Marshsong

by Nato Thompson

  “Okay, so the problem . . .” she sat quietly for a little bit. Her body vibrated under her blankets as if a nervous tick had taken hold of her thighs and refused to let go. As she sat vibrating and staring off glass-eyed, the twins just waited her out.

  “ . . . the problem is hiding. I feel it. It doesn’t want to be found. But you’re an angel. You can help me, right? I’ll help you. You help me. Okay, the problem is either A B or C. I don’t know which one, but it is one or any combo of the three or all three or none. Right!!

  “A: the Duke of Gasoline wasted his time coming into my life and sweeping me off my tired feet. Whew!” she laughed exasperated as though releasing some great weight. “B: the Duke of Fuel is an insidious insect dressed in the robes of a man—a big Brahma bull man, I might add—and out of sheer disgust for life has taken it upon himself to ruin the crappy life I had made for myself. C: my life is, in fact, exciting and it is only I who doesn’t know it. The Duke is bored and wants a bite because he has chewed the rind off the rest. D: I am insane. E: the Duke is using me to appear more attractive to that witchy bitch Esther. It is I who is truly, truly in the dark!! Ha, ha! F: the Duke is actually a shadow of my true self in male form, hunting me down in some cosmic romance. I have always been just an audience member in the play of life and now, now, the Duke (that is me) will draw me vigorously onto center stage.”

  The twins listened intently, their arms propping up their heads. Isabella felt as though she had opened a fortune cookie—a fortune cookie stuffed with a black, luxurious liquid. It was spilling over the room out of this woman’s mouth. She was bathing in it. Bathing. Though Savina’s tale was rambling, Isabella listened as though it were the greatest of symphonies—twisting this way and that, crescendos and sobriety, the melody burst forth like fairy dust. Her words were an invitation, her invitation a game of Jenga.

  “I, ” she continued, “I am currently giving birth to a child that is feeding me tea and making me talk with glow-in-the-dark, black light potions!” Isabella looked at Fennel, purring. Meanwhile, Fennel had stopped listening. He had taken to making cat's cradle with some spindly yarn he had found lying on the floor. He wasn’t much for this kind of chatter.

  “Just get her to stick to the point. What a mess!”

  “Savina,” Isabella interrupted calmly, placing her hand on Savina’s forehead.

  “J: I’m ruined. Everything on this planet is born with the sole purpose of making my life miserable. I’m a victim of a worldwide conspiracy against me having a decent night's rest.” Suddenly, Savina began to cry. (Not that tears ran. They never do with the solution.) But the twins could tell she was crying. The body would shake and the cheek muscles contort.

  “Dear me, woman. You are a mess. Tell me about this Duke. Where did you meet him?”

  “I met him at the Merchant's. It’s just a dive bar along the Caripene River. I’m not a regular. I tend not to be a regular anywhere except the Loon. So, I was just having a drink or two or three. I was there just to . . . to get . . . what? Shit, I don’t know. I was there to . . . I was there. I was talking to this man who claimed he was running this insurance scam. I swear, never met a bigger bore in my life. He couldn’t stop talking. Blah, blah, blah, oooh . . . my take this year is la-dee-da, I spend my money on these wild parties, you should come by . . . blah, blah, blah . . . I’m a liar. I’m a drunk. Blah, blah, blah.

  “I was letting him go on, just staring over at the bartenderess, watching her fetch drinks and running mad and envying her —she just could keep moving—if I could just pace or move from tap to bar to drawer and back . . . it would be more endurable. So, I was staring and out front I hear a carriage stop. Now, right? This is the District of Jed and this is the Merchant’s and what is a carriage doing out front? Well, sound the damn horns, right? I mean who really cares anyway?

