Seeking Samiel

by Catherine Jordan

  "Yes, I suppose it does. I've never seen anyone levitate. The trees are too far off, so I don't see how you could've used wires. I thought I had it all figured out, but now, I'm not so sure."

  "Magik." Eva stated it firmly.

  Of course. Ha ha. "Did Caroline give you her purse?"

  "I took it when she was in the house."

  So, she was in the house. I hadn't seen her go in or come out. I imagined her wandering into closed rooms and coming upon something eerie, and in the next instant I imagined her touching valuables she'd like to possess, maybe even slipping away with something small, something she felt was rightly hers. Maybe Eva walked in on her, the two of them got into a scuffle over it and that was how she really got the purse.

  "Caroline was inside and I was in the Enneagram on the lawn. At the same time I was inside my house. Two places at the same time. Astral projection."

  I'd heard the term before from Caroline. Arriving late for a date one night, I found her snuggled into the oversized armchair in the center of the living room, reading. Her crossed legs and widespread arms took up all the space and I found the scene comical--a little woman taking over such a big chair. Yellow roses rustled in their wax paper as I shifted the armful of heavy headed flowers. I had peppered in a few red ones, my mother's favourite colour. Caroline cradled the flowers in her elbow and headed towards the kitchen. A book poked out of the chair's cushion and I picked it up. "Astral projection?"

  "Yeah," came her answer over the spray of water from the faucet. "I want to learn how to project my second self--my soul--out of my body."

  "You need a hobby," I had said with a chuckle, dropping the book onto the cushion.

  On the driveway with Eva, I stood across from her with that same amused look on my face. "What was Caroline doing when you took her purse?" I asked. It had never occurred to me to ask Caroline.

  "You don't believe in psychic abilities, do you?" Eva asked. "Magik. The occult. What explanation would satisfy you?"

  I didn't have an answer, didn't think she really expected one. I shrugged, feeling like a little boy standing up front in the classroom, his teacher asking for an answer to the quiz on the board, hoping she'd pick on some other unsuspecting student instead. "I find it all a bit unsettling," I said. "I never believed in the occult. And I know that magicians work with a sleight of hand. Yours is pretty fast."

  "You should read my book," Eva said.

  As I wondered if she could replicate the performance, I heard myself asking, "Could you do it again?"

  "A show? Is that what you want?" she asked. "If it was real, you think I should be able to do it all over again, right now, with an audience of one."

  I was a guest on her property, and I didn't forget that I was interviewing--in an uncommon manner--to retain the coveted position my father had as her personal solicitor. So I searched her face hoping I hadn't overstepped my bounds with my skepticisms. When she smiled and turned towards the circle I knew she saw my doubts as a welcomed challenge. "I'll do it in the Enneagram," she said.

  I followed her across the grass. She stepped inside the circle like she was stepping into a hot bath--slowly yet deliberately. I walked around her, outside the line marked in the ground, waving my hands in the air and dragging my feet through the grass.

  "You won't find any wires," she said. I stood directly behind her, looking up over her head and then behind me towards the trees. "Like you said, the trees are too far away." True enough; the forest was at least a hundred meters away. I was suddenly off balance, ungrounded.

  "Jeffrey," she called.

  I turned, looking down upon her. I saw that the forest and the tree tops were below me. "How are you doing this?" I asked.

  "Not with wires," she said. And, I realized, without the chanting and the gibberish. She looked up at me like a proud parent watching her child walk for the first time. I was scared, afraid I'd crash to the ground or on top of her. Seeing the grass so far below made me lightheaded and motion-sick, and I yelled, "Put me down!" Familiar pressure returned underneath my feet as my shoes touched the grass. I looked up at her, my eyes doubtful.

  "Magik," she answered. She walked to the circle's edge and said, "I've decided to share a secret with you: power is expanded exponentially when shared. Come." Eva stepped out the same way she stepped in, slowly and deliberately. "This way," she said.

