The Devil's Concubine

by Goyanes, Ángeles; Johnson, Kasia

  “When they returned, they had notably changed. They were closer than ever and had lost some of their innocent happiness. We would constantly find them whispering to each other in some hidden nook; however, their conversation ended as soon as they heard our footsteps. They had formed some sort of secret society that didn’t admit new members. Not Shallem, not Cannat, and, of course, not me. Often, I would catch them staring at me as if I were some sort of exotic animal they had just discovered.

  “I didn’t know why they were so attracted to human civilization. I asked myself a thousand times and I could never find the answer. However, after that first visit they wanted another and then another and another. Finally, the day arrived when they wanted to spread their wings alone.

  “ ‘You are too young.’ Shallem told them. ‘Let your bodies develop.’

  “I didn’t know whether Eve and Leger’s bodies were developed when they turned eighteen; however, this is when they announced they wanted to leave for a few days, but this time, they wanted to go alone. Shallem couldn’t come up with any other excuses. What other option did he have? Every parent mourns when his or her child leaves home.

  “As it occurs in some species of birds, we had a series of comings and goings until they finally left for good. At first, they would leave and come back a few days later. But their absences grew longer and longer. Finally, they would only come home to visit.

  “As it happens in any family, we suddenly felt alone when our children left. We were sad and doing things we used to do as family, did nothing but make our nest feel more empty.

  One day Cannat announced, “Let’s take a trip, like the children. How long have we been here? I’m thirsty for women and blood!’

  PART FIVE

  –I–

  “What is it about snakes that fascinates and attracts those who consider them to be filthy animals? Why did Cannat and Shallem want to go back to civilization? I don’t know the answer. I never wanted to leave the jungle nor was I able to figure out why they wanted to leave.

  “Why go back to populated places like Asia and Europe when there was still so much land that had yet to be discovered, that was untouched by the destructive hands of man.

  “ ‘We’ll watch how the wretched animal slowly evolves,’ they said.

  “So, we travelled the planet without staying in one location for too long. Cannat had hundreds of tranquil and lavish homes. ‘Only the best for gods,’ he would say.

  “Shallem would periodically fall into periods of deep contemplation, as he had done in the past. However, now that Cannat could read his soul, he didn’t need to ask why. Neither did I need to ask. All of Shallem’s old obsessions and ideas had been revived the day Cyr had rebelled against him. Silent and obstinate, he never stopped thinking about why Cyr had rebelled.

  “ ‘It doesn’t mean anything!’ Cannat lost his patience. ‘It’s coincidence! You’re the only one trying to find parallels!’

  “ ‘What about when he killed the agoutis?’ Shallem insisted obstinately. ‘Didn’t we defy our Father by killing humans? Didn’t he kill the agoutis for the same reason and purpose?’

  “ ‘For the love of your son, Shallem, let him rest in peace! Don’t you see that all he did was reenact a story you had told him again and again? He knew his actions would affect you, he knew you would be upset. Stop inventing things that aren’t true. I beg you.’

  “ ‘There is no one, Shallem. No one watches what we do, no one weighs our actions in hopes that the scales will tip toward forgiveness. We have no guide who uses enigmatic symbols to illuminate our journey. The only thing that exists is your wretched and false fantasies that have penetrated your soft, susceptible mind! If our Father wanted to speak to us, why would he do it through Cyr? Why use indecipherable charades when He has a voice? Doesn’t He have a voice? And don’t we have the power to hear Him even if He spoke to us from across the universe?’

  “ ‘I know you’re right. But I still have hope. I was a father, I realized my mistakes and gained my sons forgiveness. Perhaps he, one day, will do the same,’ Shallem added like a tenacious child.

  “ ‘Yes, my sweet Shallem.’ Cannat kissed him affectionately. ‘Keep dreaming...’

