Godmother Night

by Rachel Pollack

He was having trouble breathing now. He went into the bedroom and lay down on the bed. “Help me,” he moaned. A wave of excitement passed through Bill’s body and he realized he had an erection. What a time, he thought, but then he laughed. If that didn’t calm him down, nothing would. He jumped up for a couple of the magazines he’d hidden on the shelf behind the boxes of tax forms and old receipts. Back on the bed he pulled off his shoes and threw them, basketball-like, into a chair across the room. He was already feeling better. He undid his pants and shimmied them down around his ankles. He pulled down his underwear and lay back on the bed. “Here we go,” he said out loud. Delicately—he didn’t want to rush—he wrapped his hand around the base of his penis.

  It turned green.

  Bill screamed. He screamed, and pulled up his underwear and then his pants, and kept on screaming. Until, in the midst of his shrieks, he heard laughter. And applause. He turned around, and all six of them stood there, the bikers, Amy, Lillian, and Sunglasses, three on either side of the door. All but Sunglasses were clapping slowly in unison. “Why are you hurting me?” Bill said. “I never did anything to you.”

  “Like hell you didn’t,” Sunglasses said. She threw the glasses on the floor.

  “Jaqe!” Bill shouted. “Oh God, Jaqe, thank God it’s you.” He crawled across the bed toward her. “Tell them to stop. Tell them to make it all better.” The women laughed.

  Jaqe said, “Haven’t you figured it out? I’m not going to make them stop. I told them to do this. They’re following my idea.”

  “Then tell them to stop.” Jaqe shook her head. “Why?” Bill pleaded. “I never did anything to you.”

  Jaqe shouted, “You tried to rape me. You almost killed me with those scissors. You lied about Laurie.”

  “I didn’t mean any harm. I just wanted to have some fun.”

  Jaqe spit on him. It wasn’t much, just a dribble, and Jaqe looked even more surprised than Bill, but the laughter of the women rose like a sudden wave rearing over his head. And then Jaqe began to laugh too, and clap, and stamp her foot. Bill ducked his head, covered his face, and ran out of the bedroom.

  In the living room he found the front door open and leaped from the house. Bill wasted only a few seconds trying to get the car door open. When the key fell off the ring onto the grass he took off, first along the street and then on people’s lawns when the pebbles on the pavement hurt his bare feet.

  He ran jerkily, out of breath almost immediately. His left side hurt, but he kept going. Every few seconds he looked over his shoulder. When he didn’t see them he felt along his crotch. Still there, he thought to himself. Oh God, God, it’s still there.

  At the end of the housing development Bill came to the back entrance of a shopping mall under construction. He glanced back once more and then dashed into the huge building. Inside, he bent over with his arms on his knees and tried to catch his breath. But then he heard the sound of motorcycles and he began to limp along the mall avenue.

  The construction team must have had the day off, for the whole place was empty. Apparently they’d almost finished it; quite a few of the stores had names and even merchandise. Bill had thought of opening a branch here, and had even come along on a local merchants’ get-acquainted tour. Now he tried to remember the layout, and where he could find a place to hide. Where the hell was everybody? Where were the guards? Where were the men? Bill saw a row of telephones and ran to them. He didn’t have any coins, but maybe you didn’t need any to get the police. He grabbed the first phone. Dead. The second. Dead. And then he heard rhythmic clapping.

  As Bill ran down a side corridor his feet began to sting. He looked at the floor and saw it was strewn with broken pieces of colored glass. Already his feet were bleeding. He almost turned back, but at that moment the women came around the corner. They moved slowly, the five redheads perfectly in step, Jaqe slightly to the side. Bill looked all around. In front of an empty store window lay a pile of red shoes, as if someone had set it out for a demonstration display and then knocked it over. Bill stepped on his toes through the glass until he could sit down on the pile and find a pair big enough to fit him. He had just pulled them on and jumped up when the women reached him.

  In each direction he thought of running, one of the women was standing in front of him. The clapping speeded up. Bill began to hop from one foot to the other; why was he hopping? He realized that his feet hurt worse than before—and not just from the glass, for when he looked down the red shoes glowed with heat and wisps of smoke leaked out from the sides, smoke from his feet. His feet were burning. He tried to kick off the shoes, to pull them off, but they wouldn’t come loose. And all the time he kept on dancing, faster and faster, to the beat of hands and the sea roll of laughter. “Please,” he begged. “For God’s sake.” He could smell himself burning.

