by David Garaby
"My husband Daniel was there," she said. "He was small, but he remembers seeing the officers cut down the body. He died on that tree right there. Daniel was the one who found him hanging. Sebastian was thirteen. Daniel was ten."
He looked back at the tree. "But there was no mention of another son."
Nina scoffed. "This was a long time ago. Almost twenty-five years ago, before anyone gave two shits about her. It's not that difficult to bribe people here, especially with her kind of money. Wasn't even an obituary."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"You want to know the real Margo Sullivan don't you? You're writing your little report on her. She would never have mentioned any of this to you. Don't you think it's strange that a mother would do everything in her power to erase the memory and death of one of her sons? She's not the woman she appears to be Adam."
"Who ever is..."
She grimaced. "No one. But let me tell you one thing, don't ever let your guard down with her. She'll tell you everything you want to hear and worm her way inside you just to get information out of you. And she'll keep it. She'll tell you that she understands what you are going through, she will comfort you, and tell you that everything will turn out fine and just when you think she's got your back and she's your friend," Nina paused and caught her breath. "She'll use that information against you and cut you without blinking."
"And this is your mother-in-law you're talking about, right?"
"Oh yes. She's my husband's mother and I can't change that, but if I had it my way I wouldn't have anything to do with her." She stopped for a moment, staring into the ground. "I hate her, Adam," she nodded intensely. "You seem like a nice guy. The others were, too."
"The others?"
She smiled again then bit her lip. "Don't tell me you thought you were the first pretty boy she lured here."
He backed away, a jolt of anger took over, "Look, I'm sorry I came here with you. I really don't know what you hope to accomplish by bringing me here."
She shook her head and sighed and touched his cheek lightly. "You really are all the same. I just hope you know what you are doing."
"Doing? What are you talking about. I'm just here to write and paint a damned picture. What the hell are you talking about?"
There was a loud cry coming from the hacienda. Bertha's haggard voice called for Nina. Adam diverted his attention back towards the Castilian when Nina shot back into the sugar cane field. Alone by the river's edge, he had never felt so vulnerable. He was in a strange place, there were so many unanswered questions stirring inside him, for a moment he felt a cold chill take over his body. He turned back towards the withered old mesquite tree and thought he saw a small, thin body swinging from the branches. The eyes and mouth were open. Full of darkness, a cold despair. Adam raced back into the sugar cane field when he heard another rattle.
A Matricidal Bitch
1:00 PM
"I COULDN'T FIND her, but I know I saw her leave with the boy."
Margo was sprawled on the floor of her studio. She never raised her head as she rummaged through old photographs and documents, "I thought I might show him some of my old drawings, but I hate sorting through the past. It's dirtier than I remembered."
Bertha stepped inside, "Did you hear what I said? Nina is talking with the boy."
She scratched her head. "Bertha, I don't understand why I never threw out all these papers. I can't believe I kept them all these years. Look at this, it's a handwritten letter from Daniel. Come here and look at this."
"You don't think she'll tell him anything you don't want him to know," Bertha crossed her arms.
Margo removed her glasses, set them on the floor. "Oh, stop your whining Bertha. There is nothing I can do about it, can I? They've met. They've talked. What was I supposed to do, keep her hidden in her room for two weeks? It was bound to happen. Nothing we can do about it now."
Bertha shook her head. "Don't get testy with me Margo," she said, "It's not my fault that boy is here in the first place."
"You worry too much, Bertha. What can Nina tell him? Even if she did open her stupid mouth, no one in their right mind would pay any attention to her."
"You've got too many bones in your closet to be this calm. Nina may have lost a few screws, but she can still put two and two together."
"Nina is a little mouse. She'll talk to the boy and he'll see the top of her head, the crazy look in her eye and he'll forget all about it. Enough on that. I hate to give Nina such importance. She's nobody."
