“Do you think your mother knew what Permony was getting into?”
Malin’s rage instantly broke into a blaze. “Why else would she send her straight back to him? That monster! All she cares about is her name, her comfort, her money. It’s no different than if her own hands had murdered her!”
The sisters-in-law traded a long glance. Meridia wanted to ask, Did Daniel know of his mother’s scheme and consent? She thought her head would burst until she heard the answer, but at the last second, unsure if she could stomach the truth, she recoiled from raising the question.
Malin, however, had read her mind. “Mama said you refused to let Noah see him when she told you he was sick. I can’t say I disagree with you. After what Daniel has done, I myself would find it impossible to forgive him.”
Meridia stiffened and stared blankly at her sister-in-law. “Your mother did come to see me to demand Noah back, but she didn’t say Daniel was ill. In fact, she said he wanted nothing more to do with me. It was Permony who told me he was unwell.”
Malin lifted her brows sharply. “And the letter?”
“What letter?”
“The letter Daniel wrote to Noah—she said you tore it up right in front of the boy!”
A furious comprehension burst upon Meridia like wildfire.
“I never received it,” she said. “Are you telling me Daniel tried to contact me?”
She proceeded to inform Malin of her aborted visit to Magnolia Avenue, of the music and laughter and Sylva presiding over the shop. Malin greeted her revelation with a cry.
“It’s all lies! The shop has been closed since Daniel fell sick, and he can’t stand that slut anywhere near him. Mama must have installed her there just to keep you away. I wanted to come here and talk to you, but she had me convinced you’d made up your mind and didn’t want to see him. Please forgive me. I have been so wrapped up in my own grief that I didn’t think to question her.”
“What else did your mother say?”
“She said he stays in his room all day and doesn’t want to see anyone. When I came to visit, she said he was asleep and didn’t wish to be disturbed.”
“Is he terribly ill?”
“All I know is he’s lost his sight for the time being. The doctor says it’s exhaustion, I say it’s a guilty conscience.” Malin watched Meridia intently. “What are we going to do now?”
For a long minute Meridia said nothing. And then she smoothed her skirt and rose calmly from the sofa.
“Your mother doesn’t leave us much choice, does she? But first, let me find a bed for that handsome fellow.”
She was walking toward the door to hunt for her old bassinet in the attic when the baby cried. Meridia stopped and glanced back. It was unmistakable—the joy, the love, the rapture, consecrating every inch of Malin as she soothed the baby with a whisper. The child who for years had haunted her dreams, forced her to fight demons and endure the bitter cemetery smoke each and every dawn, no longer blue and bloody, but alive. In awe, Meridia turned and slipped into the hallway.
THE CLOCK HAD JUST struck eight when she sent for Leah and asked her to stay with Noah and the baby. A half hour later, she put on her coat and hat and left the house with Malin. The figure they cut as they strode down Monarch Street together was a formidable one. The neighbors, seeing the women’s determined faces and armed-for-war postures, were relieved they were not the recipients of their wrath. Meridia turned left at the end of the street, Malin right, their glances crossing briefly to affirm the new bond between them. Both were aware there was little time to waste.
Malin set off briskly across town, past Cinema Garden and the market square and the curious little park that grew winter flowers all the year round. Her destination, a large antiquated house with thick white columns and impenetrable ivy, lay three blocks north of the courthouse. When she got there, she grabbed the lion door knocker and swung it with all the rage in her body. A servant had no sooner answered than she pushed her way in and demanded to see the master of the house. A moment later Ahab appeared in barely hitched trousers—shirtless, hairy, and hulking. It was evident he had just woken up and had not realized his wife was missing. At once Malin tore into him like a panther.
“Your wife is dead. Your baby, too. They died trying to get away from you.”
Her dark eyes sharp with anger, she proceeded to tell him everything without omitting a word of Permony’s confession. Aware that the servants were listening in the hallway, Ahab moved to shut the door, but Malin only shouted all the louder. She declared that he was a fiend and a criminal, that vileness and abomination were written all over his face, and after what he had done to Permony and to all those hapless girls, she had no wish of ever seeing or hearing from him again.
