On the other side of the tracks

Her eyes he would remember years after, how they could go from sunny and wide to dark and dull in an instant. He never knew when or why this happened but he was smart enough to understand that those dreams she had were connected to her eyes' chameleon qualities.

But that is in the future and this story is about the present. The brilliant, bright, burning present.

“Billy!” his mother’s voice was shrill. “Billy!” He rolled his eyes and yelled: What? “A spider!” His room was hot under the roof but at least he was alone. “Billy!” He sighed loudly and rolled out of bed. His mother stood in the middle of the kitchen floor and pointed to one of the corners. A big black spider clung to the ceiling. “Kill it,” she demanded and gave him the broom.  He swept the ceiling and hoped he would get the spider. If it didn’t die his mother would have him crawl around on the floor and look for it.

In June it had been great to come home from college. See his parents, sleep late, have dinner and hang out with his old friends. Now in August he started to long to go back. He missed the freedom of being away from everybody he knew. In that loneliness he had changed, perhaps it was called finding yourself.

The spider was a mush on the broom when he looked and his mother let out a satisfied sigh. He put the broom in the cabinet. “I’m going out.” His mother got that wrinkle between her eyes. “Will you be back for dinner?” He shrugged. “Probably not,” he said and pulled on his Converse.  “Are you seeing Tess?” His mother’s voice got that tone he didn’t really recognize every time she said Tess’s name. “Mm.” He pushed open the screen door but his mother got hold of his arm. “Is she really good for you?” His mother’s hair was frizzy from the humidity and she had a thousand freckles on her face now in the late summer. “She is older.” He shrugged. “She is…” his mother’s voice faded. He pulled his arm out of her grip and she let him go. “Be careful!” she called after him.

He walked down the street; the day was still hot even though it was after five. Some boys were playing street hockey and had to move when a car turned down the street.  His father was on the train by now coming home from the office. The office, the word made him cringe. He would never be able to put on a suit and sit in an office every day.

At the train tracks the gates were down, for a short moment he hesitated then he bent down and walked under them. The train blared the horn but he didn’t care. On the other side of the tracks the houses started to change. The Cape Cods from the forties disappeared and brick townhouses with stoops lined the wide street. His mother had grown up on this side of the town among first and second generation immigrants from Italy and Eastern Europe. The houses were still impressive but had started to look run down by now. After the riots of the sixties this part of town had never truly recuperated.

She sat on the stoop when he stopped in front of her house. She had a couple of take-out boxes from the Chinese place on the corner next to her and ate from one with a plastic fork. She looked at him as she chewed with her mouth full and when she had swallowed she smiled her crooked smile. “Are you here again?” Before he could answer she spoke. “Did you eat?” He shook his head and walked towards the stoop. “I have fried rice, fried shrimp and noodles.” She pointed to the different containers. “Fork is in the bag.” She pushed the white plastic bag with her foot. He sat down next to her. She smelled sweet, tea with milk in his grandmother’s kitchen in the winter or those pink roses that climbed his grandparent’s house in the summer.

 “How is your father?”, he asked. She made a few incoherent sounds of irritation before she swallowed . “You would think he could have the decency to die before school starts again.” The noodles had small pieces of egg stuck to them; he spun them around his fork and took a bite. Tess put down her box and reached behind her and brought out a bottle of Southern Comfort. She took a swig and gave him the bottle. First sweetness on his tongue then the burn down his throat. He grimaced. “You really have the worst taste in liquor.” She laughed, loud and clear.

The Chinese food was gone and half the bottle, she laid with her head in his lap on the porch swing. He slowly rocked them back and forth. The cicadas filled the evening with their whirring. “I wish I could just leave,” she said and made circles with her finger on his arm. Her touch was comfort and thrill in one. “I wish I wasn’t so good so I could just leave.” She walked her fingers up his arm and down again. “Billy,” she whispered. “Mm,” he whispered back. “Let’s go inside.” Her words rushed in his head, down his spine into his groin.

She slept in the small bedroom downstairs. The room that used to be her younger brother’s. The blonde haired, blue eyed angel who as a three year old had run out the door one day. Straight out in the street and instantly got hit by a car. He died two days later in the hospital. “It never was the same again, she often said with a flat voice. But now the room was hers. Her smell, her things, her persona. She stood in front of him in her blue dress and she pulled it over her head. The skin around her breast shone white in the evening light. The tan line as sharp as a marker line. “Come.” She took his hand in hers and pulled him close. Her skin was so warm, so soft against his. Her arms were around his neck. Her lips on his. She nibbled on his bottom lip. His body reacted immediately. She purred under his touch. Slithered under his tongue. Curved under his weight.  He melted into her, surrendered.

Sleep was about to bring him under when Tess whimpered in her sleep. She laid with her head on his arm and one hand across his chest. Her hand twitched and she whimpered again. Suddenly she sat up and he was wide awake. “Are you ok?” he whispered in the dark. She didn’t respond so he put his hand on her back. Her whole body jerked under his touch and she moved away from his hand. “What is wrong, Tess?” She laid down again, curled up against the wall and seemed to be deep in sleep. Then another whimper, a thin, childlike whimper filled with fear and pain. Then another, and another and she started to breathe fast and shallow. Billy sat up, didn’t know if he should try to comfort. Reached out his hand put pulled it back, afraid he would only make it worse. Make whatever was haunting her more real. The feeling of being inadequate and powerless was a soggy stone in his body as he listened to Tess’s cry filled breaths.

A woman called out a man’s name on the street and Tess stopped hyperventilating. He relaxed an inch.  The woman called out one more time and Tess moved a little, she pushed away from the wall and turned over. He heard how she patted the bed and searched for him. When her hand found his thigh where he was sitting she got up on her elbow. “Why are you sitting there?” she asked sleepy. He took hold of her hand, her palm was sweaty. “I am watching over you.” She sniggered. “What is that supposed to mean?” She moved closer and put her head on his leg. He caressed her bare back. “Don’t you remember?” She yawned widely and moved a little closer. “Remember what?” Her body was so relaxed against his. “You cried,” he said but she didn’t answer. “Maybe it was a dream.” A tension went through her body. “Did I hurt you?” The question surprised him. “No, no not all. You were hyperventilating and I worried about you. I didn’t know what to do.” She laid still on his leg, he could tell how she was thinking. “Sometimes...” she started and then the phone rang. “What the fuck?” She sat up, the phone rang again and again. “Maybe it is the hospital,” he said and she jumped out of bed, ran out and slammed the door behind her.

As he heard her muffled voice he started to get dressed, suddenly his nakedness felt awkward and out of place. As he pulled his t-shirt over his head he heard the door open. Tess stood in the doorway. She had an odd expression on her face. A mix of surprise, sadness and relief. “Was it the hospital?” She nodded and took two steps into the room. Her arms hung by her side and her hair was unruly. “I guess I am supposed to go in, right?” Her voice uncertain. “What happened…did he…” She looked up at him; her eyes were huge, glossy, and empty. “He…his…he…his heart gave up.” Her bottom lip trembled and he put his hand on her shoulder and pulled her close. She sobbed a few times then she grew quiet. “It is ok to cry,” he said into her hair. She smelled of their closeness, their tenderness, their passion. “I know,” she said quietly, then she pulled away from him. “I…I have to go. I am supposed to go.”

