Ceremonies

by T E. D Klein

  He had told Freirs the truth; he was going to stop at the store and to pay a prayerful visit to poor Aunt Lise. But there was another reason for his haste, and for the trip itself. He had an additional appointment – with someone whose advice he craved.

  It is a most extraordinary vision. Distractedly he seats himself on the steps of the nearest building, oblivious to the wet concrete or the rain that falls around him like a cage, and from beneath his umbrella he stares at the swirling puddle in the gutter, watching the scene that has taken control of his fancy.

  There is the farmwife standing pink and naked in her bath, and the man fully clothed and nervous by her side, and now she has seized his arm in an iron grip and is pulling him into the tub with her. He struggles, off balance, the bathroom rug sliding beneath his shoes; he reaches out blindly to steady himself, but his groping hand encounters only space, then her warm and slippery flesh, and there is nothing to lean against, nothing to break his fall as his knees strike the hard white side of the tub, echoing, and he tumbles head first into the warm water.

  He splashes wildly, the water drowning his screams. It is clear, even as she drags his head down and holds it jerking beneath the soapy surface and settles her knees on his heaving chest, that he still cannot believe this is happening.

  Deborah on his mind, he trudged grimly up the sloping lawn toward the little stone cottage. Rainwater ran down the back of his collar and flowed in rivulets through the terraced flower beds toward the stream far below, beside the road where his green pickup stood parked. Before him, like three guard towers, rose the boxlike wooden beehives; he gave them a wide berth as he passed, shielding his face when, despite the rain, several insects circled buzzing round his head. The usual welcoming committee, he thought. He waited till they were gone, then hurried onward, arriving at last before the front door. He knocked three times, pounding his fist against the dark wood, then stepped back.

  'Mother?' he called, his voice reverberating from the stony walls, the vines that, with thorns and blossoms, climbed in profusion up the sides of the house, toward the little second-story window in the peak of the roof.

  The door swung open. 'Good,' she said briskly. 'I've been waiting for you.'

  The wind had picked up again, and the rain had come back, a dull monotonous drizzle. Freirs roused himself and looked at his watch. Though it looked like early evening, it was just after two; Sarr would be leaving soon. He forced himself to his feet and hurried toward the house. Halfway there, shielding himself against the rain, he came to a bare patch in the yard and saw tire tracks filling with water. Shit! he thought. I’ll bet he left without me. He looked back to where the barn stood. There was no sign of the truck, but perhaps it was hidden inside. Rather than run all the way back, he continued up the walk to the house.

  The kitchen was deserted. 'Sarr?' he called.

  'Gone.'

  The voice was hoarse, nearly inaudible. It had come from the bathroom, just off the kitchen. The door stood partly open, outlined in light from within.

  'Deborah?' He drew closer. 'Sarr left already?'

  'Yes.'

  Freirs stopped awkwardly several feet away. Through the crack in the door he could see a little slice of bathroom. It looked steamy in the lantern light.

  'Jeremy?' Her voice was softer now.

  'What is it?'

  'Come here, Jeremy.' He didn't move. 'I have something to tell you.'

  Slowly he pushed the door open. The room inside was misty; warm moist air bathed his face, smelling of rose-scented soap.

  She was lying back in the tub with just her head above the surface of the water. Through swirls of steam his darting glance took in the pale pink length of her body, the dark nipples of her breasts blurred beneath the soapsuds, the widening dark shadow where the black hair curled between her legs.

  She lay content beneath his gaze. 'Do you remember,' she said, after a pause, 'how you offered to scrub my back?'

  'Yes.' He stood hesitantly in the doorway, wondering if he dared take a step closer.

  'And do you remember what I said?'

  'Uh, I'm not sure. Something about "some other time." '

  She nodded, half smiling. 'Some other time when my husband wasn't here.'

  'Uh-huh.' He swallowed nervously.

  'He's not here now.'

  Slowly she began sitting up. Her shoulders rose above the surface, milky water lapping at the tops of her breasts. Soon, unsupported, they hung heavy and full, water dripping from them, while her glistening black hair fell wetly down her shoulders like a shawl.

