by Clive Barker
Now I knew what river this was; it was the Zarafsham. And the city? I knew that too. I had come, by way of a plum tree and a song, to the city of Samarkand.
That was all. I didn’t get any closer to the city than that first glimpse. But that was enough. I woke immediately, but with such a strong sense of what I’d seen that the melancholy which had accompanied me to bed had disappeared, healed away by what I’d experienced. Such is the wisdom of dreams.
ii
It was by now the middle of the afternoon, and I took myself off to the kitchen to find something to eat. I did so without attending to myself whatsoever—thinking that I’d be able to find myself some food and slip back to my study unnoticed. But the kitchen had two occupants: Zabrina and Dwight. They both greeted the sight of me with some alarm.
“You need a shave, my friend,” Dwight remarked.
“And some new clothes,” Zabrina remarked. “You look as though you’ve been sleeping in those.”
“I have,” I said.
“You can take a look through my wardrobe if you like,” Dwight said. “You’re welcome to whatever I’m leaving behind.”
Only now did I notice two things. One, the suitcase beside the table at which Zabrina and Dwight sat; two, the fact that Zabrina’s eyes were red-rimmed and wet. It seems I’d interrupted a tearful farewell; at least tearful on her side.
“This is your fault,” she said to me. “He’s going because of you.”
Dwight pulled a face. “That’s not true,” he protested.
“You told me if you hadn’t seen that damn horse—” Zabrina began.
“That wasn’t his doing,” Dwight said. “I volunteered to go out to the stables with him. Anyway, if it hadn’t been the horse it would have been something else.”
“I gather from all this that you’re leaving?” I said.
Dwight looked rueful. “I have to,” he said. “I think if I don’t go now—”
“You don’t have to go at all,” Zabrina said. “There’s nothing out there worth going for.” She reached across the table and caught hold of Dwight’s hand. “If you’ve got too much work—”
“It’s not that,” Dwight said. “It’s just that I’m not getting any younger. And if I don’t go soon, I won’t go at all.” He gently extricated his hand from Zabrina’s hold.
“That damn horse,” she growled.
“What’s the horse got to do with all this?” I asked.
“Nothing . . .” Dwight replied. “I just said to Zsa-Zsa—” (Zsa-Zsa? I thought Lord, they’d been closer than I imagined.) “—that seeing the horse—”
“Dumuzzi.”
“—seeing Dumuzzi made me realize that I missed seeing things, ordinary things, out there in the world. Except on that, of course.” He nodded toward the little television which I knew he’d spent countless hours watching. Had he been yearning to leave L’Enfant all the time he’d been watching that flickering image? So it seemed. But he hadn’t known, apparently, how much he yearned, until Dumuzzi had appeared.
“Well,” he said with a little sigh, “I should be going.” He got up from the table.
“Wait until tomorrow at least,” Zabrina said. “It’s getting late. You’d be better setting off first thing in the morning.”
“I’m afraid you’ll slip something in my supper,” he said to her with a small, sad smile. “And I won’t remember why I packed.”
Zabrina gave him a small, forbidding smile. “You know I’d never do a thing like that,” she replied. Then, sniffing hard, she said: “If you don’t want to stay, then don’t. Nobody’s twisting your arm.” She looked down at her hands. “But you’ll miss me,” she said softly. “You see if you don’t.”
“I’ll miss you so much I’ll probably be back in a week,” he said.
Zabrina started to shake with sorrow. Tears splashed on the table, big as silver dollars.
“Don’t . . .” Dwight said, his own voice cracking. “I hate it when you cry.”
“Well then you shouldn’t make me cry,” Zabrina replied, somewhat petulantly. She looked up at him, her eyes streaming. “I know you have to go,” she said. “I understand. I really do. And I know you won’t come back in a week, whatever you say. You’ll get out there, and you’ll forget I ever existed.”