He watched as she opened the closet and pulled out a few dresses, she put them on the bed and then she opened her dresser and pulled out tights. “The hospital is so freaking cold,” she said and smiled at him. On top of the tights she put a dark dress with white flowers. She French braided her hair then she sat down on the bed. ” I will take a cab from Main Street.” He nodded. “I don’t know when I will be back...”her words stopped short. “I can come back tomorrow.” She shrugged. “I might need to sleep,” her voice was very soft and polite but he got the message. “Ok,” he said, “I will come back some other day.” She stood up and grabbed her bag. “Good.”

He watched as she walked up the street, she looked very determined as she walked with her back straight and head held high. He wanted to go after her, hold her hand, be with her at the hospital but he had a feeling she wouldn’t want him there. But he stood still and looked after her until he couldn’t see her anymore.

His parents were sleeping when he came home. He went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and drank from the tap. When he looked in the mirror he saw long red streaks down his arm from Tess’s nails and for a reason he didn’t even know he started to cry.

Thunder woke him up, the room was shady, his head heavy. He laid and listened to the rain.  It started slow but it soon  pounded the roof. It was past ten in the morning, his father was gone for hours and his mother was working today. He had the house to himself. He rolled to the side, closed his eyes and tried to will himself to fall asleep again. His mind dove down into slumber but was abruptly brought back up when fire trucks came down the street. Not one, but several. The sound stirred something inside of him. Something worrisome. A premonition.

The rain was coming down hard as he ran down the street. Lightning cut across the navy blue clouds. He slipped on the tracks but got up and kept running. The fire trucks, he counted to five, were parked outside Tess’s house. Flames were licking the windows on the top floor. Smoke was rising through the roof. People had gathered on the street, stared, whispered. He tried to run up to the house. What if she was sleeping? A broad shouldered firefighter put a hand to his chest and stopped him. “Can’t go in there, son.” He tried to move past the hand, move past the uniform but no use. “She might be sleeping,” he said and his voice was shaking. “In the small bedroom on the first floor.” The fireman looked down at him with curious eyes. “I had the smoke divers in there already. No one is in the house. Do you know the family?” Billy shook his head. “No, only Tess.” The fireman put his hand on Billy’s shoulder. “She is not in there.”

He backed away from the house, stood by the other spectators, heard the whispers.

“The father is in the hospital”

“I heard he died last night.”

 “Where are the boys?”  

“That girl…”

Billy turned and looked at the woman who said the last thing. She was probably around sixty, her hair in a typical old lady style. Her mouth a disapproving line.

“I know,” the woman next to her said. “Something wrong with that girl.”

A third lady leaned closer. She had straight grey hair in a bob.

“After little Tommy died…and the mother left…not easy for that girl.”

“The mother was crazy too,” the first woman said.

Billy felt the blood pumping. He bit down hard on his teeth. Wanted to yell at the women.  The woman in the bob looked at him. She put her head to the side, squinted a little, pondered.

“You know Tess,” she said and the other two women turned their heads and stared at him.

He nodded. It looked like they were waiting for him to say something. He took a few steps backwards, and then he turned and walked home. He waited that day, and the next, and the next…then school started and eventually he stopped waiting.

One time at Disneyland, many years later. He had his three year old son on his shoulder and he saw this woman with a little girl. They sat on a bench, their heads close together, talking to each other, it was something about the shape of the woman’s shoulders. Or the way she held her head or how the hair hung over the little girl’s forehead. He wasn’t sure but he thought it was her. She must have sensed his eyes because she lifted her head and looked at him. Then she smiled her crooked smile. He wanted to talk to her. Ask how she was. Where she had been. But at that moment his wife called for him and his son pointed in excitement at Mickey Mouse. The next time he looked they were gone. 

Take me to Church

The city who never sleeps was calm this Thanksgiving night. I was leaving Central Park and heading south on Fifth Avenue. The rain had stopped but a thick, low fog made the evening damp and raw. Christmas decorations were already  on display in the windows of the fancy stores; I took a quick glance but knew I had to hurry up. Maaike, my new…hmm I wasn't sure she would approve of the title” girlfriend”, was heading north on Fifth Avenue and we would meet somewhere and walk back to her place downtown.

My grandmother, Annie had insisted on having the whole family over to her grand Upper Westside apartment for Thanksgiving dinner. My mother had tried to talk her out of it but no use. To get the two women to stop arguing over the phone for hours upon hours I had promised to handle the cooking. I was after all living in one of the bedrooms in Annie’s apartment and I was a trained chef. My grandmother had been so pleased, so pleased she sang show tunes for days afterwards.  In the morning when she carefully prepared the breakfast tea she sang “I don’t know how to love him”. As she took her white poodle for a walk in the park she sang: “Officer Krupke”. At night when she took her bath she sang “Maybe”.

A few days before Thanksgiving I went to the supermarket and bought a large turkey, potatoes to mash and some supplies for making gravy.  My mother and my aunts would bring sweet potatoes, creamed spinach, cranberry sauce…yeah, you get the picture. Dinner was supposed to be served at two o’clock to accommodate grandmother’s and great grandchildren’s early bedtimes.

Early on Thanksgiving morning I had woken up in Maaike’s bed. I laid still watching her sleep in the grey light. She slept on her back with her arms over her head, the long dark hair in a braid and her tank top had slid up and showed her stomach. Her skin is the smoothest most beautiful thing in the world. When we first met back in September her skin had been golden brown, now in late November it had faded slightly. Still much darker than mine of course. I blame my Irish grandparents for my pastiness.  I caressed her eyebrows, her cheek and she opened her green eyes. With narrow eyes she put a hand behind my neck and pulled me close. “Mmm,” she purred. “I love how you taste in the morning.”  

This was a perfect moment, this moment in itself was all I wanted but I still couldn't keep myself from thinking about Julia. She had been the reason why I had left the City in the first place. She and some friends had been in the City for a weekend and we had met at Henrietta Hudson. She was a sweet girl, funny and a bit unsure of herself. I fell head first into her forget-me-not eyes and her freckly chest.  She was still in college and I wasn't and as a chef you can get a job anywhere so I left my city. Moved into Julia’s tiny apartment in Virginia.  I was her first and she wanted it all. After about two years she started to talk about children. “Children?” I said. “How would that work? We can’t even get married.” She had it all figured out. “I asked Aaron and he said…” I wasn't particularly fond of Aaron and have him be the father of my child…. To be honest I wasn't sure I even wanted children, not with Julia, not with anyone.

Last June I packed my bags and came back to New York City. The day was hot and unusually humid when I landed at JFK. I took the Long Island Railroad to Penn Station where I caught the 1 train.  The subway was crowded, the streets smelled like garbage and I was sweating profoundly. And I loved it! My grandmother took me in and since then I had worked here and there with this and that.

One September night I met Maaike at my friend Josh’s place. He had a party in the townhouse he shared with his two brothers. She sat cross-legged in the middle of the couch dressed in black tights and a bright pink tunic. I stood in the middle of the floor and looked at her. Until she suddenly turned her head and met my eyes. She didn't smile, just locked her eyes on mine. You know that moment in movies when they slow everything down and they focus on the main characters and you know that a decisive moment is happening. That was exactly how I felt when I stood on the floor with Maaike’s eyes locked with mine.

