Circe tuned out of the conversation, scratched at her armpits, and sniffed her fingers before she downed her fresh cup and made her excuses. She swaggered towards three well-dressed men near the lake edge.
‘Time to get back on the horse and try again’ she said to herself as she made unsteady progress towards the men. Silent as a ghost the Professor, who had seen and heard all, followed her in spirit as his vision unfolded.
‘What do you see?’ said the voice of Celeste next to the Professor as he lay on the bed with his eyelids closed but his eyeballs twitching beneath. It took a while for him to respond:
‘I see all sorts of people and beasts at a clearing near a lake, there are fires everywhere, people are mingling, and Circe is approaching three men who are standing by the lakeside.’ Celeste scoffed and shook her head.
‘Typical, she’s as stubborn as a rash’ Celeste snorted, ‘it’s the Guapano brothers: they’ll turn her down again. What else do you see? Is there a man there that’s much taller than the others?’ The Professor twisted his head as if to look about,
‘The Centaurs are tallest’ he said, ‘but the music is getting louder and more people are starting to dance.’ Celeste moved closer to the Professor,
‘Tell me more, tell me everything you see, has anyone new arrived?’
The Professor mumbled and frowned at the question as his head turned from side to side, sweat clinging to his brow: ‘no, no one new has arrived; I think all are here’ the Professor said, and then grew still for a moment. Celeste wrung her hands, stood, and then paced up and down. She looked at the Professor where he lay feverish and restless, as he struggled again at his bonds, and turned his head this way and that as is if searching the whole area of his vision. He then froze and spoke again: ‘wait, I think I see something' he moved his head as if scanning his eyes over the tops of trees, 'yes, I see three birds in the sky.’ Celeste’s expression changed, her brows knotted,
‘What three birds? Describe them to me.' The Professor moved his head as if looking for a better view before he spoke again:
‘Large water birds, they could be geese, no, no, I’m wrong they’re swans, yes, the birds are swans - two white and one black.’ The Professor stretched his neck forward as if peering to get a better look, ‘they’re flying down now, and they’re landing on the water. They’re huge.’ Celeste fidgeted.
‘What are they doing?’ She said, her breath catching short in her throat. The Professor craned his head yet again, eyes still closed, scrutinising.
‘They’re swimming towards the shore, and they’re almost here… oh, but they’ve just dived under the water’ the Professor’s head bobbed and weaved, ‘I don’t see anything, just ripples on the surface.’ Celeste pulled a face, and the Professor paused for a long time as if looking.
‘Keep talking’ she said, ‘you must tell me all that you see’ the Professor struggled as he slept and his trance unfolded,
‘Something's happening. Heads are rising out of the water, a man with a dark beard and two women with white skin…’ The Professor became agitated, ‘but his clothes are dry, the water doesn’t touch him, and he’s tall, very tall indeed.’ Celeste clutched at herself as if stripped bare in an Arctic wind.
‘It’s Him, it’s HIM’ she shouted, and clapped her hands to her head, ‘he’s come’ she said, her voice loud and strained,
‘it’s the dark one, the Dark Prince’ the witch shook all over. ‘Tell me what you see Winston, spare no detail.’ The Professor’s words then came at speed,
‘The white skinned women have horns, and their eyes glow. They’re the colour of ivory, but they have long black nails. People are moving out of their way, and the music has stopped. The man is even taller than the centaurs, maybe eight feet, he follows them, and he wears a long black robe with red slashed sleeves: he looks like a priest.'
‘It’s Him; I know it. I’ve no doubt’ Celeste exclaimed, ‘he’s come to talk with her. I’ve warned her of this. I warned her, warned her, but she wouldn’t listen.’ Celeste then clutched her hands to her face, turned herself back around to run to her chair, and rock herself backwards and forwards. ‘Heaven help me, I can’t bear it… what’s happening? Please, you’re too silent’ she said, as her feet tapped on the ground and she wrung her knees with her hands. The Professor lay rigid as if unable to move,
‘He’s walking towards Diana, and all have moved aside. She stands alone. Everyone’s watching.’ Celeste reached under her wimple and started to pull at her hair as the strands fell,
‘Oh Lucia, why don’t you listen to me, when it’s I that can keep you safe.’
