The Sacred Beasts

by Bev Jafek

  In fact, I find no novelist anywhere who will grapple with issues as broad, compelling and important as what I heard from Ruth today. We truly have no reason to go to bed at night and expect our civilization to be there in the morning. Almost all literary fiction is concerning itself with relative trivia while human beings are in process of rapidly destroying the fine web of ecological relationships that allow the inherently fragile natural and civilized worlds to exist. If I do not write this novel, no one else will.

  Now, how on earth do I write this book? Alex stared into space, sighed and realized that she had a headache. She decided to take two acetaminophen and go back to sleep; so quickly, she concluded, has the ridiculous followed the sublime.

  THE NEXT DAY, both couples—Alex and Sylvie, Ruth and Monserrat—were in the Gothic Quarter in the late morning for the very few hours that sunlight could penetrate its narrow streets surrounded by steep buildings. Lanterns, nineteenth-century in appearance, also lit the dark, cramped cobblestone streets at all times. It is a Medieval and Baroque urban jungle with spidery Gothic embroidery at the edges, Ruth thought, and it held what were short, brutish lives with minds void but for a hysteria called religion. Many in America would return us there. She and Monserrat had been walking the streets for some time when Monserrat brought her into the Gothic Cathedral of Barcelona and finally to a statue of Saint Eulalia, one of the city’s patron saints.

  “I know you want to see women represented in art,” Monserrat said, smiling.

  “Oh, yes,” Ruth answered. “They are the endangered species in all religions and definitely to be noted for that reason. Is that why you brought me here?”

  “No, actually, the cloister is one of my favorite places.”

  They entered the adjoining cloister to find an open-air courtyard with a fountain and pond. Suddenly, there was color, open sky and, as they sat beside the fountain, a flock of white geese who lived there and paraded in a stately line around the pond as though they were protectors of the premises. They smiled in delight. “I would never have expected this—indoor birds that look like guardians against human sacrilege,” Ruth said.

  “I knew you would like it, since you are something of a guardian of the earth, too. Now, I want to know everything about you, everything you think.”

  “You sound like my guardian. First, there’s what I just thought of.” Ruth looked around and saw that they were alone; then she kissed Monserrat and, on impulse, took her hand in hers and plunged both into the fountain. “I was thinking that you should be loved a bit in your favorite city places and I just baptized our love here. That’s the first thing I thought of doing. Then it occurred to me that this is the first moment the cathedral has seemed spiritual to me, just because we are in the open air, birds and water are present, it is a place you love and I can love you.”

  “What a romantic zoologist you are, with definite pagan tendencies. The geese are an old Roman custom that the church preserved.”

  “I want to know everything about you, too. What are you thinking?”

  “That you are unique.”

  “But you’ve been with so many artists and creative people. Hasn’t one of them thought you should be kissed beside some geese?”

  “Not a guardian. There are very few of you, apparently; I don’t know of another. Damiana and I once made love at night in one of the church pews of the nave we just left, close to the high altar.” They both laughed at the thought of it.

  “Don’t give me ideas like that. I’ll want to repeat them. Did you like it?”

  “It was extreme in every way. There was a terrible storm outside and we were wet. It was very cold, very uncomfortable, very exciting and we were both very young.”

  “Youth can’t be repeated. I will have to come up with something else.”

  “You already have. What else have you responded to in the Gothic Quarter?”

  “The animal sculpture. You’ll find that I always notice the animals and women first, a partly zoological habit. But, the animals seem far more striking here than the sculpture of humans. The people are unmoving, rigid, iconic. But, just in the few streets we’ve walked, I’ve seen dragons, lions, horses and gargoyles that look far more interesting and, oddly enough, more human, too. Their eyes are round with fascination and excitement, their mouths open in awe, their fur and tails swirling and coiled. They show energy and passion, the world’s real powers. They exhibit the cosmic element here, not human religion, and as a spiritual belief, that fits me like an ancient glove.”