Some women are naturally more submissive in bed.  Some women are naturally more dominant in bed. I had always been the stronger force when it came to sex.  With Maaike it was different. More of an ebb and flow, push and pull, top and bottom. Sex was more exciting, more equal and therefore better.

And now I was rushing down Fifth Avenue to meet this woman I knew very little about but I desired to no end. I picked up my cellphone to see if she had texted me, she hadn't, and when I tried to get the phone into my pocket again it slipped out of my hand and bounced in the street. Thank God for the Otter Box! As I bent down to pick up my phone I got an uncomfortable feeling in my body. The feeling reminded me of when I was little and I was sure a troll with long skinny fingers lived under my bed. The feeling of being vulnerable and watched by something menacing. Where did this feeling come from I wondered as I straightened up again. I looked behind me. Nothing there. I looked to the other side of the street. A few people were walking there but not one of them seemed to pay me any attention. I started to walk again, trying to shake this uncomfortable feeling out of my body.

Maybe the person had walked in front of me for a long time and I just hadn't noticed but now I saw him or her, I wasn't sure which. This person walked leisurely half a block away, tall, dressed in a long light grey or perhaps beige coat, wavy hair down to the shoulders. I was sure this person was the source of my uncomfortable feeling so I quickly headed over to the east side of the street. I walked slower than before to see if the person would keep walking or also slow down. Slowed down, just like me. I stopped and picked up my phone again to call Maaike, to see where she was. There is always comfort in being two.

Three rings before she picked up, she sounded out of breath. “Where are you?” she asked abruptly. I realized I was outside St. Patrick’s Cathedral. When I told her she demanded that I walked up the steps to see if the door was open. “Why?” I asked. Her response was filled with anger, desperation and pleading. The combination worked wonders on me and I ran up the steps and tried all the doors. “They are all locked.” For a few seconds all I heard was Maaike’s hard breathing. “Stay close to the door. I should be there in two minutes. Don’t go anywhere!” Before I had a chance to answer she hung up.

Two minutes isn't very long. One hundred and twenty seconds. For the first minute thoughts were doing a relay in my head. Most of my thoughts concerned what I actually knew about Maaike. She works for a company that developed software and she traveled a lot to see clients. She can run a mile in less than seven minutes. Her parents moved from Iran to Sweden in the 70’s. When I asked about her parents she always said: Fuck them! When she was eighteen she came to NYC as an au-pair and fell in love with the city and never left. Married an American man to get a Green Card. Then my thoughts froze. The person on the other side of the street. That tall person in the long coat with wavy hair had walked backwards and now stood across Fifth Avenue and looked at me. I pressed my body backwards into the door. My uncomfortable feeling escalated and soughed in my ears.

I felt Maaike’s hand around mine before I fully understood she was there. Her hand was so warm around mine. “Alex,” she said. I tried to pull my eyes away from the person on the other side of the street but I couldn’t. “Alexandra.” No one ever calls me Alexandra anymore, except for my father. I slowly turned my head and looked at her. “We are going in,” she said and pulled on my hand. “But…” Hadn't I already told her the doors were locked? “The doors are locked.” She pulled out a big key from her pocket and put in the keyhole. I stared fascinated. “You have a key?” I know I tend to ask stupid questions when I am under stress. “Evidentially,” she said and dragged me inside. She closed the door behind her and locked it again.

She yanked on my hand and steered me to the left and kept walking until we stopped by The Black Madonna of Czestochowa. I looked up at the scared face; I had always loved this icon the most. She looked so hurt and still so strong.  “Do you know that she stopped the Swedish Army from capturing the monastery during the Second Northern War?” Maaike looked at me and shook her head. “Alex, you are rambling!” I stopped talking. “I want you to stay here until I come back,” she said firmly. She put her hands on my shoulders and pushed me down to sitting. “What are you doing?” She took two steps away from me and blinked hard a few times. “I am going outside for a while.”  I felt like a little girl because the only question I could come up with was; why? She put her hand on my cheek and caressed it and then she turned around and left.

I was never very good in school, not because I wasn't smart, but  I was always absentminded and I didn’t have the drive I guess. But one thing I am good at is figuring things out, putting pieces together, solving riddles and things like that. So Maaike took about ten steps and then I jumped up and ran after her. “Who is that person outside? The tall one on the other side of the street?”  She slowed down. “It is an angel.” I started laughing. “Ha ha very funny!” She didn't look angry or amused. “I will show you,” she said and took my hand again.

We walked back to the door and she ordered me to kneel down and look out the big keyhole. “Do you see it?” I nodded. “I will now put my hand on your neck and I will let you see what I see.” I looked at the tall figure on the other side. Maaike put her warm hand on my neck. Nothing happened at first, then her hand grew heavier and warmer and my vision turned blurry. I blinked to clear my eyes then the blurriness disappeared. The figure on the other side was magnificent. Glowing, winged, a large sword by his side. Maaike’s hand moved and everything turned back to normal. I sank down to the floor, took several deep breaths, and banged my head softly against the door. The sensation was comforting, a reality test.  “How did you do that?”

“I have abilities,” she said and sat down next to me. Abilities? What a no descriptive word, it could mean anything. “What does that even mean?” I asked and looked at her.  “I can do things humans can’t do.” I mulled over her words: I can do things humans can’t do. “You make it sound like you are not human.” I couldn't stop a nervous giggle from coming out. “I am not,” she said with a perfectly normal voice. She might as well have said, “I am born on May 1.” Then I put out a finger and poked her on the arm. “What are you then? Because you seem very human to me.” She stood up and moved a few feet away. “Demon.”

I giggled again. “Angels and Demons,” I said and started to laugh out loud. This was so funny. So ridiculous and funny. She stood still and waited for my laughter to die away. We looked at each other for a long time. “Do your parents know?” She nodded.  “Were you born like that?” She nodded. “Are your parents also…”it felt strange to say the word. Maaike nodded again. I put my forehead on my knees and looked down at the floor. There was a crack in the stone and I followed it with my eyes until I saw Maaike’s feet. She had on her red Dr. Martens. “Are you evil then?” I whispered. “No,” she said. “Don’t be so parochial.”

I sat still with my forehead on my knees for a while, trying to think of something constructive. But it didn't really work so I kept asking.  “Why is there an angel out on the street?”  Maaike sighed and hummed a few times. “The world is divided into sections. Some are for the angels and some are for us. We don’t cross the borders or we are not supposed to. But sometimes we do. And he likes this city and often come here even though he shouldn’t.” I put my chin on my knees and looked at her again. “Do you rule the sections? Or take care of them? Or use them?” She put her thumb in her mouth and chewed on her knuckle, she did that sometimes when she seemed stressed. “Neither.”

She came close to me and sat down. “The world is more complicated than you know. To stop the demons and angels from fighting the world was divided. Not to rule or use or take care of. Simply to keep us apart. But sometimes a certain spot has a pull on one of us and we can’t resist traveling there. I will have to urge him to leave before it escalates into something more…” She stood up again. “I have to go out now.” I nodded. “Please don’t come out.” I nodded again. She unlocked the door, brought the key with her and I heard how she locked it on the outside. I sat and stared at nothing. The hair on my body tingled, stood up by itself on my neck and my head. The feeling was very similar to when I go to the hairdresser and she lifts each strand of hair to cut it.

