“Samuel was a choice she regretted almost immediately,” Anthony stated. “He’s tried to harm you more than once. Don’t sentimentalize.”
Gilda inhaled deeply, not willing to embrace the idea of destruction. “Tonight coming home, I encountered a young black man much like Samuel. Bitter, disappointed. He assumed by attacking me, maybe raping me he’d make himself a man. Have something to share with his brothers. Something the white man couldn’t take away from him.” Gilda hurried as she felt them resist her story. “I know many men who look at women like they watch sports. I’m not sentimentalizing anything. When he touched me I could have killed him, tossed his body in the river and few would have noticed his absence. But inside him was a boy who’d been hurt. When I was able to find that clear space I could help him. I know we can’t always help. But when do we stop trying?”
It was at these moments that Sorel felt most weary and at the same time most proud. “If you want to handle Samuel on your own,” he spoke softly, “I won’t interfere. Not yet.” He pushed the box across the table back toward Anthony. “But I assure you neither Anthony nor I will hesitate to protect you.”
Gilda sat back in the booth and said: “Let’s not talk about this any more then. I think Samuel is simply succeeding in making us give him attention. I imagine he’s repaired to one of those establishments in this town where blood is spilled and mortals are tortured, braying with smugness that’s he’s frightened me.”
Gilda didn’t believe the words even as she spoke them. Nor did anyone else at the table, but they let the conversation turn to Sorel and Anthony’s trip to Europe. The anxiety remained at the table, seated silently with them.
•
Effie and Gilda walked northward toward home slowly, enjoying the sporadic lights of lower Broadway and the people who moved around them. As they got closer to Chelsea Gilda felt her muscles tense, anticipating the danger awaiting her. She saw that Effie, too, was listening with her body.
“I don’t think I’ve ever known such fear. Not since I escaped the plantation as a child,” Gilda said almost in a whisper.
“Yes. There is something about being hunted silently that never leaves the blood.”
“I can’t deliberately kill him. I made the choice to let go of my mortality, but not humanity.”
“I understand that, Gilda. But you need to understand Samuel has given away his humanity.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Then why did you rush home in terror?”
Gilda’s hand went, automatically to her throat but she could not answer Effie. She did still fell him clawing at her; and could, if she let herself, still sense his murderous lust pouring through his hands into her as he tried to rip her life from her. Yet Gilda clung to the possibility of his goodness as desperately as he’d gripped her throat.
“He let go finally, and so must you,” Effie said, expressing no regret for listening to Gilda’s thoughts. The remaining blocks to their home were traversed in silence, neither Effie nor Gilda speaking or thinking.
The glow of their windows was a lighthouse, guiding them to a comfortable berth after turbulent emotions, many still unspoken. Once inside they shed their clothes and with it the scent of fear. They both listened to the building as always, assuring themselves that each of the tenants was safe. The apartments were wrapped in sleep except Marci’s, where the stereo still played softly over the energy of desire.
“He must be in love!” Gilda said with laughter.
“This is news.” Effie unlocked the door to the sleeping room and pulled the comforter back. The soft sheen of the black satin sheet which covered their pallets was inviting in the light of the candle Effie lit.
“He was wearing that yellow blouse that looks so beautiful on his skin when I saw him earlier this evening.” Gilda followed her. “And grinning like a Mardi Gras mask.”
“That sounds like love,” Effie said and reached out to pull Gilda down to her.
“Your affection for Eleanor, your feelings of guilt for not staying with her, has made Samuel a cause you cannot win. I don’t want to leave here worried that you’ll end your life in a foolish battle with him.”
Gilda stiffened in Effie’s arms but Effie held on to her. The truth of the moment raced between them like an electrical current. Gilda had known even without the words. Sorel and Anthony spent most of their days and nights together. But often they separated for months and sometimes years. Bird, who’d helped bring her into this life, who’d known her even before they did, had traveled unceasingly, stopping only occasionally to look into the face of her daughter, Gilda. Each of them had told her this was their way to maintain the sense of anticipation and wonder at life. To keep returning to the world alone, seeking to learn from mortals, alone gave them a connection they’d never get keeping themselves secluded and apart. The natural pattern of eternal life frightened Gilda, it felt too much like an abyss. Gilda still didn’t know how to manage the long days when she had no one to lie with and feared she never would.