  “There he is—Mr. Big Deal Kerosene—oh, pardon me, the Grand Duke of Izmir! He comes striding in, with his Chelton top hat and his Velenton cane and his cape flowing behind him. He’s a huge guy. Just a beast! Looks like, well I told you, a Brahma bull! No lie. His body fills up the door and as he damn well knows it. Everybody in the bar is looking at him, right? And he thinks I can’t figure that out? I swear that man takes way too much for granted! I mean, of course, he is at the Merchant's. And look at him! All gussied up, standing there like Mr. Intrigue. He looked pleased with himself. Well, I mean, I could tell he was. He pretended to be all somber and . . . dark. Oooh, the dark man at the bar! I wanted to vomit. No, I didn’t. I just didn’t buy it. But, at the same time, what am I going to do? He’s obviously more entertaining than this insurance rat drunk bore slob? Right? Well, maybe he is.

  “So, Kerosene sits up at the bar and orders a drink. I let him sit there for a while. I can tell he’s looking around. I avoid his eyes. But he locks in on me quick. Didn’t really even try to hide it, just kept his bushy eyes gleaming down at me. Let him wonder. Just let him. I swear. And he is wondering. I can tell. Well, good. I get up to use the restroom. The insurance rat wants me to go home with him. I tell him to hold on and I head to the ladies room. I couldn’t have been gone for more than five minutes . . . maybe three. I come back and he’s gone. Just gone! Not that that’s such a big stunt, I mean, he obviously thought that was so clever. Anyway, I go back to the table and my boring admirer is gone as well. In his chair is a note addressed to me, Savina Lanthaur. The penmanship is perfect. Flowing. The ink is even pretty. It soaks in the paper in black heavy splotches. I mean that does do something to you. If you have any class at all, little notes with gorgeous writing should be irresistible. And, right . . . the note says this:

  Dear Lady Savina,

  As you well noticed, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. I am intrigued as I hope you are as well. If so, meet me tomorrow night at 11:00 at Alluvium’s.

  Your admirer,

  The Duke of Izmir

  “Now, there we are. That is where it all begins, because, you see, he knew. He knew!” She laughed and her hair flew back in the air. “Ha! He probably knew the whole thing from the second he walked in. So, he knew. He set that note down like it was the Serbonian Bog. Just ready. Ready to sink me right on in! And I did. I just sank. The second I got that note I was sinking through the peat and moss hag. Way on down into his decaying pit of a mind. You may even wonder where the piss drunk bum went, right? Shit, angels, I don’t know. Just gone. He’s like that. People tend to appear and disappear around him. He’s not natural—mojo and fish eggs or something. But I’d heard of all that before. I don’t worry. I’ve seen it. He knows I have, see? Ohh, Mr. Mystery thinks he’s got it all figured out! But, see, he knows enough to know I know. See? I know as well. I know he’s a damn liar. I know he’s a damn sham, a regular Cagliostro, and I know about his games and I know about his tricks.

  “Well, anyway, I know enough to keep him around. See and that’s it. I keep him around. I won’t let him leave. He’s just such a man. Such a man. Ohh, why do I lie to you? Why? To angels? I lie to angels. He’s beauty. He’s what a delicate boy must become. Not that I have time for boys, mind you. He’s just fire, that’s all. He’s just living fire—fire and coals and embers and lava and fire and coals and embers and lava . . . ”

  Savina began to mumble. Isabella grabbed the cup of tea from her and laid her back onto the pillow

  “When do you meet the Duke again?”

  “Two nights from tonight, 10 o’clock at de Vaca’s.”

  Isabella sat back in her chair and wondered more about this Duke of Izmir. She knew this was the man from earlier. There was something about him—something so tempting. Yes, her feet squishing against the mud—she felt his pull like a tidal pull. It swirled around her knobby bones and gave resonance to the pond song—and this poor wreck of a woman. She was a spindly masochist. She was just turning the knife slowly more and more within. Like the darting schools of pollywogs, Savina’s frantic resignation was the epicenter of marsh drama. Isabella smiled. She really had a gift. But something
didn’t sit right. She sensed that Savina wasn’t telling her things.

  “What are you hiding from us?” Isabella asked.

  Savina’s lips barely moved. “I’ve been hiding things all my life, little angel. I’m so tired I couldn’t begin to answer that question. It’s what I do, you see.”

  “I take it you did visit the Duke at Alluvium’s. Tell me about that.”

  “No, I couldn’t. Not now. Too exhausted. Now be a good girl and leave. I thought we had a deal.”

