Universe Twister - Keith Laumer [176]
"See? Just like I remeember!" She pointed in triumph to the butterfly-shaped blemish on the olive skin. "I knew you were keeding all along, Zorito!"
"That's impossible," Lafayette said, staring at the mark. He poked at it experimentally. "I never had a birthmark in my life! I . . ." his voice faltered as his gaze focused on his fingertip. It was a long, slender finger, with a grimy, well-chewed nail.
"That," O'Leary said, swallowing hard, "is not my finger!"
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"I'm perfectly fine," Lafayette said calmly, addressing the backs of his eyelids. "Pulse sixty, blood pressure normal, temperature 98.6°F., sensory impressions coming in loud and clear, memory excellent—"
"Zorito," Gizelle said, "why are you standeeng there weeth your eyes closed, talking to yourself?"
"I'm not talking to myself, my dear. I'm talking to whoever I've turned into—whomever, I should say—object of the preposition, you know—"
"Zorito—you don't turn into eenybody—you are steel you!"
"I can see we're going to have a little trouble with definitions," Lafayette said, feeling the fine edge of hysteria creeping higher, ready to leap. With an effort, he pulled himself together.
"But as I tried to tell your uncle, I have important business in the capital—"
"More important than your wedding night?"
"My wedding night?" Lafayette repeated, dumbfounded.
"Yours—and mine," Gizelle said grimly.
"Wait a minute," Lafayette said, "this has gone far enough. In the first place, I don't even know you, and in the second place, I've already got a wife, and—" He leaped back just in time as a slim blade flashed in the girl's hand.
"So—eet's like theese, eh?" she hissed, advancing. "You theenk you can play games weeth the heart of Gizelle? You theenk you can keess and run away, hey? I'll feex you so you never break a poor girl's heart again, you worm-in-the grass!" She leaped, Lafayette bumped against the side of a wagon; the blade came up—
But instead of striking, Gizelle hesitated. Sudden tears spilled from her long-lashed eyes. She let the stiletto fall from her fingers, covered her face with her hands.
"I can't do eet," she sobbed. "Now they weel all speet on me, b-b-but I don't care. I weel keel myself instead . . ." She groped for the knife; Lafayette grabbed her hands.
"No!" he blurted. "Gizelle! Stop! Listen to me! I . . .I—"
"You . . . you do care for me theen?" Gizelle said in a quavering tone, blinking away the tears.
"Of course I care for you! I mean . . ." He paused at the succession of expressions that crossed the girl's piquant face.
"You remember now how much you love me?" she demanded eagerly.
"No—I mean—I don't remember, but . . ."
"You poor darleeng!" Sudden contrition transformed Gizelle's features into those of an angel of mercy. "Luppo said you got heet on the head! Theese geeves you amnesia, no? That's why you don't remember our great love!"
"That . . . that must be it," Lafayette temporized.
"My Zorito," Gizelle cooed. "It was for me you got knocked on the head; come, we go eenside; soon eet weel all come back to you." She turned him toward the wagon door.
"But—what if your uncle sees us—"
"Let heem eat hees heart out," Gizelle said callously.
"Fine—but what if he decides to cut my heart out instead?"
"You don't have to play cheecken any longer, Zorito; you made your point. Now you get your reward." She lifted a heavy latch and pushed open the door; a candle on a table shed a romantic light on tapestries, icons, rugs, a beaded hanging beyond which was visible a high-sided bed with a red and black satin coverlet and a scattering of pink and green cushions, a tarnished oval mirror. Lafayette stared in fascination at the narrow, swarthy, black-eyed face reflected there. Glossy blue-black hair grew to a widow's peak above high-arched brows. The nose was long and aquiline, the mouth well-molded if a trifle weak, the teeth china-white except for a gold filling in the upper left incisor. It wasn't a bad-looking face, Lafayette thought numbly, if you