Amanda saw neither Vera’s curly blonde hair nor Jusztin’s red head. She was lost among the spectators, but in the end she was swept towards the cages together with the children. Rancid bear stink wrung her nose, ostriches clacked their beaks. Jusztin’s ghost watched her from the eyes of the gum-chewing monkeys and swam in and out of the animals’ ears.
You don’t deceive me, Amanda thought. I see you. I know you are watching.
The attention upset her. Jusztin’s ghost had no business here, he was with Vera, so why was he watching her?
In front of the rabbit cage, a big, white, and fluffy dog stood on his hind legs with his paws on the wire mesh. When Amanda turned, she saw it was the little girl. The child waved her stubby arm, then plopped down on the ground. She was melting disturbingly fast.
Soon there will be nothing left, thought Amanda, watching the girl reproachfully. You should try to stay. At least fight a little!
The ghost of the girl sat down in front of the rabbit cage and licked her white hand. She either didn’t hear Amanda or was not interested.
“Tintin says once he tried to magick himself from one end of the ring to the other.”
“The ring is circular, it has no ends.”
“Stop nit-picking.” Vera gazed down at the half-peeled potato in her hand. She didn’t look angry. “So he attempted it, and part of him teleported; but the rest stayed where it was. He said he doesn’t mind it because it was his faults that went forward.” She giggled.
Amanda stared at her.
“Is this a joke?”
“Yes. Just imagine, he can make jokes!” Vera raised her voice and looked at Amanda for the first time. “Would you bring the carrots from the car?”
Amanda shrugged and left the house. As she was walking through the garden towards the car, she was followed by the hopping girl on one side and by Jusztin’s ghost on the other. She looked at neither of them, just opened the trunk, grabbed the bag, and hurried back. They followed in silence. When she stopped, they stopped, too. They touched her a little as if they needed to feel her.
She took the bag inside, grabbed a knife, and started to clean the garlic.
“Do you remember last year when we were here and your bra snapped on the beach?” asked Vera. She seemed to carry a conversation that didn’t include Amanda; perhaps she started it when her friend went out for the grocery.
“Of course. You covered my tits until I refastened it,” said Amanda gruffly. Her throat was dry. When was the last time Vera touched her breasts?
“Sorry,” said Vera. “It’s just …”
“I cannot do magic.”
“I’m not saying …”
“And I won’t. I don’t think it’s fair.”
A small pause.
“If you ask me, he cannot do magic either. Magicians are just quick, you know? Very quick,” said Vera.
“I wouldn’t know about that.”
They were silent. Strange, Amanda thought, we seem to do the most talking when we are not speaking.
“Why so much garlic?”
“To eat it.”
Vera stared as Amanda popped the first three cloves into her mouth and forced herself to chew them. Vera grimaced.
“You want to sleep in the same bed as me smelling like that?”
“Why would we sleep in the same bed?” asked Amanda. “You won’t eat me out, anyway.” She flung the knife on the table and ran out. The garlic stung her tongue, but she forced it down.
The ghosts were standing beside a shrub. Jusztin looked almost like himself, although transparent. The girl sat at his feet, white and shapeless. Only her eyes sparkled red and familiar. Amanda walked to them and breathed at them.
Their shapes blurred and hollowed, their pose faltered.
Amanda opened her mouth, breathing in and out. In and out. The smell of garlic enveloped her, and the ghosts retreated a step.
Good.
She was not sure it was the garlic that made them fade or her will, and she didn’t know whether they would be back or not; but she didn’t really care.
She stood and breathed garlic until the girl and Jusztin disappeared, then went back into the kitchen and flushed Vera with thick garlic stench.
“Silly,” said Vera.
“I am blowing Jusztin out of you.”
“You wish.”
“I love you,” said Amanda.
Vera made no answer. After a while she said: “Brush your teeth.” She turned away indifferently, but Amanda heard from her voice that she wouldn’t kiss her even if she did brush her teeth.
