Angels Unaware

by Lisa Deangelis

  In every family, there is a vulture, for some unfortunate families more than one, who can smell death even from great distance, and once having caught the scent, cannot rest until all that once belonged to the dead is theirs. Often, they swoop down on the house before the undertaker can get there. Sometimes, they cannot even wait for death, but begin to dismantle the house piece by piece while the sick still live. With a cold eye, they appraise value, and with greedy fingers, they grasp and carry off in their talons whatever isn’t nailed to the floor. Caroline was our very own vulture, and in the time she had been gone from Galen, she had developed an appreciation for antiques. To me, the inn and all its contents were junk, but to Caroline’s practiced eye, the things that had belonged to the Justice and then to Jewel, were valuable. She filled her big black car with small chairs and tables and lamps and jewelry and anything else that could be made to fit. For a moment, I thought she was going to tie her husband to the car roof to make more room for her plunder. She was good enough, however, to leave me my bed and enough skeletal furniture to keep the house functioning.

  Luca stood in the hall watching Caroline go in and out with an expression of disgust. I, too, was disgusted and wanted to slap her face and pull her hair, but having so recently put Jewel in the ground, I didn’t have the stomach for a brawl. Then, too, when your mother dies, you hear her voice for good or ill for the rest of your life. And I could hear Jewel saying, “Let her have it, Darcy. There’s nothing going with her that you’ll ever need.” So I let her take it all and was glad to hear at last her mile-long car pull away.

  The rituals of death had tired me, and I felt very cold. Watching a coffin being lowered into the ground can make you feel cold, even in July. You start to think of the day when it’s your turn to get lowered into the cold earth and laid away to eternal darkness. Someone had started a fire in the drawing room. Luca, most likely since it wasn’t me, and Caroline and Mr. Caroline probably had servants for that kind of thing. I could smell it, and drawn to the warmth, I went in to find Luca there. He was just pouring himself a glass of brandy.

  He looked up and saw me. His eyes had a hard glint. “Join me,” he said and got another glass. “We’ll have a farewell drink together.”

  “Farewell?” I made my voice hold nothing more than passing interest. “Are you leaving?”

  Laughter rose from low in his throat, and I began to think he had been drinking for a while before I came in. “Come now, Darcy, this can’t be a surprise to you. Since the day I arrived, you’ve wanted me to leave. There were times I thought it was your life’s work. Still, I suppose it is surprising. I mean, you bullied and begged, all to no purpose, and now with no effort from you, I’m finally going. It’s miraculous.” He paused and moved closer. “Stop frowning,” he said. “It makes you look old. You never did have a pretty smile. But you always had the most attractive frown. But seriously, Jewel’s gone, and that’s why I’m leaving. While she lived, I did my best to show my gratitude, even suffering to live with her insufferable daughters. You were all a dose of bitter medicine in your own way, you know. But it’s pointless to try to show gratitude to the dead. In a way, Jewel released me from my prison.” He motioned around the room and the look he’d worn at the graveside returned fleetingly to his features and was quickly gone. He forced a smile. “But you must not worry. You will do fine alone. After all, you’ve been preparing for something awful to happen most of your life. Now that it finally has, it must be almost a relief.”

  “You came to the inn,” I said. “That was awful enough.”

  He laughed again. “Ah, Darcy, Darcy. Most people look on tragedy and think, ‘Why me?’ You look on tragedy and say, “Why not me?” He raised the glass to his mouth and drank the last of it. “Enough conversation. I’ll be gone in the morning.”

  “Where do you plan on going?”

  “Does it matter?” He flashed his dimples at me. “But you’re probably thinking of the money I still owe you. Well, you’ll be happy to know that I’ve left enough for you to divorce me. You can tell them I deserted you. That will simplify things.” He pointed a finger at me, and his face turned suddenly fierce. “But I won’t have you telling anyone that I forced myself on you, even though I could have. Rightfully. You tell them that you’re as much a virgin as the day you were born. Do you hear me?”

  “Go to hell!”

  He was very angry now. “That doesn’t mean very much to you, does it, Darcy?” His eyes darkened to navy. “How many men do you think would have let you keep your door locked every night when they were in possession of a legal paper that gave them the right to be in your bed? How wasted gallantry is on someone like you.”

  “Gallantry, piss! You left me alone because you knew that I could kick your backside from here all the way back to Italy—and because you had whores in that house in the woods.”

  The smirk hadn’t left my face before he was on top of me, his arm around my waist. Dragging me across the room, he pushed me down on the couch. I could feel its old springs digging in my back, as the weight of him made us both sink down into threadbare upholstery. I turned my face away.

  “Get off me, you son of a bitch!”

  “Look at me!” he said.

  “Leave me alone,” I answered, my face still averted.

  His hand reached up to tangle in my hair, and I winced as his grip tightened, forcing my head around.

  “Kiss me, Darcy, kiss me goodbye…” He held my chin.

  “Get away from me.”

  “Are you stronger than me? Answer me. Are you?”

