Of Bees and Mist (11 page)

In the beginning, Meridia was mortified by Eva’s behavior, for Ravenna had never bargained for anything in her life. But when she saw how Eva got the butcher to give her the best cut of meat for half the price, and the grocer to throw in free flour with her purchase of sugar, she thought no one was smarter than Eva. One day, after she
watched the fruit vendor capitulate with six extra oranges, Eva surprised her by saying, “We need trout for dinner. You do the haggling.”

Before she could protest, Eva steered her right up to the fishmonger. Meridia choked, stammered over her words, but Eva firmly coached her from behind. The pressure of Eva’s hand on her elbow was like a current that left her breathless. She had no idea what she said, but before she was aware, money had changed hands, the trout were placed in her basket, and Eva’s nod told her that she had done well. At that moment, without feeling the slightest disloyalty to Ravenna, she glowed with pride and embraced Eva with her whole heart—her tenacity and boldness, her prodigious energy, her extraordinary power to convince and make herself heard. But most of all, she embraced the sound of Eva’s laughter, warm and free and exultant as it erupted from the depths of her bosom.

NOT LONG AFTER THAT
day in the market came Meridia’s first brush with the bees. Early one evening, Daniel came home from work and called her into the bedroom.

“Mama’s upset. She’s talking to Papa on the terrace. What do you say we go out for dinner?”

Meridia took his suit and hung it behind the door. “Why is Mama upset? She just woke up from her nap a moment ago.”

Daniel shook his head. “I don’t know. Something about a mongrel from hell. If we don’t clear out before the storm breaks, I won’t have any appetite left.”

He winked and slipped into the bathroom, leaving his wife to ponder his remark. Meridia picked up his shoes and went out to the hallway. She was about to polish them in the kitchen when she heard a noise coming from the terrace. The front door was ajar, and as she crept toward it, she felt the air shiver with foreboding. She cocked her ear and listened hard, and stopped in her tracks when she recognized the noise. It was the bees buzzing, drilling and per
sistent and just below range, the same noise she had heard coming from the master bedroom on her wedding night. She put the shoes down and stole up to the door, passing the sisters’ room on the way. Both girls were doing their homework, and neither one seemed bothered by the noise. On the terrace Elias was sitting in his rocking chair, Eva standing behind him, both their backs facing her. The sound of buzzing was coming from Eva’s mouth, causing the caged birds to twitter with fright.

“How much longer must I endure this agony? For two weeks that cursed dog next door has been barking at my windows every afternoon, causing me an immeasurable mental anguish, not to mention the rudest disruptions to my afternoons. For how can I run the house and pay the bills in the sitting room, care for my family and take my rest in the bedroom, while that relentless noise born in the bower of hell tears at my nerves every chance it has? That hellhound is destroying my comfort in my own house, assassinating all prospect of quiet and serenity, and what’s worse, the second I think it’s finally wearied and dropped to sleep, up it barks all over again, sending me, I’m sure, to an early grave, and if you, Elias, think I will put up with this for a minute longer, you are sorely mistaken. I did not marry you and bear you children only to live next door to a dog pound, owned, I’ve no doubt, by a despicable man who clearly has so little respect for you, Elias, the esteemed jeweler, that he dares to mount this insult on me, your loving wife and devoted mother of your children, and expects you to take it lying down like a coward and an idle. You must not let this pass, not while the honor of our family, the very status and dignity we have labored so hard to attain, is at stake, is at this very moment being butchered and stomped on and spat at as if it matters less than cow dung…”

A loud creak from Elias’s chair sent Meridia back to her room. Once inside, she sat down at the desk and waited for Daniel to finish. She had heard the neighbor’s mastiff bark on occasion, but did not recall hearing it more than usual in the past two weeks. Eva’s windows, however, were the only ones facing the neighbor’s yard, so
it was possible the noise disturbed her more than anyone else. When Daniel stepped out of the bathroom, hair damp and skin ruddy from washing, Meridia decided not to say a word about what she had heard. She laid out a fresh shirt and trousers for him and dressed herself.