They were not the only adults in the circus tent without children—this was Lake Balaton, nothing was considered embarrassing here—but they were the only lesbian couple.
The only ex-lesbian couple, thought Amanda.
“We are ex-bians,” she told Vera.
Her girlfriend laughed politely.
“Tintin says there are no real lesbians. Only women who haven’t met him yet.”
Amanda didn’t laugh.
“Tintin has to have an opinion of everything.”
Vera shrugged.
The auditorium darkened, and the purple-coated ringmaster walked forward in a circle of light to announce the program. The children shouted, their parents whispered in their ears to shut up and listen, soon the bears would come.
What am I doing here, Amanda asked herself, but couldn’t find an answer. Even Vera upset her. She looked around to see the little girl among the babbling, beaming children, but couldn’t tell them apart in the semidarkness. She is not here. Amanda hadn’t seen her since the afternoon when she breathed garlic on her. Did she banish her together with Jusztin? Did that really work?
She felt slightly sorry.
In the ring bears circled on unicycles. Their acrid stench mixed with the smell of popcorn and floss candy. The tent was stuffy and noisy; the racket and the lack of air made Amanda’s head throb.
Vera almost slipped from the seat as she leaned forward. Thanks to Jusztin’s tickets they were sitting at the edge of the ring, and every time the bears passed in front of them, driven by the whip of their handler, the stink overwhelmed them. The wheels stirred up dust, and one of the bears sneezed. It sounded almost human.
After the bears, came the strongman.
The children chattered during his performance and demanded more animals. Amanda stared at the slowly flexing, oiled muscles and watched herself intently to see if the sight of the man made her skin tingle. She was not surprised by the lack of reaction and glanced enviously at Vera. If they both had their men, she a strongman, her girlfriend a magician, perhaps they wouldn’t need to part. At night, when the men were sleeping, they could sneak into a shared bed.
The strongman was followed by a pair of nicely trimmed poodles that rolled around on red balls and jumped through hoops. Their handler—a fat, blonde woman—shrieked her commands and bowed after each trick, her breasts straining against her dress. The men whistled.
Then came Jusztin. He wore a black tailcoat and a top hat. Wrinkles lined his long horseface as he raised his wand and waved it. White doves flew out of his sleeves, then circled and disappeared under the tent as if the canvas had been as high as the sky. Amanda had a feeling the tentpole was higher than the moon. She didn’t see the far wall.
She watched Jusztin, and he watched her. First, Amanda thought he was looking at Vera, but the small, deep eyes locked at her. It was a familiar gaze, the ghost had watched her like this before she blew him into oblivion.
The doves were followed by paper flowers and scarves; objects were raining from Jusztin’s ears and mouth. Vera clapped her hands enthusiastically, her palms were already red. Amanda hugged herself and watched Jusztin sternly.
You won’t enchant me. Using magic is not fair.
The magician played just for them. The children cried in awe when suddenly fish appeared in an aquarium and then jumped into the air and disappeared again.
Jusztin bowed and took off his hat.
His red hair was ruffled, and his ears were sticking out on either side. He glanced up, nodded, then hit his hat with the wand, and stepped to the edge of the ring.
The children behind Amanda and Vera stretched toward Jusztin and cried: “Me! Me! I want to!”
Jusztin paid them no heed and presented the hat to Vera. Amanda glanced at her girlfriend: her face was red, and her smile was cruel to see. Vera gingerly reached into the hat and pulled out a white rabbit.
The audience roared with delight. Jusztin stepped back with a satisfied smile.
Amanda was staring at the rabbit. She knew it. The red eyes of the bunny locked at her, and her ears twitched when Vera lifted it up for others to see. Its downy fur was almost like a real rabbit’s, but Amanda saw that here and there curly, blonde hairs were sticking to it and that it was smeared with chocolate.
She looked back at Jusztin, who received the applause with arms opened wide, then gestured, and two assistants pulled a long, wheeled crate to the center. Red stars sparkled on its blue velvet cover and the swords, laid down on top in a star, shone brightly.
