Incorporeal

by Julia Barrett

  “No.” Nathan shook his head, reining in his emotions. He forced himself to smile back. “It’s nothing. You were gone and I was afraid for a moment.”

  “Afraid I’d left you?”

  “No, I expected to find you beside me and…” He searched her face. “What is buyer’s remorse?”

  “It means you might be having second thoughts; that you might be sorry about doing, well, about being here.” Sara cleared her throat. “With me.”

  Nathan rose from the bed. He reached her in two long strides. His hands gripped her shoulders. “Never. I do not regret a single moment I’ve spent in your dreams and in your body.” He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. Sara mumbled something against his chest.

  “What are you saying?” he asked, relaxing his hold on her.

  “Um, I said, is that a club in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?” She glanced down for emphasis.

  Nathan had forgotten his nakedness. Surprised to find himself blushing, he backed away, seeking his clothes.

  “There.” Sara pointed to the far side of the bed. He scooped up his garments and went into the bathroom, where he realized to his even greater surprise that he needed to take a piss. Nathan stood stock still. Closing his eyes, he searched through every tiny fact he’d learned over the centuries about heaven and hell, but he couldn’t find a single explanation for what he’d become.

  “Sara,” he called out to her.

  “Yes?” He heard her voice from the other side of the closed door.

  “How does this device work?”

  “What device?”

  Holding his clothes in front of him, Nathan opened the door. He nodded at the toilet. Sara’s eyes opened wide.

  “You need to…” She swallowed hard. “Need to use the…? I’m sorry, are you asking me how to work the toilet?”

  Nathan blushed. “I am.”

  “Okay, um, oh my god, this is weird.” She stepped past him. “You, um, you lift up the seat and you pee, in there, in the water bowl, and then you, you flush it like this.” She pumped the handle once and the water swirled around the ceramic bowl and disappeared down the drain, refilling immediately. “You don’t know how to use a toilet?”

  “I’ve been aware of their existence.” Nathan cleared his throat. “But I’ve never had a need, so I paid no attention.”

  Sara began to back toward the door. “So this means, I guess, that you need to drink, because you’ll get dehydrated if you don’t, like a, like a, well, like a real person.” She blinked a few times. “I’ll give you some privacy. Call me if you need anything else. I’ll be downstairs.”

  Sara left the small room, closing the door behind her. Nathan could hear her muttering to herself. When the muttering grew faint, he dropped his clothes to the floor and took a piss for the first time in five hundred years. When the stream of urine hit the bowl, Nathan knew that no matter how many more years passed, he’d forever remember this particular moment in time. It was a singular experience.

  ***

  Okay, that was weird. A ghost who has to take a piss? Don’t run into one of those very often, or, like, ever. But then nothing about Nathan’s situation makes sense, and it never did.

  Sara trotted into the kitchen. This meant that for sure he’d need to eat and drink. There was no getting around it. She glanced at the clock. Ninety minutes, I need to be out of here in ninety minutes. Dang. I’d like to stay home with him and figure this out, but I have to go to work. I wonder if Nathan can leave the house.

  She hurried to cut up some oranges for juice and she put on water for coffee. Yes, he can drink coffee now. Should I put out some cream and sugar? A smile played about her lips. This is going to be fun. Of course, on the other hand, he could turn out to be Satan himself and then I suppose I might find myself dealing with a Rosemary’s Baby sort of scenario, but um, I don’t get any kind of Satanic vibe. I get more of an avenging angel vibe.

  Sara set two glasses of fresh squeezed juice on the table and pulled a carton of eggs out of the fridge. Maybe he’d like an omelet? She studied the contents of the refrigerator. I have mushrooms, green onions, tomatoes, and cheese, of course. I think he’ll like this and I don’t have time for waffles. But waffles would be yummy, especially after last night. Waffles would be so decadent. Mmmmm.

  “What are you thinking about? Your eyes are closed, but your lips are smiling.”

  “Oh!” Sara started. “Food. I was thinking about waffles.”

  “Waffles?”