  She was seated upright now, the water about her waist like a nightgown she'd sloughed off; and still she continued to rise, tucking her legs beneath her and getting to her feet.

  'Come on, Jeremy,' she said, standing before him. 'You're just the one I need.'

  Rain pounded against the cottage's stone walls and rattled the windows of the parlor. Inside, in the dim light, listening to his mother's words, the farmer felt a chill. The woman seemed farther away than ever. The room, like the entire house, was hers alone and held no place for him. It was the refuge of her widowhood; she'd moved in while he'd been away. He had visited her here many times since his return, but he always felt like a stranger.

  'You've come to find out about Deborah,' she was saying. 'You feel a change in her. A distance.'

  He nodded, too old to be surprised by the woman's ability to read his mind.

  But he was surprised by what she told him.

  She told him of virgins and dragons and Dhols, of the rarity of months with two full moons, and of an old man who, if he got his way, would bring this green spinning world to an end. She contradicted everything he'd ever known, and swore to things that couldn't be. He didn't believe a word she said -and yet he trembled.

  She showed him the Pictures, and told him where they came from, and his horror grew; for he recognized the figures from the Dynnod, and wondered if they might somehow be real. He sensed things pressing in on him, and knew his life would never be the same.

  And when she was done she told him, 'Remember, come to me when your visitors arrive. Come to me in secret that night. And bring the virgin with you.' She leaned toward him, eyes glittering; talonlike fingers gripped his arm. 'That's the most important thing, son. You mustn't forget to bring her. The Lord and I will see to the rest.'

  Suddenly she cocked her head and looked toward the rain-smeared window. When she turned back to him, her expression had changed.

  'Go now,' she said. Her voice held a new urgency. 'Go and speed home, if you want to prevent a drowning.'

  She hurried him out the door, not even saying goodbye.

  … And I'd have climbed right in there with her, if Sarr hadn't come driving up the road just then, truck wheels splashing through the puddles. I dashed from the room like a thief, cursing my own stupidity; if he'd found us together I swear he's the kind who'd have killed us both. I fled to the living room amp; snatched up the first thing I came across, that book of inspirational poems I'd been reading from, so that by the time he'd put the truck away in the barn amp; came running through the rain back to the house, I was sitting in the rocking chair with his book on my lap, open to the dryest-looking Milton I could find. I was still nervous as he came in – 1 could feel my heart pounding – but I don't think his mind was on me.

  'Where's Deborah?' he said, looking very troubled.

  'I'm not sure,' I said vaguely. 'She may be in the bathroom.'

  He stood there for a minute, not saying anything, and eventually settled himself on the stool. Only then did he seem to notice me. He cleared his throat a couple of times, as if there were something he was dying to ask but afraid to. Finally he said, 'Jeremy, I don't want to seem like prying, amp; you don't have to answer this, but-' And I thought, Oh, Jesus, I'm in for it now, he suspects! But then, of all things, he asked his question: was Carol still a virgin?

  That really caught me by surprise. 'I don't know,' I think I said. 'I doubt it. She's obvi
ously not very experienced – she's a good Catholic amp; all – but she's an attractive girl, amp; I'd assume that somewhere along the line she's had a guy or two.' He looked skeptical. 'If you're asking whether I've ever slept with her,' I added, 'the answer's no, I haven't.'

  I would have thought that was what he'd want to hear; I assumed he was asking because, with Carol coming for another visit the day after tomorrow amp; probably staying again under his roof, he wanted to be certain she was pure. But instead of looking cheerful, he looked even more troubled. I asked him what the matter was, but he said he'd explain it all this weekend.

  Sausage amp; rice for dinner tonight, both courtesy of the Go-op. String beans from a can amp; powdered milk for our coffee: what's the world coming to? Deborah as cool as can be – didn't look at me once, just concentrated on dishing out the food and smiling at Sarr- but he wasn't having any of it. He just kept staring at her, saying nothing. I got very uncomfortable by the end, certain he suspected. Hope he's not giving Deborah hell tonight.