  The faces reveled in the heat, their mouths open, their eyes wide, Jaqe just like the rest of them, worse, her face all twisted as she whooped her laughter and stamped on the floor. The red leather jackets glowed in the heat, but Jaqe’s face glowed brighter than any of them. “Help!” Bill shouted. “Somebody help me!” Jumping up, he tried to see over their heads, find a guard, a worker, anybody. He only saw a woman, another woman, this one motionless in a long dress. “Get a guard,” Bill shouted to her. “Call the police. Hurry.” He screamed in pain, for the hurt had spread upward from his feet and the whole bottom half of his body was sizzling. The woman didn’t move.

  But Jaqe did. She stopped clapping and looked around at all the women and then at Bill, whose body jerked in agony, still in perfect time to the sweep of hands. For a moment, it seemed to her that the women, not Bill, were on fire, that fire blazed out from their unburning bodies to fill the whole mall with furious light. When she looked down at herself, flames flickered around her own hands. “No,” she said softly, “no, this wasn’t what I planned.”

  She bent over and started to throw up but then stopped, as if she realized that that wouldn’t serve any purpose. She began to shove the women and pull at their hands. They ignored her. Jaqe took off the jacket and threw it at Lillian, who leaned back slightly and let it fly past her. “Let him go,” Jaqe demanded. “This wasn’t the idea.” The women laughed louder. One of them contorted her face and stamped her feet in imitation of Jaqe two minutes earlier.

  Jaqe turned to the woman outside the circle. “Make them stop. Right now. Make them stop! Do you hear me?”

  The woman waved a finger. Slowly, reluctantly, the five lowered their hands. Though they looked angrily back at the woman and at Jaqe, none of them spoke. In the center of the circle Bill fell to the floor and pulled the shoes off his charred feet. The air smelled of cooked meat. He hid his face in his hands and cried.

  Jaqe said to Lillian, “This wasn’t what we planned.”

  Lillian folded her arms. “You were certainly enjoying yourself.”

  There was silence for a moment, then Jaqe said, “That’s why it had to stop.” She added sarcastically, “I’m sorry to spoil your fun.”

  Lillian shrugged. “No problem. We’ve used this trick before.”

  “Yes,” Jaqe said, “I’m sure you have.”

  “Want a ride back to the city?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll take the bus.”

  “We’re a lot faster,” Lillian said.

  “I don’t doubt it. I’ll still take the bus.” Behind her, Jaqe could hear Bill Cohen wailing and beating the floor, in terror and pain. She shook her head and turned to walk away. If she saw the woman in the long dress she gave no sign, but only strode off across the bright colors of the broken glass.

  Nine

  The Butterfly Tree

  Laurie sat on the floor, her back against the front of the gray couch. Alongside her stood a half-empty bottle of beer. Laurie picked it up and set it down without drinking or even looking at it. On the television an aging tennis star tried to keep up with her teenage opponent. Laurie didn’t care much about tennis. She watched because the aging star was a wom
an-loving woman. And because it gave her something to do while she waited for Jaqe. I’ve got to go away for a couple of days, Jaqe had told her. Where? Sorry, can’t tell you. Well, what for, for Goddess’s sake? Uh-uh. Secret. “Goddamn it,” Laurie said, and took a swallow of beer. She made a face. Flat. Laurie laughed. If she wanted to be a tough beer-drinking bull dagger she’d have to learn to finish off a bottle in less than two hours.

  On the TV the teenager scored a dazzling passing shot and the crowd screamed with excitement. Laurie thought, Bastards, they just want to see an old dyke go down in flames. The worst thing, the goddamn worst thing, was that Jaqe had told Mark. Where did he come in? He was Laurie’s boss. “Jaqe knows what she’s doing,” Mark had told her when Laurie had said she was worried.

  “How do you know?” Laurie had asked. Mark had gone back to reading a small-press catalogue. Laurie had pulled it out of his hand. “You know where Jaqe is, don’t you?” Mark had shrugged. “You know what she’s doing, don’t you?”

