by TJ Vargo
He wished he had Felicia to talk to, but he hadn't seen her, and he didn't know where to find her. Once he did see her, she'd be sorry. She was going to be answering questions for a long time whether she liked it or not. About her dreams, their mother, this place - all of it.
After lunch, a spread of sliced meats, fruit, salad, and more breads and buns than he'd ever seen, Jackson went back to his room and tried to read. The soft bed, together with the bottomless quiet of the castle, lulled him to sleep. He awoke with a start at the sound of a knock on his door.
"Jackson, get dressed in the tuxedo in your closet and come down. We're waiting for you."
It was Nathaniel. Jackson swung his feet off his bed and said sleepily, "Okay, give me a minute." He could hear Nathaniel walk away. Still drowsy, he looked around his room. The closet door was open, a tuxedo hanging on it. Someone must have come in while he was sleeping. Getting up, stretching his arms toward the ceiling until his back cracked, he slipped out of the jeans and sweater he was wearing and walked toward the open closet. Halfway there he stopped and looked at himself in the mirror. Puffy eyed. A day-old growth of stubble on his face. His messy long hair. Damn. He shuffled over to the bathroom adjoining his room. There he found the shaving kit and toothbrush he so desperately needed. He turned on the shower, steam filling the room, and went to work on himself.
Coming down the long sweeping staircase, Jackson was happy to see Felicia looking up at him from the foyer. She smiled, her eyes lighting up. From every angle, Jackson knew he was put together tonight. He looked down at his shoes. So shiny and black he could see his face. He smiled a perfect smile and nearly laughed out loud. Felt a little foolish for walking so proudly, but he couldn't help it. He knew he looked good in this tux. Hey, nothing but the best for the son of a wealthy man. Living like this was something he could get used to real fast.
"Come on Jackson - they're waiting for us."
Felicia reached out, grabbing Jackson's hand off the stair rail as he reached the bottom of the stairs. She pulled him along as she walked quickly down the main hall.
Sister or not, Jackson couldn't help looking at her. A long black silk dress that was form fitting all the way down to her black high heeled shoes. He could tell it was hard for her to walk fast, her heels clicking furiously with the short steps her tight dress allowed her. He snickered in spite of his attempt to hold it in. She jerked his arm hard and glared at him.
"Move Jackson. Nathaniel will not be happy if we're late."
"Late for what?"
"I don't know. I never know. But we have to be on time."
Chimes from a clock began to ring. He counted them, watching Felicia's heels clicking in front of him. Was it already eight o'clock? How the hell had he slept that long? Felicia pulled him hard to the right, down a short hallway. Jackson squinted, trying to see in the dim lighting in the hall. Dark wood paneling and the muted light of wall sconces gave the impression he was traveling down a tunnel. At the end of the tunnel, light leaked from between two tall wooden doors. Jackson stared up at them as Felicia pushed them open. They had to be ten feet tall, and they swung open soundlessly.
He was washed in the light and sound of a grand dining room, buzzing with activity. Everyone stopped their conversations and turned. Men and women, the townspeople from last night, filled the room. All dressed in black tie attire. A long table groaned under the weight of the food upon it. A roasted pig with apple in mouth. Cooked goose up and down the table. Bowls overflowing with fruit that spilled over the edges like multi-colored candies. Baskets of bread in french twists, seeded ryes, and steaming white loaves. Every and any kind of side dish that had ever been imagined. All steaming and filling the air with the wonderful smell of food that was freshly baked, broiled, basted, steamed, cooked, and sautéed.
Felicia's hand released his. She walked toward the table and took a seat. From the back of the room, Jackson saw the crowd of tuxedoed guests begin to part. There was Nathaniel. His black hair was wet and combed back in a shiny cascade that rested on his shoulders. It went well with the black tuxedo. Black hair. Black beard. Black eyes. Black shoes. Black pants and coat. The only white was his shirt, laying tight over his big chest with his bow tie displaying a crest of black. Jackson had the sudden thought that Nathaniel was a bird of prey.
"Come, sit down son," said Nathaniel, sitting at the head of the table and waving him over to the seat next to him. "I want you at my right hand."
