The Starry Sphinx

by V X Lloyd

  Deb crossed her arms tightly in front of her chest.

  A breast popped out with ready ease from its previous shelter beneath her black dress.

  Both Perry and Moony at once found other objects in the vicinity to look at: The limbs of trees, tufts of grass. Harmless and nonsexual objects of vegetative life in the medium distance.

  *

  Judging by the time on Moony's Rolex, an hour had passed, which meant the world-saving potion could be quaffed at any time.

  He ambled over to it and inspected it.

  No doubt about it. The hour of sunlight had done something incredible to the brew. Actually, it was glowing. Staring into it, it was so much more transparent than before. He could see not only checkered patterns going up the side of the glass, not just squares, but cubes of dark and light from one side of the vial to the other.

  And both aspects of it, the dark and the light, were sharp and bright. The white shone with a still luminosity that instilled hope in him. The dark squares were vibrant, velvety, deep and rich.

  The potion glowed so much it actually cast a shadow.

  "OK then," he said. "We have what we need. When the time is right, I'll quaff this mofo and maybe I'll die but I'll hopefully save the universe."

  Deb smiled. "Let's think of a good plan and make this happen."

  He wrapped his arm around her and the three of them walked down the forested path to the main road.

  Part one of two was a success.

  *

  They had the weird odds to meet an available taxi within a few minutes of walking along the main road.

  The driver had a beard with hair that looked more conspicuously like a face full of pubic hair than most other beards Moony had seen. Reflexively finding some other sensory specific to rest on, Moony was refreshed that the car had a fresh smell, like leather.

  The driver went for several minutes without saying anything more than to indicate that he understood where they wanted him to go, and how much it would cost. After some time, however, he became exceptionally talkative, and he spoke with an incredible rapidity that seemed at once eager and soulful. He spoke in bursts that Moony doubted could be intelligible even to a native Spanish speaker. The man conveyed the sense of himself as a world traveler. He spoke of great surfing expeditions, of his love of deep-sea diving, and of the good eating a person could have in the world's worst neighborhoods if only he knew how to ask for it. He had the habit of punctuating his sentences with percussive slaps of the steering wheel. His laughter crescendoed at what seemed to the three of them to be random intervals.

  "You ever hear the one about the lady and the giraffe?" asked the driver.

  Moony and Perry nodded that they had, and the driver laughed a long time, slapping the steering wheel like it was a drum kit.

  It was apparent that the driver, whose name, he said, was Ali Antonino Alejandro Alzavarius, regarded Moony with warmth and true candor. This caused Moony to wonder whether Ali was mistaking him for a long-lost friend, or at least someone he had met before. The driver had said nothing about Moony's lack of attire, didn't seem put off by it in the least.

  Moony, for his part, sitting in the car's front seat, tried to carry his part of the conversation, but he could barely get in a word. He kept looking back at Deb and Perry to ground himself, because it wasn't out of the question that this was all a part of some alien abduction hallucination or perhaps a spontaneous psychedelic episode.

  But seeing that they were as weirded out as Moony was, and knowing that their Spanish comprehension was basically nil, they weren't any help.

  The driver was saying something about the time when he was in a jazz band of some importance, depending on who you asked. At first it seemed to Moony that the driver was indicating that he played the upright bass. But the more he talked, the more he made it sound like he played the xylophone and possibly also the drums. Amidst this banter, Ali emphasized the importance that the drummer and the bass player got along, but the driver admitted that the relationship is not so different from a marriage, an illness for which there is no cure. Freedom alone is the antidote. Freedom and, he said, at least one mistress.

  Ali asked them if they'd heard the one about the man with two mistresses, and they shook their heads.

  Moony wanted nothing more than to be free of the emphatic, perfectly foreign driver with the strange beard, to step out onto the ground in his bare feet and run home to Celia. Welcoming Celia into his arms.

  The driver continued his one-man conversation, sharing with Moony a story about something that he said had actually happened, long ago in an island nation, a land with seven main islands and a warm climate. The story was about the happiest poor man in all the world, who was so happy because he had two mistresses. The man with two mistresses had only two male friends, one with no mistress and another friend with five mistresses. These mistresses, he clarified, were in addition to his wife, so, all told, the five-mistress man was regularly 'plowing six fields,' whereas the happiest man plowed three fields.

  Moony sighed at the recurrence of that particular sexual euphemism, which he found to be in poor taste.

  The driver dismissed outright Moony's suggestion that the gender dynamic could in fact be equal, that a woman with multiple male partners could be happy, and he insisted that Moony understand that three was the magic number when it came to this situation. Only one woman was not enough for a man. Over time, the relationship would grow stale, and the woman's desire for stability would kill the man's yearning for adventure. Thus, he said, the necessity of a mistress, whose sole role was to provide a man with sexual diversity and therefore satisfaction, leaving the tenderness and calmer sides of intimacy to be shared between man and wife.