  “Now you both amaze and delight me. You are definitely a pagan. We will have to keep a forest of passionate animals in Barcelona.”

  “No, just take me to more of your favorite places. That will keep me entertained very well.”

  “Will you think I should be loved in them all?”

  “Oh, yes! Any animal would agree.”

  AT THAT MOMENT, Sylvie and Alex were walking the narrow streets of the Gothic Quarter, too, watching the shock of improbable overhead sunlight on the blackened stones. Sylvie was wearing low heels and a deep-necked dress that was red and black with abstract patterns on silk fabric. She had partially pulled back the thick, curly mane of her dark hair, leaving smaller curls around her neck. Consciously, she had not obscured the voluptuousness of her body and she had dressed simply but seductively for Alex; the effect was turning nearly every male head that passed. Many women also watched her carefully and with intense curiosity. Sylvie was focused on Alex and the city, however, and paid no attention to the subtle commotion she was causing.

  Alex found Sylvie’s beauty so distracting that her role as guide was becoming increasingly difficult. Often, she looked at Sylvie and felt that her beauty caused actual physical pain and a soft, mute confusion. This was followed by intense delight, followed by a bit of nausea, followed by a fierce determination to master herself, followed by complete failure to do so. The paradoxical result was a sense of the dark space as lit up with brilliant energy. I’m going to have to get used to being very, very excited when I’m with her, she thought. Nothing will be calm or easy for the foreseeable future.

  Sylvie smiled and thought her emotions are so absurdly easy to manipulate that I really must be very gentle and careful with her. She smiled up at Alex, and Alex felt radiant warmth coming from the object of her adoration. In unabashed joy, Alex thought, I wouldn’t be surprised if a mountain suddenly fell on what is objectively this wretched little black pothole of a Gothic Quarter.

  Sylvie suddenly stopped and looked all around her. Her face reflected intense emotion and intellectual focus, almost a hungry look, as Alex noted. This narrow street of blackened soot is joined above by two stone bridges connecting the buildings on either side of the street, Sylvie thought. The sunlight falling on it is so extreme that it softens the edges of some of the most intricate and convoluted latticework I’ve ever seen. The light has edges of gold; all else is black looming over a river of diffuse white color, becoming an eye into the past, gold-tinged. These blackened stones of steep buildings and streets are obviously intended to suggest spiritual striving yet truly, in their ancient darkness, they are spider webs spun at the most frenetic pace, a spiritual night in tangled, half-organic lines. Such Gothic tracery is where the energy of striving lies. The Holy Fathers are huge, fat black spiders springing their webs and lures, pikes and lances into this claustrophobic urban space, only to enmesh superstitious, pathetic and frightened souls for centuries of hell in which the spirit is nothing but mute black stone. I will paint this street with giant black spiders clinging to the walls and hidden in corners of pure filth. Any human presence must show extreme contrast, like this blaze of noon light. The solution is simple and elegant: lines of nude women holding hands will dance their way over these streets and bridges, oblivious to the spiders and their Gothic reach. All the cramped surfaces, spider stratagems and churchly concerns, will be released into sensuality. Yes! That is how I will paint it. Sylvie’s face relaxed and she looked up at Alex.

/>   “What was that?” Alex asked. “You suddenly looked at everything so seriously, intensely. You went somewhere else. It was fascinating. Where did you go?”

  Sylvie laughed. “Ruth has observed that, too. I’m imagining a painting I want to do when that happens. She says I look like a wolf drooling over a lamb. Your description is much subtler and kinder to me. Thank you.”

  Alex only uttered an “ah” of surprise and pleasure that she had said something in a more appealing way than Ruth. Sylvie smiled and thought she is so ridiculously easy to please. I really must take care of her. She took Alex’s arm, and Alex instantly turned her head away to hide the look of childish delight on her face. Yes, touch me, she thought. Lean on me, please!