  “If you did the math, you would realize that by the time we left the jungle I was more than fifty years-old. Back then, that was considered old age. However, my cells didn’t age as quickly as did those of ordinary humans. At that age, I looked around thirty-five years-old and I still had another forty-six years to live. Such a long time. I had reasons to be happy.

  “Shallem and Cannat told me time didn’t exist, that it was a stupid human invention in their desire to control everything. The planets move, the universe changes, living beings complete their life cycles. That is all. Call it what you may but all creatures are forced to follow a short and transitory voyage toward old age and death. There are no magic potions, no fountain of youth. That wouldn’t be good for mankind. The body must die so the soul can rest, so the soul can be set free.

  “I thought I was dying when, a few years after I resumed a supposedly civilized diet, I lost my first tooth. I was sure that others were soon to follow. Back then we weren’t as scrupulous with our personal hygiene, toothbrushes didn’t exist...

  “A little while later, crow’s feet began to torment me. They were so visible, ruining the beautiful skin around my eyes, becoming deeper and deeper as the years went by...

  “I grew faint when I discovered how quickly my hair was turning gray. And with those gray hairs, I was justifiably called an old lady.

  “It seemed like I was never going to die. However, there was no doubt my death was slowly approaching.

  “By the year 1570, I was already losing my beauty. Well, not completely. But, of course, I no longer had the vitality of my youth. Every morning I woke up frightened because I was certain it would be the day I saw a grimace of repulsion in Shallem’s face. Because I was certain that to his eternal and immutable beautiful eyes, I must have already been ugly. I lived shaking with ever present fear that his love for me was diminishing, that the passion in his kisses would wane. I watched other women Shallem coincidentally rested his eyes upon with a jealous and murderous gleam in my eyes. My heart would constrict with pain and anguish when I thought that any one of them could take my place, that any one of the them was more beautiful than I was. Long gone were the days when I dressed like a queen and strutted through the streets of Paris and Florence with Shallem! I still dressed myself splendidly but I was no longer a beautiful swan.

  “However, in spite of the constant and ferociously inquisitive way I scrutinized Shallem’s face for any signs of disgust or pity, or studied the changes in his tone of voice when he spoke to me, expecting to hear his voice break as he gave me an elusive sad look, which would show me what words would never tell, I never saw any incriminating sign or the slightest change in the way he treated me.

  “He seemed blind to my changes, as if he truly didn’t see them.

  “ ‘Listen to me,’ I told him one day. ‘Eighty years is too long... I appreciate that you hide how my old age affects you, but, I still feel very bad, very... ashamed that I’m getting old, that I can’t stop...’

  “ ‘Juliette,’ he responded, using his most convincing voice. ‘You haven’t changed a bit in my eyes. How can you still not understand? What I love about you is hidden from man’s cold eyes. I see everything beautiful, everything everlasting, everything immortal. It’s the same today as it was three hundred years ago and will be the same two hundred years from now. I’m not a blind man sprouting poetry. This isn’t some merciful lie made by a lover moved to pity by his beloved’s pain. My vision begins where human vision stops. How many times do I have to tell you this?’

  “I don’t remember how many times he had to repeat it but it must have been around a thousand more before I was finally convinced that Shallem would always love me. That it was my soul that had kept him tied him to me since that night in the port of Marseille. Humans c
an’t understand this love; their souls are blind. My shame turned to humiliation when I remembered how scared I had been after giving birth in Florence. I had been so afraid that Shallem would return in a body that I wouldn’t be able to love. How I had suffered trying to convince myself that I would love him no matter how he looked! But deep in my soul, I had known how important his body was to me. His reaction to my changes were so different! He consoled me with infinite and unalterable love. With his exuberant beauty he consoled a toothless, grumpy old woman and proudly walked hand in hand with her through any street on earth! How vile, how dirty, and how human those thoughts made me feel! How disloyal! How unworthy of his love!

  “When we walked through the streets people must have thought he was my son; or my nephew perhaps. However, and in spite of my age, I was still slender and my face still held a certain mature attractiveness; I could still hold my head high when I walked with him. In fact, some men still stared at me. And I, with my relentless and ignorant human vanity, wanted Shallem to see that I was still attractive to mortal men.