I realized I was listening for sounds from outside but it was completely quiet. Curiosity overcame me and I got up on my knees and put my eye to the keyhole again.  I saw Maaike and the angel; they stood a few yards away from each other, moving in dance like motions. If I strained my imagination I could picture the angel swinging his sword and I wondered if she had a weapon too that I couldn't see. She was so fast and graceful I got breathless as I watched. There was such power beaming out of her I could almost feel it in my body where I sat.

After about twenty minutes the angel stopped moving, bowed towards Maaike and walked away. He sort of disappeared or vanished might be the better word because he seemed to cease to exist. She stood still for a short moment before she came walking back to me. When she opened the door I heard her panting. “Is he gone?” She nodded and sat down next to me. Her body was boiling and she smelled like she does after she has been out running. Musk and salt in the most exciting combination. “Alex,” she said. And it was something in her voice that made it impossible for me to answer her. “Do you want me to kill you or erase your memory?”

I jumped up and backed away from her. “What?” She didn't look sad or angry or anything. She looked perfectly normal and calm. “You do understand I can’t let you walk away from here remembering this?” I guess I should have understood that, right? “Humans have such a hard time keeping secrets.” She stood up and rubbed her hands together. “I would like to live,” I said very shakily. She nodded. “Will I remember you?” I asked. “I mean will we still be together?” She put her head to the side and smiled. “If you want.” My lips trembled as I said; Yes.

The city who never sleeps was calm this Thanksgiving night. I was leaving Central Park and heading south on Fifth Avenue. The rain had stopped but a thick, low fog made the evening damp and raw. Christmas decorations were already on display in the windows of the fancy stores; I took a quick glance but knew I had to hurry up. Maaike, my new…hmm I wasn't sure she would approve of the title “girlfriend”, was heading north on Fifth Avenue and we would meet somewhere and walk back to her place downtown. I knew I was slightly late, the last hour had passed so quickly.  I had a strange headache and was happy to be out of my grandmother’s apartment. Family can do that to you. 

Vireo (A Tale of Ice and Oaks)

The maid almost bumped into her where she stood leaning against the wall. “Oh,” the young woman said. “Are you standing here? Aren’t you cold?” Vireo met the girl’s big pale eyes and smiled. Maybe she would bed this girl, simply to annoy the innkeeper, who always looked at her with disgust. “Perhaps you could bring me a cup of that hot wine you serve to keep me warm.”  The maid looked down for a moment and then she met Vireo’s eyes again. “Perhaps I could,” she said and reached out her hand. Vireo dropped a few coins in the outstretched hand and the maid walked back into the warm tavern.

She hated the cold, she hated the snow, and she hated the ice. She hated the bare trees, the frozen ground and the grey skies. Her southern blood wasn’t made for this kind of weather.  Rubbing her hands and banging her feet together didn’t help keep the cold away anymore. Why wasn’t he here yet? How could he be late when he lived the closest? Logically, she would be the one who should be late, she had further to travel. The door to the tavern opened and the maid came out again. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair curly from the moist heat. She held a big metal cup in her hand. The steam from the cup rose in spirals.

Vireo put the cup to her lips and breathed in the smell of the wine, the honey and the spices. The wine would spread its heat in her body, from the bottom of her belly to her toes.  She took a careful sip, so to not burn her tongue. The wine landed in her belly, reached out its tentacles and thawed her blood.  The next time she lifted her head from the cup she saw him.

His dark grey coat dragged along the ground and he limped slightly on his right leg. In company he always told a tale about how he had been injured in a battle but she knew he had fallen off his horse as a boy and a branch had pierced his thigh. The right leg never grew as long as the left.  Sometimes at night he would wake up with pain and she would put her hand over the scar and massage it. As he came closer the Ouroboros tattooed on her back started to burn. “You are my commencement and my conclusion,” he often said to her. She sniggered when he said this and made fun of his schooling in the monastery.  And still during one unbearable separation she had walked to the tattoo master. After hours upon hours she walked out with a pitch-black Ouroboros on her back. 

The young princess and her court in the capital, often spoke of love. Vireo walked a few steps behind, always on guard, but she still heard the words. They spoke of true love. They spoke of how empty it must be to not have love in your life. Sometimes Vireo wanted to tell the young girls to enjoy the freedom of not loving someone. Because if she had known how painful it would be she would have told her heart to not love. Or perhaps it wasn’t the love that hurt but the absence and the longing.  But by now it was all so intertwined she couldn’t separate them anymore.

He was almost by the tavern door when he saw her. For a moment they stood quietly and looked at each other. In the winter evening his blue eyes looked almost green. “You are late,” she said and walked by him and opened the door. They stepped into a wall of sticky, beer smelling warmness. “I know,” he said low, “and for this I apologize, my…” She put up her hand to stop him from talking. “You know how I hate when you call me my lady.” He smiled his crooked Quasimodo smile and said, “Almost as much as when I call you my songbird.” Vireo huffed discontent. “I have told you my mother and father did what they thought best.”  Her parents, the gentle fruit farmers, who named all their children after birds. How could they have known their songbird daughter with the peppercorn eyes actually was a warrior?

“Andreas!” The innkeeper came wobbling over to them. He didn’t look at her but greeted Andreas with great enthusiasm. “How are you? Oh, this weather! When will spring come?” She had never truly understood the relationship between the two men. But there was deep trust and affection between them. And this was the only place they dared to meet.  “Your room is ready for you. Will you dine first?”

Andreas looked over at her and she shook her head. “No,” he said to the innkeeper, “a tray will make do.” The plump man nodded eagerly and snapped his fingers. Another maid showed up and he gave her orders to bring a tray to their room.

In the far end of their room a fire was set in the hearth. She took off her wool mantel and dropped it on the chair, pulled off her gloves and shoes and walked up to the fire.  She unbuckled her sword and sat down and held her hands and feet as close to the flames as she dared. She heard Andreas move around behind her, then his presence came closer to her. The Ouroboros on her back burned.  He put a hand on her shoulder. “How have you been?” he asked kindly.

How do you survive months without the one you love? She did what the snakes do. She let her heartrate go down and all her feelings went into hibernation, until anger was the only thing left. “I can’t,” she said and pushed away his hand. “I know,” he said and stood up. The sound of metal against leather was unmistakable to her. He had pulled his sword. Fast as the bird she was named after, she got to her feet with sword in hand.

He was only about five inches taller than her but of course stronger compared to her slender build. But what he had in strength she had in agility. Their sword skills and character were even. Perhaps the years he had on her had softened his temper slightly.

“How is the Capital?” he asked and swung at her. She blocked his attempt and moved a few feet away.

“Beautiful and shallow as usual.” She lunged forward and hit him hard on the shoulder with the flat side of her sword. “And warmer than this goddess forsaken place.”

Andreas laughed but she could see in his eyes that he was in full battle mode. “If you would rather we wait until spring…” He stopped talking and swung forcefully at her. She felt the impact on her sword all the way up in her shoulders. Wait until spring…The words aggravated her. Speed was her friend and she moved to his side and before he could react she had hit him a few times on his back and was able to slap him with her hand on the top of his head. She moved to the other side of the room and stared at him.