Margo reached for a notebook, began flipping through a small journal. Bertha shifted her eyes and realized it was one of her old diaries. She quickly reached for it but Margo snatched it first. "Well-well-well. What's this," she flipped through the pages, then proceeded to read aloud: "I never imagined you'd be this close to me. Your breath tasting mine. An infinite collection of hormones and sweat glands opening to fire and writhing passion." Margo laughed as she read.
"Bertha what the hell is this nonsense?" she pointed at the notebook.
"It's an old journal about my ex-husband," Bertha head lowered.
"Talk about old bones in the closet." Margo continued reading: "Michael rested his head against my breasts today and said he felt my heartbeat. I told him it started beating the moment I met him and he kissed me so passionately."
Margo shook her head and laughed hysterically. She wiped a tear from her eye. "I can't take it. Bertha, you kill me."
Bertha forced a weak laugh. "That was a long time ago."
Margo pointed at the notebook repeatedly. "This is good. This is funny. I'm going to call my friend, Mindy, and set up a meeting for you. I'm sure her publishing house would love this sap."
"I was so silly back then."
"Silly is one thing, Bertha. This is just downright foolish. Glad I was never like that. Love is a weakness best left for the lower classes."
Bertha was quiet for a while and then said, "I'm not going to lie. I did love him. I loved him so much. He was a good man. I don't think I should have left."
"Lying is one of the best qualities a person can possess, Bertha. For survival and for fun, it's as ubiquitous as human error. Why more people don't admit to it is beyond me. Don't start thinking about your ex-husband. Leave that in the past. Lie to yourself and move on."
Bertha rattled the keys in her pockets. "What are we going to do about your mother? She wants to see the courtyard and the gardens. She wants to see you, too. It's been two weeks now."
"She has a big mouth. No. Keep the boards on her window. Put in a bigger bolt and give her more Kemproxin."
"She's already out most of the day. She's been eating less and less. Her skin is starting to hang. It stinks."
"Doesn't matter. She's already seen us go down there.She didn’t mention anything about the Agent, but I’m sure she’s seen him. She might tell someone. That is one old bird I don't want singing. Make sure the boy doesn't talk to her. She's the one to watch out for."
"Can you imagine?"
"I don't want to."
"No. And how would we explain?"
"We wouldn't because it wouldn't happen," affirmed Margo.
"All right, I'll get more vials of Kemproxin this week," Bertha tilted her head solemnly. "Why don't you just let me finish this? It's very humane. She practically begs for it every time I see her."
Margo set down the notebook, "Bertha, I may be many things, but a matricidal bitch is not one of them."
"You're right."
"Besides, she makes a good tax deduction. I'd rather keep her alive than give my tax dollars to a Democrat."
Bertha nodded.
Monsters and Chimeras
2:00 PM
UPON RETURNING TO the Castilian, Bertha instructed Adam to meet Margo in the living room. As he walked through the hall, he noticed a faint green light pulsing from corner in the ceiling. When Adam inspected the molding, he realized that a small, white camera had been flickering and watching above him this whole time. It blend
ed so well with the molding that Adam might never have noticed them if the red flicker hadn’t caught his eye. Adam wondered how many more cameras were lurking above him. He continued towards the living room and found Margo seated in the center of a room on a small, cream colored setae.
"Bertha told me you had the pleasure of meeting my daughter-in-law." She rose and kissed him on both cheeks.
"Yes," he forced a smile and looked up at the ceiling for more green flickering lights.
She gestured for him to sit and he obeyed. "I was outside. She introduced herself."
"Then took you to the river," her eyes pierced his.
"It's so close. You've practically got a new country in your backyard," he said.
She pinched her lips and nodded. "Terrible country. Glad the border shifted in my family’s favor. But tell me, dear, were you with Nina a long time?"
He shook his head uneasily, "No. No. She just took me down to the river to show me around the grounds. We just lost track of time." He rubbed his neck, his eyes fixed to the ground.
"Talking will make the time fly," she said.