  “At first, Cannat made numerous comments about my wrinkles and graying hair. He wasn’t being sarcastic, he was just surprised as if he truly never expected me to grow old. In fact, he seemed very bothered by it. He criticized the changes my body suffered as if I myself could control them. He would urge me to take off an unflattering dress that I would have taken off at will. In time, he got used to and stopped noticing, with such detail, my transition to old age.

  “In spite of all this and even though I didn’t recognize myself in the mirror, I continued being very happy. My fear of losing Shallem was dissipating and he grew even more affectionate. We spent more time alone together as the years passed. His kisses became more loving, more passionate and he would make love to me every day as if it were the last time.”

  “The last time.” The woman repeated as her gaze floated across the priest’s robes. For a few seconds it seemed like the story had ended, as if she didn’t have the strength to continue. She rested her left elbow on the table and let her head rest in her hand. The priest didn’t know what to think or say. She closed her eyes and began massaging her temple with her index finger, then she wearily lifted her head and kept her hand gently on her chin as if she needed the extra support. She looked at her confessor.

  “What was I saying?” She asked not as though she had forgot, but rather, as though she didn’t want to continue.

  “You were telling me about growing old,” he responded. “But... there’s something...,” he started to say with an air of confusion, like someone who had a bothersome doubt he didn’t dare question.

  “Yes? Don’t be afraid,” she urged.

  He turned his eyes to the window and, for a few moments, was blinded by the intensity of the light.

  “It’s what you look like,” he finally said in a soft voice as he looked directly at her. “Your body is obviously not that of the old woman you’ve been describing...”

  The woman smiled.

  “We’ll get to that soon. Don’t make me go faster than I should. Can I continue or is there something else you want to ask?”

  The priest lowered his head in thought. He wasn’t thinking about something else to ask, but rather asking himself if it were pertinent to ask.

  “Go ahead, tell me. What are you thinking?”

  “Well... It’s something that you told me before,” he timidly began. “Something that you didn’t explain... Surely, you must have felt something when... well, I mean your son, Cyr, would have survived if Cannat would have accepted Eonar’s proposal, or am I wrong?”

  “No.”

  “But it seemed to me like Shallem completely ignored this option. He didn’t want Cannat to leave him, or for him to suffer that kind of sacrifice, even if it were the only way to save the boy. Neither one of them were prepared to sacrifice themselves, although they loved Cyr very much. In fact, it seems like they never even considered it. I imagine you must have thought something, felt something about this.”

  She looked at him very seriously, as if she suddenly disliked him.

  “Resentment?” she asked.

  “Yes, resentment,” he responded, alarmed and sorry that he had asked. He realized he had touched a sensitive nerve. “Exactly.”

  The woman calmly stood and approached the priest. When she stood directly in front of him, he instinctively leaned back in his chair as far as possible. His right hand was on alert, ready to protect his face; he thought she was going to strike him.

  “This tormented me for a long time. Eonar’s words had sounded like a formal proposal. It would seem that if Cannat had accepted, Cyr would have lived. However, it wasn’t possible and not because Cannat was a monster. Without a doubt, Cyr was going to live longer than I was going to live, more than a hundred years longer. One hundred years separated from Shallem, one hundred years in Eonar’s company. Would you have accepted his offer?”

  The woman grew silent for a moment until Father DiCaprio shook his head no.

  “Do you know what tortured me even more? What kept me from resenting Cannat? The shameful certainty that myself would have never accepted being away from Shallem, not even for much less than a hundred years. How could’ve I blamed Cannat?”

  For a few moments, she stared at the priest absentmindedly. Then, she turned around and walked around the room. The priest was relieved and sat up straight in his chair. His expression relaxed.

