The Sacred Beasts

by Bev Jafek

  “One day, a bomb intended for him killed three officers under him. During the funeral, when he looked at them in their coffins, the sight of those young men was so painful that he shot himself in the head right there. I saw it and I was only ten years old. My mother never stopped grieving over his death; it was so shocking! Grief over the violence of the nationalists threw a wall between our family and the whole world after that; it seemed like a black curtain to me. After that, my mother used one floor of our house as a bar, and it seemed like she was always there. She had terrible insomnia. She died in her sleep when she was eighty-three. Toward the end, her face was as hard and lined as a nut. They call that the fever of sadness in the Basque country.

  “Yet there was strength and peace in our lives, too; it was not all bad. My mother believed our Basque superstitions, even though she considered herself a Catholic and a socialist. She believed in Mari, the highest of our gods, who was a mother, and that our mountains were alive and had spirits. Two mountain chains, the Pyrenees and the Cordilleras, meet in the Basque country, so there are plenty of mountain caves, and Mari was said to live there. You wondered what gives a person the strength to go on. I think it might have been the presence of the spirits to my mother. She did live a long life, and she believed that there were other worlds besides this sad one.

  “I remember watching one of our parades protesting ETA with my mother. It was full of our folklore. There were Joaldunak dancers in their sheepskins, cowbells and conical hats with ribbons on them. There were pipes and drums like the ones we listened to here and dancing girls in our native dress of red skirts and white blouses carrying long hoops covered with ribbons. I saw it with my mother, and we were happy that day. Time suddenly seemed to expand endlessly into the past and future, and we felt that it had been good to be Basque and it would be again.

  “Yes, one day it will be a lovely land again, and I will be free of these sorrows. I will look back on them, and perhaps they will seem like a short time, a bad dream, a hot afternoon. Until then, I will do my work, which I love, and sometimes there will be a respite like coming here, to your wonderful house, Monserrat.” Monserrat and Ruth took her two hands and squeezed them. The other women did so, too, and there were no tears in Idoia’s eyes. All the women looked at one another, some with tears and some defiant, which made their eyes shine. For a moment, you could not tell them apart.

  SYLVIE AND ALEX, Ruth and Monserrat, planned on going to the Gay Pride Day parade together, then have dinner and wine in the city. Monserrat and Alex knew that Barcelona became even more colorful, creative, and festive on this day, as though the buildings and the Mediterranean came alive and joined the city’s residents to carouse and dance. They were proud to show this phenomenon to their lovers, who had never seen it. Sylvie was awake earliest, as usual, down in the painting room adding the last touches to her painting of the old woman in front of her fiery forge. Monserrat was next to awaken, as usual, and she knew exactly where Sylvie would be.

  When Monserrat entered the painting room, Sylvie instantly heard her and turned around in surprise. This would never have happened if she were not giving the last polish to the painting; she would otherwise have been oblivious. Monserrat came to her with a smile of delight. Sylvie did not embrace her, and Monserrat knew better than to embrace Sylvie. Rather, Monserrat only looked at Sylvie for a few moments. The early morning light and stimulation of her work made Sylvie’s beauty even more colorful, luminous and overpowering. What a superlative pagan beauty she is, Monserrat thought, Aphrodite rising from Barcelona’s waves. No wonder they all go crazy over her. She has the breath-taking perfection of a wild animal in movement. I will paint her, though it must be from memory. She would never pose or sit still for me. Was I ever like this? They said so, though I was reluctant to hold the mirror up myself and hated even more to be photographed. Sylvie began to smile. It was the smile she always gave to a co-conspirator. What game is this, she wondered. She’s the only one who can’t fall in love with me.