When she was child she’d watched the overseer carrying her mother’s body from their room. She understood it was no longer her mother, but now simply a “thing” just as the slave master had always insisted. At that moment she’d been consumed by knowing she’d never see her birth mother again. A huge vacuum had opened in front of her, sucking her into a breathless, infinite hole that she’d spent her subsequent years running from.
“It is our rhythm of living, my love. We are always together, even when we part. You’ve seen that with Bird, Anthony, Sorel. Good heavens, even with Samuel!” The sinewy muscle of Effie’s arm held tight. The years Effie had spent wandering the world far outnumbered those of Anthony and Sorel. She enjoyed the many lives she’d touch as time passed and knew that Gilda would never be at ease until she too fully accepted the change in perspective that was necessary to them.
Gilda rested her head in the soft part of Effie’s neck at her shoulder. She couldn’t deny what she knew was true. When she’d raced home in fear for Effie she’d known then that the time was near for Effie to return to her travels.
“When?” Gilda asked.
“Let’s not talk with our voices now,” Effie said and covered Gilda’s mouth with hers. At first Gilda could not respond, the ashes that would have been tears filled her mouth and eyes. Then the heat of Effie’s lips drew her. Effie leaned backward onto the bed, her small breasts appealing in the dark. She pulled Gilda down to her. The moist earth shifted gently beneath them as Gilda let her weight press into Effie.
The desire they held for each other was heightened by the imminent separation and for the first time Gilda could let herself feel anticipation of that moment when they’d see each other again. Gilda stopped resisting and her desire pinned Effie to their bed. She thrust down feeling Effie’s body meet hers. This was the first woman she’d ever made love to with the fullness of desire. She remembered so many fleeting touches, moments when desire floated around her like bright bubbles until she wiped them away into the air. Now she wanted to breath them in as she did when drinking Sorel’s beloved champagne. With Effie she’d learned to open, to meet the needs of her body that ran just as deep as blood.
Pushing her knee between Effie’s legs, Gilda straddled her tight thigh muscle and set a rhythmic pace that kept time with their breathing. Each inhalation drove them deeper into their hunger for each other. When Gilda felt they were both ready she slipped inside Effie, gently letting the tide of their desire guide her. The muscles in Gilda’s arm tightened to solid cords as her thrusts grew more insistent and Effie’s embrace tightened. Their bodies pulsated on the firm pallet in a rhythm both old and new. The sound of their breathing and the wetness of Effie’s body rocking on Gilda’s hand filled the locked room. Everything around them was forgotten until Effie exploded into Gilda’s hand. Gilda’s body stiffened as she continued pushing harder. She thrust against Effie feeling every texture of her skin and feeling nothing at all except the wave crashing inside her. She muffled her
final scream in the pillow at Effie’s head.
The room vibrated with the passion that they’d released into the air. A damp mist floated above them as they both lay still until their breathing steadied.
Effie touched the softness of Gilda’s close cut hair and was pleased to sense the change in Gilda’s understanding. The worry had sat uneasily on her for weeks. She’d used all her energy to shield Gilda from the conflict she felt. Now she was able to open.
Gilda pulled the comforter up around them and they drifted into the rest that usually claimed all of them in the pre-dawn hours. After only moments of listening to Effie’s breathing slow to almost nothing, Gilda, too, was no longer awake. Their room was steeped in darkness maintained by the painted windows and heavy drapes that hung in front of them. Their rest was not governed by a diurnal clock, but ebbed and flowed with their energy. Night was their natural milieu and daylight could drain their energy, but no hours were unavailable to them.
Just before the sun pushed against the covered window Gilda’s eyes opened. She stared into the inky air, uncertain why she was suddenly alert at that moment. The house remained quiet all around her. Too quiet. Gilda reached out for Effie, who pulled herself back from sleep.
“He’s here,” Gilda said in a low hiss.