  I planted my feet deeper into my shoes, cognizant of the firm ground underneath. "Do you trust me?" she asked. I refused to budge. "I frightened you, didn't I?" she asked. "You didn't like that," Eva said, her shoulders dropping. "There are others out there who build complicated contraptions and ways of distracting their audience so they can accomplish their tricks and charge admission. People want to be mystified, and they'll pay exorbitant prices to be entertained in such a manner." I flicked a string off my trousers, lifted my watch to check the time--not working, and looked at anything but her. "You said you wanted a show."

  She's the one testing me. This is part of the interview. "I did say that," I replied. "And that was a good one. You almost had me convinced."

  "Almost?" she asked. "Follow me," she said with a daring twinkle in her eye.

  21

  Eva led me to the back of the house. We passed under a doorway of tall rounded Thorn Shrubs. The earth seemed to shake just a little with each step she took, but my ears were popping from the drive and the heat and humidity had gotten to me and I was off kilter from that trick of hers; it was no wonder I imagined the earth was moving.

  We crossed a bridged stream from where she pointed out old trees, rare deciduous bushes, and fields of flowers. I had trouble envisioning how all this--her house, the gardens, the ponds--fit onto the mountain cliff. According to my inner compass, the sea was right below, but I could neither hear nor see where the cliff dropped. I snapped a rose as we walked through the field and gave it a sniff, then sniffed it again, then again, but it had no scent. The stem was hard and thick, like plastic. I dropped it to the ground.

  Together we stood on top of a koppie flanked by two rows of human-looking succulents called Halfmens. I'd seen such unique foliage throughout South Africa and found it interesting that this woman had chosen to gather and place it all the way she had. She stared off at a barn below the koppie. "The garage?" I asked, nodding in the direction of the barn.

  "No. Let's go this way," she said, taking careful steps down the koppie.

  Once we reached the barn, Eva said, "This is what I want you to see. I don't allow anyone or anything inside. Ever. But, just this once, I will let you enter my private garden."

  Eva opened the door and I followed her inside. Vines and flowers and bushes and greenery. It reminded me of a rain forest. My feet were buried in white bell-shaped Devil's Thorn. I bent to the low growing flowers--trumpet-shaped with pointed edges. A lonely, purple-red flower stood proudly amoungst all the white. It reminded me of a museum painting, like the Renoir that once hung on the walls of my London house.

  "Tempting, isn't it?" she asked. "Pick it."

  I was kind of shocked, like she had just told me to go ahead and take the museum painting off the wall. "No, it's too beautiful; a one of a kind. You don't touch, just admire."

  "You should always give in to temptation. The only cure for it is surrender." Eva stuck her nose in the flower and inhaled. I coughed and struggled for breath. She snapped the purple flower from the white masses and handed it to me. My cough subsided and I smelled strong perfume. I spun the stem around in my fingers and as the silky petals flapped I realized I was also holding a white flower. The white and purple danced together, like ballerinas in a Degas. I picked another, spinning the three together, and then picked another. Before I knew it, I was holding a large bouquet, comparing each to the other, marveling at their clone-like perfection. It was then that I noticed the bare spot circling my feet--I had raped the soil. My hands gripped masses of white flowers and wounded roots. Suddenly, the stillness of the garden covered me like a wet blanket I couldn't throw of
f.

  Perspiration dotted my forehead and trickled down the back of my neck.

  "The heat collects in here at this time of night," she said. Then she pointed and asked, "Do you recognize that?"

  I saw a tree.

  I am no longer in the barn's garden with her. Yet, I am lost in a garden.

  I walk on thick-padded, richly coloured flowers and stop to admire a white flowering tree. I hear a man say, "I name this one Gardenia." The naked man wanders away, touching plants and flowers, announcing names to them all. We are in Eden. And the man is Adam. I look around for Eve, eager to see what she might look like, and then realize that Adam is gone.

  I find him lying down in the Garden under a tree. He is unaware of my presence, but I lie down, too. The sun slices through the sky in sharp, angled rays. Clouds, animated in the breeze, form shapes that tell the story of heaven. Butterflies dance together in a hazy swirl of pastels. A lion curls beside me, the warm golden fur and vibrating purr lulling me to sleep.

  A tickle on the tip of my nose awakens me. The tree's red fruit has weighed down a branch and a fuzzy-green leaf grazes against my nose. The swollen fruit is at eye level and I pick it. A new bud emerges on the stem, balloons, and ripens to replace the one I have taken.