  I am leading a young faun or a foal, Sylvie thought. I have never felt anything quite like this with a man. Of course, she would be self-possessed and mature if she were not so besotted with me. Her intellect is very impressive, and perhaps I have done no one a favor by wearing this dress. On the other hand, since I knew I was dressing for my new lover and that I would give her the pleasure of taking my clothes off me tonight, I wanted them to be nice. Après moi le déluge! Besotted men only annoy me but then, they are always trying to dominate me. What on earth is happening? Is this beautiful city a love potion? What will this woman be like as a lover? She can barely control herself. When I show her that her attraction is returned a few hours from now, she will probably jump on me. Sylvie laughed softly as they strolled over the dark streets.

  I have never found Gothic buildings erotic before, Alex thought, but with this woman, by-god, they are! Gothic tracery is now nothing but couplings of lovers, astounding and contorted shapes copulating without cease! Webs, stones, shadows, lances, grills of iron—pitch black and infernal—are becoming pornography! What is this woman doing to my mind? At some point, I am going to pounce on her like a wild animal!

  RUTH AND MONSERRAT were still in the Gothic Quarter, looking out at the area from a cathedral roof. The view was full of towers, crosses, cupolas and patron saints in close proximity. “We have ascended to all that really exists of heaven,” Ruth said. “What do you see?”

  “We’ve intruded upon a Catholic chess game played by the holy saints who don’t exist. The pieces on the board are towers, cupolas and patron saints.”

  Ruth laughed. “Yes, I can see that, even their vanished holinesses.” Sylvie would think of something like it, she thought. “What else do you see?”

  “Old friends, old haunts, definitely not heaven and then, though I don’t know why, freedom. What else do you see?”

  “I am most struck by the colors and the light since everything below looks like black and white photography at this time of day. The tops of these buildings are shades of yellow, orange, brown, even pink, the colors of clay, though everything is made of stone. The colors seem to be those of the city itself and therefore a quality of the light. The clay-colored stones never shine or reflect light; they drink the light and color, like clay. Barcelona seems to be a city of earthen clay. These same buildings are black and gray below, reaching for the sky in a facile spirituality. From here, you can see the reality: the pure expanse of sky—and yes, it’s freedom, too—and the colors. The great horizontal of nature reclaims the world and the spirit, making religion paltry. You could go walking over these roofs, drink wine, have a picnic, and we should do it sometime. And then we could . . .”

  “Could what? You were going to say it’s a great place to make love.”

  Ruth laughed but felt startled. “Apparently, you can read my mind. I better watch what I think.”

  “I’ll bring a blanket and pillows next time.”

  “That would be lovely! As lovers, we would become women of the earthen clay, and this clay of Catholicism, after all its failed religion, would pleasure itself.”

  Monserrat laughed. “Once again, you are unique.”

  “Plain old bawdy, if you ask me. Is this one of your favorite places?”

  “Yes.” Ruth kissed Monserrat, who pressed her body into Ruth’s large, lean frame.

  “If you keep doing that, which I love, I will have to make love to you here without blankets and pillows.”

  “Wait until tonight, my love. Show your restraint and chivalry, in spite of the exorbitant temptations I present to you.”

  “Clay is only clay, I’m afraid. I will take every temptation you offer me.”

  ALEX AND SYLVIE were outside Casa Battló, beginning Sylvie’s discovery of Gaudi. “This is a good building for a first look at Gaudi’s architecture,” Alex said.

  “Oh, this really is a delight!” Sylvie said. “What a child he is and what a dragon and what a clam and even a sea scallop. One day, he must have crawled out of the ocean and decided to entertain those fools walking upright who were so impossibly self-centered. I could go on and on. You’re a writer; what do you see?”

  “Unfortunately, I thought of Disneyland’s iconic castle when I first saw it but then, in abject humiliation, I looked more carefully. In a way, it’s a story, a fairy tale.”

  “Oh, please tell me your fairy tale! I see everything in colors and images. You must see things differently.”

  “You will have to pay the storyteller.”

  “Of course,” Sylvie said and smiled, thinking, I will have given you my body before this day is done, which is what you really want.

