The images of Nez-Lah, Bando, Marco, and Louis grew dim and faded to black as I sat alone. I eagerly looked forward for the first time in years. The questions were finally finding their answers.
poppy called out for antonio, who was already halfway up the stairs to the loft before her last Spanish syllable was spoken. He came back down the stairs in less than a minute, turned right, and walked out the front door without a word.
“Is he gone?” she asked from above.
“Yes.”
“I’m finished with my business. Come up if you want to use the telephone.” I could see her now. She was dressed in the robe again with her hair pinned up like before. “Do you think you can navigate the stairs?”
I nodded. I could only see her from the chest up because of the rail, but it looked like her robe was open.
“Consider it physical therapy. Doctor’s orders.”
I smiled as I got up and climbed the stairs to her.
“You can sit on the bed. The phone cord reaches that far,” she said, motioning to the black, bedspread-covered, king-size bed.
The high headboard and low footboard were a maze of vines and leaves reproduced in black wrought iron. A red, white, and black Persian rug blanketed most of the hardwood floor. Two old, brass oil lanterns lit the room from their perch on the large, ornately carved wooden bureau across from the bed. A life-size stone bust stood next to the mirror in the center of the bureau. It was a woman smiling. Her hair flowed wildly down onto her shoulders as though a strong breeze had just overtaken her. A crudely made necklace of hammered silver plates and leather straps hung around her delicate stone neck. I walked around and sat on the far edge of the bed nearest to the railing where I had seen Poppy standing.
“Here we go.” She brought out a 1940s-style chrome-plated rotary phone. “Help yourself,” she said, placing it on the bed, “I’d let you use the portable phone, but it doesn’t work inside these stone walls. I’m going to ready a fresh dressing for your foot. I’ll be back up in a bit.”
I hung the cane on the railing and leaned back across the bed to get the phone. I could see another stained glass window above the stairs from where I lay. It was fifteen feet across and was divided into six pie-shaped wedges surrounding a small round panel in the center. It was too dark outside to make out much detail, but I assumed they were scenes from the rest of her lives.
I dialed the number to the Necropolis from memory and held for a few minutes until Henry came on the line.
“Henry, it’s Evan.”
“Evan! Where the fuck are you? I’ve been turning this town upside down trying to find you. I was worried the cops were sweating you out in some hole downtown. Ah, fuck, you’re not calling from jail, are you?”
“No, I’m not in jail, and I’m okay, at least for now.”
“What happened?”
“I got shot in the foot running from the job.”
“Is it bad?”
“No, it’s not that bad. I already got it sewed up, but man, I gotta tell ya, this has been the weirdest few days of my life. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow night. I have to meet Shelby and get paid.”
“You could’ve fucking called me, you know. You got a butt kickin’ coming, big time.”
“I know. I’ll talk to you about it tomorrow. Save me two seats, will you, I might be bringing someone.”
“Two seats? I knew there had to be a woman involved.”
I laughed. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I gotta go.” I placed the receiver back in its cradle.
“Are you finished?” Poppy called up to me.
“Yes.”
She returned with an old and worn black-leather medical bag in her hand. “That bandage is probably dirty from walking around outside today. Let me have a look,” she said, dragging over a chair from in front of the bureau. “Scoot over here and give me your foot.” She cradled it and quickly unwrapped the dirty gauze. “Better?”
“Yes.” It felt good to get it off.
“I think we should leave it unwrapped tonight,” she said, squeezing my calf. “The fresh air will help it heal, and you’ll need to be one hundred percent soon. We leave for Zurich on Sunday.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I called some of them after we got back today. Everything is set for it to begin. They are very excited to meet you.”
I sat and watched her apply the salve to my stitches. They’re excited, I thought. Through the excitement I’d felt about all that had happened, I hadn’t thought about what anyone else would feel. Of course they would be excited. “Is it a rare occasion to have someone new come into the Cognomina?”
“Yes, it is, but it’s not as rare as it used to be, probably because the world is becoming an increasingly smaller place, and finding lost brothers like you is easier than ever before. We always suspect there are more out there like us, so we are always on the lookout for them, like I was for you.”
“How long has it been since the last one?”
“About sixty years, but he wasn’t young like you. As a matter of fact, he was older than me. You know, you’re lucky you found us so soon in your life. Some aren’t found for centuries. Can you imagine what that existence is like? There could still be, and probably still are, scores of others, centuries old, perhaps, who are wandering around unaware that there are others like themselves. That’s why we keep vigil.”
“Is that what you meant when you said you were obligated to tell me about yourself?”
“Exactly,” Poppy answered.
“How old were you when you were found?”
She laughed. “I was younger than you, much younger. It was in my second trip, so I would have been about thirty-six.”
“That means you were lucky too.”
“Hmm, I suppose so. I know that I was the youngest ever to be found, though I didn’t enter the Cognomina until my fourth trip, as Marco.”
“Why did you wait so long?”
