Indy had predicted, they did see each other "around". He was at the house a lot that autumn, both in his capacity as Abner's teaching assistant and in doing his own research among her father's papers. Marion would frequently come home from school to find him bent over her father's desk in the large room that served as a combination library and study at the back of the house, and often he would remain for dinner. He and Abner would stay up late discussing some fine point of archeological theory, Indy sprawled in an armchair and Abner at his desk, filling the air with smoke from his pipe, even after Marion had grown weary of listening to them and gone yawning up to bed.
After his mistake at their first meeting, Indy's manner towards Marion had seemed to settle into an easy, offhanded teasing, very much the way an older brother might tolerate a favored, if pesky, younger sister. One of his pet names for her at that time was 'kiddo', as if he needed a reminder of the difference between them. Only occasionally, after Marion had made one of what Indy liked to call her 'fifteen going on thirty-five' remarks, did she notice him giving her a strange look, is if he had been unable to completely shake off his first impression of her.
Whatever else Indy might have thought of her, it was plain that he enjoyed having her around. On one of the last warm afternoons in October, he surprised her by straightening up from the pile of test papers he had been grading for the previous hour and asking her if she had any old bottles lying around.
"Bottles? You mean empty ones?" she had asked.
"Yeah. I've been at this desk work too long. I need to get outside and stretch my muscles."
"I still don't see why you want old bottles."
"You will," he said, unsnapping his briefcase and removing a coil of braided leather.
Marion found a carton of old Coca-Cola bottles, and the two of them went out into the backyard, where Marion sat on the porch railing, swinging her legs and clapping with delight as Indy proceeded to knock a line of the bottles off the back fence with his bullwhip, one by one.
"Where did you learn how to do that?" she exclaimed.
"I taught myself. With some difficulty," he added, running a finger over the old scar on his chin.
"Well, you're good!"
"I'm okay," he said. "I've seen guys back in Utah who could knock a fly off the ear of the lead horse in their team at a full gallop."
"I bet there are a lot of one-eared horses in Utah," she said. Indy laughed and went to set the bottles up again.
She saw a new Indy this afternoon. In the tweed jacket he wore to classes and the wire-rimmed glasses he used for reading, he tended to look shy and bookish, but out in the backyard in his shirt sleeves, with the afternoon sunlight glinting on his hair, he seemed different, on the one hand younger and more carefree, while on the other hand he had a hard-edged competence about him that seemed almost dangerous. Marion couldn't help but notice the way his muscles rippled under his shirt and the easy grace with which his body moved as he swung the whip. She had always liked Indy in a girlish sort of way, but now she began to feel an excitement that was altogether different. From time to time, he would give her a side-long glance and a quick smile, and she felt a secret thrill at the realization that he was enjoying showing off for her as much as she was enjoying watching him.
Every November, on a weekend near the end of the month, it was Abner's custom to host a party to celebrate the completion of midterm exams. Normally, Marion enjoyed her duties as hostess, but this year when the evening rolled around, she lacked the heart to face the crowds of people who would be filling the house. Doing the minimum, she saw to it that the house was in order and the refreshments were set out before disappearing into the solitude of her window seat. She pulled the velvet curtains part way closed for concealment and curled up to be alone with her gloomy thoughts.
An our or so after the last guest had arrived, she felt a draft of air as the curtains moved, and she opened her eyes to see Indy settle onto the cushioned beside her with a grateful sigh. He looked startled when he spied her back in the dark corner of the window, but it seemed to Marion that she saw a brief look of pleasure as well.
"I needed some time out," he said by way of explanation. "I'm never any good at this type of get-together. I just don't have the talent for idle chit-chat."
"You never seem to have any trouble talking to me," she said. As she spoke, she hastily brushed at the corners of her eyes, hoping he wouldn't notice the tears that had gathered there.
"That's because, unlike most of the people here tonight, your conversation is never idle nor is it chit-chat." Then he noticed her reddened eyes. "Hey, what's the matter? Have you been crying?"
She turned her face away. "It isn't important. It's stupid really."
"It's important enough to make you cry. Come on, tell me about it."
She shrugged. "One of the girls at school is having a party tonight."
"And you couldn't go because you had to play hostess for Abner?"