  The driver proceeded to lay out a complex formula, which it seemed made use of Chinese astrology, yet could readily be proven as universally applicable for all mankind, that this relationship design was flawless.

  During the last part of the story Moony let his attention go lax, only half-hearing the part about how some of the mistresses were actually the same woman and how men really fail to appreciate the subtler nuances of lovemaking.

  The joke's punchline was something about an old Hindu saying that women's share of the pleasure from sex was six times that men experience. It didn't elicit a laugh from anyone, even the driver, who, by appearances, had become briefly introspective.

  Moony's mind turned to the beauty of the countryside and all the intimate fun he and Celia would be able to share while the three of them -- no, the four of them – together, he resolved -- planned their next move. From now on, he would include Celia in everything.

  After awhile, Ali had once more become his jovial self, sharing a story about his past to no one in particular. The words pattered Moony's ears like meaningless, quasi-musical syllables, until he heard something that mad his blood run cold.

  "Creatia Ernald."

  He heard those words unmistakably. Ali didn't pause or otherwise let on that they had the significance to Moony that they did. From what he could tell, right now Ali was talking about insurance policies and complaining about taxation, how everyone likes to squeeze other people for money, and at the end of the day, because the world consisted almost entirely of middle men, real workers like Ali had nothing left.

  Why had he mentioned the Gypsy?

  Why now? Here Moony was in this strange man's car halfway across the world. And it seemed that here, more even than back at home, everything was out to get him. The Gypsy had people everywhere.

  There was just no way such a name-drop was coincidence. Nobody who dropped names would drop the name Creatia Ernald.

  His mind drifted to Deb's huge chrome gun. No, he told himself, that's not the right tool for this job. Use your words, Moony.

  "How do you know the Gypsy?"

  Ali didn't understand.

  "Creatia Ernald. How do you know her?"

  Ali gestured at the glove box.

  Moony opened it, and the Gypsy's
wooden money box fell out onto his lap. The same box she had brought to his apartment and left there.

  "She's expecting you."

  "How do you know her?"

  The driver confessed that he didn't know her, that a beautiful woman with bright orange nail polish who smelled like cedar had given him the box and told him to pick up the three of them at precisely the location and time he had found them by the side of the road near the old mansion.

  Inside the box was a business card for El Mundo del Espiritu and in curly script was written

  Friday 8pm.

  You are cordially invited to participate in an impromptu performance of real life.

  *

  It was already near sunset when they came to the squat stone tower that indicated the house was just up the hill. The tower had been some kind of sentinel station or guard post from hundreds of years back, when the whole area had been under the dominion of whoever the house had belonged to, back in the days of feudalism and peasant labor. These days, nobody came out here except for tourists, people looking for a scenic hike along the beach, which was only a few dozen meters downhill from the house on the other side.

  Though Moony gestured that Ali should let them out here, the driver insisted that he knew the place, that he could get them right to the front door.

  Moony knew it wasn't possible -- the house was surrounded by high earthen walls and a narrow foot path that spiraled up the hill was the only way in.

  Only when Moony pointed out that they were no longer on the road but actually driving along the sand of the beach did Ali admit he had been thinking of another place, and he agreed to let them out.

  Standing outside the cab, Moony patted the front of his briefs where pockets would be if he were wearing pants.

  Perry shook his head. "Don't look at me. I don't have any money, dude."

  All Deb's money was still five euros short, so she handed him one of the priceless gold coins she had picked up from the sacred cave. Ali thanked them all profusely, and said that he would always considered them all his friends, and after handing Moony his own business card, for Quadruple-A Autos, A Rental Service, was on his way back to Seville.

  "Be careful what you tell her," Deb cautioned him about Celia while the three of them walked up the cobblestone path to the house.

  "There's no way in hell she's working for the Gypsy. Not directly, anyway."

  "I agree, buddy," Perry chimed in. "But you have to admit it's wise for you to be careful, at least at first. Celia doesn't know what all is at stake. If she had the wrong idea about who the enemy was, she might have helped them unintentionally. It's not just about you, dude. This affects everyone. Our lives are at stake just as much as yours."

  The possibility hit Moony hard.

  "OK, I'll be smart about this," Moony said. "But, hey, let's lighten up! I mean, the hard part is over, right? All we have to do now is plan for what we'll do at the Spirit World. The Gypsy will be there. It's simple: we show up at the performance and do something that whisks her away to the Qualids. With the Gypsy gone, I can drink the potion and save the world. But for now, let's celebrate."

  *

  The next morning, Moony stepped out onto the porch and compared Spain's weather with Denver's weather, concluding that he was trying to make a ridiculous comparison. Here, the sunshine alone was sufficient to cure diseases, it was so direct and serene. The landscape was startling in its simplicity: the dirt was red, the sky blue, and the beachside estate was yellow. The ocean view yielded everything to be hoped for in a horizon. Moony fantasized about getting on the back of a horse again – he hadn’t done that in years.