“Oh darlin’—” Dwight said, leaning down to gather her against him. It was an ungainly embrace, to say the least, Dwight unable to quite get his arms around Zabrina at that angle, Zabrina so desperate to be comforted she grabbed hold of him as though she were about to fall from a great height, and he was her only hope of life. The sobs came loud and long now, though Zabrina’s face was pressed against Dwight’s belly. With great tenderness he stroked her hair, looking at me as he did so. There was sadness on his face, no question; but there was also a hint of impatience. He’d decided to go, and there would be no changing his mind. Zabrina’s clinging and sobbing only delayed the inevitable.
Plainly he wanted me to intervene.
“Come on, Zabrina,” I said brightly, “enough’s enough. He’s not dying. He’s just going to go see what’s out there in the big, bad world.”
“It’s the same thing,” she said:
“Now you’re being silly,” I said gently, walking over to her chair and laying my hands on her shoulders. She was momentarily distracted by my touch, which allowed Dwight to pull away from her. She made no attempt to catch hold of him again. She was obviously resigned to his departure.
“You take care of yourself,” Dwight said to her. “And you, Maddox. I’m going to miss you too.” He picked up his suitcase. “Say goodbye to Miss Marietta for me, will you? Tell her I wish her well with her lady.”
He took a couple of backward steps toward the door, but they were so tentative I almost thought he was going to change his mind. And perhaps he would have done so if Zabrina hadn’t looked up at him, and with a fierceness that I truly didn’t expect from her at that moment, said:
“Are you still here?”
At which cue he turned on his heel, and departed.
IV
I spent a few minutes attempting to console Zabrina after Dwight left, but I knew nothing I could say was going to comfort her as much as food. So I suggested a sandwich. She didn’t brighten up immediately, but the sight of my labors on her behalf slowly dulled her unhappiness. Her sobs faded, her tears dried up. By the time I presented her with my handiwork, which was a minor work of art I may say (freshly sliced ham, cold sliced asparagus, pickles, a little mustard, a little mayonnaise) she had quite brightened up.
Once she began to eat the sandwich I laid out a selection of desserts, and then left her to it. She was so thoroughly engrossed in her edible comforts that I doubt she even realized I’d left the kitchen.
I had made myself a more modest version of the sandwich I’d constructed for Zabrina, and I ate it while I washed, shaved and changed into something more presentable than my sleep-rumpled garb. By the time I was ready for the day, the day was almost over. Dusk was drawing on, so I poured myself a glass of gin and walked out onto the veranda to enjoy the last of the light. It was a sublime evening: a clear sky, not a hint of a breeze. The birds were making a tuneful noise in the magnolias, there were squirrels in the grass going about their last labors of the day. I sipped my gin, and watched, and listened, and thought: so much of what makes L’Enfant beautiful will go on, long after this house has fallen. The birds will still sing, the squirrels will still caper, the night will still descend, and show its stars. Nothing important will pass away.
As I drained the last of my gin I heard laughter drifting across the lawn; distant at first, but getting closer. I couldn’t yet see anybody, but it wasn’t hard to make a good guess as to its source. This was women’s laughter, though it was raucous and raw, and it came, I thought, from at least half a dozen throats. Marietta had brought her wedding party—or some portion of that party—back to the house.
I stepped off the veranda and onto the grass. The milky breast of the moon
was rising round and full. Its light wasn’t cold silver. It was butter-yellow; and it sweetened everything it lit.
I could hear Marietta’s voice now, rising above the laughter.
“Get your asses movin’ !” she was yelling. “I don’t want anybody gettin’ lost.”
I watched the dark place under the trees from which her voice had come, and moments later she stepped into view, hand in hand with her Alice. A few steps behind came three more women, one of whom was glancing back over her shoulder, suggesting there were still others following on.
A few months ago I would have been appalled at the idea of Marietta bringing so many strangers onto the grounds of this sacred home. I would have thought it a violation. But what did it matter now? The more people who saw and enjoyed Jefferson’s masterpiece before its destruction the better, and it was plain even at a distance that the women, now they had sight of the house, were suitably impressed. The laughter died away; they stopped in their tracks, exchanging looks of astonishment.