Jusztin raised his hand.
“And now, for the next trick, I would like to have a volunteer!’
Vera jumped up with the rabbit in her hands.
“Me!”
“Me! Me!” cried the children.
Jusztin turned around, looking for someone who would fit the decorated crate most perfectly. Amanda knew he had already chosen, he just turned around to key up the expectation.
I see through you like an X-ray.
She thought Jusztin would choose Vera, but the long finger pointed at her. From the magician’s eyes, the ghost was looking back at her.
She felt strangely relieved. She calmly rose and stepped onto the ring with ease. Amid the applause she walked to Jusztin.
“I know you are cheating,” she told him, then hopped on the wheeled platform of the crate and handed the swords to Jusztin. The assistants opened the crate. The walls of the circus tent flew away. Amanda didn’t recognize Vera’s face among the white dots. Maybe she wouldn’t have found her even if she had gone back now.
With a calculated movement she lay down into the crate. She couldn’t do anything else anyway. Jusztin showed the audience the swords.
When the lid closed, Amanda thought that, with a little bit of luck, she could turn into a rabbit as well. A humanoid bunny like Vera. Then perhaps she could also forget everything except grass and carrots.
The drums boomed louder, then stopped altogether. This is already the trick, she thought and laced her fingers. She held back her breath and waited in the dark of the crate for something to happen.
Anything at all.
A Different Mistake
Eve Shi
One morning my husband would wake up to find me gone along with my wings. Already I could hear him calling my name, the empty bedroom swallowing his voice. Then galvanized, he would fling the wardrobe doors open. His hand reached for the caramel-colored gift box behind his socks where he’d kept the iridescent shawl. Have you known all along it is there, Wulan? Dropping the box to the floor, he straightened up. His gaze strayed to the bedhead as if he expected to see the shawl draped over it. Why do you have to leave? Have I been unkind to you?
And yet it had never been about him. It was all about soaring to the sky, the shawl a gossamer weight across my shoulders. The air was murkier now than it was a hundred years ago, but I would always take joy in flight. My sisters and I loved nothing more than the wind in our hair, the kiss of water on our warm skin.
Once, a human stole my shawl, forcing me to stay on earth with him. During those years, I dreamed of treetops, of flying in the midst of sun-showers. As soon as I discovered where he hid my shawl, I flew back to my sisters. Since then, centuries had passed, tinged with our memories of clear lakes, the soft, bobbing shapes of sampans at twilight.
Recently, out of curiosity, I searched for the shawl thief’s descendants. One of them worked at the Jakarta Stock Exchange. Like his ancestor, he was persuasive, a smooth talker. And unlike him, startlingly handsome—never believe fairy tales when they tell you all the characters are good-looking.
The first time I walked into the man’s life, I was a neighbor in his apartment building. We chatted, went to cafes together, and gradually met more often. His eyes disappeared into lines when he laughed, which I found most charming. My head fitted snugly into his shoulder, and he never dismissed my shopping trips as girly or money-draining. Five months after we met, he proposed to me.
Only one of my sisters came to the wedding reception, claiming to be my sole living relative. My other sisters refused to—their exact words—play along with my antics. They believed I was about to hurt an innocent person.
Are you familiar with the names Jaka Tarub and Nawangwulan? I asked the man a day later.
He shrugged. Outside, it was another humid Jakarta night with the promise of rain hovering behind dark clouds. Soon enough, the humidity would give way to thunderstorms and seasonal floods.
They’re people from a legend, he said.
Well, I said, congratulations, you’ve just married a legend.
My shawl wrapped around my arms, I smiled at him and floated above the floor. His face went ashy, and for a moment I thought he would bolt. As I explained, his color improved but not by much.
It took him three full days to recover. On the first day he skipped work, pleading high fever. I sat next to him as we watched TV until he no longer stiffened when I leaned against him. Neither of us ever mentioned who I was again.