  Back here after dinner, escaping as fast as I could. Should be cleaning this place up before Carol amp; Rosie get here, but with this drizzle amp; the sudden, lonely wind, I somehow have little energy for anything but reading; even keeping up this journal seems a chore. Tomorrow I've got to clip that ivy; it's beginning to cover the windows again, amp; the mildew's been climbing steadily up the walls. It's like I'm sinking into a pool of dark-green water.

  Odd that I'm so tired, esp. considering that between getting up late amp; my afternoon nap, I must have slept half the day. Alas, old amp; worn out at thirty!

  At least tonight it's quiet in the woods.

  He is back in his apartment, the shades drawn and his umbrella drying in the tub, when it comes to him that the man is still alive. Something has interfered.

  No, not something. Someone.

  And suddenly he knows who it is.

  Water hemlock, amanita, hellebore…

  As she sat in her kitchen, Mrs Poroth contemplated the enormity of what she was going to do: the killing of the red-haired girl.

  It would be easily accomplished; she had more than enough materials here at hand.

  Monkshood, lambkill, death camas…

  And she saw no other way. The necessity was clear. The girl must not be allowed to play her destined role.

  Banewort, mayapple, fly agaric…

  But oh! it was a wicked thing she was considering, to raise her hand against so innocent a child! A sudden terror seized her, as if from outside herself, like a thin chilly finger of breeze sent to search for her through the open window. Someone far away was thinking about her, had sought her… and had found her.

  No, it was from within herself that the fear had come; she must not yield to despair. No doubt what she'd felt had only been the dread of her own imminent sin. She had to guard against such selfish thoughts; a world hung in the balance. She said a prayer to the cruel Lord and continued with her preparations.

  Dogbane, greyana, deadly nightshade…

  Sarr turned the lamp down in the kitchen and climbed the stairs to bed. Deborah was gazing out the window as he came into the room, the moon hanging just beyond her head. He heard wind stir the apple tree beside the house, a wind that rose and died and rose again, blowing stronger, tossing the tops of the distant pines. Seating himself on the edge of the bed, he began removing his shoes. 'We'll have to get a new lock for that bathroom door,' he said. 'The one there now doesn't even close any more.'

  'You can pick one up in town.'

  'Right. And I'd better do it soon, too. Otherwise you know what's going to happen?' He watched her closely. 'One day Jeremy's going to come walking in and catch you in your bath.'

  She turned and stood up from the bed. 'We can't have that, can we?'

  'No,' he said slowly. 'We can't.' He watched her as she walked to the closet in the corner. Opening the door, she stepped out of his sight. He heard the rustle of cloth, and moments later she reappeared, dressed in her nightgown. Seating herself before a small oval mirror, she began unfastening her hair.

  'Time was,' he said, 'when you got undressed in front of me.' Standing and throwing off his shirt, he approached her. Tentatively he reached out and touched her shoulder. 'Time was when things were better between us.'

  He thought he saw her stiffen, and something ached inside him -but then she reached up and pressed his hand, and he felt a surge of relief.

  'I know, honey,' she said. She was still slightly hoarse. 'It's just that I haven't been well. Give me a few more days… '

  'Of course,' he said. He bent and, pushing aside the length of hair, kissed the back of her neck. 'I'm sorry, I've been on edge lately myself.'

  He walked back to the bed and continued undressing, while she reached for her brush and began to comb her hair. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as he took his own nightgown from the hook in the closet. This was the same woman, he was sure of it. The graceful way she brushed her hair, the softness of her skin – this was the woman he had always loved. For once his mother was wrong. She'd never liked Deborah; she'd never even made an attempt to get to know her. How could she expect, then, to recognize a change in her character? Perhaps she even hoped to turn him against Deborah – to harden his heart – to blight his marriage…

  'Tonight,' he said, 'maybe we can pray together again. Your voice sounds like it's coming back.'

  'I don't know, honey,' she said. 'I'm feeling awful tired.' Yawning, she laid aside the brush.

  'Well, if you'd rather not, I can- What's that?'