“My second trip ended shortly after I was found, and in my third trip, I wasn’t allowed to leave Persia.” She stopped applying the ointment and thought before she continued. “The truth is, I could have left Persia if I’d wanted to. I didn’t go because I didn’t want to have any contact with the person who’d found me. I had to in the end, of course. He was summoned to my Ascension, but seeing him in a different body after a hundred years made it easier for me.”
“Was he your advocate like you will be for me?”
“Never!” she barked vehemently, startling me. “No, I refused, and someone else was appointed to me, someone who since has become very special to me.”
I could tell by the tone in her voice that she didn’t want to talk about whatever had happened. “Was your Ascension difficult because you requested a different advocate?”
“It could have been, but my first Ascension took only two days due to special circumstances. The one who found me was there and had to testify to knowing me two trips before.
“After the first time, most Ascensions usually go like that. You have memories with other sitting members who can corroborate your claim. The first time is always the most difficult,” she said, running her hand up my pant leg to the knee then dragging her fingernails down the back of my calf.
“Yes, I see what you mean.” I lay back on the bed as she stroked my leg and untied my right shoe. It was happening. I wanted her. I had wanted her since seeing her that first night in the basement. Learning about her, what she was, made me want her even more. I closed my eyes tight and moved my leg against her hand. Oh, please let this be happening, I thought.
Poppy withdrew her hand from my pant leg the same time my shoe hit the floor. I heard her walk away and I sat up on my elbows to see her pull the brown-leather syringe case from the top drawer of the dresser.
I had always been wary of heroin. I remembered how prevalent it was in Istanbul a
nd how many people I’d seen it destroy. I’d experimented with marijuana and cocaine. I don’t think you can live in this town without doing those. This week was the first time I’d ever had a needle in my veins. “I’m not in any pain,” I said, preempting her.
She turned and looked at me with the case in her hands and burst out laughing. I sat up farther and tried to figure out what I’d said that was so funny. My erection showed no signs of going away. She unzipped the case and quickly assembled it. “It’s for me,” she said, still laughing. She grabbed the syringe and vial and climbed on all fours onto the bed next to me. “But you could be in pain.” She whispered the words as she ran her tongue along the outside edge of my ear. “What would happen if I were to accidentally bump you in a moment of passion?” she said, nudging my left leg with hers.
I recoiled, even though I felt no pain.
“See what I mean? I won’t use as much as last time,” she whispered seductively. “Make a fist.” She pulled away and switched the vial to her left hand, which she placed squarely on the now visible outline of my erection under the jeans. She kept her hand on me, squeezing as she uncorked the vial with her thumb and forefinger. She submerged the needle and drew half an inch of brown liquid up into the brass syringe. I felt my excitement getting stronger and my objections getting weaker as I balled my hand into a fist and held it out in front of her.
She recorked the vial, placed it on the bed, and gripped my wrist the same way she had done with my ankle the first time. I couldn’t watch as I felt the needle enter. The same warm, orange-cream-colored wave rolled over me when she released her grip.
“Now you do me,” she said, holding her left fist out in front of me. There was still more than half left in the syringe. I placed my hand around her delicate wrist and squeezed until tiny blue veins surfaced under her soft skin. She pierced one and emptied the syringe. I released my grip and watched, fascinated as the hole closed up and the blue vein disappeared under the surface of her skin like a long fish swimming out of sight into the depths of a muddy pond.
I laid back and mentally followed the wave as it crossed my body from left to right. Poppy placed the brown-leather case back in the bureau. Her robe opened slightly as she turned to me, and I could see she was naked underneath. She stood at the foot of the bed and looked at me. The velvet cord around her waist was still tied, but the lapels of the robe were uncrossed and lay close to her skin, hugging the outline of her breasts and exposing the small inverted triangle of dark hair just below the knotted cord. She studied me as she removed her hairpin, letting her hair down for the first time. It fell over her shoulders in silky, raven-black waves. The drug was taking hold of me, and I felt myself sit up as though someone was pushing from behind and below. I reached out and grabbed one of the tassels at the end of the velvet cord. She bent over, placed her hands on my shoulders, and kissed me hard on the lips. My mouth opened, and she thrust her tongue deep inside as she ground her lips against mine. She moved her head vigorously from side to side and her teeth clicked against mine as I hungrily tried to follow her lead. She didn’t just kiss, she pressed, sucked, probed, and bit all as one motion. I struggled to anticipate her movements and keep up with her before finally surrendering and letting her take me where she wanted.
I was unprepared for the jolt of her violent shove against my shoulders and I felt like I left my body as I recoiled back onto the bed. I floated in an orange limbo as she worked feverishly at the zipper on my jeans. I raised my hips and helped her slip them off. I protruded underneath my red-and-white-striped boxer shorts. She reached out toward me and grabbed at my T-shirt. “Off,” she said, tugging at it quickly, letting it snap back into place. I took it off as Poppy slowly ran her hands up the insides of my thighs and under the open legs of the boxers. Her fingers glided over my skin, touching only the thick patch of hair around my sex. Each tiny hair she touched sent a small shock wave of excitement through my body. I arched my back, yearning for her to take hold of me, yearning for this to begin. She removed her hands and pulled on the bottom of my shorts. My length caught under the elastic waistband and sprung back, slapping against my stomach as it came free.