"No, I couldn't go because I wasn't invited," she said bitterly. "I was the only one from our class who wasn't."
She heard him let out a sigh. "Aw, Jeez, Marion… I know how that feels. When I was just a little younger than you, right after my mother died, my father left Princeton to take a temporary teaching position at Brigham Young University. I got thrown into a new school where nobody knew me, and I came in for my share of hell. Believe me. Kids that age can be pretty cruel."
"You?" she said in frank disbelief. Indy was so… wonderful. How could anyone not immediately admire him the way she did?
"Yes me," he said ruefully. "Listen, honey, it's got nothing to do with you. This is what comes of you growing up too fast and being around people like Abner and me all the time. The other kids are more than a little afraid of you. You're years ahead of them and they know it. It's my sincere opinion that anyone who is going to be at all interesting in later life is pretty much of an outcast in High School. Someday, when you're a grown woman breaking hearts right and left, you'll look back at this, and you won't even be able to remember those kids' names."
She sighed. "That's easy for you to say. But how will I ever be able to break hearts if no one will even talk to me? I'm fifteen years old and I've never even held hands with a boy. I've never been kissed."
He looked at her for a moment and then, as if on impulse, he bent across and touched his lips to hers, briefly and gently.
"See? Now you've been kissed," he said. "It's no big deal."
But Marion could sense from the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes that he wasn't being entirely truthful. He had found the touching of their lips as unsettling as she had.
For a long time, they sat there looking at each other. Indy fell silent, almost as if he were debating with himself whether or not to do it again.
"Indeeee…!"
Marion winced at the sound. It just had to be Moira - a bright, brassy girl with bobbed hair so lacquered it looked as if it would crack at the slightest touch, blood red lips and nails, and a voice that sounded like chalk on a blackboard. Moira had set her cap for Indy early in the semester and had been pursuing him doggedly with little discernible result so far. Marion detested her, never more than now.
"Oh, there you are, Indy," Moira exclaimed, spying him in the window seat and passing over Marion as if she didn't exist. "We've been looking all over for you."
I'll just bet you have… Marion thought disgustedly, as Moira came up the stairs.
"It'll look strange if I don't go with her," Indy said under his breath. He got up quickly and descended the stairs with Moira tugging on his arm and chattering away happily. As he left, he cast a backward glance at Marion that made it plain he would rather be staying with her.
Marion leaned back in the darkness and hugged the incident to herself like a secret treasure. If the relationship between Indy and herself had ever been truly brother and sisterly, it was no longer, at least as far as she was concerned. She was in love with Indiana Jones. She wanted him. And she meant to have him.
He never called her 'kiddo; after that night. Some of the easy naturalness between them was gone, but sometimes Marion would catch Indy looking at her with a strange, speculative look in his eyes, only to have him drop his gaze when he noticed her staring back.
On her part, Marion saw to it that she was around him as much as possible whenever he was at the house. She took to doing her homework in her father's study after school, curled up in the big armchair by the window while Indy worked at the desk. Whenever she passed him a dish at supper, she made sure their hands touched, and she would let the side of her breast brush against his shoulder as she leaned over him at the desk. In other words, she teased him without mercy.
Marion was quite aware that most people would have found her bold intentions and behavior shocking in a girl of fifteen, but she had little patience with that attitude. In other parts of the world, she had met girls her age who were already married and mothers, and she knew that the extended childhood of adolescence was a concept unique to Western culture. Besides, she rationalized, she had already been forced by circumstances to shoulder so many of the responsibilities of adulthood, she felt entitled to experience some of the pleasures as well.
Perhaps it was inevitable what came to pass on a snowy afternoon in January. Abner had driven up to Milwaukee to deliver a guest lecture at a small women's college there. Indy, who had begun a serious push towards the completion of his doctoral dissertation, sat working on it at the desk, and Marion was reading a book by the window when the phone rang.
Marion answered. "Hello? Oh, hi, Dad."
"Marion, I'm still in Milwaukee. The snowstorm up here has gotten very bad." Abner's voice crackled through the faint connection.
"Yes, is the same way down here. School let out early because of it."
"I'm not going to be able to drive home tonight. Will you be all right by yourself?"
"I'll be fine, Dad. Indy's here, and he can keep me company until after dinner."
"Oh good-can you put him on the line?"