  Isabella got up slowly, slowly—so many emotions playing on her—the bottom muck swirling up and obscuring vision; the tadpoles hidden and just chaotic movement of dirt and glittering pebbles. She kicked her pond thoughts and they swooshed up and out.

  “That’s it?” Fennel asked.

  Isabella looked into a figurine of an octopus on the counter, its arms stretched across the cabinet, its bulbous head jutting out. Stretched out. Suction cups. Spots. No answer. She felt as though she were in the company of someone other than Fennel. A woman. She looked longingly at Savina laying there, resigned to the bed finally. There was something here with her. Something.

  “Hey, my dearest angel. We don’t have to listen to her. I mean that dilapidated scenario regarding the Duke was entertaining, that much I will admit. I will also admit that she even, for a split pea second, had me concerned with her solution acumen. However, I think you have missed the most entertaining character of all. I want to have a chat with her bird.”

  “Be my guest,” Isabella said quietly.

  She began to rinse the cups in the sink. Oh, how strange and terrifying it was. She layered the images of de Vaca’s over in her head. How would he act? Where would they go afterward? Where would Isabella hide? Then she thought of Savina drunk in bars talking to strangers—her bitterness spilling into her glass. The lonely Duke so calculating and dumb. Oh, what a beautiful night it was. People were such strange things. They seemed to sense their own tragedy, but were always being caught by surprise. They just forget and remember and forget. Savina seemed so beautifully aware of her tragedy. She was embracing her demise. She was lost in the poetry of it and relished the descent. What was it? The Serbonian Bog.

  “And when was that?” said Fennel to the parakeet in the birdcage in the corner of the room. “You were five?”

  He continued to pretend to talk to the bird, nodding his head in agreement. The bird stared blankly, occasionally ruffling its feathers, cricking its neck and staring back at Fennel with black-eyed nothingness. If only he had just let his sister come here alone. The Raven could be squawking and maligning the far corners of Barrenwood. How much time did he have left anyway? This could be the last free day for some time, and of all things, he was listening to the prattling of this codger mind.

  Isabella signaled it was time to leave. Fennel said goodbye to the parakeet and gathered his top hat and cane. As they put their things together, they heard at the far end of their ears the sound of horses and a carriage—the clop of hooves and the pulling up of eight legs from mud—and with that sound came a most peculiar smell: gasoline. A door of the carriage opened, and as the heavy feet of the passenger made its way out of the carriage, they knew whoever it was was coming in the front door.

  The twins looked at each other. They knew what to do. They rushed into the living room. Fennel flung his cane and top hat to the side and pulled off his jacket. Isabella pulled her robe up over her head. They rushed to sit on the divan just in time to witness the front door burst open in a hot rush of gas and heat.

  Following fast behind the door, was the Duke of Izmir. He was massive. His muscles bulged against his clothing and his frame far exceeded the scale of the doorway itself. His face was red and the veins in his forehead were bursting. He came flying across the room, not even noticing the twins and barreled down the hall toward the bedroom, his body squished between its walls. Accompanying his entrance, mixed with the steam of petrol and the acrid stench of coal, came the twisted sensations of illness. Both Fennel and Isabella felt it. They looked at each other as perspiration hit their foreheads.

  “The sickness.” Fennel whispered.

  “Get out of here!” they heard Savina scream, her voice harsh and terrifying, then the crash of something breaking against a wall, then something else breaking.

  “Don’t be so out of your mind, my love. I came for you. I can’t be out there without you. Come with me. Come with me. I’m tired of living this lie. You are my everything.”

  The Duke’s pleas came out low but desperate. He was distraught.

  “I told you never come here! I told you that! Now get out! I need my sleep, you monster!”

  “You are just drunk, my love. Such an angry drunk.”

  “No, you are! Look at you. Smell you. You’re like a distillery at an oil refinery. Disgusting! Get out of here!”

  “I need you. Come to my home and stay with me tonight. I am tired of this.”

  “I’m tired! I’m tired of everything. I’m tired of your pathetic pleas. I’m tired of the night. Just get out of here!”

