Household Gods

The room beyond that was unroofed, a courtyard open to the sky. Something about that, about the transition from enclosed space to outer air, the shape and placement of entry and courtyard, reminded Nicole of something, as if she’d seen them before. Of course: on her honeymoon in Carnuntum, she’d walked in the ruins of this place. She looked around, taking it all in, trying to keep it in memory so that she could come back here and know where she was.

The flowers in this courtyard weren’t painted on the wall. They were real, planted in orderly rows, the bushes near the walls trimmed with geometric severity. Women exercised in the middle of the yard, some with dumbbells, others tossing around what looked like green balloons. “Pig bladders! “ Aurelia was jumping up and down with delight. “Mother, may I? Pig bladders are so much fun!”

“Pig… bladders.” Nicole had already seen that the Romans used every part of the pig except the squeal. One more proof here. They had to paint or dye the bladders that interesting shade of green: it didn’t look like anything one would find inside of a pig.

Most of the women who were exercising had rounder, fleshier bodies than Umma’s – they were built more as Nicole had been back in twentieth-century California. They had to be exercising to lose weight, Nicole thought, as in a health club in that other world and time. She had a moment’s sensation almost of relief – at last, something that resembled the things she’d known before.

Then she overheard two women sitting on a bench, watching the show and offering commentary. One pointed to a woman who to Nicole’s eyes was somewhat on the beefy side. “What’s Pollia doing hefting those weights? Her figure’s perfect as it is. Her husband never complains about sticks and bones.”

Her friend, whom Nicole would have called nicely if not overly slim, sighed in clearly evident envy. “Doesn’t he now? Nor,” she added with a flash of malice, “her boyfriend either.”

“Do tell!” the first woman said. “So who is it now? Faustus still? Or is she creeping around in corners with that pretty young Silvius instead?”

“Why, both!” her friend declared.

They laughed together, rocking back and forth on the stone bench, clinging to each other as if they’d never heard a better joke. When they were under control again, the second woman said, “It’s chic, that’s why she does it. Run around, show off your nice breasts and your firm buttocks, let everybody admire your technique. What’s it to her how much meat and oil she needs to scarf up, to keep the weight on? Everybody knows she married old Aulus for his money – and his handsome slaves.”

Nicole moved past them before they could guess she was eavesdropping, taking a second, longer look at the women playing what looked like a cross between volleyball and soccer.

Their rings and earrings and bracelets were gold, most of them. They’re the rich ones, she realized with yet another shock to the tottering structure of her assumptions: the ones who can eat enough to put on weight, and who don’t do enough real work to take it off again. She thought of her own new body, and how she’d admired its slimness. A sigh – half rueful laugh – escaped her. Wasn’t that just like her luck? Thin was not In in Carnuntum. The body that had been on the chunky side in California would have been perfect here – and this one, which would have been a killer in the latest in short, tight, and Spandex, was too skinny by local standards. “You can’t win,” she said to herself.

Aurelia was tugging at her tunic again. “Mother! Mother, can I play?”

“No,” Nicole said absently. Then, with more focus: “No, there’s no one else your age playing. Come on inside.”

Aurelia didn’t protest too loudly. She was too excited by the whole adventure to quibble every detail of it. Nicole didn’t need to do anything clever to get her to lead the way. She aimed unerringly toward one of several doorways on the far side of the colonnade, into a room whose function was unmistakable. Two of the walls were bristling with pegs, some draped with items of clothing, others empty. While she stood just inside the doorway, letting her eyes adapt again from sunlight to indoor dimness, a woman slipped out of her tunic and drawers and hung them with her sandals on a peg. A clothed attendant sat on a stool nearby. She was probably supposed to be keeping an eye on things, but she looked half asleep.

Nicole hadn’t been nude in public since she’d escaped her last high-school p.e. class, for which she was heartily glad. No choice now – and the woman who’d just stripped off wasn’t anything special, either. Defiantly, she pulled her tunic off over her head and yanked down her loincloth. The roof didn’t fall in. The walls didn’t shake with laughter and jeers and cries of Skinny Minnie! and Hey, Horseface! No one took any notice of her at all.