The rest of the assembled guests began to take their seats as Jackson walked over to the chair next to Nathaniel. Felicia was already in her seat to the left of Nathaniel, across the table from Jackson.
As everyone sat down, the sound of their chairs scraping on the wooden floorboards, Nathaniel leaned toward Jackson.
"I hear you've had the same dreams as your sister," he said.
Jackson glanced quickly at Felicia. Why would she tell him about that? He looked down, arranging his napkin on his lap.
"I don't know about that. Anyhow, I don't think it's a big deal."
Nathaniel's eyes glistened. He stroked his beard. "Oh, it is a big deal. A very big deal to your sister and to me. Anything about your mother is very important to all of us. We need to bring her back to the family to make us all one again." He leaned toward Jackson, whispering, "We'll talk about it later."
In one motion Nathaniel was on his feet, hands raised over the assembled guests seated at the table. Jackson noticed for the first time that the table stretched so far across the room that it took three chandeliers to light from end to end. Nathaniel's voice boomed.
"If everyone could bow your heads."
Jackson dipped his head, looking out the corners of his eyes to watch everyone else. They all had their heads down, nearly touching their plates with their foreheads. A push on the back of Jackson's head from Nathaniel dipped Jackson's head to the same level, forehead to plate.
"To live life to its fullest. To pursue enjoyment in all things. This is why you love life. Now eat and drink as if it were your last day on this earth. It may very well be."
Jackson lifted his head. The people up and down the table were all passing food, piling it onto their plates. Lobster tails. Fine cuts of marbled meat. Roast pig. Cheeses and heavily sauced side dishes. Goose. Steaming vegetables, glistening with butter. Pasta, slick with oil and spices. The aroma of food basting in its own juice thickened the air. Jackson was in rapt attention, watching as plates that were full became fuller still. How did these people intend to eat so much? Apparently, this line of thought was not shared by anyone else at the table. They continued to pile it on, their faces flushed and earnest. Across the table from him, he watched a round cheeked woman, in the prime of her life but twice the size she should have been, piling a helping of scalloped apples on top of a mound of food on her plate. The apples slid down over meat, vegetable and bread, a volcano of gluttony that was overflowing. Jackson looked down at his own plate. His pulse quickened as he focused on the food. His stomach gnawed at him, even though he hadn't been very hungry when he sat down.
As each dish was handed to Nathaniel, he first served himself and then ladled, scooped, skewered, and cut portions for Jackson's plate. In no time, Jackson saw that his plate was hidden beneath the onrush of food. A sense of lust for this abundance of food entered him, looking down the table and seeing men and women, all dressed in their finest, beginning to devour - yes, that was what they were doing, devouring the food set before them. He picked up his fork and knife and tried to cut away at an edge of filet mignon that peeked from beneath a log jam of buttered asparagus spears.
"Eat Jackson. Get in there and eat like you mean it," said Nathaniel, cutting a lamb chop on his plate. "That's what it's there for and that's what your here for. Eat and enjoy yourself."
Nodding, Jackson was almost dizzy with the desire to eat. Across the table, Felicia was busy spooning mashed potatoes with thick, dark gravy in her mouth. Her eyes were pinpoints of intensity, a smear of gravy on one cheek.
Jackson took the first bite of his filet mignon. His jaws worked mechanically, mashing the meat. Another forkful. Then another. And another. He put his knife down and pulled the meat from under the stack of asparagus with his fork, lifting it to his mouth. The sweet glaze of scalloped apples dripped from one end. He was amazed at how quickly the filet disappeared, the memory of braised beef and sweet apples filling his mouth. He didn't even care what the others were doing anymore. He had to eat more. There was no conversation in the room. Only the sounds of jaws working interspersed with the gulping of wine. Wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his tuxedo, leaving a shiny smear on the immaculate black sleeve, he took a breath and began working methodically through his plate. Fork it in. Bite it off. Chew. Swallow. Drink. Wonderful tastes and textures filling him.