  “As for Shallem, now that’s a different story,” she continued without looking at the priest. “You were right, he didn’t doubt his decision, not even for an instant. Before, if someone had asked me how Shallem would have reacted to such a situation, I would have answered: First, Shallem would lower his eyes, then he would get upset and sad, then he would look at Cannat and then at me and Cyr and then back at Cannat. But in the end, he wouldn’t have accepted Eonar’s proposal. However, Shallem skipped all of those steps. Of course he did, his priorities were very clear from the beginning; he didn’t have to weigh his options like I did. I already mentioned that from the first day I had met Cannat in Florence, I knew no human on Earth could get between him and Shallem. I knew Shallem loved him more than anything. More than me and more than anyone, mortal or immortal, who tried to get between them. Shallem had only spent seven years of his life with Cyr. What was that compared with Cannat and Shallem’s eternal companionship? Therefore, I wasn’t surprised by his decision but, yes, I was hurt. A human father’s reaction wouldn’t have been so quick, definitive, or resolute. I’m sure of that. Shallem never felt the least bit of regret for the decision he had made; he never even considered another option. It was as if the words coming out of Eonar’s mouth were completely inacceptable; as if they were nothing but a joke no one could take seriously. They were a useless stream of words that never truly suggested a plausible option. Am I explaining myself clearly?” she asked as she turned to look at the priest.

  “Yes,” he quickly responded. “Yes.”

  “You see, the love Shallem and Cannat felt for each other fascinated me; it enveloped me. Nothing coming from it seemed monstrous, very much to the contrary. I knew it was a sacrifice for both of them to put their love above Cyr’s life; likewise, I knew Cannat would have gone with Eonar if he had, even for a second, seen doubt in Shallem’s eyes. I knew he would have sacrificed himself for Shallem however betrayed he might have felt. Knowing all of this contributed to my blind and insensitive acceptance of their decision to not leave with Eonar. But I can’t deny that, for a long time, I was sorry I hadn’t seen any sign of doubt in Shallem’s eyes. To me, Shallem was more than a lover, he was my god. Everything was forgivable. I justified everything he did. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. You wanted to know if I had felt hurt. Yes, I was hurt. Is that a suitable answer? Can I continue the story?”

  “Yes, please go on.”

  “Thanks,” the woman whispered. She sat back down at the table and, with pity, studied the dry and crumpled pages of the priest’s
Bible. She didn’t make any comments about it.

  “We were talking about my old age, right?” she asked.

  “Yes, we were.”

  “I didn’t feel up to travelling any longer so we decided to settle down in a beautiful, stately mansion in the tranquil and green English countryside. We were very close to Stratford on Avon, the little town where Shakespeare had been born not long before.

  “A small brook flowed through Cannat’s vast property. During fall, rose colored saffron grew along its boundaries and Siberian purple lilies grew in the spring. The mansion was very large, very dark and gloomy. It wasn’t very homey because Cannat had never lived in it. The few pieces of furniture inside the house were old, shabby, and impersonal. We decided to close off many rooms we never used and limited ourselves to the areas in the house that received the greatest amount of sunshine. Or rather, to the rooms where the sun would have shined since the sun barely came out. The house was always cold. Staying warm once you took two steps away from any one of the house’s giant fireplaces was just as impossible as going outside for a walk without coming home drenched. I asked myself if it ever stopped raining in England. However, when the sun did make its splendid appearance, I appreciated it infinitely more than I had during the time I spent living in the sunny Mediterranean.

  “Cannat let me furnish the entire house however I wanted. We bought oak chests that were engraved with Italianized medallions. We bought benches, stools, and chairs covered in soft silk cushions; we bought a buffet where we kept our silverware displayed on a brightly colored runner; we bought paneled dressing tables decorated with pleated fabrics, upholstered furniture and inlaid chests which were imported from Flanders or Germany or made by local immigrant artisans. We bought four post beds, and rounded stands, which I draped in bright, rich fabrics. It was an exuberant display of carved, painted, and stained wood furniture that followed English fashions. Everything was in the latest style.