She handed the receiver to Indy and watched an interesting series of emotions pass over his face as he learned that the two of them would have the house to themselves that evening. "Yes, of course I'll cover your ten o'clock clock class tomorrow. No problem. What?… Yes, thanks, Abner. So long."
"What was that last thing he said?" she inquired, as Indy hung up the phone with a strange expression.
"He said he hoped the thesis was coming along all right and that he was sorry he wouldn't be able to make it back to help, but that if I wanted anything, you could give it to me." Indy cleared his throat and smiled nervously. "Well, better get back to work."
The unspoken attraction that had been building between the two of them for the past months hung heavy in the air of the study. Marion sat in her chair, listening to the spatter of snow against the window panes and trying to concentrate on her book. After a while, she gave up and simply watched Indy as he bent over his work. She was surprised to note that, from time to time, he took a small flask from his pocket and sneaked a quick nip. She hadn't figured Indy for much of a drinker.
"Isn't it kind of early in the day for that?" she finally asked him.
"Huh?" he said, looking guilty and trying to stash the flask behind his notebook.
"That-drinking whiskey in the afternoon."
"It's to keep my mind off-never mind. Besides, it's brandy, not whiskey. I got it from a bootlegger in Calumet."
"Well, the least you could do is offer me some."
"Are you kidding? Your father would kill me!"
She went over and sat down on the corner of the desk. "Do you tell your father everything you do?" she asked provocatively.
"Hell no!"
"Neither do I. Anyway, Abner wouldn't mind. He's let me have some wine at dinner and a glass of Sherry once or twice. I can handle it."
That seemed to strike Indy funny. "You can handle it, huh? Well, go ahead, be my guest." He wiped off the mouth of the flask with the heel of his hand and held it out to her.
She looked at him through half lowered lids and took a gulp.
"Hey, look out, that stuff isn't Sherry!" he warned, too late, as she began to choke and splutter. So much for her attempt at looking sophisticated. The liquor had burned like liquid fire.
He grinned and slapped her on the back until she got her breath again. He reached out to reclaim his flask, but she shook her head defiantly and took another, more careful, sip. This time it stayed down. With a triumphant smile, she handed the flask back.
Indy shook his head as he screwed the on and returned the flask to his pocket. "Anyone ever tell you you're too damned precocious by half?"
"No-only you," she said innocently, settling back into her armchair.
She felt a pleasant relaxation from the brandy creeping over her. She didn't even try to read- just sat and watched Indy as he scribbled down notes, flipped through pages of his book to check references, and began writing again. He seemed to be having trouble concentrating now, too. Finally, he sat back, took off his glasses, and ran a hand through his hair.
"Do you need anything?" she asked.
"Yes, as a matter of fact, your father's translation of the Amarna Papyrus," he said slowly.
She thought for a moment. "It's in the left-hand bookcase, top shelf. I'll get it for you."
"That's up near the ceiling. You'll need a ladder."
"No…watch. I do this all the time." She kicked off her shoes and, nimble as a monkey, swarmed up the bookcase, hanging on to the uprights with one hand for support and using the shelves like the rungs of a ladder. She plucked the volume from its slot and tossed it down to Indy, who caught it and set it on the desk. On the way back down, she felt herself losing her grip on the upright as the weight of her body pulled her outward.
"Indy-!" she yelled, as she twisted outward and was forced to let go.
He caught her around the waist as she dropped. Instead of lowering her to the floor, he relaxed his arms slowly and let her slide down his chest until they were face to face. Their eyes held for a long time. She could feel his heart hammering against his breast bone, and his breath tickled the hair near her ear lobes. He looked like a man fighting a losing battle with himself.
"Oh hell…" he whispered, and kissed her.
This wasn't like the first time. It was a hungry kiss, wild and demanding, and it tasted sweetly of brandy. His arms clasped her tightly, and he took her down onto the rug, their bodies beginning to move together in a rhythm that was entirely instinctive.
Marion was no innocent. As she felt the weight of his body pressing her into the carpet and his hands pushing her skirt up around her waist, she knew exactly what would happen next if he didn't call a halt right away. Despite Indy's growing excitement, she felt certain that she had only to say the word and he would stop. But stopping was the last thing she wanted him to do.
