by John Rechy
“And because of remorse for the disgusting agreement,” the priest said, “their father killed the poor woman.”
“Hester agreed to the arrangement,” Richard said slowly. Then to Paul and Valerie: “Daniel did not kill Hester.”
“I knew it,” Valerie said.
“Did you kill her, Richard?” Malissa said.
“She committed suicide,” Richard said; “she deliberately made it appear like murder so Daniel would be punished.” Again the sound of the terrible words was incongruous, the voice almost compassionate.
“What is the purpose of these hideous revelations?” said the priest.
“What is the purpose of confession?” Richard countered.
“How she must have loathed Daniel, to long so powerfully for revenge, even with her life,” said Tarah.
“But she didn’t have the courage to kill him herself,” Richard said to Tarah.
“How do you throttle evil like yours?” the priest pronounced the overt declaration of war on Richard.
“You exorcise it with a stake,” Mark said with a smile.
I have to save Paul! The thought draped Valerie’s mind like a shroud. Suddenly she embraced her brother. Tightly. Paul’s body pressed against his sister’s. Richard’s gaze did not waver. Then the tight embrace ended. Valerie turned to the priest, feeling an accusation. She had to explain: “I have to save him, Father! From them!”
Jeremy turned away from the girl’s intensity, which judged him ambiguously. Blue’s cold eyes pounced on him.
“Are you one of them too?” Valerie asked the priest. And she moved apart from them all.
“Oh, splendid!” said Malissa. “A beautiful game! Superbly played! The best in a lifetime of seasons!” Fed by the crushed lives, she looked sinisterly beautiful. “But now the most crucial aspect of the game: We must not allow it to lag!” Her hands seemed determined to set the very air into motion. “There is still much more!”
A deliberate postponement: Richard had turned from Valerie and Paul. Tarah, Jeremy flanked the twins like guards.
“Topaze!” Richard’s pronouncement of the midget’s name announced his willing retreat from the twins.
The crucial test of his permanent position in the entourage? Topaze looked beseechingly at Malissa.
The impervious purple-glassed eyes told him she would leave him to survive the attention on his own: The encounter might provide a few moments of amusement.
“What’s it like to be a dwarf?” Rev tossed at Topaze.
Topaze winced at the despised word. “I’m not a dwarf! I’m a midget!” he protested.
“A freak!” Rev was re-entering the arena of power.
“I’m not a freak,” Topaze shouted, “I’m perfectly formed, and my cock— . . .” Then desperately he jumped into the air. Challenging space, he somersaulted in a full, perfect, graceful loop. He landed expertly, flawlessly on his feet, his cavalier’s hat slicing in a flourish before him. And he smiled anxiously.
Now Malissa released him from the scrutiny: “And that is Topaze’s confession!” she allowed gaily.
Topaze looked gratefully at her.
Rev felt as if he had been abandoned in a glaring, hostile, savage light.
“Let Albert confess.” It was Bravo.
The smile fled Malissa’s face.
“I’ve told you he has nothing to say,” said Malissa.
“But you said earlier that there is always something to confess, Malissa,” Bravo reminded her. “Let’s all play the game!” She glanced at Richard, and she nodded. That glance, that nod—they told him that for the purpose of these moments—and only these moments, because she despised him—they might become allies: “Is the game still called Catch, Malissa?” she taunted.
“Catch Malissa?” Richard asked wryly. “No one can . . . catch . . . Malissa.”
“Kneel!” Bravo commanded Albert suddenly.
“I forbid it!” Malissa said.
Terrified, Albert looked from one woman to the other.
Bravo’s whip cracked over the man’s head. “Kneel!”
“He does what I say,” Malissa said.
“We’ll see!” said Bravo. She would take a dangerous risk: She had humiliated Rev, yes—but by that very fact she might restore his posture for her purpose: her early victim, an ally for now. “Rev!” she plunged. Her desperate risk worked:
Rev joined her swiftly. There was power there too, and Malissa was irrevocably through with him.
Malissa understood the alliance: Bravo was moving to trap Albert.
Bravo said: “Open your vest, Rev!”