“Wait until spring…so you have more time up there in that fortress with the prince and his maids.” She didn’t like the tone of her own voice but it was too late now, the words had already been spoken.  True anger flashed across his face and when he spoke his voice was a deep growl. “You know.” He moved closer to her with his sword ready. “You know!” The blows were harder than before and she had to back away from him. Soon the room ended and she stood with her back against the wall. He glared at her. “You know. Besides I am not the one who…” A knock on the door made him move his head to the side and she bent down away from him and dashed to the other side of the room.  Andreas opened the door and let the maid in. The young woman carried a tray and looked at them with prying eyes.  She put the tray on the table and left.

Vireo walked up to the table and grabbed one of the mugs with mead. This inn was famous for their mead; it was sweet and fragrant and had a dark purple hue from the blackberries that grew all over the hills and cliffs. Andreas still stood by the other wall and then slowly he walked up to the table and grabbed a mug himself.

To be chosen to be the part of the Royal Guard was an honor bestowed on few. Only the most skillful and trusted sword wielders were picked.  After days of trials and combat she had been chosen to protect the young princess Lavender. And the first day when she watched over the girl in the Royal Oak grove she had met Andreas. He had been guarding the teenage prince for five of his commissioned fifteen years. Slowly a warm friendship grew between them, both of them careful, a Royal Guard is forbidden to love or marry. A Royal Guard’s loyalty solely belongs to the Crown. For fifteen years they had promised, signed in blood to be faithful to the Crown.

There was something with this friendship they cultivated. An amber. Every time she saw Andreas this amber flickered to life. One early summer day, the oak trees carried bright green leaves and the sky was lustrous blue, she was off duty and laid on her back in the grass in the Royal Oak grove. A vireo sat on a branch above her head and sang. She was about to doze off when she felt footsteps transmit through her body. Irregular and calm. She opened her eyes and sat up; Andreas stood next to her and smiled. She got up on her feet and leaned against the oak. “Where is the prince?” He stepped closer to her. “I have been on duty for three weeks. The king told me to…” Andreas laughed. “He actually said ‘get drunk and laid.’   Vireo looked down at her bare feet for moment then she lifted her head and met Andreas’ eyes. “The drunk part I can’t help you with.” She could tell how he didn’t understand at first, and then the realization sunk in.

She had kissed plenty of women and men but this was different. This kiss was mead and chocolate. This kiss was thunder and rain. This kiss was her mother’s caress and the ground under her feet. This kiss was sun on her skin and fire in her groin. And now five years later this was still different.

She put the mug back on the table and waited for him to do the same. Then both of them picked up their swords again and continued to fight around the room.  How do you rekindle love? First she had to break through the anger that lay around her heart. A steel armor to protect her from the sorrow of being apart. With every blow and lunge. With every hit and swing. They chipped away. Eventually they stood panting, sweat pouring down their backs, bruised and sore.

Andreas left the room and Vireo grabbed the mug with mead again. She took several deep gulps then she cut herself a piece of cheese and some smoked sausage. Her body ached but her heart was alive.

Andreas came back followed by two young men who carried a big wooden tub. They placed it in the middle of the floor and filled it with warm water. When they left Vireo got undressed and stepped in. Slowly she lowered her body into the water. “Are you coming?” she asked, feeling close to shy for a moment. He got undressed and stepped into the water with his back towards her. They always did the same thing. A ritual to find their way back to each other. She took the brush and the soap, rubbed them together until she had a thick lather. Started to work on his shoulders. Scrubbed them, felt his skin under her fingers, smooth and slippery. He sighed as she scrubbed her way across his back with the brush. When his whole back was clean she rinsed him off with her hands. Moved close to his body, put her arms around his neck, her head on his shoulder. Whispered into his ear. “I hate you!” The words said one thing, her voice another.

Troll Gold

Summer had arrived suddenly the day before, in the afternoon to be more exact. In the morning they had huddled in groups outside the grand, old church dressed in their fine clothes. The girls wore dresses and skirts in the grey, chilly morning. Jenny had stared with envy at the boys in their suit pants and had pulled on her cardigan so it would cover her hands. Of course she didn’t know that her goose bumped legs would one day be part of a treasured memory. Jenny didn’t think of things like that, she was only nine and she couldn’t wait for the long summer break to begin.

In the afternoon a little before 2:30, Jenny’s mother had stood on the porch with the traditional end of school year strawberry shortcake. She had sighed, looked at the grey skies and thought to herself; I guess we have to sit here this year and not in the arbor. The arbor was made up of gigantic lilac bushes and in the middle the family often sat in the summer. She put the cake on the table on the porch and almost like magic the clouds broke apart and the sun came out. The temperature rose quickly and the afternoon treat was swiftly moved outside. 

Now it was Saturday evening and Jenny lay on her stomach on her parent’s bed watching her mother working the curling iron in her dark blonde hair. The window was open and in with the soft summer breeze drifted the scent of lilacs.

“Do I need more in the back?” Her mother turned her head and tried to look in the mirror.

“No, it looks pretty,” Jenny said and rolled over onto her back. The evening sun shone through the lace curtains and made patterns on the white ceiling. She heard how her mother put down the curling iron and unplugged it. Then she heard her starting to look for something in her jewelry box. Her fingers made a slight raking noise.

“Where are my pearl earrings?” Some more raking noise. “I don’t understand. Where are they?”

The patterns on the ceiling looked like ships now.

“Maybe the trolls took them,” she said absentmindedly. “Farmor says trolls are little thieves.”

The raking noise stopped. She could feel how her mother sat down on the side of the bed.

“Jenny,” her mother said and put a hand on her arm. “We have talked about this. You know that farmor is sick. She says things. Things that aren’t real.”

Jenny nodded, the pattern on the ceiling looked like fish now.

“Oh, I think your cousins are here.”

Jenny already knew that, she had heard the car coming up the graveled road for a few minutes.

 

The cousins; Maria thirteen years old with braces, breasts and brown hair and Karl ten years old who everybody called Kalle. Jenny’s older sister Pernilla took Maria under her arm and the two girls disappeared upstairs.

“Pernilla,” her mother screamed upstairs. “Pernilla!” She looked over at Jenny’s aunt. “That girl…that girl is driving me insane. Where is Stig? Stig!”

Jenny knew that her father stood out by her uncle’s car and talked about hunting woodcocks but instead of saying anything she took Kalle by the arm and steered him into the kitchen. On the counter were three bags; one with potato chips, one with cheese doodles and one with candy. Last night she and Pernilla had walked down to the gas station and bought them. They had argued about the candy for a long time before they could agree on what to buy. They only had so much money, so every piece counted.

“Let’s fill two bowls and bring them out to the porch. Pappa and I made a fort out there for us to sleep in tonight.”

Jenny filled a big bowl with chips and cheese doodles and Kalle filled a smaller one with candy.

On the porch, under the table covered in a big blanket the two children sat together and munched.

“Jenny! Kalle! Where are you?” Pappa’s voice came from outside the porch.

“We are in here in the fort,” Jenny called out,  crawled to the other side of the porch and stood up by the open window. “Pappa! Here!”

He turned around by the arbor and came back to the porch.

“We are leaving now. I talked to Pernilla and she promised to be nice. We will be back around midnight.” He planted a kiss on his palm and reached up so she could pretend to grab it and put it in her pocket.  “Use it for bedtime,” he said and left.