It went on like this for a blissful stretch of time. How much time, he couldn't be sure. Never had he been so single minded in his pursuit of pleasure. Really, time didn't matter. Just getting more of the taste, more of the substance of the food into him was what mattered. His stomach - no his desire - was an endless vacuum, always wanting more. Wanting to be filled up. Somewhere, in the midst of shoveling a mixture of sweet potatoes and shrimp cocktail, a salty sweet mush in his mouth, Jackson began to feel the first pains of fullness. He swallowed his last mouthful and stopped for a moment, his jaw hanging open, breathing hard. His plate. He couldn't believe how much of it he'd worked his way through. A scatter of corn kernels and a few remnants of meat and bones lying in a pool of gravy, butter, glazes, and creams that had pooled and mixed on his plate. Looking down at his lap, he did his best to brush off the sauces and bits of food that had fallen from his mouth in his intense rush to eat. His napkin, completely soiled with stains, had long fallen from his lap to the floor. All around him he saw the same mess. Whole pieces of meat falling from plate to table, peas rolling across the floor, small piles of rice trickling off forks and spoons, foods of all types and sizes littered the table and floor. He pushed his chair back, his belly full to bursting, and looked at the others.
Up and down both sides of the table it was the same story. People who had looked immaculate as they first sat down were reaching the end of their eating orgy. The young fat woman he had first noticed ladling scalloped apples on top of her food had her head lolled to the side and was breathing in short, quick breaths with her eyes half closed. Pieces of food were flecked in her hair. Sweat gleamed over her face, mottled with patches of red that had come from her exertion. Her fingers, which were shiny with butter and gravy, gripped a piece of ham, her perfect round bites showing she had made it halfway through the slab before stopping. The man next to the woman was doing no better. He took the last gulp of wine from his crystal glass, hand trembling, then sat back, running his hand through his grey hair. When he had first sat down, Jackson remembered this man looking like a bank president, solid and heavy, with grey hair and a no-nonsense composure. This same man now ran his hand through his hair, leaving a trail of grease and bits of food to stand out against the grey. His composure was gone as he leaned back, shaking from his eating binge. He leaned back in his chair, placing both hands on his stomach and let out a small groan, licking his lips.
Glancing down both sides, Jackson saw slow movements from a few of the eaters, still trying to finish one last morsel. It was done, whatever this thing had been. He turned his attention to Felicia. She was no doubt gorged, like himself, but her face glowed with a fullness of pleasure, her eyes closed, lips parted as she breathed with relaxed abandon. Nathaniel was the only one still going, eating steadily, a dinner party pace that never slowed, smiling as he chewed and scanned the rest of the table. For himself, Jackson could barely breathe. He needed air. Before he could raise himself from the table, Nathaniel's hand touched his shoulder, keeping him seated. Nathaniel rose, his clothes and face still pristine, holding his glass of wine delicately and taking small sips, head swiveling and nodding, showing no discomfort from his extended gluttony.
"Very good," Nathaniel said softly, his voice carrying over the few groans and the heavy breathing coming from up and down the table. "But we have more to enjoy tonight." He lifted his glass toward the tall wooden doors that Jackson and Felicia had entered the room through. At his gesture the doors were pushed wide open by two maids who walked back into the shadows of the hall. The squeak of wheels sounded from the hall. The maids reappeared, pushing stainless steel cleaning carts. "Everyone, please take a few minutes to refresh yourselves. We'll have the second course in thirty minutes." Nathaniel pointed, wine glass in hand, toward a door in the back of the room, beyond the opposite side of the table. "Bathrooms for both the ladies and the men are through that door. Please don't be late. I hear the deserts will be wonderful."
The people around the table slowly pushed to their feet. Jackson couldn't move. He sat back and watched, staying seated with Nathaniel and Felicia.
Turning to Nathaniel as the room emptied, Jackson asked, "You're kidding right? No one can eat anymore."
Nathaniel turned and placed his hands in a prayer-like pose under his nose. He looked at Jackson, then at Felicia.
"It depends how badly they want to, isn't that right Felicia?"
Felicia looked at Jackson, then looked quickly away.
Nathaniel shook his head. "Your sister disappoints me," said Nathaniel, turning back to Jackson. "But you enjoy eating, don't you?"
"Sure, but I'm full. This is more than I've ever eaten in my whole life. I'm disgusted with myself." He stammered for a moment, then added, "I can't believe I did it."
"But did you enjoy it?" Nathaniel repeated.
