The Painted Room

by Tina Mikals

Chapter 14

  Two Golden Apples

  The motion of the waves invaded May's dreams. That night she dreamt that instead of the rowboat, she glided through the water in a small submarine, smooth all around. Sheila was with her and Francis Carlisle, too.

  Carlisle kept painting the inside of the submarine all sorts of different colors so that her head spun and she yelled at him to stop. The inside of the vessel was freezing cold and Sheila kept repeating, "Why is it so cold in here?" until May began wondering the same.

  The question began to distress her so much that she woke with a start.

  She found that she was shivering, chilled through. The boat wasn't moving anymore and Carlisle and Sheila were asleep.

  An eerie mist surrounded the rowboat on all sides so that she could see almost nothing beyond it. All that she was able to make out was that they had landed on a tract of sand.

  The air was pungent with an overwhelmingly sweet smell of some flower she didn't recognize and the enticing and repulsing scent of overripe fruit. She began to be aware of strange plopping noises that she couldn't place, full and pregnant sounding, occurring at irregularly spaced intervals.

  Rubbing her arms in the chilly air, May stepped over the side of the boat and sunk into the sand. After being so long on the ocean, her head swam now that she was back on solid ground. She knew now that she had never fully appreciated how wonderful it could be to stretch her legs.

  The encompassing whiteness of the fog gradually turned pinkish and translucent. The morning sun was burning off the night's mist and bringing warmer air with it. She could see now that they were on a small beach. Just beyond it was a patch of green grass, studded with small rose colored flowers, the source of the overwhelmingly fragrant smell.

  "What is this place?" asked Carlisle in a sleepy voice behind her, awake now in the boat and rubbing his lower back.

  She answered him over her shoulder. "I don't know. The fog is so thick, it's hard to tell. It appears to be burning off though, so that's something. I can see just a little bit of some grass over there, so we've hit a coast or island of some kind is my guess."

  He stumbled out of the boat behind her, and she heard his tired steps crunch up to where she stood. "What is that strange noise? Rain?"

  "You mean those weird plopping sounds?" she asked, turning around to answer him, then breaking out in a laugh. His hair was definitely worse in the morning. "I don't know," she got out between laughs.

  He chose to ignore her.

  "I don't ever want to see another rowboat again," Sheila said peevishly from behind them.

  "I have to agree with you there," agreed Carlisle, inspecting some blisters on his hands.

  "Where do you suppose we are? Are we in the same painting?" asked Sheila.

  "It doesn't seem like it, but we never found another edge. Maybe we're off the map. Who knows anymore in this place," said May.

  "What a weird noise. What do you suppose—"

  "We don't know," said May and Carlisle together.

  The shape of trees slowly began to emerge out of the pinkish gray mist. By the even spacing of them and the smell of overripe fruit everywhere, May felt certain that what they were looking at must be an orchard. She heard her stomach rumble.

  The same realization hit them all at the same time, and they ran full tilt into the orchard. Each plucked the nearest fruit and collapsed on the soft green grass. They munched together voraciously.

  Carlisle quickly devoured a golden apple and began to work rapturously on a second. May munched on a sour green apple while Sheila was demolishing a juicy brown pear.

  All around them, the fruit, so ripe and ready to be eaten, fell and dropped down with small dull thuds onto the ground.

  "This is the best pear I've ever had," sputtered Sheila with her mouth full.

  After finishing his second golden apple and happy for the moment, Carlisle lay back on the grass, his hands entwined behind his head. "I needed that," he sighed with amazed satisfaction.

  "Where do you suppose we are?" asked Sheila.

  "I wish I knew. I hate surprises," said May. "I don't remember an orchard in any of your mother's pictures, but she might have bought a new one."

  "Should we go exploring? After we're done, of course. I think I'm going to eat about a hundred of these." Sheila held up another brown pair and admired it before taking a bite.

  May had only eaten one apple, but she already felt full. "We can bring some with us," she said, taking off her sweatshirt and spreading it on the grass. She scratched her forearm where sea salt had dried on her skin and left a flaming red rash. "We need to find fresh water, too. This salt is starting to burn, and we're going to need drinking water."

  She and Sheila collected up some apples and pears and placed them on the sweatshirt. As she was tying the sleeves together to form a bundle, she heard Sheila's voice say tremulously, "May, could you come here?"

  Sheila was kneeling over Carlisle with a pinched look on her face.

  "What's wrong?" asked May, not entirely sure she wanted to know.

  "I–I don't know. He doesn't look like he's breathing."