  Monserrat invited Sylvie to have coffee with her, and the two sat together in the living room. This is like a lioness trying to make small talk with a tigress, Monserrat thought, but I must get it over with! Later, we will laugh and love one another. Laughter is our brief respite from the animal in us. Monserrat then explained the existence and purpose of the feminist press and that she wanted to publish a book filled entirely with Sylvie’s paintings of Spain and a brief text, to be entitled, The Other Spain. Sylvie instantly metamorphosed into a child and whooped, cheered, covered Monserrat with kisses, embraced her again and again, and nearly made love to her on the sofa. So, the tigress shall lick the lioness like a kitten, violating all laws of nature, Monserrat thought. But, I expected it. Then they laughed and laughed, caressing one another and embracing and kissed several times. Now we will be good friends that always embrace and kiss, probably lifelong, Monserrat thought. She had another daughter, which delighted them both. At last, I’m so relieved, she thought. It is unbearable to be hated by your own kitten. What pain her mother must have felt!

  When Sylvie was alone again, she smiled and thought, well, I’m doing two books and my lovers are only doing one apiece. That should impress them, and I’m sure they both think I’m the most decadent woman they’ve ever found irresistible! With one elegant line and one rough daub of color, the painting was complete, and she could go upstairs and tell Alex. Alex and Ruth both enjoyed the very long, sound sleep of the sagacious who often laugh.

  Upstairs, Alex was surprised out of the remnants of sleep to see Sylvie dressed and watching her with a look of intense love. They had returned from the Basque country late the night before, and Alex only remembered her last troubling thoughts before falling asleep. Still clouded with sleep, she asked, “Did Ruth tell you all that stuff about bonobos and everyone wanting to be ravished by a woman just before she seduced you?” Alex looked like a leggy fawn with sprigs of dark, loamy forest floor sticking out from her head.

  Sylvie laughed uproariously. “Oh, heavens, no! That’s exactly what a man would be idiotic enough to think. Ruth never seduced me at all. I definitely seduced her! I had it in my mind at least a year before it even entered her spotlessly noble mind. She could not, truly not believe that a woman my age would want her.”

  Alex smiled. “You are the ultimate polymorphous perverse: she should have known better!” Alex was rapidly waking up and her eyes were now bright and looked slightly hunted.

  “Like many women, she can believe the worst of anyone but the one she loves.”

  “She loved you all that time, years?”

  “Oh yes, she loved me on sight—romantic, ridiculous, instantaneous, comme un monstre sacré.”

  “Did you love her like that, too?”

  “Oh-god, yes! One sacred beast adores another. How naïve you are, for such a brilliant mind. But, I’ll put up with you. In fact, I’ll give you the finest unsentimental education.”

  “Did you love me like that at first?”

  “No, actually, not until I thought you were a sex maniac. That, of course, was irresistible.”

  “You think that of me?”

  “No, but I’d been in bed with you for hours and hours before I thought otherwise. Then, I knew you were a sacred beast for other reasons.”

  “Some day, I will ask what those reasons are. At the moment, I’m horrified and think I’ve heard enough about this.”

  “I love that, too. I must keep a few secrets from you!”

  This conversation seems as erotic to her as being undressed by her lover, Alex thought. What a secret that is! Is there any human dignity left after all the secrets are told?

  “Oh and by the way, Monserrat is publishing all my paintings of Spain in a book entitled The Other Spain. She thinks I’m a budding genius! What do you think of that, my love?”

  Alex smiled in pleasure and peace. “Congratulations! That’s great news. We must thoroughly celebrate, even beyond gay pride.” She closed her eyes in relief, which s
urprised Sylvie. The human race has been left with its dignity, she thought. There’s still art and work.

  She’s smiling, almost going back to sleep, Sylvie thought. Was I too rough on her again? How mysterious she still is to me!

  It was the mystery of genius, Alex thought. They are a bit perverse.

  THE FOUR WOMEN were together, watching the parade as it thundered past them: obscene gigantes; revolving genitals and animals; outrageous angels and hairy, mincing devils in lacey drapes; flowers blooming from religious icons; musical instruments with noses and tails; chimera all; forms of life more devious than deviant; delicate falsehoods followed by crashing truths; careening, brimming, there, life—for what else could it be?—unimaginable until that very moment; the essence of humanity; the strength; the curse; the love; the sex; the farrago polymorphous-perverse; now dancing; now rolling on skates; now strutting, then cheering; one mutable multifarious profanity.