“I guess you’re right."
"Nina is a good person, but she's not exactly playing with a full deck of cards if you know what I mean. Poor girl had a hard life. Twisted existence. That's the best way to describe her. I knew it from the moment I met her, when Daniel brought her on our vacation to Spain six summers ago. She had such a distant look to her. Something was off. Do you know what I mean?"
He shook his head. "She seemed normal to me. But I can’t really say, I just met her."
"She's not," Margo sighed. "Nina wasn't right when I first met her and then the unfortunate abortion and the subsequent miscarriages. Poor girl lost most of her hair due to the stress. It's taken a while to grow back, but you can still see pieces missing on top. I tell her to put on a wig for propriety's sake but she is a defiant one. I brought her with me when my poor Daniel passed. I wanted to make sure she was safe. We may not always see eye to eye, but she knows that living here with me is better for her. She became manic after the death, she can't make it on her own, she gets these wild ideas. Nina talks to the walls, you know," she sighed. "I will make sure she is safe here though. Daniel would have wanted it that way. Did she mention anything about him?"
"Just that she loved him very much," he lied. The soles of his shoes shifted nervously over the plush carpet.
She nodded. "Yes she did. I still remember when the FBI called her. It was brutal to watch. I bore witness to the loss of life with my son, and her loss of sanity. Horrible. A horrible, horrible day."
He smiled sympathetically.
"But let's not talk about those things," she said. "I have a little something for you."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, your report, dear," She set a box on the coffee table, removing several journals and spreading them carefully. "I went up to the attic earlier and found some old work. Truth be told, I haven't seen them in years, decades. I'm a bit nervous."
He stood next to her. "How exciting!"
She smiled. "Now, remember, these were done in my early twenties. I was still raw. Some might say this is a good thing, but those people have a misguided affinity towards the uninhibited nature of youth. I think good ideas come later in life."
Adam kneeled over the work, inspecting the journals eagerly. She stood back and watched him dissect her past. Margo crossed her arms and smiled, "You sure she didn't tell you anything else?"
Adam was too entranced to hear her words. "Sorry?"
"Nina," she said much louder. "Are you sure she didn't tell you anything else?" Margo tilted her head and scanned his face. He had never been stared down by a legend before.
"Nina," he repeated, having to think back. "Oh, no. No. She didn't say anything else, Mrs. Sullivan."
Margo pursed her lips and nodded but was unconvinced. She turned to the entrance of her office. Bertha was holding a tray with a bottle of Kemproxin. Margo's eyes widened and Bertha immediately shot out of sight.
"May I take a few pictures?"
Margo smiled. "Anything for a friend."
His eyes lit up. "I'll get my camera. Be right back."
As he jotted out of the room Margo stepped towards a great bay window, Nina was sitting in the courtyard smoking a cigarette.
Margo sneered down at her daughter-in-law and felt her upper lip cringe. It wasn’t a secret, she resented Nina and the affection Daniel lavished on her. It was unnecessary and self-deprecating. Her son could have done better, but what mother doesn't think her son in a god among men. Margo knew her son's flaw and calculated whether she was just being overprotective when she passed her judgments on Nina. She was a simple girl, really, a simple minded woman manufactured to be good hearted. An All-American Plain Jane. Nina was the type of person who came from family bred to believe that taking castor oil kept “the cancer” away. A naive and harmless bumpkin turned bump-in-the-road for Daniel, a phase not to be meddled with because good sense and aesthetic standards would ultimately win. This was not the case. The little mouse managed to nibble at Daniel's heart and forced him to move to Boulder. He returned during Winter breaks when it was too cold to bear the Colorado snow. She never even had a son, little bitch couldn't even keep him tied down using a fetus like other women, she had to use her charm, her heart. Hateful little thing that she was. Margo had underestimated the little witch, it was a lesson she learned well. She would never do that again and kept her around just to make sure she didn't.