  "What do you mean he isn't breathing?"

  "He looks ... Oh, May! He looks ... "

  "How? Are you sure?" she hesitantly went over to where Carlisle lay white and still on the grass. His eyes were closed. He was totally inert and Sheila was right; he didn't appear to be breathing whatsoever.

  May's stomach lurched. She dropped the bundled sweatshirt, and an apple rolled out.

  Sheila put her face in her hands. She started to cry softly, "I'm sorry, May, I can't help it."

  May knelt down next to him. She tucked her hair behind her ear and placed her head against his chest. She could hear an almost impossibly slow and faint beat. She felt the merest whisper of movement against her cheek. He was breathing shallowly, almost imperceptibly.

  She straightened up, shook her head and said, "He's not dead, Sheila."

  Sheila looked up from her hands, "But he's—he's not breathing."

  "He is breathing actually, but not well."

  "What's wrong with him?"

  She swallowed and said, "I don't know. I would think if he'd been poisoned—I guess it would depend on the kind of poison—but he would be contorted or would have said something at least. And he'd be purple if he'd choked. It's more like he's been drugged or something. He's in a really deep sleep, close to death, maybe, but not dead."

  Yet.

  May touched his forehead with the back of her hand. He was cool.

  "What'll we do now? We can't leave him here," said Sheila, burying her face in her hands again.

  Watching her, May bit her lip. "I think that's the least of our worries right now. We ate the fruit, too."

  Sheila looked up. Her face was blotchy. "I don't feel sick or anything if that's what you're saying."

  "Good. I don't either—just … a little dizzy."

  Sheila wiped her eyes. "Are you really sure he's still alive?"

  "Yes. I'm sure."

  "It's just so strange to see him so still."

  May knew what she meant. Any brief time with Carlisle yielded one important fact of his existence: at least one part of him was always in motion. When a hand stopped moving, a foot took over. When that ceased, a finger would reach up and scratch his neck. Heck, May had even seen his hair move on its own.

  He seemed to have a restless energy which he controlled from building up to explosive proportions by letting it out in bits—like the release of a static charge. And Sheila was right; it was eerie to see him so still.

  Sheila looked up suddenly. "What was that?"

  "What was what?" May could only hear the occasional dropping down of the fruit from the trees around them.

  "Music. From over there." Sheila motioned to a hill dotted with daisies nearby.

  Very faintly at first and growing gradually louder, May began to hear it, too—the high refrain of a flute. As she watched, a remarkable set of people
crested the hill. A young girl danced before a sedan chair being carried by four fancy looking men in white wigs, satin coats and breeches. Resting languidly on the sedan chair was a beautiful woman whom May felt certain she had seen before. Four musicians, playing harps and flutes, came after, followed by a smiling throng of about thirty beautiful people of all races.

  "That looks like the lady in the shell," said Sheila.

  "Of course! It's Venus. Your mom has a print of Botticelli's Birth of Venus."

  "Are those like the angels in the picture?" asked Sheila, pointing at the handsome winged beings flying around and through the trees.

  May shook her head. "They're called Zephyrs."

  The four men in satin suits set the sedan chair on the grass in front of them. Another male servant in mint green came forward and placed a tiny tasseled step stool next to it.

  Venus placed her gold-slippered feet onto the stool. She took the servant's white gloved hand in her own and stepped down onto the grass. She wore a dress of crimson-gold velvet, embroidered all over with white lilies. It clung prettily at the top in an empire waistline and flowed fully and elegantly down the length of her tall body. On the goddess's head, she wore a delicate crown of gold. It was adorned with rubies and pearls, and on each of the crown's pinnacles there was a star; except for the highest in front which had a crescent moon.

  The goddess's eyes were a cool aqua green, as translucent and deep as the ocean itself. She smiled and said serenely in a sultry voice like flowing water, "Ah, here you are. One of the Zephyrs spotted you three a little while ago."

  As impressive as was her appearance, at the sound of her voice, May and Sheila bolted quickly to their feet. May made a low bow. With her head down, she contemplated an apple core on the ground with remorse. "I'm sorry, Your Highness, we didn't know this was your orchard; we were very hungry."

  With a queenly sweep of her hand, Venus said, "That's quite all right, dear. The fruit grows persistently and abundantly and is free to all."

  "Thank you, Your Highness, you are most generous." May gestured to Carlisle. "Can you help us, Your Majesty? We're kind of concerned. We fear he might be dead."