Jackson looked at Felicia, who kept her gaze on the floor. "Yes," he said, not happy with how this conversation was affecting her. She was obviously uncomfortable, squirming in her seat. He tapped his finger on the table, staring at Nathaniel.
Nathaniel smiled, reached out with his hand and placed it over Jackson's, stopping the tapping. "Of course you enjoyed it. Everyone did." He fixed his black eyes on Jackson. "So why shouldn't you enjoy more? There's nothing stopping you but yourself."
"I can't eat anymore. I'm full." He looked past Nathaniel, seeing Felicia look up. Good. Now there would be two of them to tell Nathaniel he was crazy. No one was going to eat any... Jackson's thoughts froze. Her eyes went dull with the look of a beaten animal. He looked to Nathaniel, seeing a smile. The sound of the door opening from beyond the far end of the table had caught their attention - along with another sound.
Jackson watched the fat woman, the young one he’d seen across the table, enter the room through the open door. Her face and black evening dress were wiped clean of the obvious food stains, but there were still shadows of grease shining on her dress. She stopped for a moment, her eyes meeting Jackson's, then daintily wiped her mouth with a napkin she carried in her hand, smiling shyly as if she couldn’t hear the sounds Jackson heard coming from down the hall. Down the hall where the rest of the guests had left to refresh themselves, as Nathaniel had instructed. Faint, but loud enough to make Jackson go cold. "Oh God," he said, recognizing the sound of many people getting sick.
"Yes son, people do find ways to prolong their enjoyment," answered Nathaniel, letting go of his hand and getting up. He helped Felicia to her feet, lifting her by her shoulders. Grabbing a pail from a nearby cleaning cart, he placed it on the table in front of Felicia. Then he stared at Jackson, his eyes both intense and soothing. "If you enjoy something - anything - you don't let anything, even yourself, stand in your way." He patted Felicia's back. "Show your brother Felicia."
All the strength drained from Jackson. There was nothing in him. No energy. Just unreasoning fear. He barely managed to turn his face toward Nathaniel. For all his mannered looks Nathaniel was some kind of a monster. He looked at Felicia. Her eyes pleaded with him to stop this. He could only stare, unable to move. Why couldn't he move? Was he afraid he'd draw Nathaniel's attention - become the new target of amusement for this monster? Shame crept red on his face and he lo
wered his gaze, unable to look at Felicia, his mind racing. Come on. Get your shit together. Why are you letting him do this to her?
"Do it Felicia. Show your brother. Teach him," said Nathaniel.
She shook her head. "I can't."
Nathaniel's nostrils flared. He grabbed the bottom of her jaw in his huge hand. "Then we'll both show him," he said, pulling her mouth open and sticking a finger down her throat. Her response was immediate. She lurched her head down and vomited, heaving the contents of her stomach over Nathaniel's hand and into the metal bucket. The sounds she managed between her heaving were the sounds of helplessness.
Jackson felt light headed and hopelessly weak. Flexing his hands into fists he looked up. Focused on Nathaniel, feeling a blinding hate build in him, watching Nathaniel pat his sister on the back as she sobbed. Each pat on her back, matched by Nathaniel's voice saying, "Good girl, good girl...," fueled an anger in Jackson that reddened his vision. "Good," pat, "girl," pat. "Good," pat, "girl," pat. "Good," pat, "gir..."
Jackson's chair flew backward, its legs screeching on the wood floor. Jumping toward Nathaniel, pushing him away from Felicia, he shouted, "You God damn monster!" Nathaniel stumbled backward.
As Felicia wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, moaning, Jackson supported her and began backing her out of the room. He kept an eye on Nathaniel, who calmly crossed his arms on his chest. At the far end of the table, Jackson caught a glimpse of the fat woman, her face the color of ashes as she looked back and forth between Jackson and Nathaniel.
Nathaniel slowly walked to the table, picked up a napkin and wiped his hands, his face lighting up.
"Take her if you want, Jackson. Take her to her room and rest her and worry over her." He found a reason to grin as he talked. "You be her protector, but while you're doing that, ask yourself what you're protecting her from. From me?" He chuckled. "I'm her daddy, the daddy that's only trying to help her find a way to be happy. Give her and you the courage to break on through to the other side, as the late great Jim Morrison would say. Break on through and find your love."