  “Not in detail,” Mark had said.

  “Not in detail? What the hell is that supposed to mean? Why would she tell you and not me?” Laurie had had to clench her fists to keep from crying.

  Mark would only say, “She needed my help.” And then he’d refused to talk about it.

  The television cheered, and Laurie realized she’d missed some crucial play. She snarled at the close-up of the former champion nervously chewing her bottom lip.

  A knock came at the door. Just what she needed, neighbors. Maybe boyfriend had come back and wanted to borrow a cup of dope. Maybe she could not answer, pretend she’d gone out and left the TV on to discourage daytime burglars. Another knock. Laurie growled and got to her feet. When she opened the door Jaqe stood there.

  “What’s wrong?” Laurie asked. “Why didn’t you use your key?” Jaqe looked like a frightened child. Her hair went in all directions, her clothes were stained, as if she’d fallen, and her face was streaked, with smears of makeup under the eyes and along the cheeks.

  “I can’t come in,” Jaqe said.

  “What do you mean?” Laurie reached out to her but Jaqe jumped back.

  “No!” she said. “I don’t want you to touch me.”

  “I don’t understand,” Laurie said. “What is it? Oh God, is it my father? Did he find you and attack you or something?”

  Jaqe shook her head. “No. No, I—” She stopped, closed her eyes a moment, then took a breath. “I found him.”

  “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

  “I—I did something. I wanted—I thought it was—I wanted justice.”

  “Oh my God,” Laurie said. “What did you do?”

  “No. I can’t tell you. Not yet.”

  “Is he—did you—is he alive?”

  “Yes.”

  Laurie sighed. “What did you do, then?”

  “Not yet. I need you to help me.”

  “Help you how? Do you have some plan or something?”

  “I don’t mean about that,” Jaqe said. “About him. That’s—that’s finished.”

  “Then what do you need?”

  “I need you—what I did—I thought it was right—it was right, but it’s cut me off. From the world. I need your help, Laurie. I need you to bring me back.”

  “Back where?”

  “To the world of humans. To you.”

  Laurie closed her eyes, raised a hand to her lowered face. There was silence for what seemed a long time, and then Laurie dropped her hand. She nodded, softly, then held out her arms.

  Jaqe shook her head, crying. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t. I want to accept it, what you’re giving me. I’m just—I’m just too far away.”

  Laurie said, “What do you want me to do? Tell me what I should do.”

  “I don’t know. I want you to think of something. A purification. Something to bring me back.”

  “You mean like some kind of Goddess ritual?”

  “No! I’m sorry. I’m sorry, it just—it has to be something to do with the world, with humans. With you.”

  Laurie made a noise. “Wait in the hall,” she said.

  Jaqe leaned against the wall, head down, one hand covering her face. When Laurie came into the hall a few minutes later, Jaqe shrunk away.

  “It’s okay,” Laurie said. “I won’t hurt you.”

  Jaqe shook her head. “It’s not that. It’s just—I don’t feel fit to touch.”

  “Was it that bad? What you did?”

  “No, no, that’s not it. I—I’ve got to come back to the world, Laurie, or else I’ll just pull you away from it.”

  “That’s what we’re going to do,” Laurie said. “Bring you back.” She carried a large plastic shopping bag. “Come with me,” she said, and turned toward the stairs.

  “Where are we going?” Jaqe asked her.

  “The bottom,” Laurie said. She led Jaqe down to the basement, where she took out two scarves from her bag. She held them up, one black silk, the other a polyester tourist scarf with garish pictures of the city’s landmarks. “Remember this?” Laurie asked, raising the polyester, and Jaqe smiled slightly. They’d bought it as a joke during a day when they’d played at being country tourists in the big city.

  Laurie said, “Okay. This one—” She held up the black. “This one represents the place you are now. I’m going to toss it to you and I want you to cover your eyes with it.” To Jaqe’s frightened look she said, “You have to accept where you are now before I can lead you back.” Jaqe shook her head. “And you have to accept that I will help you and not hurt you.” They stood there motionless for a moment, then Jaqe nodded.