Only once, as he began to move against her and she discovered for the first time the intensity of the desire that she could provoke in a man, did she feel a moment's misgiving, wondering if she had gotten in beyond her depth, but she quickly reassured herself. This was Indy. She loved and trusted him. He would never do her any harm.
It hurt a bit at first, although she could tell Indy was doing his best to be gentle, but that was soon over, and the brief pain was replaced by a series of sensations too wonderful to be described.
Afterward, Marion lay still, too overcome to move. All her senses felt heightened. She could feel every rough fiber of the carpet against her skin, smell the dusty-stale odor of her father's books, and hear the faint sound of Indy's breathing returning to normal.
She felt as if she had been granted a great revelation. So, this was what the adults made such a fuss over! Most of the grown-up pleasures that Marion had sampled so far had proved to be a disappointment-coffee and cigarettes had been a particular letdown. But this was one that lived up to its reputation and then some.
She stretched like a cat and turned to face Indy, who had rolled off her and was lying at her side with his face buried in his arms. What he raised his head to look at her, she was shocked to see the pain and remorse in his eyes.
"Oh my God, Marion… I never meant for things to go this far. What have I done?"
She quickly put a finger on his lips. "Shhh… don't say anything more or you'll spoil it for me. I wanted this to happen as much as you did. Don't treat me like a child, Indy."
"I'm the last person you can accuse of that," he said with a bitter laugh. "Oh, Marion, what am I going to do with you?"
"For starters, you could kiss me again. And then we'll see what happens."
"You're really something, you know that?" he said, and kissed her. And then he kissed her again. He ended up carrying her up to her bedroom and making love to her again, and this time was even better than the first.
In the weeks and months that followed, Marion saw to it that they made the most of any opportunity they had to be alone together for any length of time. Indy still suffered the pangs of conscience. She could see the emotional battle in his eyes each time they were alone, but she had only to give him a special look, or touch him in a certain way and his reservations would melt. Which was just as well, because Marion was just like a child with a new toy when it came to Indiana Jones. She could not get enough of him-the roughness of his beard against her cheek, the smell of his skin, the feeling of him Inside her. The emotions that came over her whenever she was near him were so strong, so primal, that she sometimes wondered if it were possible to die from them.
It was difficult to keep those feelings from showing whenever she ran into Indy while walking on campus with Peterson or one of the other students, and often she heard a huskiness in Indy's voice or detected glitter in his eye when he spoke to her with others present that told her he was having the same problem. The attraction between them was so strong that sometimes it seemed impossible that the whole world could have failed to notice, and yet she was aware how important it was that their secret be preserved. Marion kept no diary, and she never indulged in the schoolgirl practice of writing his last name after hers just to try it out. One time she wondered aloud what would happen if they were ever found out, and Indy's sole comment had been, "Marion, have you ever heard of Shit Crick?" She laughed at the time, but she had not needed the deadly serious warning which lay behind those flippant words.
As passionate as it was, their relationship went far beyond the mere physical. Sometimes if Abner left the room while Indy worked at the desk in the study, Marion would take the opportunity to read over his shoulder, resting her chin on the rough tweet of his coat, and Indy would respond by reaching up to give her hair a brief caress. She found herself taking an active interest in his dissertation as it took shape. She was fascinated at the way he could take facts and opinions that her father had compiled and form them into interpretations that were uniquely his own. Up until now, Marion had considered organizing her father's papers to be a chore, but she began to feel that doing the same tasks for Indy-helping him in his research, accompanying him on digs would be far more rewarding.
As winter ended and spring moved into summer, Marion allowed herself to think about where her affair with Indy was taking her. An Associate Professor's position at the University was up for grabs, and with Abner's sponsorship, Indy was leading contender for the job. His coursework had been completed, and his finished thesis had been submitted to the academics committee. A promising career stretched out before him. Marion would turn sixteen in July, and thanks to having skipped a grade in elementary school, she was a year ahead and would graduate from High School the following spring. In a little over a year, she would be 17, no longer such a child in the eyes of society. A life with Indy began to seem almost possible.