  “Yes!” Tears pricked my eyes from the stinging in my scalp. “What—what are you doing?” He was pinning my arms behind my back, using my own weight to confine me. He was stronger than I would have thought. The face of an aristocrat on the body of a laborer. The muscles of his arms strained against the material of his shirt. His legs were muscled, too, though the one maimed in the accident had shriveled somewhat. I felt the muscles of his thighs against my own, and then his knees forcing my legs apart. He loomed over me, unsmiling now, his breath laced with the smell of brandy and coming in great gasps. I could hardly breathe myself with him pressing into me, and maybe it was this that made me go suddenly limp. It was over. He could do whatever he liked with me. What was there to lose? I had no family left, no sisters, no mother, nothing to struggle for, nothing to hope for. Only the inn. The cold, drafty inn. And some day when a terrible stench arose that the neighbors could no longer ignore, they would enter with handkerchiefs over their noses to remove my dead body. Suddenly, I surrendered to whatever was to be my lot in life.

  And just as suddenly, he got up and went and sat across the room, where he lit a cigarette. “Get up,” he ordered, and I did. Without his body to cover me, the cold in the room rushed up and gathered around me like mist. I was surprised that I didn’t feel embarrassed, only mystified and a little disappointed.

  As if to explain himself, he spoke again. “I don’t want to hear any more talk of who is stronger. It’s childish.” He gestured with the cigarette. “I could have done anything I wanted with you a moment ago. But I don’t want you that way. I never did.” He inhaled on the cigarette. “Let’s not argue any more. I’m not waiting till morning. I’ll be gone tonight, and I’d much rather leave on good terms.”

  I smoothed my hair back and asked, “Have you packed yet?”

  “No.”

  “Do you—would you like me to help you?” I was a good packer, despite the fact I’d only packed the one time for our honeymoon. Long ago, I had drawn up a packing list of things I would take with me to Kathmandu, and every so often I revised it. But Luca didn’t want me to help.

  “It isn’t necessary,” he said. “I’ve so few possessions. I hope you don’t mind if I take your suitcase. I have none of my own.”

  “You mean the one you gave me for my birthday?” I asked, amazed at his gall.

 
“The very one.”

  “I sure as hell do mind. It was a present and I think it’s mighty stingy of you to take it back now. Why can’t you put your things in a paper sack?”

  “I’d look like a vagrant.”

  “You’d look like a vagrant anyway with that old suitcase. The cardboard’s bubbled and the clasps are rusted.”

  “Then why do you want to keep it if it’s so badly worn?”

  “Because…” I began, resenting the need for explanation. “Because it’s mine!”

  “Very well,” he said unmiffed. “There’s another bag I found in my closet. Someone must have left it. I’ll use that.”

  “Oh no, you won’t.”

  “Why not? Whoever left it, I’m sure he’s not coming back for it after all these years.”

  “You can’t have it because it’s official property of the Inn.”

  He laughed out loud. “All right. I will leave the Inn and all its contents intact.” He made to leave the room, but I blocked his way.

  “Why are you rushing off all of a sudden?”

  “It’s not sudden. I’ve meant to leave a hundred times before this.” He pushed past me.

  “Can’t you wait just a little while,” I persisted, “a few weeks, maybe, just until I get everything straightened out here?”

  He turned on the first landing of the stair. “No. The inn has never been straightened out. It never will be.”

  I tried to think of more to say, but nothing was forthcoming. So in frustration, I blurted out, “You’re a bastard to leave me this way.”

  He turned and drew himself up, offended. “What insults I’ve borne today. Earlier, I was the son of a dog and now my parentage is in question. You’re not a poor little girl, Darcy, and you’re as unconvincing now as you were that night on the porch a few summers ago.”

  I felt the color come to my face, remembering that night, and I spoke quickly hoping he would not notice. “You were disgusting that night.”

  He smiled at me. “Then it’s just as well I go. If I were to stay in the house with you, I would probably be disgusting again…and again and again.”

  He was teasing me, but I wasn’t up to it. There were more serious things to consider. “What would I have to do to get you to stay for a little while?” I watched as he dimpled all over and showed his perfect teeth. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “I am.”

  “Well, don’t expect me to tell you how wonderful you are. Or to make some dramatic declaration that would only embarrass us both.”

  “If I had wanted that, I’d have married Caroline.”

  “She wouldn’t have you,” I reminded him.

  “That’s my wife,” he said laughing, “Never lets me get too pleased with myself,” and then suddenly he wasn’t laughing anymore, and there was a new light in his eyes.

  On the landing just above me, he reached out. “Come here to me,” he said quietly, and I went without any more hesitation in the direction I had slowly and fitfully been moving all along.

  “There is only one thing I want for us, Darcy,” he whispered into my hair. “I want us to live as husband and wife and to love each other until we are so old that it seems we were born together. We need never talk about it, but we’ll know. We’ll know it’s there beneath all the trouble that will come to us.”

  I didn’t speak. It was just what I wanted to say to him, put into words better than I ever could have. So I just swallowed and nodded and followed him up the stairs with a feeling of ascension that was more than just the simple act of climbing to the second floor.

  6.

  Some Corner of the Hubbub Couch’d

  We didn’t go to his bedroom. We didn’t go to mine. We took the best room at the inn and one we had rarely used except for the most special of guests. And Luca and I, we were special guests, special guests in a special place, known briefly, lost soon, and grieved forever.