  Bonobo Day USA, Ruth thought. Then she was taken by a wave of repressed feeling. It’s still unfinished, she thought. Have I been holding onto her without knowing? It was a moment of pure clarity, peace in the midst of laughter and pride. She stared and stared at the queen of the festivity, the overwhelming beauty, the only one to whom this beast will bow its tangled mane. The goddess. Sylvie looked proud and that, too, made her more beautiful. Have I been holding her, too? Ruth wondered. Have I? Leave me, Sylvie! Leave me now when the world is so full of light, so full of dreams and creation and peace and what is best in us. Leave me when I love everything as much as I love you. Leave me now. It is only right for you. Now, in the midst of the color and art and beasty wonder of it and all that I love as I love you. My folly is clear: I could not separate you from the beauty of the world, after all. You became my goddess, and you must leave, for I am all-too-mortal. Sylvie suddenly looked directly at Ruth, seeing the serious and pained look on her face.

  How can you grieve even now? Sylvie thought in shock and anger. How dare you?

  Ruth pressed her hands together as though in prayer and lowered her head over them, both bending toward Sylvie. Sylvie had seen the gesture before from a Buddhist and knew that it meant I worship you. Then, Ruth slowly raised her head and opened her hands until they gestured toward the all-encompassing festivity, life, the future.

  I worship you and I release you, Sylvie thought. That’s what she said. How like her. How very like her to end it like that. If an animal passed her by in one of her wildernesses, stopped and looked at her; she would love it so easily, as easily as she loved me. And, that is how she would say goodbye. How many times, to how many women, to how many other creatures, has she said this? I worship you and I release you. Now I know how I will remember her as a lover: the most romantic. They both felt a tug in their hearts. Sylvie took Alex by the arm and said, “Take me to Ibiza! Make love to me in the surf.”

  “You want to leave them? The city?”

  “We can have fun in a few other places first, if you like. But, let’s get lost.” She smiled her invitation.

  “OK, we’ll get lost together. Will they mind?”

  “Oh, no. They want to get lost together, too.”

  “On to Ibiza! After some very serious carousing, drinking and loving, of course.”

  “Of course!”

  They walked away from Ruth and Monserrat without a care, arm in arm. They were very young, and they could still leave a life behind them that easily.

  RUTH AND MONSERRAT were alone together in the living room, having coffee after a day and night of celebration. It was late and they felt very calm and content. “After all that outrageous noise and pleasure, it’s strange that peace follows so readily. It always surprises me,” Monserrat said.

  “I know. It follows by a twisting animal logic that I’ve studied all my life, yet it still surprises me, too.”

  “When did they leave us?”

  “In the middle, in the midst, in medias res, where everything happens, where the real life is lived,” Ruth said and kissed Monserrat.

  “And now, we’re in the middle of it all, alone. What a luxury in a house like this! I love it. We can make love on this sofa if we want to.”

  “Shall we? Or is it too great a luxury?”

  “How curious. I’m one of the richest women in Spain, one of the happiest, yet I live in a giant house where I can’t even . . .” She blushed and her voice trailed off.

  “Get laid on your own living room sofa?”

  “Yes! I of all people should be free to command it.”

  “Command me. I’ll do it.” They kissed and began to touch one another.

  “I’ve wanted it all day. How can you think of anything else on such a day?”

  “Me, too. It was the elephant in the room and there wasn’t supposed to be a room.” Ruth began to take Monserrat’s blouse off.

  “Ah, slowly, my love,” Monserrat whispered and Ruth smiled, kissing the skin beneath the cloth.

  At that moment, Monserrat’s cell phone rang. “Ignore it,” Ruth said, and then she felt Monserrat’s muscles tense.

  The music from the cell phone played on and on. “Oh, no . . .” Monserrat whispered.