The June light lingered, the blue dusk would be replaced by the navy blue night for a few hours and then the birds would start singing again and the sun would rise. Jenny and Kalle laid in the fort with yellow orange cheese doodle fingers and black licorice tongues. Her father’s kiss to use for bedtime was still in her pocket even though hours had passed since the clock struck eight in the living room. They heard music from Pernilla’s room but they hadn’t seen the older girls since they went upstairs before their parents left for the barn dance.

“Do you know what I think is strange?” Kalle shook his head, his mouth was filled with candy. “That farmor says trolls are real. Fröken says that giants threw those big rocks on the fields and that the mountain is called Troll Mountain because a troll used to live there.” Kalle chewed and listened. “But mamma says that farmor is sick and says things that aren’t real….is Fröken sick too?” Kalle swallowed and turned to his stomach, reaching for another piece of candy.

“Fröken can’t be sick…then they wouldn’t let her work in school…I think at least.” He put the candy in his mouth.

“Mamma’s pearl earrings are missing. I said it could be the trolls but she didn’t believe me. You know how farmor always say that trolls are little thieves.”

“My mamma says there are fairies in the fog on the meadow.”

“Why do they say different things? It is so strange!”

She stuffed some chips in her mouth, mostly little crumbles left now. Licked her fingers one by one and yawned. She put her head on the pillow. Kalle was quiet, she was quiet.  The only thing she heard was the faint music and the blackbird who always sat in the birch tree and sang at night.  She yawned again; she could easily fall asleep now but first she had to pee.

“I will go and pee,” she said and crawled out of the fort. Kalle didn’t respond, he was probably sleeping already. She stood on the porch and looked into the house through the door. To walk all the way into the house to pee felt so far. She took the three steps over to the porch door and opened it. She would squat in the grass and be back in her sleeping bag in less than a minute.

The grass under her bare feet was cold; she shivered and pulled up her shoulders. She held one hand on the stone stairs as she squatted. The stone step was still warm from the bright sun and smooth under her hand. Something was rummaging about over by the arbor. She squinted and tried to see. Probably Sixten, the cat, who was looking for a mouse or a vole.

“Sixten,” she called softly. “Come here kitty. Kitty, kitty.”

The rummaging stopped but Sixten didn’t show up. Oh, she got scared, what if it was a badger? They were dangerous; they keep biting until your bones crunch.  She stood quickly and leaped up the stairs. The badger came out from the bushes, stopped and turned towards her. Then it happened. The moment was as slow as refrigerated syrup. The badger stood up. The badger had arms and legs and a head with wild bushy hair. Jenny blinked hard, blinked again. The…the…the…she didn’t know what word to use, it stood there and looked at her. Then it turned around and bounded away. A skinny tail was the last thing she saw before it climbed up the old stone wall and disappeared. If she hadn’t just peeped she would have peed her pants.

“Kalle! Kalle!” She shook his feet in the sleeping bag. “You have to wake up.”

“What?” He pulled his feet away from her hands.  “I am tired. I want to sleep.”

“But Kalle.” She pulled on his feet. “I saw something. A…a…a  troll.” Yes, now she was sure it was a troll. A small furry little one.

Kalle grunted something and curled up.

“We have to see where it went.”

“Ufff,” Kalle said.

“If you are not going I am going by myself.”

Kalle shuffled his feet around for a moment and then he poked his head out from underneath the table.

“Out where? In the woods in the dark?”

She nodded and looked sternly at him.

“Well, maybe I will bring Lolo with me.” The thought of the dog gave her comfort. “Yes, I will bring Lolo and I am leaving now.”

She grabbed her jeans, pulled them on and then she walked into the house. In the kitchen the foxhound came up to her with ticky tocky claws against the hard floor.

“We are going to the woods,” Jenny said and petted the dog. The tail started waging and the dog licked her hand. She took a chair, pushed it against the counter and reached up to the cabinet. She found the flash light and tested it in the kitchen. Even though the night wasn’t completely dark yet she knew the woods would be darker.

She leashed the dog and made her way back to the porch. Kalle was standing by the door.

“If you are going I am coming with you.”

 

Lolo walked first. She was happy to be out with her favorite human. A slightly odd time perhaps but the day had been so warm she had spent most of it lying in the shade under the hedge. It was good to stretch her legs. She looked behind her. The girl had a flash light and the boy was only a step or two behind the girl. Lolo liked the other humans too but this one, the smallest one, was special to her. They had been puppies together a long time ago. Strange, humans stayed puppies forever. She was now a grown, close to aging dog. She had felt it this past winter; the hunting instinct was still a fever in her blood but her muscles weren’t as strong anymore. And to come home and rest by the fire had been a respite. A leisurely walk like this one she always liked.

 They had crossed the meadow and now they entered the woods. Lolo put her nose to the ground; smelled the grass, the dirt and the tall ferns. Lifted her head and breathed in. A fox had crossed here not long ago and she thought she smelled a hedgehog a little further along the path. The children talked behind her, she could hear something in their voices, a faint echo of fear from the boy but mostly excitement from the girl. Something was different in the woods tonight, Lolo wasn’t sure if it was because of the darkness but she could sense slight vibrations in the ground. She took another deep breath. The unfamiliar scent hit her, human and animal in one. No, not human. No, not animal. The hairs on her back stood up, the growl filled her body and she stopped on the trail.

“What is it Lolo?” the girl said and put a hand on her back. “Do you see something?”

“Let’s go home!” the boy said and his voice was shaky.

The girl sat down next to her, put an arm around her shoulders and shined the flashlight into the darkness under the ferns.

“What is it Lolo?”

She growled deeper, the unfamiliar scent was coming closer, she could hear the movement. Small feet were moving slowly and carefully over the ground. Then she saw it. As tall as her but on two feet. Big eyes in a round face. Spiky hair on the top of its head and smooth fur on the rest of the body. And it spoke. She was sure it spoke but it didn’t open its mouth but she heard words in her head. Soft, soft, soft words. Human voice but different words. “Ho ay ay ay ay buff. Ho ay ay ay ay buff. Ho ay ay ay ay buff buff. Ho ay ay ay ay buff.”

 

She was warm, sweaty on her face and back. She tried to push down her blanket but she couldn’t. She was trapped in something. Scared, she opened her eyes. Above her were planks and something orange. She blinked and tried to focus. When her eyes began to adjust she saw that the orange was the blanket she and pappa had put up yesterday on top of the table. She was lying in her sleeping bag on the porch. She turned to her side and saw Kalle sleeping deeply with his face pressed into the pillow. A strange feeling resided in her body. Her brain felt fuzzy and her limbs heavy. All she wanted to do was to lie down again and sleep but she was too hot so she crawled out of the fort and walked into the house.

Mamma was sitting by the kitchen table with a crossword and a cup of coffee.

“Sleeping beauty,” she said when she saw Jenny. “Do you want some breakfast?”

Jenny sat down on a chair and looked over at the kitchen clock. 10:30 in the morning. She had never slept this late in her whole life.

“Where are pappa and Pernilla?”

“Pappa is out with Lolo…did you play a lot with her last night? He had to drag her out of the house.” Her mother put some bread into the toaster. “Pernilla is still sleeping of course.”

Jenny felt confused, she thought she remembered that they had taken Lolo with them out to the woods last night but the memory was as faint as a dream. The bread jumped out of the toaster and her mother put it on a plate.

“You know what is strange?” Her mother opened the fridge; she brought out the milk, the butter and the cheese. “I found my pearl earrings here on the table when we came back last night. Did you find them?”