  I hear Adam say, "I name this one, Gorge." He holds a piece of the red fruit tightly in his fist and a woman sits at his side, her long red hair tumbling around her hips. She picks a red Gorge.

  "We are to eat from the Tree of Life only once a day. You have already eaten," Adam says.

  "But it's so good," she replies, grasping the oval shaped Gorge firmly in her hand. She puts it to her open mouth, hesitating. I hear her thoughts, and she is waiting for a warning, a reprimand, a command to stop. She wonders if the Gorge will taste the same as the first, or will the forbidden fruit be even more delicious? The woman bites through the tight skin and the juices burst inside her mouth. More delicious, is her unspoken verdict.

  Butterflies stop fluttering, the breeze stops blowing and the clouds stop depicting stories. A bird pauses in suspended flight and blinks at her, its blue oily feathers open. No bud appears to replace the one she stole. It, too, is waiting for what is to come.

  Thunder rumbles in the heavens, and a moon eclipses the Creator. His name is unutterable--YHWH. YHWH calls her by name, and her name is not Eve. "Lamia."

  I am back in the barn's garden, staring at the tree. "The tree," I heard Eva say. "Do you recognize it?" Eva asks.

  "S-s-s-s-s," I heard. The sound was close. My mouth was open and my tongue languished behind my front teeth. "Yes-s-s-s-s," I sibilated.

  I leaned in and kissed her on the lips. My tongue slid into her mouth, and our tongues flickered together, gentle at first. She probed the roof of my mouth, my cheeks, the back of my throat. I gagged. Her mouth widened, swallowing my face. Her tongue was down my throat flickering in my stomach.

  With a muffled cry, I pulled away and slapped my hands to my mouth. Where am I? What happened? The line between reality and dream-land was becoming blurred. Did we kiss?

  Her face was flushed and she was smiling. The top of her dress was open and lower, exposing full cleavage, the white fabric revealing more than it had last night. Her dress was ruffled at the waist, the hem tucked in at the hip. My trousers were unbuckled, the fly unzipped, my undershirt untucked. I was throbbing, legs weak. Panting. Gads, what the hell had we just done?

  22

  I opened my mouth to ask and suddenly saw that Eva's dress was cinched at the neck, the skirt pressed. My trousers were closed, shirt tucked. I dropped my hand from my mouth. The heat. It must be the heat.

  I wiggled my toes, as if feeling soft ground under bare feet. The flower's perfume was inside my nose, and the taste of the ripe fruit lingered. My tongue dug at a small piece of the fruit's skin stuck to the roof of my mouth. Spitting it into my hand I stared at the purple-red flesh. But it was not the flesh of the Gorge; it was the purple flower's petal. White crumbled petals lay in clumps on the bare ground at my feet where we had stopped. I had nodded off right in the middle of her garden. The dream had been so real.

  It was real, you fool. You were there. And you can go back any time you want.

  I put a hand to my itching neck. Bloody shirt. Gads, it was hot. I swiped the gathering drops of sweat out of my eyebrows and flicked the beads into the air.

  "Catch up." We stood outside the barn and Eva was several paces ahead of me on the mist-covered koppie. "This way."

  "Get a grip, Jeffy boy," I said, jogging to catch up to her, hoping the brisk pace would clear my head.

  Eva's bare feet kicked the dress out of her way as she walked, the thin white hem floating behind her like mist. She turned every few steps, encouraging me to keep up.

  A sudden urge made me peek over my shoulder.

  "Jeffrey?" Eva called.

  There had been someone there, lurking. Edward? Or one of the maids? I hadn't seen anyone, but all senses told me someone was there.

  She called my name again. The sun was gone, yet it was so bloody hot. Inside would be cool.

  Get inside.

  Her eyes darted from my mouth to my forehead, lingering there, then to my eyes, back to my mouth, focusing on me like she was reading me.

  "Jeffrey," Eva said, "I want you to understand that I trust you. I'm not going to hold your firm accountable for what your father did." I was about to thank her when she said, "He worked here, sometimes."

  That surprised me, but I nodded, understanding the need to spend personal time with a client, especially one like Eva.