Celeste turned pink and started to cry, but the Professor carried on his reporting: ‘he’s reached out his hand to her, I think he’s inviting her to dance, but no one’s moving, everyone’s quiet… silent as death. Diana hasn’t spoken…’ The Professor paused, unbreathing before he drew in a sharp breath, ‘she’s refused him… everyone is shocked, she’s walking away.’ Celeste leapt out of her chair as if jabbed with a pin:
‘I can’t hear any more’ she exclaimed and lit a stick of incense before she said a short prayer and then passed the incense under the Professors nose.
The Professor awoke from his trance at that moment with a stifled shout, to find himself back in Lucia’s room. Celeste untied his bonds and tossed him the clothes she had presented him earlier. The Professor shook his head and pawed at his face and eyes as he readjusted to his surroundings - his ankles and wrists burned as he rubbed them. Celeste then retreated into the lap of the Golem, the perfect replica of Lucia, and ran her hands over its body, before she clasped one of its breasts and wept on its shoulder. The Professor froze mid-motion, with his mouth ajar, to look at Celeste, with deep thought, and observed the witch as she sobbed and clutched at the rigid Golem here and there.
The Professor sat still for a while to observe Celeste before he spoke: ‘you’re in love with her, aren’t you?’ he said, before he swung his feet off the bed, and began to put on his new clothes. Celeste wiped at her bloodshot eyes and left damp patches on the sleeve of her habit as she dabbed at her long, thin, and red nose that dripped like a twig after rain. Celeste gave a fractional nod.
‘I’m cursed… with an affliction. I’ve known since I was a girl. God won’t rid me of it no matter how much I pray to be delivered.’ The Professor nodded his head.
‘So you came to a nunnery... to escape temptation?’ said Winston,
‘It’s not like that' said Celeste, wiping at her eyes, 'I came here to escape marriage, to escape childbirth… to escape death. Do you think I’m alone?’ Celeste fixed the Professor with a look, and he regretted his previous remark. She wiped at her nose again, ‘Lucia’s never touched me, yet it’s all I crave, but not once, not even to use The Grip if I displeased her.’ The Professor rubbed at his bruised neck in memory,
‘Is that what it’s called? You don’t want to be touched like that, trust me’ he said.
‘It’s better than nothing’ said Celeste between heaved sobs, her speech interrupted, ‘she’s used The Grip sometimes on Arcangela, and I used to envy her, can you believe it? I envied her: even when Lucia threw her across the room. She deserved it though; Arcangela’s stubborn and mouthy, and she can’t keep her hands to herself. I’m sure you’ve learned that already… but she knows better now - not to touch what Lucia considers hers.’ The Professor heard bitterness creep into Celeste’s voice. ‘But I do as I’m told, I prepare everything, and get no reward for it.’ Celeste looked up to the ceiling and then heaved up more tears, and abandoned herself to sorrow as her shoulders shook. The Professor shook his head, sighed, and looked again at the forlorn witch as he spoke:
‘Is that why you cling to that thing then?’ he said, pointing to the Golem, 'is that the closest you can get?'
‘She’s not a thing, she’s a WOMAN’ said Celeste as she wiped at her tears, and slug-like nose that gurgled and bubbled with the effort of breathing. ‘I read to her, and talk to her whe
n Lucia’s away, and when Arcangela sneaks out of the convent at night to go gambling.’ The Professor smiled to himself when he thought of the little witch and tutted, ‘when they’re gone I comb her hair, and tell her stories.' Celeste ran her fingers through the Golem's blond hair before she neatened it back on her shoulders. 'We cuddle sometimes, don't we?' she whispered into the Golem's ear, 'and we speak a little’ the Professor looked on but shook his head.
‘You shouldn’t do that. You’re not supposed to read to, or touch a Golem: it develops their mind, and it develops their feelings' he said before he stood to tuck his new shirt into his stockings, 'she’ll want to live, you know, and it could be dangerous.'