She spread my legs apart and knelt between them. She probed me with those feline eyes, only now they wandered and searched my body. I was naked and I felt naked, like the naked you feel lying with a lover for the first time. Delicately, she untied the cord around her waist and eased the robe off her shoulders, letting it fall to the bed. The drugs made me unsure of my actions, and I lay motionless, searching her body with my eyes.
Her hair fell over her right shoulder, covering her breast. Her skin was a light tan from her face to her feet. I reached out and touched the skin of her thigh, savoring it’s softness for only a second before she moved in a motion too quick for me to anticipate. Before I knew what was happening, she had straddled me, feet flat on the bed in a crouch just inches above me. Her eyes locked with mine as she reached for me. I let out a low groan as she squeezed me with her small hand. She shifted her weight, and I was inside her effortlessly. She took her hand away and placed it on my chest for balance as she began rising and falling in a slow rhythm, keeping her feet on the bed so that I touched her only on the inside. The sensation was intense, like being teased and satisfied at the same time. She steadily increased her pace, throwing her head from side to side in waves of black hair. I could feel the crescendo she was pounding toward. I closed my eyes and held back as long as I could, opening them at the last minute as I released. She threw her head straight back and dug her fingernails into my chest then slowed her movements until I stopped shuddering.
I lay on the bed dizzy and motionless for minutes or hours—I couldn’t tell. Time seemed not to exist. The lazy, soft flickering light from the lanterns sang to me like a lullaby. I might have fallen asleep. Poppy spoke first.
“Whew, that was fun,” she said, getting up for the cigarettes on the dresser. I watched her get up out of the corner of my half-closed eyes and caught the passing flash of green and bright orange on her back. I sat up to get a better view and rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn’t still hallucinating. She stood with her back to me as she unwrapped a new pack. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it until now. It started at the top of her hips and ran all the way up to her sculpted shoulder blades, seven bright, blaze-orange poppies, each about the size of my hand, in full bloom atop long, spindly, dark green stems. I had never seen a tattoo with such brilliant colors before. It looked like a photograph embossed directly onto her skin. The lines were so sharp and the detail so crisp that the flowers looked three-dimensional, like I could reach out and pick one right off her back.
“Where did you get that?”
“Get what?” she asked, putting two cigarettes in her mouth.
“The poppies, Poppy.”
“Ah, these,” she said, looking over her shoulder at herself in the mirror. “I got them in Osaka from an old friend of mine. He does all the work for the top Yakuza in Japan.”
“When did you get it done?”
“Right after I turned eighteen. It took about two months” she said, putting down the lighter. “Do you have any tattoos?”
“No.”
“Well, what do you think of this design?” she asked, offering a cigarette in her right hand so the Embe symbol was facing toward me.
“I could live with that one,” I said, smiling as I took the smoke.
She turned the wick of the lamps down until there was barely enough light to see her face when she laid down next to me. There was a long silence before she spoke. “You’ll probably be very popular with the others at first.”
“Why, because I’m new?”
“That’s part of it. You are new to us, but you’re also young. More specifically, you act and think young, and most of them will find that very attractive. You see, most of them are creatures of habit, and old habits at that. Someone as young as you will remind them o
f what it was like to be normal, and we were all normal once. It’s not a bad thing, but I’ve seen it happen before and I want you to be prepared for it,” she said.
“You mentioned normal earlier, but I don’t feel normal at all. I walk around this town and see crowds of people all the time. Each time I look at them and wonder if any one of them is like me and each time I feel so different, so abnormal that I can’t help but see myself as an alien, some kind of stranger among them. The thoughts they have, their motivations, fears, and desires all seem so contrary to my own. I always saw them as normal.”
She drew in long on the cigarette, the dull orange glow highlighting her face. “Maybe you’re not as young as you seem, Evan.”
“Are you a creature of habit?” I asked after a long silence.
“Yes.” I felt her roll over next to me. “But all my habits are bad,” she said in a husky voice before biting me on the shoulder.
I took a last harsh drag off my cigarette and rolled toward the nightstand by the rail to put it out. The cane still hung on the railing, and one of the blue jewel eyes caught and refracted the low flickering flame of one of the lamps. I felt her hand run over my back as I watched my dragon wink at me. “Poppy, tell me the story behind that cane.”
“Sure,” she said, looking up at the ceiling. “It was France, and I was Louis Lucas de Nehon.11 I remember an unrelenting rain hissed against the insides of the smokestack and into the furnace . . .”
The Reincarnationist Papers Page 11