  She turned to look at him, her eyes wide. 'What?'

  'There. Inside your mouth.' He pointed, half conscious that his hand was trembling. 'I saw it in the mirror, when you yawned. There was something there.'

  'Nonsense!' She tossed her head and turned away. 'It's just the light.'

  'Don't try to fool me, woman! I know what I saw!' He crossed the room in two steps, grabbed her by the shoulders, and whirled her around to face him. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. 'Now open your mouth!'

  She shook her head, glaring at him. Her jaw clamped shut.

  'Deborah, open your mouth! If something's the matter, I want to know about it.'

  'Get your hands off me,' she hissed through clenched teeth.

  'Open your mouth or I'll pull it open myself.'

  She tried to yank her shoulders away; he held on, dragging her toward the lamp, amazed at how strong she was as she struggled in his arms. Her hands reached clawlike for his face; nails like a cat's raked his cheek. He pulled back, grabbing at her wrists. She spat as he forced her backward, away from him, toward the light. Suddenly she yielded and went limp; caught off balance, he stumbled forward, falling against her and knocking over the table on which the lantern stood. It crashed to the floor and rolled under the bed, still burning. With a yell he released her and lunged for the lantern, fingers groping blindly beneath the bed while she stood above him, not moving, in the darkness. Reaching out, he touched something hard, and screamed as the glass burned his fingers. Ignoring the pain, he grasped the lantern and drew it forth from beneath the bed. It was still flickering; he set it down and checked beneath the bed. It had not caught fire.

  'Fool!' Deborah hissed. She was looking down at him, her hands curled into fists. He had never seen her so angry. 'You could set this place aflame.'

  Panting, he picked up the lantern by the handle and got to his feet. 'All right,' he said. 'Let's see.'

  He brought the lantern close to her face. She hesitated a moment, then opened her mouth wide. He peered into it in the glowing light.

  'See?' she said at last. 'Was I lying?'

  'No.' He hung his head. There had been nothing there. 'No, you weren't lying. I'm just seeing visions, that's all.' Sighing, he righted the overturned table, set down the lantern, and turning his face to the corner, knelt to say his prayers. She was right; he was a fool. Yet earlier he could have sworn he'd seen something there, small, black, and convoluted, on
the back of her tongue.

  Hours later he lay staring at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep. He felt her there beside him, felt her weight on the mattress, heard the regular, slow rhythm of her breathing, and wondered what he lay with in the bed.

  Outside, in the moonlight, where trees whispered urgently, the wind had begun to sound to him like the rise and fall of breathing, sometimes even coinciding eerily with the breathing beside him; but the breathing outside was of something huge and monstrous, something so big that, with each breath, the trees shook.

  Finally, when the sky had grown purple before the next dawn, he was able to drift into sleep. And perhaps it was already the beginning of a dream, but the last thing he recalled, as he turned in sleep toward her, was his wife's face lying on the pillow next to him, her eyes as wide as the moon.

  July Twenty-ninth

  From the Hunterdon County Home News, Friday, July 29:

  VOLCANOES IN HUNTERDON COUNTY??? by News Science Writer Mike Aldano

  The Mexican volcano Paricutin, it's said, appeared one morning in a farmer's cornfield. Now New Jerseyans may have a similar surprise in their own back yard: a 40-foot hill in the woods outside Gilead in the heart of Hunterdon County – a hill that, townspeople believe, wasn't there a few days before.

  'It just grew up during the night,' said Galen Trudel, whose son Raymond, 12, claims credit for discovering the formation yesterday. 'You could hear the sound for miles, like a roaring. We had our pigpen blown down and we still haven't recovered all the animals.'

  The little farming community of Gilead (pop. 187) has already had its share of disasters this week. Sunday it was rocked by a minor earth tremor that measured 4.9 on the Richter scale. Wednesday night it suffered an even greater shock, 6.1 on the scale, causing an estimated $50,000 in damage. (A spokesman for the Governor's office says that to date no claims have been filed with the state.)

  The second quake may also have had an additional result: the strange new hill in the woods three miles north of town.