A month into our marriage, my shawl went missing. I wasn’t too bothered; it had a scent I could easily track down. What did concern me was the fact that my husband felt any need to hide it.
Of course he does, huffed Nawangsari, my sister who came to the wedding. You can literally fly away from him! Any human would be worried!
Contrary to what you girls think, I replied, I’m not toying with his feelings. I’m giving him a new perspective. The relationships he’ll have after I’m gone will be much more meaningful because he’d work hard to make them last. And he’d make sure the other person is not another immortal.
Nawangsari rapped her knuckles against her forehead. Wulan, you are unbelievably dense! He’s more likely to become sad and blame himself. Even if he wouldn’t, you’ve no right to do this. What’s the reason, anyway? Revenge?
Later, sipping chilled tea from the fridge, I mulled over the word. The shawl thief had lived so long ago that, in my mind, his face had thawed into a haze. His thievery no longer irritated me; I had no intention to hurt anyone he was related to. But perhaps my sisters were right, and I was doing exactly that.
I agreed to marry my husband because he was wonderful company. I enjoyed having him to share meals and sing at the karaoke with. Still, even if he were no longer here, I’d be able to go on. But what if it was me who went away? Would he be devastated—or enraged and take refuge in his rage, call me names, and forget the good times we had?
Both possibilities were unsavory, so I left before his feelings could take root. Or, Nawangsari said, before he decides you’re dangerous. Then he may do something foolish like tell someone else or call an exorcist. We don’t want that, Wulan. Let humans think that women like us are extinct.
It was all right; he would do just fine. He was too strong to get crushed by my departure. And he shouldn’t suffer for long from my attraction to him—which wouldn’t have existed had it not been for his ancestor. But just to be on the safe side, some nights I’d hover outside his window; if only to check that he was content, safe, and hopefully had found a new love.
Lost Bonds
Margrét Helgadóttir
“When the animals disappeared, man lost his wisdom,” said the old man. “Man has always had a bond with animals. We have either hunted each other or we have shared food and fire. The old people even claimed that certain men and animals shared souls.” He looked down at the boy, Simik, who sat next to h
im, quiet and attentive. The elderly man nodded to himself. The boy was intelligent. The bright eyes that looked up at him now, brimming with impatient questions, told him so.
“Uncle. What do you mean? We lost our wisdom?” Simik asked. Strands of black hair kept falling into his eyes, and he tugged it away, impatient.
“The old people claimed that animals were our third eye, our guide,” the old man answered. “They said that men needed the animals to lead them in the right direction and protect them against dangers, but …” he paused, scrutinizing the boy’s face. “They also said that wise men, the healers, needed the animals and their spirits to guide them into other worlds in their quest for truth.”
“I don’t understand,” Simik said, frowning. The old man smiled to himself. Simik never interrupted him, and his dark eyes shone with respect; but there was also an unmistakable air of command and strength about the boy. He demanded answers. He was a leader, this one.
“I am not sure I can explain to you all the ways of the old people,” the old man said. “All I know is that when the animals disappeared, not only were men left alone and unprotected, but the wise men could no longer help people.” He stared into the distance, his weather-beaten face sad. “We know that people from the South make animals now as if they were gods.” The old man shook his head. “I fear these animals have no souls, Simik. If they have no souls, they cannot lead us. They cannot protect us. I hope this is not the truth. I hope that the bond is still there.”
The night frost covered the ground. The dark season was near, Simik thought. He sat with his back against a rock and tried to keep himself awake, but his head kept falling to his chest. Eight men lay under thin blankets around the fire, their black army boots peeping out. They’d found shelter between some large rocks, but even here the constant strong wind made the smoke from the fire dance in all directions before it drifted away. They were using the last firestones tonight. Tomorrow, they would not be able to make fire. The land around them was nothing but sand and rocks with a few tufts of grass here and there. They’d tried to burn the grass, but it refused to light. They had to locate the mine tomorrow, he thought, tired. If only he knew where it was. His instincts told him that something was not right, that they should have found it by now.
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