  “They’re like a cake, but for breakfast. Kind of a crispy pancake.” She found herself feeling a little uncomfortable. Words needed to be said, but she couldn’t, for the life of her, come up with the right ones. Instead she pointed toward the table. “I juiced some oranges for us. Have you ever tasted fresh orange juice?”

  Nathan picked up the glass and studied the orange liquid. “Yes. Oranges grew in my homeland; the blossoms smelled sweet, but the juice was bitter. I tasted them when I…” He stopped speaking and Sara saw a muscle in his jaw twitch. “The juice was quite bitter. We added honey to make it more palatable.”

  This is your opportunity. He’s giving you an opening, use it. “When was that?” Pretending to search through the refrigerator, she blurted out the question before she could hesitate.

  Nathan sighed and set the glass back down on the table. He reached for her. Setting the items she held aside, he clasped her hands with his own. “I drank orange juice at my home in Andalusia.”

  “Spain?”

  “Yes.” That muscle twitched again. “Along the Atlantic coast.”

  Sara stared into his eyes. “What is your name, your full name?”

  “Natan de Manua. I was the youngest son of a prosperous Jewish merchant, a man who sailed his own fleet of trading vessels for the Queen, from the coast of Andalusia to London Town, bringing herbs and spices, precious oils, and dried oranges.” Sara noticed that his smile was grim. “From the Orient and Africa.”

  Sara knew her history as well as any average Jewish woman. “What year?”

  “What year did my father trade? He traded for more than twenty…”

  “No,” Sara interrupted him. “What year was your family expelled?”

  Nathan dropped her hands and turned away. He walked to the window, stared out at the growing light in the eastern sky.

  “In the Year of Our Lord, Fourteen and Eighty-Three, my mother, my father, my three brothers and my two sisters, and all our servants, were tortured by the Inquisitors before they were burned to death in our own stables.”

  “Oh my god, I’m so…” The sudden lump in her throat made it impossible to finish the sentence. Sara pulled out a chair and sat, feeling as sick as she’d ever felt in her life. She had to know. “And you? Where were you? Did you die there, too?”

  Nathan continued to stare out the window. “No. I was with the very people who sanctioned the murders of my family, my race. I kept company with one of the royal princes in Castile. My father was the Queen’s own man, he held her patent, but when the Inquisitors came, it meant nothing to them. The crown secretly coveted his wealth and his trading vessels. They were confiscated the same day of his death, given as a gift to the Queen’s nephew. One year later, our three ships were lost with all hands in a storm off Gibraltar.”

  “Christ,” Sara muttered. When Nathan remained silent, she felt compelled to prompt him. She knew there had to be much more to the story. “Why did they leave you alive? Or did they? What happened to you?”

  “The offer was expulsion or death by fire. It cleanses the soul.” His laugh was without humor and Sara felt a chill run up her spine. “The prince, my friend, interceded for me and I was provided passage on a ship to my mother’s homeland, England. I landed with no coin, no possessions. I lived for several years in the alleys of London, a beggar, a drunkard, eaten up by guilt and remorse and a thirst for vengeance I hadn’t the power to slake.”

  “And then?”

  “I don’t remember.
I woke in a dark place not of this earth, somewhere between heaven and hell, still bent on revenge.”

  Sara rose from her seat. With tentative steps, she approached Nathan. Laying a hand on his arm, she said, “I know my words can’t begin to touch your pain, but I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Nathan turned toward Sara, met her eyes. The even tone of his voice surprised her. “Thank you.”

  “What of your mother’s family? Did you ever attempt to contact them?”

  Nathan shook his head. “She was descended from a semi-regal family, and she had been expected to marry well, bring honor to the family. Instead she ran off with a Spanish Jew, a Converso, bringing them shame. Her father disowned her. She was as good as dead to them.”

  Sara wrapped her arms around Nathan’s waist. He rested his chin on the top of her head. They stood together, covered by a thick blanket of silence.

  The tea kettle began to whistle, breaking the spell. Sara reached over and turned the stove off.