Then one evening in early summer her fragile house of cards collapsed. Indy was expected for dinner to discuss the details of a dig Abner had plan for the month of July and August, and Marion was up in her room getting ready. She had not even known that anyone was in the house until she heard loud voices coming from the study below. Alarmed at the angry tone of her father's voice, she left her room and crept quietly down the stairs. From the landing she could hear an argument going in full swing, but she could not make out any words, just Abner's accusatory tones and Indy's much softer replies.
Before she could make up her mind to move closer, the two of them appeared in the hallway below. Marion almost gasped with the shock when she saw them. Indy moved like a sleepwalker, his fingers nervously crushing the brim of his hat, which he held, forgotten, in his hands. His face was as pale as yesterday morning's Cream of Wheat. She had never seen him looking so totally beaten. And she had never seen her father so furious.
"Dad?"
Both men looked up sharply at the sound of her voice.
"Indy is leaving Chicago, Marion. For good." Abner's voice sounded as if it were issuing from a solid block of ice. "I know what he's been doing to you."
Marion's eyes shot open and she looked imploringly at Indy. She would rather have died than reveal their secret.
Indy shook his head in response to her unspoken question and gestured at a crumpled piece of paper in Abner's hand. "That letter came for your father in today's mail. It seems someone around here has a poison pen… an anonymous one."
"Someone at the university has a sense of honor and cares about the welfare of my daughter," Abner corrected him angrily, "which is more than I can say for you. I want you out of my house this instant!"
Indiana nodded. He stared up at Marion, his face a study in raw misery. "I'm sorry, Marion… about everything. God knows I never meant to hurt you." Then he turned and left, quietly shutting the door behind him.
"Indy!" Marion screamed, with herself control breaking.
"Marion… No!" Abner warned.
For the only time in her life, Marion defied her father. Giving him a wild look, she ran down the stairs and pushed past him out the door into the summer twilight. Jones was halfway down the front walk as she called to him from the porch, clinging to the carved wooden railing to support herself.
"Indy-please don't go!"
He stopped but did not turn around. "I have to, Marian. I don't have any choice."
"Then, for God's sake, take me with you!"
"Marion, I… I can't. " His fists began to clench and unclench, and he started down the walk again.
Marion felt the hot tears begin to flow down her cheeks. The neighbors were probably getting an earful, but she was past caring.
"Indy… I love you!"
He stopped in his tracks and his shoulders sagged. As he turned to face her, the corners of his mouth were twitching, and Marion could see the effort it was costing him to remain in control. Then, something seemed to snap inside him, and his eyes blazed.
"I'll be back, Marion. Some day, when the time is right, I'll come back for you."
He turned and strode off down the street. She watched until he was out of sight and then went slowly back into the house.
Her father's sorrowful gaze met her in the entry hall. However intense his anger had been, it was not directed at her. "Marion, child…"
"Oh, Dad…" she whispered and went into his outstretched arms.
"Don't waste your tears on him, darling," Abner said softly. "Indiana Jones was one of the most brilliant students I've ever trained, and I considered him my friend, but he turned out to be nothing but a bum."
"I love him, Dad," Marion sobbed.
"You don't know what love means yet. He took your innocent affection and twisted it to suit his own selfish purposes."
Hearing this, Marion felt a stab of guilt. She was nowhere near the pure, perfect creature her father believed, and she was ashamed to have fallen short of his expectations. "It wasn't like that, Dad…"
"Of course, it was," he insisted. "Jones seduced you, Marion. He's a grown man, old enough to know better, and he took advantage of a child's inexperience to satisfy his lust. I was much more lenient with him than he deserved. There are laws to protect young girls against men like that. He used you, child!"
For the first time, Marion understood the threats her father had used against Indy to force him into leaving and what he still might do if Indy were so reckless as to show his face around here anytime soon. No wonder Indy had sounded so helpless when he told her he had no choice.
But something else her father had said rankled. Was Abner really suggesting that all she had to offer Indy was cheap physical pleasure? Did he truly see her as nothing more than an empty-headed child? Even worse, was he right? That hurt, and she refused to believe it.
"No, Dad. Indy loves me, I'm sure of it. He promised to come back for me when I'm old enough."
Abner shook his head sadly. "My dear child, don't pin your hopes on it. You'll only be hurt even more. I'm the one who loves you and knows what's best for you."
"I'm right. You'll see," said Marion, drying her eyes with the back of her hand. With as much dignity as she could muster, she went upstairs to her room.