  Something has happened, Ruth thought. Oh, not now . . .

  “Hello?” Monserrat answered and was silent for a long time, listening carefully. Her face registered shock. “Oh-god, oh-god,” she whispered. She looked up to Ruth. “It’s Pilar!”

  Oh, not now, Ruth thought. Someone is dead or in jail or gone crazy.

  Monserrat completely focused on what was being said and slowly began to ask questions. “How many? . . . Eighteen!”

  Eighteen dead or in jail or gone crazy, Ruth thought.

  “Are you sure you haven’t been followed?” Monserrat continued. “Yes, come here! Bring them all here! Don’t wait a moment. Come through the Civil War entrances. Call Tamara now; she’s here and can tell you exactly where they are and then open the doors. Make sure that no one has followed you. If you have the slightest suspicion, take another spin through the city. The whole city has been partying. This is the night to confuse anyone! Then come here immediately.” (There was a pause). “Assault rifles? You have weapons then . . . Yes, we have revolvers and rifles in the attic. They’re old, but we can get them working. There are plenty of bullets, too, and communications equipment.” (Another pause). “We can protect all of you here. Don’t talk more. You don’t know what technology can do to trace you. Just come, bring all eighteen of them!”

  Ruth stood up. “What terrorist group is attacking this house, who are we defending, and how long do we have before the first volley of bullets lands?”

  Monserrat laughed, but cut it short. “I know that’s what it sounds like, but that’s more or less what it is. We might be attacked by the international Mafia, and we are protecting Pilar, Libre and eighteen Eastern European sex slaves.”

  “What!” Ruth shouted. “That is happening, in our house! And we’re looking for rifles and revolvers on Gay Pride Day? This is a movie plot!”

  “Movies don’t show women protecting other women; otherwise yes, it’s a movie. Pilar only explained a bit of it. I thought it was more important to get them here rather than know all the particulars. Pilar still knows a lot of gypsies, and she heard a description of a brothel on the Costa del Sol run by the international Mafia using Eastern European prostitutes. The coast is full of them. My building contractors hear about them all the time. You probably saw one when you drove up the coast—an isolated house with a lot of cars parked outside and a gaudy neon sign. She said only one young man defended it for two hours in late afternoon, a pampered son of a wealthy crime boss. He had nothing more than a handgun and it was in the office. She was sure of this information; it came from a gypsy she trusted. Pilar got weapons from the gypsies, too; they have contacts all over the criminal underground. So, she and Libre took two assault rifles into the place and liberated all eighteen women who were working there against their will. They got their passports, took the money out of the safe,
and grabbed all the computers, so they may have records of Mafia criminal activity in Spain and even other parts of Europe. Libre filmed everything, the location, the women in their cells, a cache of drugs, license plates of all the cars and finally the two of them in disguise threatening to give it to the police and Interpol and then release it all on Youtube if there was any attempt at reprisal. They drugged the young man unconscious, tied and taped him to the safe and left a DVD of the whole film taped to his face. Then they left with the women in two vans. This all happened this afternoon. They drove up the coast so they’ll be here, in our living room, soon. It’s actually quite a good plan on Pilar’s part. Who will ever know who they are and where they’re coming? So, we may never need any weapons. We just thought it would be a good idea to have some on hand in case this situation proves to be more complex.”

  “Pilar did this as a Gay Pride Day stunt?” Ruth asked, still astonished.

  Monserrat laughed, but again cut it short. “Apparently. But, she said she’s been planning this for some time. The brothel’s business is at night, so it was otherwise empty in the afternoon. She got herself and them in and out at the perfect moment.”

  “Perfect!” Ruth said in wonder.

  “They’ll stay here tonight and we’ll work out a plan to get them back to their countries. We won’t tell the police or anyone else. If the international Mafia was holding them, we must do everything on our own. The police can be brought off easily enough in Spain, and any other business or organization, for that matter.”

  Ruth was silent but only for a moment. “So, let’s find those revolvers and rifles!”