“This is where you lucky bitches live?” said one of the women in the party of three.
“This is where we live,” Marietta said.
“It’s beautiful . . .” said the woman who’d been glancing back over her shoulder. Now she’d forgotten her companions. She walked toward the house with a look of astonishment on her face.
There was more laughter out of the trees, and what I took to be the last of the celebrants came out into the moonlight. One of them was barely dressed, her blouse unbuttoned, her lower half naked. Her companion, an older woman with unkempt gray hair, was dressed more formally, but the front of her dress had been opened up to release her ample bosom. Both women staggered slightly as they walked; and the younger of the two sank down into the grass almost as she saw the house, her laughter fading. I heard her say:
“Oh shit, Lucy . . . she wasn’t kidding.”
The older woman (Lucy, I assumed) came up behind her, and the younger let her head loll against her thighs.
“How come I never knew this place was here?” Lucy called after Marietta.
“It was our little secret,” Marietta replied.
“But it ain’t a secret no more,” said one of the women in the trio, coming to Marietta’s side. “We’re going to party all the time, now we know it’s here.”
“Suits me,” Marietta said. She turned back to Alice, and kissed her on the lips. “We can do—” another kiss “—whatever the hell—” another kiss “—we want.”
With that, she and Alice made their way across the lawn to the house. I decided it was time to make my presence known. Stepping out into the moonlight I started toward the women, calling to Marietta as I went.
“Eddie!” she said, opening her arms to me. “There you are! Look at us! We’re married! We’re married!” I went into her embrace. “Did you bring the minister too?” I said.
“We didn’t need no minister,” Alice said. “We just said our vows in front of our friends, and God.”
“Then we all got drunk,” Marietta said. “And we’ve stayed that way.” She leaned close to me. “I love you, Eddie,” she said to me. “I know I don’t always show it—”
I hugged her again, tighter than before. “You’re quite a lady,” I told her. “I’m proud of you.”
Marietta turned round to face the women. “Listen up, everyone! I’d like y’all to meet my brother Eddie. He’s the only man on the planet worth a damn.” She grabbed hold of my hand and squeezed it. “Eddie, say hello to everyone. This is Terri-Lynn—” The blonder of the pair who’d followed on Marietta and Alice’s heels said hi, with a lavish smile. “And the big ol’ gal there, that’s Louise, ’cept don’t call her that ’cause she’ll kick your ass. She prefers Louie. So you’ve been warned.”
Louie, who had the physique of a weight lifter who’d gone to seed, flicked her hair out of her eyes and said hello. The woman at her side, her features as limpid as Louie’s were severe, introduced herself without Marietta’s prompting.
“I’m Rolanda,” she said.
“And I’m pleased to meet you,” I replied. She had a bottle of whiskey in her hand, and passed it over to me. “Want a drink?”
I took the bottle, and drank from it.
“And that’s Ava and Lucy at the back there,” Marietta told me. She took the whiskey bottle out of my hand as she spoke and drinking from it, passed a mouthful of the booze onto Alice.
“I think Ava needs to lie down for a while,” Lucy said, “she’s kinda out of it.”
“Alice’ll take you into the house,” Marietta said. “I want to have a quick word with my little brother. Go on, honey!” she said to Alice, turning her bride around and patting her on her butt. “Take them in. I won’t be long.”
“Where do you want us to go?” Alice said.
“Anywhere you like,” Marietta said with an expansive gesture.
“Not upstairs,” I cautioned.
“Oh, Eddie. She’s not going to hurt anyone.”
“Who are you talking about?” Rolanda wanted to know.
“My mother.”
“Louie’ll sort her out. She likes a good fight.”
“Cesana isn’t a fistfighting lady,” I said. “You just stay downstairs and things’ll be fine and dandy.”