Nina suddenly perked herself up, as if she could feel Margo’s intense glare. She turned herself around and both their eyes met. Nina slowly brought the cigarette into her lips defiantly and elaborately inhaled the smoke. As she blew out a plume of smoke she shook her head mockingly. A hateful smile took over Nina's face.
The veins on the side of Margo's neck began to quickly rise and fall. She clenched her jaw as Nina put out the cigarette in a large flowerpot full of irises. Nina blew her a condescending kiss, Margo bore her teeth. "Oh, you'll get yours, you sneaky little shit."
— 2 —
ADAM TOOK SEVERAL shots of her work while they spoke of her upcoming exhibition. He kept his eye open for the drawing his professor, Dr. Hudd, had requested he photograph. AAdam secretly wanted to find the drawing and even thought about asking Margo is she knew where he might find it. A part of him wanted to get in Hudd’s good graces, the other half didn’t want to lose Margo’s.
"The collection is almost complete,” said Margo. “There are twelve pieces in all, each one dealing with a particular monster I've had to face, or ones I've loved. Do you know the work of Hieronymus Bosch?"
"The painter?"
"Yes, the Flemish painter. He painted The Garden of Earthly Delights. Have you seen it? The one with three panels, huge, depicting earth, the garden of evil and hell."
"Yes, it's a frightening piece."
"In the Prado Museum?"
"No," he chuckled. "No, not in Prado, I've never been to Spain. Just in books."
An exaggerated sigh escaped her lips: "Shame. You cannot appreciate such a piece until you see all three panels. Beautiful and terrifying. He truly was a genius. He's actually the inspiration for the exhibition's title. They called Hieronymus Bosch the 'Painter of Monsters and Chimeras'."
"I see."
"This is my little homage to his work. My gratitude. Would you like to see the collection? Would you like to see my monsters?"
— 3 —
2:30 PM
ON THE RIGHT WING of the second floor of the hacienda, three small rooms of the original building were gutted to form a sprawling and loft-like area which Margo used as her studio. Bay windows filled every wall, while a massive worktable anchored the room. It was ordered chaos; dozens of paintings lined and rested against the walls, shelves filled with statues and paint supplies; her easel rested next to the largest window. As Adam inched closer to it, he felt a force. What worlds had been created, what crimes committed and what loves had t
hat easel cradled?
"Come in, make yourself comfortable. Consider this your new studio. I have everything you need."
Adam surveyed the massive room and found a framed canvas laying on the worktable.
"What is this one called?"
She stood next to him, regarded the painting. "I don't know just yet. I never know the titles until the end."
At the foreground was a winged and muscular man, the body and its misery are highlighted with an intense, almost theatrical lighting. He stands over a bluff overlooking a burning river. A rocky path near the river led the eye towards a skeleton, resting on the ground serenely. One could not see the face, but could see a sorrow in the winged man's stance, the way he cradled his hands and arched his back, broken, seemingly, by an unexplained loss. The fluid and vigorous brush strokes made the fires come alive. Despite the fire and fury in the burning river, there was a tenderness about the painting. There was dignity, even in the sorrow, even in the sulfur.
"The Devil looks lonely. It is the Devil, isn't it?"
"Yes, yes it is. It's the Devil in Love."
"He doesn't look like he's in love at all. More like he lost something. Someone. He looks like he's in pain."
"Well, what do you think love is?"
"That's a bit bleak."
"Life is bleak, Adam."
Her face was stoic, there was truth in her eyes. How could he argue with her, wouldn't anyone turn just a bit jaded after their child was found dead? Burned? Beheaded? He forced a smile, "I guess you have a point."
"I think that's what I'll call it, The Devil in Love. After all, that's the story that came to mind when I began painting it. I had this idea, the idea that love creates a prison (unintentional, perhaps, but a prison none-the-less). Then, I thought about the Devil. He was a fallen angel-- incredibly beautiful--one of your kind."