  "I had a room for him, there." I hadn't realized we had reached the house, but there it stood, and she was pointing up at a pair of long windows. A desk would fit nicely behind those windows that faced the open yard. Oak or maybe cherry, a long and wide type that resembled more of a table. Tiffany lamp in the corner. And a deep leather chair. I turned to her and saw promises in her face.

  "The house is cool," she said. "Why don't you come inside? I'll have Guert get you a drink."

  Out of habit, I looked to my watch; one of a pair of matching Rolexes Lindsey had given to Caroline and me as a Christmas gift. Still not working.

  "Guert is a wonderful cook and I'm sure she has something ready." Beckoning with a wave of her hand, she said, "Come inside." She was holding the door open.

  Uncertainty gave way as the heat squeezed my brain. An upward gust of wind tousled my hair; it threw me off balance and I grabbed the door handle to steady myself. Warm air enveloped me.

  I stepped into the house.

  23

  The door swung shut behind me. Inside wasn't the cool retreat I had hoped for. Pressure built in my ears. I swallowed, wishing Guert would bring that drink. There was no air and I needed some, just a breeze. Leaning against the thick drapes, hands clinging, I asked, "Can I open a window?"

  "It's best to keep them closed. My eyes." Eva's eyes were tearing as she blinked. "I have extreme light sensitivity. Didn't your father tell you?"

  Xeroderma Pigmentosa.

  The pictures of those disfigured faces. But Eva's face was beautiful.

  "Melanoma," your father had said, "She gets it every time."

  "The light can cause blindness and the UV rays can cause cancer. It is," she sighed, "an anchor. I can't go out in the sun or go into any brightly lit room. Genetics. I was born with this disease, over and over again. I get it every time."

  I let go of the drape. Father's same words-- "every time"-- echoed in my ears. Of course.

  Her grandmother, her mother, and now her-- that's what he had meant.

  "Why even have the windows?" I asked.

  "The thought of total enclosure makes me feel claustrophobic," she said.

  Escape routes.

  I heard a dull, distant commotion but couldn't identify or place the sound. The maids. It must have been them.

  My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I was surprised to see that no artwork, statues, or other untouchables spoke of her wealth
or interrupted the smooth flow of her cream coloured walls.

  The circular foyer where we stood opened to a high ceiling. A stairway before me led straight up to the second floor with numerous halls trailing off in different directions, leading anywhere. The house was big enough to support such an entangled web. And I noticed a small hole in the wall on the staircase, as if it had been accidentally gouged by a corner or a leg of furniture.

  To my left was a closed set of glass-paned wooden doors. A humble armchair sat in the room's middle. To my right another set of glass doors opened to another hall.

  Mahogany hardwood floors matched the molding and the doorframes. I brushed my fingers along the front door's frame and Eva shivered violently. "I stepped on a cold spot," she said. "The cold wood absorbs the heat and helps cool the house. You'll feel better soon, after a drink."

  I followed Eva through the glass doors, her bare feet slapping heavily across the floor. "Everything echoes against the walls," she said. "Even whispers bounce like rubber balls in here."

  When we reached the end of the hall I took a couple steps down into a sunken circular dining room. The long oak table had been set for two. A curved sideboard fit neatly into the wall and was topped with a warming plate and covered silver dishes. At the other end of the room, two women flanked a set of swinging doors.

  "This is Guert and Mena. You remember them from last night," Eva said as she dropped into her seat at the table.

  "Where's Edward?" I asked. All three women looked at me as if I had just spewed obscenities at them.

  "He's not here," Eva said.

  "He might join us later for dinner," Mena said, the corners of her mouth reaching up slowly. Eva glared at her, and Mena dropped her smile.

  "Sit down," Eva ordered.

  There had been a purpose to my visit. I was supposed to be in and out, and then get home. But I sat down as I'd been told.

  Guert lowered her serving tray in front of me, balancing it at an odd angle, her wrist turning with a snap. I looked to Eva with concern, but she had none.

  "I think you have all you need," Mena said in a deep, manly voice. Gads, what an ugly woman: broad and thick with no feminine features, even her short grey hair was manly.