Effie was awake and reaching for her clothes within the moment. They both stepped into pants and sweaters as they listened to the air around them.
“The music.” Effie said as she realized she could still hear a soft guitar from Marci’s apartment above them. Without speaking Gilda and Effie bolted through the doors and out into the hall. The silence was thick, as they pushed their way through it. They moved swiftly up the stairs afraid of what they’d find. Samuel was there. Using his powers he’d shrouded Marci’s room so nothing could be perceived except the record on the stereo. They stood outside the door for only a second then Effie twisted the knob off silently, the brass wrinkling between her fingers like paper, before she dropped it to the floor. Gilda pushed the door open to Marci’s living room which glowed in red.
At first Gilda thought the walls were awash in blood but realized it was the lamplight that usually shone down into their yard. The shade moved against the open window where a figure stood. Samuel stepped forward, his face twisted in hatred. The torn yellow silk of Marci’s blouse lay at his feet. Gilda looked quickly around the room. On the far side, across the plush couch he’d been so proud of, Marci lay sprawled, blood still draining onto the floor from his wound.
Gilda ran to Marci and knelt on the floor. Around his head, blood had soaked into the cushions of the couch and then pooled on the floor beside him. His eyes fluttered behind his lids. Gilda’s anger rose through her throat.
“You didn’t even take his blood. You spilled it like sewage!” Gilda pressed her hand to the wound in Marci’s neck hoping to stem the flow before it was too late. Effie took a step closer and looked over at Marci, “I don’t know Gilda.”
“Forget about him,” said Samuel the satisfaction clear in his voice.
“You were here with him, weren’t you? When I was in the yard?”
Samuel’s laughter was not mirthful. “Of course. The little slut was wiggling with glee. I could have slaughtered him right then. But I wanted you to see.”
“No, Samuel, I think you wanted to be punished,” Effie said, her voice unnaturally even, as if she were in a trance.
Samuel was startled as if he’d not noticed her before. He tried to move but found his limbs were sluggish.
“Marci…de Justo!” That’s who you meant when you said “fair.” Gilda spoke her realization aloud as if it might reel the hours back in and she could save her friend.
“My fight is with Gilda.” Samuel almost shouted at Effie.
“And what is that quarrel?”
“She knows.”
“An unarticulated complaint is an answer withheld. Speak!”
“Gilda knows.”
“An answer withheld is an embrace of ignorance.”
Samuel’s face was filled with as much puzzlement as fear each time Effie spoke.
“He’s barely breathing!” Gilda spoke as she clenched her hand tightly around Marci’s neck.
“Careful. Press your lips to the wound.”
“No! This isn’t Marci’s choice, I…”
“Do it, gently let your fluids mix. But take nothing from him, listen inside.”
Samuel watched Gilda bend toward the small body. He doubted Marci could be revived without an infusion of blood and he believed Gilda too timid to give Marci life that way. He smirked in satisfaction that finally he’d found his revenge.
“Ignorance is a dull knife.” Effie moved closer to Samuel, her muscles rippling like electricity under her clothes. Samuel thought he heard a noise in the yard below but was afraid to turn his eyes from Effie.
“All I wanted was peace,” Samuel said, his voice a narrow whine that grated in the air.
“You wanted Eleanor to love you. She didn’t! Can’t you understand that? She didn’t love anyone but herself,” Effie said. She could feel Gilda’s energy flowing through the room and sense Marci regaining consciousness. “Pull back!” she shouted.
Gilda raised her head and wiped Marci’s blood from her mouth. The tiny portion of her blood she’d shared would give him the strength he needed. She would nurse him through the moment when he might have hunger without drawing him into their family against his wishes.
She stood, placing Marci tenderly back onto the couch with his legs raised on pillows. “Mi hermano,” she murmured to him softly to quiet the terror which returned with his consciousness. The wound had closed and she could feel fresh blood, enlivened by hers, coursing through his veins. His skin took on a more natural color as he struggled to open his eyes. Gilda rested her hands on his forehead willing him into sleep.
“She wouldn’t leave us in peace,” Samuel said to Effie as if that explained their friend bleeding on the couch.