“I’ll give you one hour to disappear from this town,” she said, speaking clearly over his protests. “In one hour, I will go to the authorities with my sister’s last words on my side. If you should ever come near me or my family in the future, I will broadcast your crime to every man and woman in this town, rally the law and all the spirits against you, and make your name a bane on every young girl’s lips. You might think you’re invincible, you might have your country’s backing to steal from us, but we’ve got the means to beat you. We will drive you out. We will tear you down. Try us, and we’ll ship you back ass first to the windmill hell you came from!”
Malin walked out before Ahab could fully comprehend what had hit him. As she crossed the front door, her feet left the ground, and before she knew it, she was floating high above the street. With the sun warm on her skin and the treetops an arm’s reach away, the grief that had shackled her for years sloughed off like snakeskin. People hurried below her, pleasant figures in a dream surely, yet immaterial to the force throbbing inside her. On and on she drifted, all the way past the park with the winter flowers and the market square and Independence Plaza, until Museum Avenue swam into view and she spied her own house perched on a fragrant hill. “Jonathan,” she called as she glided into the hall, speaking from the dizzying heights of her ascent. It was only when she saw him looking absently out the window that she came back to earth. He did not rise from his chair or even lift his head, but it did not matter. She had found the words to move him.
“Listen to me,” she said, and without sitting down, she proceeded to tell him the events of the last hours: what Permony saw in the cellar, her flight from Ahab, Eva’s unthinkable cruelty, Permony’s death, and the baby’s birth.
“We can raise him as our own,” she went on ardently. “You can name him as you wish—didn’t you always like the name David? We can be happy again, dearest. Think about it. We can have the family we’ve always wanted.”
Jonathan had shown little expression as she spoke. Now he smiled, thin and strained, as if to indulge a difficult child.
“Are you forgetting something? What about Ahab? It’s his son after all.”
“I’ve got him fooled and backed into a corner,” said Malin, not without triumph. “He thinks the baby is dead, and he knows that what Permony told me could obliterate him from the face of the town. He won’t dare lift a finger against us.”
She began to recount in detail her confrontation with Ahab. Jonathan listened without stirring, attentive to a fault, yet something in his eyes was shifting in a way that alarmed her. When she finished, she could hear his answer before he said it.
“It’s too late. Nothing can restore what’s lost between us.”
Malin knelt down and took his hand.
“It’s not too late. We can do this together. You loved me once and I believe the feeling still lives inside you. Do not forsake our future now that it’s finally here.”
Even as she summoned their tender memory together, she could feel him slipping from her. Or had she lost him that day along with the baby, and all that had sustained them since was simply habit and convenience? It was no use. His kind face was an open page she had put off reading for too long. Before she could think of what to say, the awf
ul words had tumbled from his mouth.
“Stop deceiving yourself, Malin. You don’t love me anymore, and neither I you.”
She had sensed it coming a great distance ago, had imagined how much it would hurt, but now that the words were spoken, they did not cleave her in two. She was still standing. She was still breathing. His gaze fell on her like a caress, gentle yet aloof, and as she met it she felt the weight of the thing that had died between them.
“No, my love, that’s not true. That’s not true!”
Jonathan withdrew his hand. “There’s nothing left for us. We’ve worn down what we had to the last insignificant bit. I’ll see that you won’t lack for anything.”
Sinking back on her heels, Malin looked at him for a long time without speaking. Color had drained from his handsome face—the exertion of the last few minutes had clearly tired him beyond measure. Still trembling, still hearing the death knell in her ear, Malin rose from the floor and stepped back from the chair.
“I’m leaving town to raise the baby on my own,” she said. “I won’t risk it with Ahab, and people will talk if I stay.”
Malin turned and made for the door before silence became the final word between them. Then, with her head held high, she passed the servants in the hall and climbed her way up the stairs. It was not until she found herself alone in her room that the tears came.
“Stop it, you fool!” she told herself angrily. “Pack quickly and leave. There’s no time to waste. Your child is waiting.”