Jenny buttered her toast, sliced some cheese and took a bite. Had she found the earrings? She remembered that Kalle and her had eaten candy, chips and cheese doodles until it was almost dark. Then she went out to pee….after that it was murkier.

“No,” she said and took another bite. “I didn’t find the earrings. Ask Pernilla, maybe she borrowed them.”

Her mother smiled at her.

“Yes, you are probably right.” Then her mother narrowed her eyes and looked at her. “What is that you have in your hair?” She reached out and plucked something from her head. “A piece of fern. How odd.”

 

 

 

Else

Else

The old lady with the sunglasses, who drinks whiskey

and falls asleep in the big armchair on holidays.

That is how you remember me.

I know that I scared you children

and that you wished I would not come at all.

But that is not who I always was

 

 I cut my hair short, wore trousers, smoked cigarillos.

        Oh, how my mother cried.

            And begged and pleaded.

 

Sailed across the Atlantic on an Ocean Liner.

Saw New York’s skyscrapers grow in the horizon

                Bigger than us, grander than us.

 But in Hooverville we walked around the pain.

              Certain to not get our shoes dirty.

 

Stood in the cheering crowd on one of Hamburg’s main streets.

Excitement in the air. Power! We will rise again!

Who could have imagined that the tiny man

                                with the booming voice.

One day would equal evil,  destruction and chaos.

 

 

And when my sister died, all too soon.

                I tried to take care of her sweet daughters.

                                I really did!

But I believe I failed.

Too many demons. Too much urgency. Too much heartbreak.

                     I was nothing against it.

 

 

But no, I did not get married.

             Some fools said it was because I was in love with my brother –in- law.

That beautiful, brilliant, impractical man.

But tell me, why I would cause my sister more pain?

                                                                He betrayed her enough without me.

 

 

But maybe someone sat behind me

 when I rode through the apple orchards in May.

Holding me tight, the motor purring underneath us,

as I maneuvered with ease.

Up and down the hills and around the narrow bends.

The Baltic Sea covered in silver flakes and

pink petals snowing down on us.

And maybe we stopped at the pointy hills,

wrapped in a sunny blanket made of Prima Vulgaris.

Like the witches used to do, we climbed to the top.

The wind up there filled with ancient strength.

We could smell freedom.

And maybe when no one saw I grabbed hold of Her.

Put my hand in the hair,

 soft as silk.

And kissed Her.

 

 

 

               

 

 

Ingrid, Astrid and Sven

A bird’s body, hair feather white.  Her grip surprisingly firm.

“I need my blue summer coat.” 

She commanded and sent me on a search.

Closets, coat rack and the dresser.

But no summer coat to be found.

“I’m sorry,” I said apologetic. “I seem not to be able to find your coat.”

She looked at me sternly.

“Silly girl, have you looked in the attic?”

Perplexed I looked at the old woman.

“Attic? But mam, you don’t have an attic.”

Her eyes got muddy with confusion and she waved me away.

I thought a misunderstanding had occurred so off I went again.

Searched the same closets, the same coat rack and the same dresser. 

No blue coat. Meticulously crocheted doilies. Pillowcases with monograms.

And under the bed rolled up rag rugs. Stripped in mellow colors.

 Years of hard work.  Something for a woman to be proud of.

I left her after another thirty minutes, got on my bike and rode to the next old lady.

 

The room was cramped, filled with ornament heavy wood furniture.

“No wet rag on the furniture! It leaves streaks.”

 The voice was not kind, only demanding.

I moved carefully through the mausoleum of past times.

On one of the dressers stood  a picture of two young ladies.

The owner of the apartment and my great aunt.

In another time my family had ruled this little country side town.

My great grandfather owned the biggest house. Sat on the board of the bank.

Decided who would be graced with a loan. He used to send my grandmother. 

A lean teenager to the liquor store. His name alone was proof enough.

Now I rode my bike from house to house. Helped old ladies clean, cook and take a bath.

I changed catheters, treated bed sores and searched for summer coats.

When I was done dusting without using a wet rag I was treated to a glass of water in the kitchen.

“During the war the trains stopped here. We all knew who the Nazis were. The big farmers. Stood by the train and waved. Gave the soldiers bread and apples. What a shame!”

I finished one glass and asked for another.

“You know how some people say that Hitler has a son.”

I nodded and drank.

“But he can’t have a son.  I know.”

Some sort of joy had joined her voice.

“My sister’s husband was in the same battalion as Hitler during the war. Not the second. The first. And he told us that Hitler got one of his balls shot off in the war.”

She giggled like a school girl.

 

The last house for the day was located all the way up the hill. Past the nine hundred year old church.

Magnificent green wood house on the end of a road lined with maple trees.

The man was dignified, gentle and almost rueful as he showed me where the cleaning supplies were.

He didn’t disturb me as I worked. He sat in an old red armchair and read. The walls covered in leather bound  books.

On one of the walls in the airy entrance hall hung a beautiful shawl. Crimson with gold thread. The shawl was covered in striking jewelry and underneath a black and white photo in a silver frame. Two young men and a woman.

“He was my best friend.”

I almost jumped. I had not heard him.

“Anton Nilsson,” he said and looked questioning at me. My mother had informed me so I nodded.

“He fought in the Red Army. That was after the bombing of the Amalthea of course. We disagreed about that...”

His eyes drifted out the window. I held my breath, waiting.

“But both of us thought Stalin was a curse.”

He smiled and his eyes came back to me.

“Beautiful shawl, don’t you think? Anton’s wife’s. When she died he gave it to me. I loved her...”

He took a deep breath in and shook his head.

“A young girl like you don’t want to listen to an old man’s ramblings.”

He smiled and looked around where I had been vacuuming.

“You look done. I have fresh cinnamon rolls. Would you like to stay for a cup of tea?”

We sat in his kitchen. Fragile cups with pink roses and gold. He talked. I listened for hours.

 And I regret I don’t remember all he told me.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

You reap what you sow (inspired by True Detective)

The boy and the girl lay close together in the narrow bed. Their faces almost touching and the boy whispering.

“Death is not the end. He will avenge us. We will rise. Dark stars in the sky. No one can do this to us.”

The girl got a little closer. Her hair frizzy from the moist heat.  She caressed the boy’s face gently.  

“You are so brave, Errol. So strong. You can do anything.”

Her words made him feel good; she was the only one who made him feel good. His mother had made him feel like a prince. She used to hold him in her lap, stroke his back and whisper in his ear.

“You are my prince, Errol. My prince. One day you will rise up. You are special.”

He remembered so little, but that he remembered. And how she used to smell of flowers and how the house was different then. When she died the sun never really reached all the way into the house anymore. He rolled over to his back, looked up at the ceiling. Watched the Devil’s Nest moving in the breeze. Making stick figure shadows on the wall.

“Grandpa Tuttle is coming tomorrow. The men will go to Carcosa. Soon I will be allowed to go with them.”

The girl moved restlessly in the bed. Sat up and leaned against the headboard.

“I don’t like Grandpa Tuttle,” she said and started to pick at her cuticles. “He hurt me.” She picked the scab off her left index finger. Yesterday she had cut herself peeling potatoes. It started to bleed instantly. She put the finger in her mouth and sucked  the wound. Iron and salt landed on her tongue .

Errol put a hand on her leg.