“Peace is most difficult to endure, one of my teachers was fond of saying.” Effie spoke as she moved closer to Samuel. His eyes hardened; he was unable to understand why he couldn’t move. Effie held him in her gaze, not letting her anger or disgust distract her.
“You will now have peace,” she said as she clasped her two hands together as if to pray. Her swing curved smoothly up through the air, her blow knocked Samuel back against the window frame, cracking the wood. She hit him again as he bounced forward, and the glass shattered. He struggled back toward Effie.
“No!” Gilda said, her voice rising out of the deep place she’d always run from. The thick, guttural tone was like broken ice showering around them. Gilda’s stride carried her across the room before either Effie or Samuel saw her move. Samuel reached out with both hands for her throat as if he could silence her voice. Gilda dropped to her knees, eluding his grasp and yanked Marci’s ruined blouse from beneath his feet. The tearing cloth reverberated in the room. With the shredded material gripped between her clenched fists Gilda rose, swinging upward. Her blow caught Samuel under his chin and she could hear his teeth clamp shut through the flesh of his tongue. This time he fell back through the window as the shade snapped open.
In the few seconds of his fall Samuel still smiled, the blood of his severed tongue creasing his face. He was certain he could not be hurt by a two story fall onto a garden. In his years he’d survived much worse.
At that moment Anthony took a step away from the artfully carved box on the ground, off of the carefully laid flagstones and into the path of Samuel’s descent. He raised a broad silver dagger in his gloved hands. His pale skin glistened in the darkness of the yard. The shining metal and colorful gems which adorned the handle caught the hint of morning light which peeked over the horizon. The muscles of Anthony’s arm were taut, holding the silver dagger before him. He admired its beauty just as Samuel’s spine made contact with the tip. Anthony released his hold as Samuel’s body swallowed the blade and crashed to the ground. He lay on the g
rass, the hilt driven into the ground, the bloody blade gleaming from his chest. Samuel’s eyes opened in disbelieve, and then were empty.
Anthony looked up at the windows that surrounded the yard. All were dark and unoccupied except for Marci’s, where Gilda and Effie looked down at him. “You will have peace now,” he said. He ripped the blade of the knife and wrenched it downward, opening Samuel’s chest. He then pushed the hilt deeper into the ground. Blood flowed like a stream into the roots of the evergreen. Anthony ripped at Samuel’s clothes, removing them and his shoes which held his protective soil. He then stepped back into the shadow of Gilda’s garden door and watched morning break over the city.
Gilda and Effie locked Marci’s door, leaving him cocooned in sleep until they woke him later in the day. When they stood beside Anthony at the garden door they clasped each other’s hands which were slick with blood.
“His life was much too long, Gilda. He didn’t have the spirit for it,” Effie said.
“I’m sorry it ended here,” Anthony spoke softly.
“We saved Marci, that’s a balance, I think,” Gilda answered.
“More than a balance,” Effie added.
“Do you remember Joe Louis?” Gilda asked Effie.
“Of course. His power was amazing!”
“He’d have loved your swing,” Gilda laughed.
“I think you might make the college team, yourself,” Effie said.
They retreated into the house as the sun took over the sky. Before anyone could look from their windows it had turned Samuel’s body into ash leaving only the dagger in the soil. From above, its silver gleam looked like the tilted arm of a sundial greeting the day. Although windows were painted and the curtains were already drawn Effie tugged at their hems as if to fasten them more tightly.
“Come,” Gilda said as she removed her clothes. After washing off the blood of their enemy and of their friend, the three climbed into the wide bed were the two women had made love only moments before. Pulling the gold comforter up, Effie, Gilda and Anthony turned to fit into the curves of each other’s bodies. Each left the other to personal thoughts: Anthony remembered a time over a hundred years earlier when he’d helped the young Gilda wash away the filth of the road in a deep copper tub. At this cleansing tonight, he saw that naiveté was no longer a veil between her and the real world. Effie’s mind drifted over the roads she might follow now that Gilda had her own path.
Heiresses of Russ 2013 Page 6