MERIDIA WENT TO THE midwife’s first. She had just entered the little patch of garden in front of the cottage when the woman herself, the same one who had delivered Noah, appeared at the door. Her wise, good-natured face was filled with wonder.
“Something very strange has happened, madam.”
Without elaborating further, she led Meridia to a small windowless room that reeked of disinfectant. Stretched on a metal cot underneath a white sheet was Permony. Her exposed face was unblemished, her skin radiant, her long black hair lustrous. Meridia stepped into the room and took her hand. It was warm as fire.
The midwife shook her head in bewilderment. “I’ve never seen a dead body keep so well. Not cold or stiff, and nor does it give the slightest odor. And her face—it was twisted every which way with pain when her spirit departed, but now she looks as serene as a saint. Of course I’ve heard stories about those beings who are so favored by heaven their bodies resist decay long after their death. But who knows if they’re true? One time I heard about a boy who died from a fall without breaking a single bone…”
While the midwife chattered on, a hard knot of guilt settled in the pit of Meridia’s stomach. Permony’s tranquil face was that of the little girl who had suffered her childhood in silence, tormented by sister and mother, and who as a young woman had never found the happiness she deserved. Meridia remembered the fantastical tales they used to weave together—the mermaids and the dragon queens—and how they had laughed and comforted each other while Eva’s bees raged against them. They had been inseparable then, closer than blood sisters, and yet in the end she had failed her. She had not fought harder for her, had succumbed to deceiving appearances and allowed her to marry the wrong man. “Save her,” Elias had said to her on his deathbed. Now at last she knew his meaning. All these years she had been too slow and stupid to understand it.
“Would you like some water, madam? You look rather pale.”
The midwife’s voice shattered her reflection. With the greatest difficulty Meridia turned and faced the woman’s benevolent eyes.
“I’m all right, thank you.” She pressed her lips together, drew a deep breath, and took money from her pocket.
“No, madam, that’s too much!” objected the midwife. “I can’t possibly take it!”
Meridia pressed the money into her hand. “Please send the body to the funeral home. The father of the baby—he might ask questions. And if he does—”
“I’ll tell him the baby died along with his mother,” said the midwife. “Last night a beggar woman delivered a stillbirth and the poor dear couldn’t afford to have it buried. If I must, I’ll throw the dead creature in his face and tell him it’s his child. After everything Miss Permony said before she died, I would never condemn that baby to a life of hell.”
Despite Meridia’s insistence, the midwife refused to take more than her due. Nodding gratefully, Meridia turned back to the cot and stood in silence for a few minutes. When she finally moved to the door, her wet eyes were flashing metal and stone. The midwife stepped back and let her pass.
MERIDIA CUT ACROSS THE square and walked twelve blocks east to Magnolia Avenue. It was a little past nine when she heard again the idle strain of laughter and music. This time she headed straight for the door. In the center of the shop, four women were sitting around a table, drinking tea and playing a game of tiles. Meridia advanced toward them and flipped the table over.
“Get out,” she said in a near whisper, fixing her eyes on the youngest of them.
One woman shrieked, another gasped. Porcelain cups and ivory tiles smashed against the floor. The youngest, Sylva, jumped from her chair and clutched her mouth. With a sweep of the arm, Meridia sent her crashing to the door.
“Watch where you wrap your thighs,” she said as if she were scolding a child. “Next time, I won’t be so gentle.”
Eva, finding her tongue, rose with such suddenness that her chair toppled over.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Meridia ignored her and glared at the other two women; like mice they scurried to the door. Sylva, having turned deathly white, was shaking from head to toe. She did not dare look at Meridia, but quietly sobbed and followed her companions to the street.
“How dare you walk in here and terrorize my guests!” shouted Eva. “Do you think my son’s house is a boarding place that you can leave and enter whenever you please?”
Meridia did not even glance at her as she darted up the stairs. Hand gripping the banister for support, Eva followed, neither as quick nor nimble.
“Have you no shame left? Daniel does not want you or need you or desire you!”