  Laurie held up the other scarf. “This one will be our link. The line that allows me to reach down and bring you to the light. Okay?” Jaqe nodded again. Laurie took a breath, then threw Jaqe the black silk. Jaqe held it in her hands a moment, then tied it over her eyes.

  To herself, Laurie whispered, Thank you. Out loud she said, “Good. I’ll wave the other one near your hands, and when you feel it, grab hold of it. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Jaqe said.

  “Get ready,” Laurie told her. She laid one end of the scarf in Jaqe’s left hand. Jaqe took hold with both hands. “Now we’ve got a connection,” Laurie said. “Don’t let go. Do you understand?”

  In a little-girl voice Jaqe said, “I won’t.”

  “I’m going to lead you out of here,” Laurie said. “So you know what we’re doing. I’m going to take you up in the elevator. To the top floor.”

  When they reached the top, Laurie pulled Jaqe to the stairs that led to the roof. “We’re out of the darkness,” Laurie said when they came outside. “Can you feel the sun?” Jaqe nodded. “Okay. I’ve brought you here, so now I’m going to let go of the link and set up the next stage. But you won’t get lost, because you’re already here. Is that all right?” Jaqe didn’t answer. “Say if it’s all right.”

  “It’s all right,” Jaqe said. When Laurie let go of the scarf, Jaqe bunched it up in her hands and held on tight.

  A couple of minute later, Laurie said, “Now take off the darkness and throw it away.” Jaqe didn’t move. “Come on,” Laurie said gently. “Just get rid of it.” Jaqe pulled the blindfold off her head and threw it out of sight, behind the stairwell. She squinted at the bright sun. In front of her, Laurie stood in a wide circle made of torn-up pieces of junk mail. Around Laurie, and all about the roof, gold and black and green and blue butterflies darted in the air. Laurie came to the edge of the circle and said, “Pass me the end of the link.” Jaqe held out the tourist scarf for Laurie to take hold.

  Slowly, Laurie pulled Jaqe toward her into the circle. They stood facing each other, not touching except through the scarf. “Good,” Laurie said. “I’m going to let go again. I’ve got just a few more things to do.” While Jaqe watched, Laurie moved about the circle, setting down objects from her bag. “This is to establish the four human directions,” Laurie said. “Uptown,” she announced, and put dow
n a bill from the electric company, with a piece of brick to hold it in place. She walked to the other side of the circle, said, “Downtown,” and laid down a newspaper turned to the financial page. “East side,” a glass she’d taken home from a women’s bar. “West side,” a leftover croissant.

  “There,” Laurie said as she straightened up. “This is the human world. Now you have to let go of the other one.” Laurie reached into the plastic bag again and took out a large pad of paper and some felt-tip pens. She laid them down at Jaqe’s feet. “I want you to draw this other place,” she said. “And what you did there. Can you do that?”

  “Don’t watch,” Jaqe said. Laurie turned and stood with her back to Jaqe. Jaqe squatted down and took up the pens. She held them for a while, with the pad in her lap, and then she began to draw. She drew a huddled figure—Bill—with his hands over his head, as if someone were beating him. She drew flames around his body, and then she drew the six women around him, with flames around their hands and faces. She labeled one of them “Jaqe” and drew the face all twisted, the teeth as fangs. She stopped, breathing heavily as she looked at the picture. She bent over again, and using a red pen she drew Mother Night in a long dress, standing on top of a rock shaped like a turtle. She colored Mother Night’s face black, but then she drew a golden light around her head and body. Jaqe held the drawing in both hands as she got to her feet. “Okay,” she said.

  Laurie turned to see Jaqe standing with the drawing held face down against her chest, as if she feared Laurie would try to snatch it away from her. “Tear it up,” Laurie said. Jaqe shook her head. “Come on, Jaqe,” Laurie told her. “Come back to me. Please.”

  “Do you love me?” Jaqe asked.

  “I love you,” Laurie said.

  Jaqe tore the paper in half. “Forever?” she asked.

  “Forever after,” Laurie said.

  Jaqe tore the paper in quarters. “Do you forgive me?” she asked.

  “For all the actions and for all time.”

  Jaqe said, “No matter what I did?”

  “No matter what you did?”