“Can I have my whiskey back?” Rolanda said to Marietta.
“No you can’t,” Marietta replied. Rolanda frowned. “You’re drunk enough.”
“Oh, and you’re not?” Rolanda said. She turned to me. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said, with a sly smile.
“Oh and what’s that?”
“If only I were a woman, I’d get myself laid tonight. And you know what? You would. Big time.” She reached down and without a word of warning cupped my genitals. “Pity you got this ol’ thing weighing you down.” She grinned. I don’t think I even attempted an answer. If I did, I stumbled over it, and she was on her way, following the other five.
“So this is your crowd . . .” I said to Marietta.
“Aren’t they a riot? They’re not always like this, by the way. It’s just a special night.”
“What did you tell them?”
“About what?”
“About the house. About us. About Mama.”
“Eddie, will you stop fretting? They couldn’t find their way back here if their lives depended on it. Anyway, I trust them. They’re my friends. I want to make them welcome here.”
“Well why don’t we just have an open house for the county?” I said. “Invite everyone in.”
“You know that’s not such a bad idea,” she said, poking me in the middle of the chest. “We’ve got to start somewhere.” She glanced back at the house. All the women had disappeared inside.
“What did you want to talk about?” I said.
“I just wanted to drink a toast,” she said, raising the bottle between us.
“To anything in particular?”
“You. Me. Alice. Love.” She smiled at me. “It is a pity you’ve got a dick, Eddie. I could find you a nice girlfriend—” She laughed uproariously at this. “Oh Eddie, I wish I had a camera. You’re blushing.”
“I am not blushing.”
“Baby, take it from me. You’re blushing.” She kissed my cheek, which was probably somewhat flushed, I’ll admit.
“I need to live a little,” I said.
“That’s our toast, right there,” Marietta said, “to being alive and living a little.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
“It’s been too fucking long.” She put the bottle to her lips and drank, then passed it over to me. I took another swallow, vaguely thinking that I was going to be as drunk as the rest of them if I went on like this. I’d only eaten a sandwich all day, and this was my third shot of liquor, including my gin, in the space of half an hour. But what the hell? It wasn’t often a man got to play among wild women like this.
“Let’s go inside,” Marietta said, slipping her arm through mine. As we ambled to the house she lean
ed against me.
“I am so happy,” she said as we got to the door.
“That’s not just the whiskey talking?” I said.
“No, it’s not the whiskey. I’m happy. I’m deep-down happy. What a beautiful night.” She glanced back over her shoulder. “Oh my Lord,” she said. “Look at that.”
I turned to see what had drawn her attention. There in the middle of the lawn was a quartet of hyenas, their eyes upon us. There was nothing predatory in their stare, I didn’t think, but their presence so close to the house was indeed surprising. Their natural nervousness seemed to have vanished. They were suddenly brave. Three of them halted when we stared back at them, but the largest of the four continued to approach, undaunted, and didn’t stop until it was perhaps four or five yards from where we stood.
“I think she wants to come in,” Marietta said.
“How do you know it’s a she?” I said. “I thought you couldn’t tell male from female.”
“I know a bitch when I see one,” Marietta remarked. “Hey, honey,” she called to the animal, “you want to come join the party?” The hyena sniffed the air, then glanced back at her companions, who were watching the whole scene intently, but hadn’t come any closer. Deciding perhaps that she needed to study this situation more closely before she took the final plunge and entered the house, the animal lay down in the grass and put her head on her paws.
We left her to her scrutiny. It would only be a matter of time, I thought, and the creature would be over the threshold. Then what? With the wedding party and the hyenas in residence, how long before the foxes came, and the birds? L’Enfant, in its old age, would soon be as busy on the inside as it was out. Perhaps after all my doomy predictions the house would not die a violent death, but be gently brought to ruin by animals that had flourished in its vicinity. Hadn’t I even predicted the possibility, many months ago? The thought that my prediction might prove correct was surprisingly sweet.