  "Have you seen this awesome old telescope?" Celia called from inside, her voice echoing off the stone floor and walls, sounding like the femme fatale in a noir film playing in a cheap underground theatre. "It must weigh a ton. It's so old."

  "I have, actually," Moony said, entering the master bedroom. "Julieta and Roberto are friends of the family. They're in Morocco for the next few weeks." He drummed on the balcony wall, weighing the heavy choice of enjoying a cigarette. "They're painters, I think."

  Last night when Moony arrived, he found Celia alone in the master bedroom amusing herself with some paints and what looked to be someone else's half-finished painting that she had decided was hers to finish.

  They embraced and spoke, and he told her everything -- more or less. He told her about how he had finally brewed the checkered potion, and what had happened beneath the mansion. He also opened up with her about Zelda, and more importantly, he was open with her about his feelings for her, feelings that she shared.

  She told him that she had been seeing Elysio for a month, off and on, and that he had always wanted all sorts of details about her life. She had just chalked it up to him trying to be a controlling asshole, and hadn't until now really put the pieces together. She had wanted to end things with him for weeks, and just hadn't known how. At a few points, she had really opened up to Elysio because Moony's strange behavior had really troubled her. She had wanted only to be friends with Elysio, but their conversations always led to getting high which always led to bouts of passionate sex.

  "He was... volcanic," she said, staring into the distance, her eyelids heavy.

  Moony nodded a very understanding nod, then redirected the subject.

  "There's one thing that I don't get," Moony said. "The guys that had us in the basement, when we were tied to the chairs, and they were about to kill us, Elysio said that you sent us to them. Do you know anything about why he might have said that?"

  Celia looked utterly dismayed. "No, no that can't be."

  "Those were his words. I told him he had the wrong guy, and he said 'Celia doesn't send us wrong guys.' I mean, that even makes it sound like you've done this before."

  She sat there for some time thinking to herself. Moony couldn't detect any of the most commonly used cerebral subroutines which signaled that someone was lying. "Well, I told Elysio that I was going to Spain. I said we'd be going as a group. They must have connected the dots."

  "Connected what dots? Celia, this is important."

  "You don't believe me."

  "No, I don't believe Elysio. I just want your help in making sense of what he said. He sounded really clear, like he trusted you, like you two went way back. And, I mean, you even insisted that we bring Perry and Deb. And they got captured too. Celia, they were going to kill us. Have you done something like this before?"

  "I don't know if you know this, but Exaggerated Conglomerates owns my modeling agency."

  "Really?"

  "People would talk about getting a gig is at this Spirit World place, and it was always like the best news ever. I guess The Gypsy's all into theatre. It's always been this iconic place, like, so-and-so finally got their gig at the Spirit World. Tons of influencers, important people go there. Pays well. And it’s totally exclusive, you know? Once you get there, you're somebody. You've made it. So, the word is, you're supposed to refer people, lots of people, people with the right look. They like referrals." She locked eyes with Moony. "You totally have the look. I showed a picture of you to Elysio and he... arranged a meeting between me and the Gypsy."

  A chill ran down Moony's spine.

  "I met with her a few times, actually, but nothing ever happened. Nothing at all. It was creepy. So eventually I stopped going when she invited me. Literally, every meeting was identical to the one before. It was like each time was the first time she met me. It kind of hurts my feelings, you know, because I like to think that I'm more memorable than that."

  "What happened at these meetings?"

  "Well, they were in person at the Exaggerated Conglomerates office downtown. Each meeting was brief, and she just had me come in and say my name and tell me a bit about where I was from. She told me thanks, and showed me the door. I figured that meant I didn't get the gig, which is no big deal. Except, it got progressively weirder that she wanted to meet me again, and nothing ever came of it except another meeti
ng. I swear, I didn't say anything to her. Ever."

  "You didn't have to. She was scanning you."

  "What?"

  "She has powers. She was reading your mind."

  Celia didn't say anything for some time. She looked at Moony. "I don't know what to believe, or who to trust. If it's possible to betray you without even saying anything, what am I supposed to do to keep us safe? All this stuff... it's not like I'm some spy. I'm a face model. I'm not equipped for this."

  "Yeah, we're all out of our depth here. But we have to trust that we can see this through to the end. As impossible as it seems, we are getting closer to putting an end to the Gypsy. This Friday, we'll have a showdown with her at the Spirit World. And then we'll be able to move on with our lives."

  "I love you, Moony."

  "I love you too."

  They spoke and spoke for hours. Night passed into morning. They held each other, occasionally dozing, sharing whatever was on their mind, asking question after question of each other.

  Something happened while they were talking that seldom happens in conversations -- they really listened to each other and felt where the other person was coming from when they spoke. The two of them grew into a renewed trust and respect for each other.

  After they spoke, they made love well into the late afternoon.

  *

  “I feel like going out and laying on the beach,” Moony told Celia. “If I fall asleep out there, don't let me stay long enough to burn.”

  "I'll go with you."

  They matched eyes.