“I never hurt you.”

She shook her head, the finger still in her mouth.

“No, never,” she said with a smile.

He moved his hand up her thigh, squeezed the muscles. Betty was strong, not the smartest girl in the world, but she was fun. And she made him feel good. She slid down so she could lie next to him and he could put his hand inside her panties. Touched the fine hair, the silky skin and the wetness.

 One day when he was nine, during the winter when the air was clear, father had brought Betty home. She was eleven, dirty and full of lice. Miss Janette had bathed her, combed her hair, cut her finger nails and fed her. He had watched as she ate. She used her fingers more than the silverware. That night when Miss Janette had put him to bed, he had asked about the girl.

“She’s your sister,” she said and helped him button his pajamas. “She has been left alone for too long. Longer than any child should be.”

At first he had been scared of Betty. She was bigger than he was and strong.  She pinched him instead of talking to him. One day that spring, when the ground had started to warm up, Grandpa Tuttle came to visit. He brought with him a large white box with a pink bow. Betty opened it in awe, inside was a beautiful doll. Bright eyed, blonde curls, a shiny white dress. He looked at Betty for a long time. She shifted her weight on the chair, uncomfortable under his gaze. After lunch he asked her to walk with him. Father didn’t object.

When Errol went out in the barn to work on his bike he found Betty sitting curled up in a corner. Crying, with blood on her dress. She wouldn’t look at him when he spoke to her. “Are you sick?” he asked over and over but she didn’t say anything so he went and got Miss Janette.

Miss Janette undressed the girl, washed her up and sang low; “Someone is cryin’ my lord, come by here”. Betty stayed in bed for a week and after that she wouldn’t leave Errol’s side.  Next time Grandpa Tuttle brought another doll, then another, then another but never did he ask Betty to walk with him again.

“I like when you make flowers on me,” she whispered in the murky room. The sun was about to set and the crickets had started singing their song. He pulled down her panties and got out of his pants. She welcomed him in her arms with warmth and tenderness. He kissed her neck, her breasts, she moaned and lifted her hips.

The headlights from the car lit up the room and Errol jumped out of the bed. Their father would soon enter the house and if he found them in bed together he would be furious. Out of instinct he rubbed his face, felt the shiny scars under his fingers. Shuddered.

“Betty.” He pulled the girls arm. She scrambled to find her panties and then she tiptoed across the hallway into the bathroom.

 

Errol walked slowly down the stairs, heard his father move around in the kitchen.  “Betty!” he screamed and Errol heard the anger in his voice. Now close to fifteen he was taller than his father but the fear was still there. The fear of violence. The fear of humiliation. The fear of the words that used to burn his insides. When his father saw him, he stopped in the middle of the kitchen floor. Stared at Errol, narrowed his eyes.

“Where is Betty? Where is the damn dinner?”

Errol didn’t look up but spoke to the floor.

“Father was running late so we ate. Dinner is on a plate in the refrigerator. Chicken and potato salad.”

“Where is that stupid girl? Betty!”

Errol heard Betty’s clumpy steps  down the stairs. She ran into the kitchen and stopped a few steps away from their father.

“Yes father?” She also kept her eyes on the floor.

“Dinner,” their father spat out.

Betty hurried over to the refrigerator and took out his plate. She placed it on the table and brought out a glass and some silverware. Their father sat down heavily. He grabbed Betty by the arm, squeezed hard around her wrist. Errol could she how she flinched.

“Drink, you stupid cow.”

“Yes, sir.”

Betty poured iced tea into the glass and put the pitcher on the table.

“You should be grateful. I could have let you die or sold you.”

“Yes, sir,“ Betty said and curtsied, and then she left the kitchen.  Errol wanted to leave too, he wanted to watch TV. He had seen in the newspaper that Hitchcock’s Psycho was on tonight.  But when he turned around to leave his father’s voice stopped him.

“Sit!”

Errol sat down and watched as his father ate. The big man cut the chicken into pieces and shoveled the meat in with the potato salad. He drank big gulps of the iced tea.

“Grandpa Tuttle is coming tomorrow.”

Errol nodded and waited as his father ate some more. Betty had turned on the TV.

“You are old enough to come with us to Carcosa.”

Errol’s mouth fell open.

“Only to watch at first. We need new younger warriors in our ranks. You will be fifteen soon.  A young man. Not a boy anymore.”

“Yes, father.” 

His father told the story of Carcosa. A fortress, a stron hold no one could conquer. The Romans,  the Crusaders, the French. They all tried but no one could defeat the city. The King in Yellow protected them. But the protection wasn’t for free. The King needed sweet, fresh blood to nourish himself.

Errol had heard this story more times that he could remember. At first it had scared him, a story of the bogeymen coming to take him. Miss Janette had comforted him many nights when he woke up screaming.  She had made Devil’s Nest’s to hang over his bed. To capture the thing that scared him. The nightmares had been so real. The man dressed in yellow stood over his bed with a knife in his hand. As he grew older he understood that he had no need to be scared. He was one of the chosen ones. His bloodline came from Carcosa. His uncles rose through society, got more power. Reverend, sheriff, governor. One day it would be his turn.  Tomorrow would be his turn.

 

Betty sat by the TV with one of her dolls, she absentmindedly caressed its hair. Errol stood in the doorway, didn’t move, only watched her. Carcosa, Carcosa, Carcosa. A dream. A curse. What I will do for revenge no one understands. Only you Carcosa. The King in Yellow, do you hear me? I am the dark star. I will do what you need me to do. All I ask is revenge. I am yours.

The words in his mind grew, burst, rained down like shattered glass. Fragile, beautiful, kaleidoscopic, sharp.  

“Betty,” he said and she jumped up scared from the floor. When she saw it was only him her face relaxed.  “I’m going to Carcosa tomorrow.”

She dropped the doll, then a big smile spread across her face and she clapped her hands.

“Oh, oh, oh,” she said and ran up to him.

“I can only watch first.” He bent down and looked into her eyes, it glimmered in there. “But when I am in charge I will avenge us. No one can treat us like this. We will get the power.”

She nodded excitedly, put her hand on his face. Followed the scars over to his lip.

“He will regret what he has done to us,” her voice low, vibrating.

Errol nodded and opened his mouth so he could lick Betty’s finger. The thought of power made him hard and he could tell she felt it too.

“I want to fuck you,” he whispered into her ear.  His words fell into her and she licked her lips.

“Father?”

Errol pointed to the ceiling. They listened to the heavy man’s steps as he walked around in the bathroom. After a few minutes he walked across the hallway and into the bedroom. The bed creaked under the weight. When it got quiet Errol grabbed Betty’s arm. Pulled her close.

“I will get it all. His power will fill me up.”

She gasped under his touch as he pulled her dress over her head. She stepped out of her panties and he got out of his pants.

“Look how hard I am. I can feel his power.”

She laid down on the couch and he entered her. Pushed hard, he knew she liked it hard.

“Errol,” she moaned. “You are so strong! So brave!”

“Yes,yes, yes. I will get it all!”       

At the moment of climax when he normally was filled with nothingness a man appeared. A two faced man. A tidy man with a notebook and a man filled with haunt, burning eyes, a man who could taste the air. Next to the man the faint watermark of a girl. She held onto the man’s hand. A string of gold tied the man to the girl.  A sudden flash of realization hit him. This man was his destiny.