  Venus walked toward Carlisle and inspected his face. She said gravely, "Thankfully, we don't see much of this anymore, but it still happens sometimes. Did he eat of the golden apples?"

  "Yes, Your Highness."

  "I thought so. Normally they are quite harmless, but for some they can be deadly. It is caused by a reaction."

  "What do you mean 'a reaction'? Like, an allergy?" asked May.

  Venus looked up at her and her eyes were emerald green now. "How do I put this? It's a reaction between the apples, which contain pure joy itself, and a terrible sadness."

  "I don't understand."

  Venus put her hand to her chest lightly. "He has suffered a broken heart that has never healed."

  "His wife died a few years ago," said Sheila.

  Venus looked down at his face again and appeared puzzled. "Has he remarried?"

  "No," responded Sheila.

  "How peculiar," said the goddess. "No, my dear, I'm afraid the wound usually runs deeper even than that. I suspect that he lost his mother at too tender an age—most likely at his birth."

  Sheila cried, "Oh May, did you hear that? Poor, poor, dear Mr. Carlisle," before she buried her face in her hands again and wept.

  "You have got to be kidding," said May. One more down. Talk about having bad luck with women.

  Venus's eyes shifted from green to gray. "No, dear, I would never joke about that. As I've said, I haven't seen this happen for quite a while. It used to happen a lot more often."

  May looked down at Carlisle's motionless form on the grass as she processed this new information about him. She said out loud, "I've read it was as high as one in four women at one time."

  "Excuse me?" said Venus.

  "That died in childbirth. And you're right, it almost never happens anymore. That probably explains why you don't get them as often."

  Venus's eyes took on the black midnight murk of the ocean depths. "Yes, I suppose it does," she said in a cool tone as she knelt down on one knee. She touched Carlisle gently on the cheek. "Poor dears. They always do seem to be drawn to the golden ones." The goddess passed a pale serpentine hand through his hair and smiled to herself, sadly. "It's just as I thought."

  "What is?" asked May.

  "Why, his hair! It's just like silk. Didn't you wonder? And what an interesting face he has. He looks very intelligent, don't you think?" Spying the weapon next to him, Venus brightened, "He has a sword, I see. We get so few men with swords now. Is he a knight?"

  "A what?"

  "Is he a knight?" Venus's eyes were bright blue now as she stood up.

  "Oh, a knight. Yes, I guess you could say that." Not wanting to disappoint the goddess and with the hope of advancing themselves in her favor, May added, "He is Sir Carlisle, and we are his nieces. I am Lady May, and this is Lady Sheila." May made a courtly bow.

  Sheila sniffled and attempted a curtsey in her jeans. "Your Highness, this what-ever-you-call-it he's had, he's not going to—I mean—he—he will get better, won't he? Can't you do anything for him?"

  Venus said sympathetically, "I'm terribly sorry, child. In all honesty, there isn't much we can do. Whether he wakes or not will depend on him. Is he a brave and true knight?"

  "Oh yes," assured Sheila, "very brave and very true."

  Venus smiled at her. "Then he is most likely just tired and needs to sleep for a time. If he decides to wake, you will see, he will be much better for the rest. In the meantime, I will have some of my men take him to a tent where they can watch over him. They will let you know when he stirs."

  The goddess beckoned to the four satin clad servants and they each took one of Carlisle's limbs. May reached for the sword on the grass, but a white gloved hand stole it out from under her. She looked up quickly into the impassive face of the man in mint green.

  "I'm sorry," said Venus when she saw May's stunned expression. "We don't allow weapons here of any kind. We will take your uncle's sword for safekeeping, and we will return it to you on your departure." She smiled. "But you girls look like you have had a long and tiresome journey and could use some food and a nice hot bath. How does that sound?"

  It sounded about the most delicious thing anyone could have said to May right then. She almost forgave Venus for taking the sword. She could have kissed the goddess.

  Venus lifted up Sheila's chin with one of her delicate fingers. "Oh, such a lovely face so unhappy. Dry your eyes, dear lass, and try not to worry yourself so." Looking more closely at Sheila, she said, "You are very beautiful and sweet, dear child! Come, you must ride in my sedan chair with me. I would enjoy the company."

  Sheila looked back at May guiltily as the goddess took her by the hand and led her away.

  A litter was procured for Carlisle, the flute started up again, and the whole procession of beautiful people slowly made its way through the orchard and over the fertile hills. May followed up at the rear, keeping one eye on Sheila and one on Carlisle's almost lifeless body so as not to lose sight of either one of them.