‘I don’t care… and who are you to lecture me? You’re just a plaything’ said Celeste with another wipe of her nose, ‘but she already reads prayer to the nuns, very well, when we let her… I’m her teacher… the nuns can’t even tell the difference: they’re stupid - just like you’ replied Celeste. The Professor tensed his jaw:
‘You’re jealous…’ He said. The Professor made a move to add more, but held back, ‘why are you telling me this?’
‘Who else can I tell?’ She said, throwing her palms in the air, ‘I have no one: nothing. Do you suppose I can unburden my heart of this at confession - and avoid being beaten, tortured, or burned?’ Celeste almost laughed, ‘what does it matter? You won’t be here for long. She’ll discard you when she’s bored, just like the others.’ The Professor pondered her words but didn’t argue.
Celeste sat still for a while, and looked at the floor, before she wiped at her tears again, and took some deep but unsteady breaths before she stood up and entered the side room to turn the crank and reopen the sky hatch. The moon had moved, and the starry sky had lightened from black to dark blue, to look like velvet scattered with glitter. The Professor stood up from his bed and took the chance to consider the side room in more detail. Celeste didn’t protest when he walked in as she continued to turn the crank.
‘Time is passing’ she said, looking up through the hatch that framed a patch of sky as it grew lighter, 'they’ll have to return soon’ she added as the Professor walked past a large mirror draped with fabric, and toward a bookshelf, he had not seen before. ‘They must return before cock’s crow.’
‘What’s this?’ said the Professor reaching out for a small rectangular box wrapped in purple silk decorated with gold stars. Celeste screamed,
‘Don’t touch that’ before the Professor drew back as if slapped, ‘if she sees you touch that box she’ll kill you, I mean it, she would.'
‘What’s in it?’ said the Professor, taken aback.
‘I don’t know’ came the reply, ‘but once Arcangela tried to find out, and managed to touch the box before Lucia used The Grip on her. I’ve never seen Lucia so angry; she threw Arcangela like a stone.’ Celeste stood transfixed as she spoke as if reliving the experience, ‘Sour Maddalena had to nurse Arcangela for two weeks, we all thought she would die, and of course, I could say nothing. When the nuns asked questions, I said she fell down the chapel steps after prayer: I hated lying, and I’m not sure they believed me, but what else could I say?’ The Professor nodded.
Celeste stood still with a blank stare going beyond the room, with her hands suspended in the air as if pleading for mercy as she told the story, she then made a sign of the cross before she recovered herself to finish turning the crank on the wall. Celeste spoke again: ‘please get some sleep; they’ll be here soon.' The Professor nodded, his mind then filled with questions before he turned to the witch,
‘How do I get out here?’ he said, Celeste shrugged,
‘I don’t know... why don’t you go back the way you came.'
‘But you want to be rid of me, tell me how to escape with...’ The Professor trailed off.
‘You want her Grimoire, don't you? I can't tell you how to take that and stay alive. But maybe she likes you? She told us you’ve come to learn from her, and her books.’ the Professor nodded, ‘you’re fortunate that she wishes to teach you. You must know something that she wants, or she wouldn’t bother. Most men she discards after one use: they don’t interest her for long.’ The Professor raised his arms:
‘Well perhaps if she didn’t tie them down she’d get to know them better…’ he said before he rubbed at his wrists and his voice trailed off. He then made his way to his bed and got under the covers. Celeste followed him.
‘Most times she doesn’t have to’ she continued, ‘but you’re different, it seems’ said Celeste, before she blew out all the candles, accept one, and retired.
The Professor turned to the wall in the gloom but struggled to sleep, his mind going over what he saw, what he heard and what Lucia did to him. Two shadows appeared above the hatch. The Professor tried to ignore the witches as they floated down, through the twilight, into the side room to return from the ball. Lucia then turned the crank herself to close the hatch. Arcangela giggled to herself and shuffled around in the shadows, to then pick up her things and bump and wobble her way out of the room.