Meridia did not pause or stoop to insults. She swept down the hallway to her bedroom and threw the door open.
It was just as she had expected. Ceiling, floor, walls were coated in bees. The infernal insects swarmed the bed, chairs, lamps, blocking all sound and light from the window. As soon as the door opened, they flew at Meridia with their thousand deafening cries. Far from panicking, Meridia did exactly what Ravenna had done during Noah’s birth—she seized a chair, ran to the window, smashed the pane to pieces. The bees shrieked as the sun exploded into the room. The fast ones managed to escape, but most caught fire and burned on the spot. Their remains rained down and covered the floor with ashes.
“I knew you would come.”
Weak, from the bed, came Daniel’s voice. Until then the bees had covered every inch of him.
“Stay where you are,” said Meridia sharply. “Be quiet and listen to me.”
At this point Eva burst in, huffing and red in the face. “You just can’t wait to finish him off, can you!” she exclaimed. “Barging in here and disturbing a sick man after you abandoned him in cold blood!”
Only then did Meridia turn and confront her mother-in-law. A white-hot fury burned in her veins, and she wanted to tear every nerve and fiber that gave the woman’s face its perfidious look. How much it cost her, to remain where she stood and say what she must say clearly, she would never know.
“Permony died during labor this morning,” she said. “Not long after you threw her out. Malin found her in the cemetery. Before she died, she said that the shock of having her own mother turn her away in her hour of need was too much for her to bear.”
Eva blinked, and then opened her eyes wide. “What are you talking about?”
“She died from a broken heart. Permony, your daughter—do you remember her? Drowning in her own blood when Malin found her.”
“Permony? Dead? Are you out of your mind? She was well when she went home last night!”
“She never made it, not in her condition. But it didn’t matter to you, did it? You forced her to return to Ahab, after all the monstrous things she told you about him. How did it feel to toss your pregnant daughter into the night, to reject your own flesh and blood when she needed your help? How could you return to bed and sleep after you slammed the door in her face?”
“What’s going on, Mama?” demanded Daniel, rising from the bed. He started to fumble blindly forward, but again Meridia stopped him.
“Sit down,” she said with a touch of razor. “You’ll need all your strength to hear what your mother has done.”
Eva’s face had become a colorless mask, one hand over her throat and the other sealed over her heart. Without taking her eyes off her, Meridia began recounting to Daniel Permony’s discovery of the beast, her flight to Orchard Road, and Eva’s subsequent dismissal. She told him about the graveyard encounter between the sisters, how Malin took Permony to the midwife, heard her last words, and watched her die before her child was born. Meridia’s voice grew hoarse as she talked, but not once, not even for a fraction of a second, did her stare waver from Eva.
For a long time nobody spoke or moved. And then Daniel said, “Did the baby survive?”
Meridia nodded. “A boy who takes after Permony. Malin has decided to raise him as her own.”
“What about Ahab?”
“He won’t ask for his son. Malin took care of him.”
A hard and severe expression settled on Daniel’s face. Narrowing his blind eyes, he turned to Eva and said, “Is it true, Mama? Did you throw Permony out of the house? Mama, answer me!”
A scream escaped from Eva’s mouth, followed by a spasm that shook her violently. All at once her right hand sliced at the air, her left still clutching her throat, her eyes wild with the look of a trapped beast.
“I certainly did not! When your sister came to me in distress, I told her straightaway she must leave Ahab. ‘Stay here, don’t come back. I’m worried for your safety.’ We talked for a long time, and it was she who said that she still loved him and wanted to go back. I told her absolutely not, but she was stubborn and determined. ‘Then let me walk you home,’ I said. ‘No, Mama,’ she said. ‘I want to be alone to clear my head. You go on to bed now. I’m sorry to have woken you.’ I kept protesting but she wouldn’t hear of it. She seemed strong enough so I never thought, not for once…Oh, my dear girl! I’m your mother, son. Do you think I have it in me to turn my back on my daughter? Your wife can say whatever she wants, but you know me better. I’d rather take my own life than put my children in danger!”
Of Bees and Mist Page 36