  “Do you need my help?” she asked. “Do you need me to contact any family you might have left in England or perhaps in the United States?”

  Nathan shook his head.

  “Then why did you come here, Nathan?” Sara’s voice was just above a whisper.

  Nathan didn’t answer immediately. When he spoke, he sounded as if he stood very far away. “I came for one reason, but I’ve stayed for another.”

  “What reasons?” Sara tried to stop her legs from trembling. She failed.

  “I came looking for redemption, Sara. I’ve stayed because I’ve found it.”

  She bent her head back and looked up at him. “Where have you found redemption?”

  “Here.” He leaned down to brush his lips along hers, his touch soft as a cloud. “I’ve found redemption in your arms.”

  Sara’s lips moved against Nathan’s. “How long can you stay with me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She pulled away and taking his hand, drew him to the living room. “Screw the omelet. Let’s not waste time. The couch or the floor, you decide. I only know I want you now; everything else can wait.”

  Chapter Six

  Sara stood on the porch, her purse over her shoulder, keys in her hand. She didn’t want to leave him. “You’re sure you’ll be all right?”

  Nathan grinned at her, his grin heating her all the way down to her toes. “I’ve lived in this house for three months. I’m sure I’ll be safe for one day.”

  “If you take a shower, don’t scald yourself. Test the water first. I left you a full pot of coffee and there’s cream and sugar if you don’t like it black. And be sure to drink water. Remember, you need to drink water now or you’ll get dehydrated. Eat whatever you want, but maybe it would be better if you didn’t use the stove, and…”

  “Sara, shhhhh.” Nathan slid a warm hand beneath her chin. Tilting her head up, he kissed her soundly. When he ended the kiss, he said, “I’ll be fine. Go.”

  “You’re sure you can’t come with me? You can’t come outside?”

  He shook his head. “I cannot cross the threshold.”

  Sara studied his face. “You’re sure?”

  Nathan gazed down, first at his bare feet, and then his eyes roved over the grass, green and lush from the winter rains. “I’m tempted to try, but no, I cannot leave this house.”

  “What will happen if you do?” Sara cleared her throat and waited for his answer.

  Nathan rocked back on his heels. “I believe I would vanish again and I have no desire to become incorporeal.” He winked at her. “I would miss the taste of your, uh, coffee.”

  Sara couldn’t hold back what she knew was an ear to ear grin. “All right, I’ll go.” She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Be here when I get home. I have more questions for you. Promise you’ll be here.”

  “I promise.”

  “Okay, bye.” She continued to stand on the porch steps.

  “Sara, you must let go of my hand if you wish to get to work on time.”

  “Right.” She laughed out loud. “I’m going. It’s just that, well, over the years I’ve met many incorporeal beings, but never one like you.” She stared at Nathan for a moment. “There’s something we never got around to discussing, and I have to ask this question because it’s going to bug me all day.”

  “Ask your question.”

  Sara took a deep breath and blew it out. “What are you?”

  It seemed to Sara that Nathan looked everywhere but into her eyes. At last he met her gaze. “I don’t know. Sara, I wish to hell I did, but I don’t know what I am.”

  Sara knew she should leave, but she couldn’t let go of Nathan’s hand. “One more question. What language do you speak? I mean, when we make love, sometimes you say things to me, words that don’t sound like Spanish.”

  Nathan’s smile crinkled his eyes, causing her heart to flip-flop. “I speak Castilian, Andaluz, Arabic and Hebrew, Greek, Latin and of course, English. I’m not always aware which language I use when we make love.”

  Blushing now, Sara made a move to leave the porch, but Nathan tugged her back. “You have another question on the tip of your tongue. I can sense it.”

  Holding back her laughter, Sara asked him, “You can, can you?”

  “Yes. I’ve come to know you very well. Remember, I watched you for a very long time before I made my presence known.”

  “Hey, that’s right. About that…” Nathan drew her into his arms, interrupting her thoughts.

  “I have to leave, Nathan.” Sara looked up at him.

  “Yes, I know. Ask your question.”