  “Well, there was a princess, dreaming underwater. She knew it was trite to be a princess, so she deliberately made herself more creative and unique by falling asleep underwater, which had never been done in a fairy tale before. Everything was blue and green, and all the things around her seemed to be rising from the ocean floor, just like the facade of Casa Battló. Suddenly she sensed a great mystery in the world: it seemed that she was being entertained, even wooed, by someone invisible to her. It must be a prince, she thought, since she was very modern and knew she lived in a fairy tale. The balconies over the windows were conches and frog faces, just as you see them on Casa Battló, and they begged to be eaten. The circles on the facade seemed to be golden coins blowing upward like bubbles. She had only to cup her hands and receive limitless treasure from the prince as well as satisfaction of her needs. And, when she saw the tower of Casa Battló, which looks like a very plump cross on top of an ice-cream cone, she knew that all of her aspirations and strivings would be fulfilled, too, since carrying her cross would be as easy as eating an ice-cream cone.

  “She had only to accept the prince as her husband, sight-unseen. So she did. Then the prince came to her, shaking the facade, for the prince was the building itself. Then all, all was revealed to her: the prince was a great, round oceanic dragon like Casa Battló. The roof was his back, covered with scales. The circles were not coins but reptilian markings on his skin. The balconies were not conches or frog faces, but his many tentacles. The windows were his many eyes and mouths, rectangular just to be more unique and dreadful. He was standing before her, ready to carry off his bride. The story ends in horror: the princess had agreed to marry a monster!”

  Sylvie smiled throughout and then laughed at its close. “Let’s go inside. Maybe we’ll find her there, half-digested.”

  Inside, Sylvie walked around in a state of astonishment and was silent. Alex enjoyed simply watching and following her. “I’ve studied Gaudi, of course, and seen photos of his buildings before, but this is my first time for the real thing,” she finally said. She thought, all is spherical; the horizontal and vertical have been annihilated, yet it is a building and I am in Wonderland. The gallery and largest window are pure oceanic wave honed from wood and stained glass, blue and green for the sea. It looks more like biological cells or floating sea creatures than a living-room window. The rounded ceilings and relatively straight pillars look more like the shapeless oceanic being kindly moving his bulk so that we can pass. I see a stairway shaped like a vine or sea scallop leading to a floor that does not exist.

  The real stairway is equally undulant and flanked by octopus eyes
and tentacles. We walk upstairs and in doing so pass an irrelevant pillar that seems to be floating in air; it looks like an Egyptian god crossed with a winged insect, poised to dive into water. The next floor has a hearth in the shape of a cave and a ribbed roof like an animal’s mouth. It utters the law of all animals: come eat and be eaten. And out the window is the roof—oh, what a thing! It definitely shows the dragon’s backbone with blue scales on one side and smooth orange on the other only to be eccentric, a dragon and its photonegative. It makes me feel like a very young child. I believe that I can just walk out this window and sit on the dragon’s back, take the ice-cream cone for myself, flicking the cross off with one fingernail, and fly away. What a wonderful, unexpected creature of a building to find in Catholic Spain!

  Then, for the first time since entering the building, she became aware of Alex, who was just standing and looking at her. They were holding hands like children. From the silly smiles on their faces, they both realized that they had been entertained to the point of ecstasy, Sylvie by Gaudi and Alex by Sylvie. Alex had hardly taken her eyes off Sylvie throughout their exploration of the house.

  “And now you must pay the storyteller,” Alex said quietly.

  “The story teller must seize me and take her payment.” And, there was their first kiss, in the most perfect place and moment. It did not seem to end. Sylvie felt a lean body that towered over hers but was muscular and held her tightly, reaching and touching everywhere, overwhelming her slowly. Alex felt the body of a Hindu goddess, alive and pliant. Slowly, Sylvie realized that Alex had maneuvered them against a wall in a dark corner, and she was glad for that because she would have fallen over. Urgent words they would never have predicted escaped from them. “Tonight!” Alex almost shouted and looked like a maniac.