The Professor heard a cock crow as the hatch wound shut. Arcangela’s limp and years crept back upon her at the sound, as she walked to her bed, and she lost more of her enchanted youth with every step she took. She held up her hands in the twilight of the courtyard and watched her young flesh wither back to reality with every exclamation of the farm bird. Arcangela's wrinkled lips trembled, as she felt her body contort again with age. She shook her head and dried her eyes on her mottled hands before she slipped back into the darkness of her nun's cell. The Professor, through squinted eyes, could still detect the faint glow of Lucia, and her sweet perfume, before she blew out the last candle and made way to her bed: in passing, she drew close to him and stroked his shoulder in the warmth of the dark.
…
The Convent of San Matteo, morning, October 5th, 1611
The Professor awoke with a start, bolting upright, as if from a nightmare: the sound of ancient snakes hissing, and taunting, still whispering in his ears. Cold sweat soaked half of his pillow. He flipped it over before he turned onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. Winston shook his head as images ran across his mind of the night before. 'What's happening to me?' he said, soft and quiet before he covered his face with his hands. Much had changed, everything was real, and he could not be the same man again. He sat back up and looked around the room at Lucia’s figurines, books, and tapestries that had become familiar. He heard the nuns of San Matteo singing in their chapel, high and sweet, in the mid-morning. 'It's Terce' the Professor whispered to himself.
Winston turned his head from side to side to scan the room - no one present - before he threw back the covers to stand in silence, peering, and listening for movement: nothing. He then turned, on tip-toes, and then walked over to Lucia's Grimoire. The Professor admired the book and ran his finger over its elaborate leather-bound cover. His fingers tingled with sensations as he caressed the book and opened some of its pages: a book he had travelled through time to find. The Professor peered around for a bag large enough to fit the Grimoire into, but could not see anything.
Winston then headed for the door that he had entered from the passageway, and tested the handle. He gave the handle a twist to the left and then right before he shook at the door with force - but the door did not yield. Winston then shook the door handle much harder till it rattled: ‘it’s locked’ came Lucia’s voice from behind him.
The Professor stood frozen before he let his hand fall from the door handle, and turned to her with a blank expression. Lucia stood in her black Habit, her luminous face framed by the dark fabric, and looked every inch a pious Abbess - an innocent incapable of ruse - in stark contrast to her Goddess like presence mere hours ago. Images of Lucia, gleaming naked, from the night before, flashed into the Professor’s mind. He narrowed his lips at the memory that rendered her woollen Habit see through for moments before he dismissed the images from his imagination.
‘You must be hungry' said Lucia,
suppressing a smile as the Professor looked at her, 'I’m getting Arcangela to bring you food’ she said in a soft tone, before avoiding the Professor’s glare.
‘Where’s the Golem, I don’t see her’ he said, as he looked over at the empty chair where the Golem had sat the night before.
‘She’s with Celeste’ she replied, but the Professor frowned,
‘You shouldn’t let her spend too much time with it, it will learn more and want to live’ he added, Lucia shrugged,
‘The more it learns, the more freedom for me.’ The Professor squinted as he looked at Lucia.
‘You know she loves you - don’t you?’
‘Who? The Golem?’ Lucia scoffed,
‘No, Celeste - she’s in love with you.’ Lucia’s mouth then twitched before she looked away,
‘All the nuns love me, I’m their Abbess, it’s natural’ said Lucia advancing to her mirror, projecting her voice as she went. She continued to speak to him as she smoothed her appearance reflected in the mirror: ‘we live here in seclusion; our bonds are strong. Who else can they love but me - and each other?’ The Professor looked Lucia up and down, but she avoided his eyes.
‘For Celeste, that Golem’s a substitute for you, do you know that?’ Lucia swept away from the mirror, ‘she’s in love with you Lucia, and her love for you is going into that Golem, and that could be dangerous.' The Abbess blushed,
‘Don’t lecture me. You exaggerate, I know the risks. We made the Golem together, but I can destroy it too, alone, if I wish, one wipe of the seal on her forehead from me and she returns to clay and dust.’ Lucia fussed with a figurine that she had snatched up from a shelf and wiped away imaginary fluff from its glazed porcelain surface.
The Hermeporta Beyond the Gates of Hermes Page 23