“Don’t, Rev!” Malissa shouted.
Rev opened the black leather vest, exhibiting the tangle of tattoos.
“He did it, Miss Malissa!” Topaze gasped incredulously. “He disobeyed you!”
“Look, Albert,” Bravo parodied admiration, “aren’t Rev’s tattoos beautiful on his bare flesh?”
Albert moved toward Rev’s torso.
“Albert!” Malissa barked.
Albert froze. He had become a mere object between two storming vortexes of power.
Bravo was already saying to Rev: “Take your vest off!”
Rev removed the leather vest.
Albert swayed in fascination.
“Move back, Albert!” came Malissa’s voice. Her rubied hands destroyed the air before her.
Retreating, Albert pulled his eyes from Rev’s tight torso.
Malissa smiled.
Bravo commanded with just one word: “Rev!”
Exuding the violent sexuality, Rev stretched his body.
Albert’s eyes were riveted to it.
“He’s moving closer, Miss Malissa!” Topaze announced.
“Go to your room, Albert!” Malissa demanded.
Albert began to move away.
Bravo intercepted him, forcing him to turn. “Look!”
Rev allowed his hand to dangle lazily over his own groin.
“If you kneel, you can have him!” Bravo struck.
Panting, Albert knelt.
Bravo exhaled in triumph. “You see, Malissa, he did kneel!” she said victoriously.
Malissa felt defeat strike like a bullet in her heart. She struggled to regain control. “Get up!” she barked at Albert, her hands like swift swords.
Inches from Rev, the kneeling man did not respond.
‘‘Get up!” Malissa commanded.
Albert was like a statue before Rev.
“Miss Malissa demands that you get up, Albert!” Topaze growled.
Rev looked boldly at Malissa, then down at Albert. His triumph.
Now Bravo circled the kneeling man like a panther. “Albert, tell us— . . .” she began.
“I forbid this!” said Malissa. She faced Richard.
Richard did not intercede.
Mark smiled.
“Tell us about Malissa!” came Bravo’s voice.
Hypnotized by the scene, as if they were witnessing the swaying of cobras, the others watched the confrontation.
“Tell them, Albert!” la Duquesa said suddenly. “Finally free yourself from her!”
“What does she do with the entourage once she’s through?” When Albert did not speak, Bravo motioned to Rev, who understood:
He spread his thighs, boots planted firmly.
“She— . . . She— . . .” came Albert’s tortured voice.
“What!” Bravo demanded.
“Sometimes— . . .” he started.
“Albert!” Malissa’s lips thrust the name.
Albert shook his head.
Aware that he was wavering—that she must move swiftly—Bravo signaled Rev again: He reached for Albert’s head, as if to pull it against his body. Instead, he held it away.
Paul blocked Valerie’s view. She heard only words.
“Tell us, Albert!” Bravo commanded.
“She killed— . . .” he stammered.
Malissa rushed at him. But her words were controlled: “You lying fool,
” she said. “Shut up, now, or I’ll— . . .”
“Miss Malissa is: going: to commit: you: Albert!” Topaze warned in a clipped voice.
Bravo blocked Malissa. “She won’t do anything to you, Albert. I’ll protect you. And you can have Rev!”
“She pushed one . . . out of a window when he— . . . He was a beautiful youngman,” Albert said. His gaze was pasted to Rev’s thighs.
“Liar,” Malissa said calmly.
“And once— . . . she gave heroin to— . . . Then she deprived him—for entertainment.”
“Albert’s imagination!” came Malissa’s steely laughter.
Bravo signaled Rev to move back.
Albert shouted: “She uses their blood to stay young!”
“You stupid madman,” said Malissa. “I’ll commit you for all your lies.”
Apart from the others, Valerie saw the strange scene, heard the strange words. Are we in hell or in an insane asylum? she thought. It was as if they were all objects in a terrifying experiment. Suddenly disoriented, she looked at the dome over them. The black sky.
Tor’s body tensed, as if to stir the blood within him.
A potential ally? Jeremy wondered.
Albert’s imploring look begged to consummate the contact with Rev.