  There was silence interspersed with the faint sounds of sobbing—the rattle of a tired long sadness. Fennel wiped his brow with his handkerchief while Isabella snuck to the kitchen for a glass of water. This mysterious figure had arrived and she didn’t want her soon-to-arrive hallucinations to put a damper on the moment.

  “Let me put some music on for you.”

  The scratch of a needle on vinyl, and then amplified sound—the electric guitar twitting away on small semi-broken speakers. Fleetwood Mac began to fill the house, the voice of Stevie Nicks filling the halls as the temperature in the house got hotter. It was melodic, beautiful, sad and sensuous—the sordid dreams of the 1970s playing across the night in a dingy apartment in the District of Jed.

  As the record player played, there was otherwise silence. Isabella and Fennel looked at each other. Had the pair gotten over their anger and found time for each other’s sweet embrace? Before too much time had passed, the air screeched with the sound of Savina’s voice.

  “No! I said get out!”

  They heard the two making their way down the hall in a quick pace. In a burst of hugeness, the Duke came into the diminutive living room with Savina trying to shove him out the door. His shirt hung open unbuttoned and a world of hair and sweat protruded. Savina stood tiny against the frame of this man and yet with every push, his body reeled. As he made his way backward into the living room, he nearly fell onto the gaunt twins. Suddenly his eyes looked back and for the first time, caught them in his sights. His eyes twisted in confusion and he picked up Fennel in the quickest of motions and held him in the air with one arm.

  “Did you suddenly have more children, Savina?!” he said, a strange smile on his lips.

  Savina took the sight of Fennel and Isabella into account, took a deep breath and looked straight back at the Duke.

  “I took them in. They are mine. They are my new children.” She stretched out her arms as though holding the world. “I’m the earth’s most dissolute mother. I take it all in, my prince, the lonely, the cold and if you are good, even you. But tonight, I have these children—torn from the burden of the street without anyone to care for them. I alone took them in and I must care for them. They are my world. This is my home. Not yours. What I do here is for my life, not yours. You might hold the world in your hand, but this little grain of sand that you stand in has escaped. Has slipped. You cannot hold it and I will always own it. These are my children. Frighten them no longer. You’re not to be here!”

  “We’re orphans, sir!” said Fennel, hanging from the Duke’s one arm. It was everything he could muster to put a smile on his lips, but he did so all the same. This man was a no-go zone for Marty and his stomach knew it. While his face turned green, he looked like a puppet in the arms of a giant.

  The Duke eyed Fennel curiously and then burped up a mouthful of smoke.

  “Orphans,” he laughed and put Fennel down on the Turkish rug in the living
room. Fennel kicked his feet and did a small jig.

  “We can dance for our accommodations if it will please you, sir!” he said. He did his best to put on his show, but his feet were sloppy under him. He fell on the floor and Isabella instantly noticed the rapidly shifting health of her brother. She lay back on the couch watching the light fade in the room.

  Savina rushed her way between the twins and the Duke, casting her arms back in a protective position. Her voice suddenly went low. “Go, Sebastian. Our time will come,” she said, kissing his sweaty forehead. “I told you there is much that you don’t understand. I will see you soon, da Vaca’s, one week’s time and we will have our fun.”

  “Fun,” smirked the Duke. “You are everything in the world to me except fun. I will leave you to your shabby orphans for now, but I can’t tolerate this game much longer. You will be mine and that will be the end of it.”

  He leaned down to one knee and kissed Savina’s hand. He looked over at the twins spilled out on the floor. They were a mess and he was dead drunk—but something, something wasn’t right. He could sense it. He sniffed the air, took it in his nostrils and the twins watched them flare. His eyes creased and the look on his face changed.

  “Wait a minute,” he mumbled in a low tone.

  “Get out!” screamed Savina.

  She hit him on the side of the head making him snap out of whatever he was thinking. He looked back at her and smiled. He reached out and mussed her hair and then quick as a bat retreated out the tiny door. It thudded with such pressure that a sweet plaster trinket of a girl in a kimono fell off the mantel. Isabella caught it and handed it to Savina.

  “Thank you for protecting us,” she said. Isabella curtsied and Fennel bowed holding his stomach.