  Time slowed as I sat on the bed, wishing it were darker so that he could not see my face, but glad of enough light to see his. I watched him take off his shirt. Fascinated, I watched each finger undo each button. There were five of them.

  “Take your clothes off,” he said, and I started to unbutton my own dress with shaking fingers. Luca had been with so many girls. I knew I could be with only one man ever. I would be awkward, clumsy, and how he would laugh at me then. I had a sinking feeling and wished fervently that I was somewhere else, but not for long, because when I again looked up, he stood before me naked and the beauty of his golden body made me forget everything, even my own nakedness. How silly I must have looked to him, my mouth opened in maidenly awe, my bare arms hanging dumbly onto the bed. What a chance for him to get back at me then, to humiliate me for all the years I had tormented him. But he didn’t seem to want to embarrass me. Instead, he just said, “Come to me. I’ve waited so long,” and I felt such love and forgiveness in his voice that I went into his arms naturally and without awkwardness.

  The linen sheets were cool and crisp and new. They had never been slept on but awaited some high-paying guest who had never materialized.

  “Tell me what to do,” I said. It was the first and last time I would ever ask for direction. After that night, I always knew just what to do and how and when.

  “Kiss me,” he said, and as he did, he kissed me softly, chastely, not like a lover at all, but more like a person at an altar, and this infinite gentleness surprised me.

  He kissed my throat and I shivered.

  “Are you cold?”

  “A little.”

  “I’ll make you warm,” he promised, and he did. His mouth went to my breast, and I felt his even teeth, but ever so lightly, and his hands reached down under the sheet to grasp the back of my legs, and he kissed my stomach. His fingertips pressed into my thighs, parting them, and I felt his mouth again and my breath caught.

  “Don’t—”

  “Don’t what?” His voice was muffled.

  “Don’t kiss me there.”

  “Why?”

  “I—I don’t like it.”

  “You don’t know it,” he said patiently, but ignoring the words, for he knew them for what they were, words of unreasoned shame. “And when you do, you’ll want it. You’ll want me,” he said knowingly. “You’ll want me as I want you, everywhere, in every way.”

  I had no answer to give, so I closed my eyes and waited and that was as it should have been for nothing could have prepared me for what I felt then. A kind of excitement and anticipation so excruciating that I almost wanted to run from it, to escape it and him, because I suddenly felt that if it were to go on like this, then I would die, or be reborn, but born different and strange to myself. By some mysterious process, he was draining my will, drawing it into himself, controlling me as surely as he now controlled my limbs, raising them to bend at the knees, and if I let him, it would be the end of me, the beginning of someone new, but the end of me.

  I would not die so easily, would not give myself up to him without a struggle. So I struggled from habit more than will, strained against him and tried to twist away, but he was the stronger, at least that night. I was truly losing myself, and not just to him anymore. But to some dark fathomless force that lay behind all life’s beauty and all its mystery, and I began to feel indistinct, my edges blurring, my bones becoming fluid and flowing to the sea, and the bed itself seemed as if it were moving in a series of undulating waves that would drown me if I let it.

  “Please, stop—I—” My voice did not sound like my voice. It sounded strangled. But he didn’t stop until every muscle tensed inside me, and I held on to him as if he was at once my only link to the world and what most separated me from it.

  He held me and stroked my hair and whispered, “It’s all right,” and I tried to believe him as the room spun around me. The room was very hot now, hot and sweaty and oppressive
, as if it was summer instead of fall. I wanted to sleep. Sleep was the thing. I couldn’t remember ever having been so tired. Weary, but never like this, not with this feeling of having lost all desire or motivation to move. Always before there had been something, hunger or thirst or the need for amusement, or simply to be left alone. Now I wanted for nothing. Except sleep.

  But he wouldn’t let me sleep, and as soon as the faintness began to subside, his mouth was on mine again, not gentle now, but with something like violence. Yet his violence was never to frighten me half as much as did his tenderness. The violence, I understood.

  “Are you going to—?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Now?”

  I felt him nod.

  “Will it—?”

  “A little.”

  “What if—?”

  But there was no time to ask because all at once he was inside me, the shock of fullness, of sudden wholeness. Unmoving at first, he sighed deeply and then began to move, slowly, then quicker, growing bigger with each thrust, heedless of me, of anything but the moment. The brass headboard of the bed banged against the wall loudly, but he didn’t seem to notice, so intent was he on his own motions. Nor did he flinch when I bit his lip and drew a drop of blood that I could taste, unaware of his own pain or of mine, a pain that increased as he grew within me. Surely he would burst me wide open, but it was not me who burst, but him, and I heard him cry my name as he did, like a curse or an appeal to God. He shuddered and held me so tightly that it cut off my breath, and then all at once he went limp against me, as if I’d taken all the life from him into my own body. With his full weight upon me, I could not close my legs that had begun to cramp. He was still inside me now. Unmoving, but within me, and I did not want him to go. Finally, he rolled off me and onto his back, and I missed him so that he might have gone half a world away, instead of only to the other side of the bed.