  She rubbed her cheek against his rough linen shirt, realizing she’d have to buy him some clothes now that he was corporeal. “Your mother,” Sara murmured. “What was her name?”

  Nathan’s chest expanded as he answered. “Katherine Neville.”

  For an instant, the name didn’t register. Sara sucked in a breath and took a step back. “Katherine Neville, as in the War of the Roses Nevilles? You said she was from a semi-royal family. Did you mean, like, the Kingmaker’s family? Richard Neville?”

  Nathan nodded. One look at the expression on his face told Sara it would be better to leave well enough alone, at least for now. She rose on tip-toes and gave him a kiss before leaving him, forcing her legs to walk to the garage. This is a lot to digest.

  “Will you write it?” He called after her, his voice low. “Will you include my mother in your book?”

  Sara turned. “I don’t know, Nathan. I don’t know that I want to finish the book.”

  Before she could run back to him and bury herself in his arms, she threw up the garage door and climbed behind the wheel of her car. Unreality is starting to set in. I’ve got to leave because I’m about to convince myself that I’ve lost my mind. There is no other explanation; at least nothing logical comes to mind.

  In fact, the only real question here involves my sanity.

  Sara backed the car down the driveway, shooting a glance at the house. The front door was closed and Nathan was nowhere in sight. The story of his family’s fate spun round and round in her brain like a windmill.

  They were burned by the Inquisitors. The Crown confiscated his father’s wealth only to lose it a year later. His mother was a Neville. I’m in love with a man who’s been dead for over five hundred years. But he doesn’t remember dying. Gaaaa! Sara smacked the steering wheel with her open palm. Quit it! You’ll go mad if you think about the impossible nature of, well, this, of everything. Nathan is impossible. Sure there are ghosts, you’ve seen plenty, but Nathan’s presence is simply impossible.

  He can’t exist. You’re in love with a man who can’t exist on any plane. Not on earth, not in heaven, and not in hell. Apparently, he’s only corporeal in your house and between your thighs.

  Sara stopped at a red light and rested her forehead on her hands. Your mother was right, you know; you girl, are certifiable. I wish my dad was still alive.

  ***

  Natha
n returned to the kitchen and poured himself a mug of coffee. He drank the first cup black, but he tried the second cup with cream and sugar, enjoying the dark, fragrant beverage both ways. Shaking his head, Nathan wondered at the fact he could taste at all.

  He knew Sara had many questions. He shared them. Sooner or later, she’d get around to asking why he didn’t have an accent. He did, and he’d noticed now that he was corporeal, it had grown stronger. In death he had no accent. In Sara’s house, he’d had to work to suppress it.

  A corner of his mouth twitched as he remembered her question, and he wondered which language he’d spoken when they’d made love. He doubted it was Hebrew. Sara would have recognized it. Possibly he spoke Arabic. It was very much a language of love, but she might be somewhat familiar with that too. Andaluz? Yes, he thought back. Andaluz and Arabic, mumbled in the midst of passion might be difficult to understand.

  Mug in hand, Nathan opened the back door and stared out over the expanse of green. The morning air held a delightful chill, but if he could, Nathan would have stepped out onto the grass without hesitation. It was impossible. He’d been given a precious gift; but many things, including the ability to leave the house, let alone any knowledge of what he was, had been withheld from him.

  All at once, Nathan felt the world shift on its axis. He spun on his heels, coffee mug flying from his hand. The steaming liquid splattered across the cabinets and the mug smashed against the countertop, barely noticed, as the stone-faced Guardian materialized in the center of Sara’s kitchen. The angel had diminished his size to fit into the room, yet his aura expanded far beyond the confines of the house; distorting the very air surrounding the two of them.

  Nathan automatically inclined his head, marveling at the creature’s unconscious majesty. His voice hoarse, his throat contracted, he asked, “Guardian, what…what are you doing here?”

  The Guardian inclined his head in return, but not far. Nathan knew the gesture was nothing more than a courtesy. The subtle difference reflected the enormous abyss in their rank. In the Angel’s eyes, Nathan ranked just above a speck of dust.