Malissa’s jeweled fingers tore the air. Now she moved in with deadly accuracy: “Tell us about Karen, Bravo!”
“Leave her out!” Bravo warned. She glanced quickly at Karen.
“Confessions are sometimes made with a single glance,” Malissa interpreted. “You won’t get her, Bravo!” She looked at Richard: a reminder: allies against Bravo.
Bravo struck her own thigh with the whip. “We’ll see!” she said. Then she knew: She must possess Karen before them all—that would be her true victory. She turned savagely to the kneeling man. “I’ll let you have Rev if you tell us: What the hell are you to Malissa? Who the hell are you?”
Rev’s hand relaxed its grip on Albert’s straining head—but only for an instant; it still held it away. Albert’s mouth gaped in expectation.
“Tell us!” Bravo shouted.
“I’m— . . .” Albert stuttered.
“Albert!” Malissa flung the name like a sentence of execution.
“Her father,” Albert whimpered. “I’m Malissa’s father.”
20
Malissa towered over Albert. With abysmal disgust she formed one word: “Filthy,” she said.
“Confess, Malissa!” Bravo hammered ruthlessly.
Malissa defied the rattles suddenly raised before her by the black man and woman—her hands stopped the terrible hissing. “Confess to what?” her words defied too.
“Perhaps to a father who molested you,” Bravo grasped, “and whom you’ve paid back with interest!”
“Albert is insane,” Malissa said evenly. The purple-shielded eyes turned on Bravo. Your time will come, she thought, I’ll slaughter you.
Perspiring, flushed, Albert quivered toward Rev’s spread thighs—but Rev still awaited the signal from Bravo. Indifferently Bravo motioned him to move away. Instantly he released Albert’s head—and he turned from the whimpering man.
Albert closed his eyes.
La Duquesa held out her hand to him, to help him up.
“Thank you, your grace,” Albert said.
“The Duke was kind,” the words echoed beyond her control as she attempted the painful reconstruction of her dream of love.
“He is your father!” Bravo pursued Malissa.
“He’s a babbling liar,” Malissa said.
The black ring on her finger: Blue saw it. Then he looked at the night-encased dome over them: like a huge magnification of the pearled ring thrust accusingly at heaven.
“Whoever you are,” Jeremy questioned Albert, “whatever you are to her, how did you come to be so utterly in her power?”
Albert released the buried words: “I was afraid.”
“No!” Malissa shouted. “It was because I knew the shape of power!” The jeweled hands rose: Slowly. They opened into wide stars—which she crushed suddenly into fists: a hint of the convolution that had brought Albert down.
“Why don’t you kill her, Albert?” Bravo said calmly; she nodded to Rev.
With equal, cold amusement—soaring on the crashing waves of power—Rev pushed his knife on the floor toward Albert.
Malissa glanced at it as if it were an insect.
Albert bent, retrieved the knife from the black and white swirl of the floor; he held it in his hand—and he stared at Malissa.
“Think of all the tortures,” Bravo said. “If you use it, Albert, you can control the entourage.”
“Cut her guts out!” Rev yelled.
“Use it,” Bravo said calmly.
Albert dropped the knife. “I can’t.”
“Why?” Bravo demanded harshly.
How far would they have gone? Was it merely the ritual of evil? Jeremy wondered.
Malissa laughed. “Why? Because he’s as much of a coward as Rev.”
“No, Malissa,” came Albert’s injured voice. “It’s because . . . I . . . still . . . love you.”
Malissa was before him. “Don’t use that word before me!” she commanded ferociously. Her hand reached out to strike him. But she withdrew it. Even that amount of contact would contaminate her.
Then she moved away from Albert. No—she discarded him.
“And now you, Richard,” Tarah’s voice ended the silence. “Let’s hear your confession. We must all play the game.” And so she had renewed the assault which Joja had aborted earlier. It had to be now—the moment when there was an implied split between Richard and Malissa: Would Malissa join the attack? And who else?
“Yes, now you, Richard, you play!” Heady with her success with Albert, Bravo joined Tarah. She must attack now, in front of Karen.
Karen stood erectly as if she realized she would be the prize in this challenge.
Tarah had gambled on Bravo’s support. But could she still count on Karen?
Mark glanced immediately at Joja.
The actress withheld any indication of her allegiance: the steady reminder to Mark that it was not absolute.
Mark touched his neck.
Now Joja moved toward Richard.
“You don’t need him, Joja!” Tarah asserted. She had deliberately not named the object of that need: Richard? Mark?
Bravo sensed a disturbing reaction in Karen, an uncontrolled, barely perceptible thrust of her body toward Richard. “Nor do you,” she addressed Karen firmly. “You don’t need Richard.”
“None of us needs him!” Tarah said. “He’s just managed to make us feel so. Destroy the figment of his power—merely by turning away from it—and you destroy him!” she moved. “Yes, let’s play confession, Richard! Perhaps your confession will free us all!” She turned to the black man and black woman. “Now shake your rattles before him!”
The mamaloi and the papaloi did not move.
Tarah’s eyes openly enlisted Malissa.
Malissa waited.
“Stand before him!” Bravo shouted forcefully at the black man and black woman.
Mark said quickly: “But there’s been so little from you, Bravo.”
“And from you!” Bravo turned on the boy.
Tarah allowed the attention to shift. She might be able to use Mark’s words in her move against his father.
The boy was being challenged! To be questioned. About Richard? Malissa welcomed the spectacle. In any event. If the boy trapped Bravo— . . .
Bravo commanded the black man and woman: “Stand beside Mark!”
Again they did not move.
Bravo raised her whip in menace.
Still, they did not move.
Mark said easily to them: “Stand beside me.” Somberly, they did. Painted, black bodies. “This is what you wanted?” the boy asked Bravo. “And now what?”
Tarah advanced swiftly: “Tell us what it’s like to live with Richard!” she said. “To grow up in h
is rancid evil.”
“Living without secrets,” Mark answered without hesitation. “Without fear. . . . Do you want to justify the life you’ve imposed on Gable by questioning mine?” he accused Tarah.
Was it so! Had she come back to confront Richard? Only for that? Or to justify the life she had created for her son? To destroy her doubts, “Play your own goddamn game, Richard!” she yelled, turning again to Richard, and away from Mark’s accusation.
Rev touched the knife in his pocket. He might still become an instrument of power. Tarah’s. He took a step to join her.
“Yes, Richard, now you.” Even as she heard the echo of her own words, Malissa wondered whether she should pull them back.
“Is it now, Malissa?” Richard asked her.
And was it indeed now? Join Tarah and Bravo, for these moments; an allegiance of enemies? she wondered. It would be a formidable alliance! But no. There was still the play, the waiting dark stage. And, importantly, there was this: Her own confrontation of Richard must be— . . . Her mind, pausing long, chose the word carefully: Pure. . . . Her smile on Richard withdrew the challenge for now.
“Your confession, Richard!” Tarah repeated obsessively.
Mark’s face: His eyes: Reflecting the exposed sky, they were black, black.
Joja: Her hand: On the scar Richard had made years ago, the scar Mark had brushed with his lips. Suddenly: She had assumed he was enlisting her against Tarah, on Richard’s behalf. But—and this was the sudden thought—would it be, ultimately, against Richard, against his own father, that he would attempt to use her? Swimming precariously within the waves of the boy’s sensuality, Joja felt afraid.
“Confess, Richard!” Tarah’s words pounded.
“Confess?” Richard said softly, with amusement. And then fiercely: “Why did you come back?” he fired at Joja. Allowing no answer: “And you Karen?” he demanded. “Tarah?”
“To kill you,” Tarah said.
Richard’s smile received the verbalized challenge with something of admiration.
Again silence was trapped in a violent maelstrom.
Tor stood up, his body flexed, assuring itself recurrently of life. Savannah studied the servants gliding about the house: Live shadows.
Suddenly Paul felt like a stranger in a foreign country who discovers that he knows all its streets and alleys, although he has not been there before. Only the climate of this beautiful island had been required to stir into fruition the emotions burgeoning within him.