When they passed Eva and Elias on the terrace, the two did not notice them at all. Eva had taken the second rocking chair, confronting Elias at a right angle, while he determinedly buried his nose in a book. The air was oppressive with the sound of buzzing, yet the only concession Elias gave to the bees was to flick them irritably every few seconds. Eva gave him no reprieve, charging the insects to hunt him in every gorge and ravine of his book. Meridia, dumbstruck by the spectacle, could not move until Daniel pulled her wrist and rushed her to the street.

The couple dined modestly on tomato soup and egg sandwiches at the bookshop café. From the moment they sat down, Daniel began talking volubly. An eccentric customer, he said, wanted to purchase twelve bracelets that differed in styles and sizes but weighed exactly the same. “Down to the ounce! I spent the entire afternoon weighing every bangle in the vault and found only three that met her standard.” Before Meridia could sympathize, he was off telling her about a man who had been coming to the shop for ten years to look for an engagement ring. “Until he finds the perfect ring, he won’t ask any woman to marry him. Papa thinks he should try asking a man.” And so it went, Daniel tense and racing to the next topic. Once when Meridia mentioned the bees, he waved his hand and told her, “Don’t worry. It will blow over when we get back.”

The terrace was lit though empty when they returned. The birds’ cages were shrouded in black, the two rocking chairs nodding to each other like exhausted souls. Entering the front door, Meridia quickly brought her hands to her ears. Inside, the sound of buzzing had reached a deafening pitch, coming from the living room, where Eva and Elias usually sat after dinner. Before Meridia knew what was happening, Elias had flung a book at the wall, jumped out of his
chair with the violence of an awakened giant, shot past her and Daniel out the door, down the steps of the terrace, over the cobblestone wall, and disappeared into the unlit part of the neighbor’s garden.

“Papa!” Daniel called after him.

“Leave him, son,” ordered Eva from her seat. And with these three words, the bees suddenly cleared from the air.

A furious round of barking shattered the night, followed by a low whimper and then silence. Eva picked up her knitting calmly. When Elias returned a minute later with his face scratched and his sleeves torn, she did not say a word to him. Elias yanked a battered atlas from the shelf, collapsed on the sofa, and lost himself in the map of an ancient continent. Without a sound, Daniel led Meridia to the bedroom.

The next morning, the kitchen was abuzz with Gabilan’s news. “There were no wounds or bruises, Young Madam,” she whispered incredulously. “The maid said that every part of the dog is intact, but he can no longer bark as if his tongue has been cut or burned. All morning long he’s done nothing but stare up dumbly at Madam’s windows. I’m going to miss waking up to his barking at dawn.”

On the other side of the kitchen, grinding peppercorn into a pot of soup, Patina lowered her head in silence.

S
eptember arrived with a flurry of blossoms. On the day the wind shifted, all the flowers on Orchard Road shed their petals and showered the ground with rainbow snow. Roses, magnolias, and petunias danced in the air for hours, blinding passersby, buffeted by the fragrant wind like endless paper streamers. By the time the wind eased, the sky was a clear blue desert, and all the mistresses on Orchard Road were ordering their maids to rake the blossoms off the lawns. Collectively they lamented the despoiled flowers, the products of so much diligence and patience, now bald and piteously shivering in the sun.

When Orchard Road awoke the following morning, it was astonished to discover the flowers restored. Overnight, the petals blossomed, fuller and sturdier, and by morning the dew had minted them with unprecedented freshness. Awed by this miracle, all the mistresses except one looked to heaven and crossed their palms in gratitude. Eva alone let out a scream, rolled up her sleeves, and recruited Meridia to help her. The little clump of yellow marigolds had multiplied and spread into the wilderness of the roses.

“We must pluck them out,” she cried. “My roses! I can’t allow anything to happen to them!”

It took until noon to clear the marigolds. When they stopped for lunch, Meridia had scratches on her arms and legs from the roses’ thorns, but Eva was curiously unharmed, although she was the less cautious of the two. After lunch, coming out to the terrace to inspect her work, Eva let out an even louder scream than before. Not only had the marigolds regenerated, but they now towered over the roses and were soaking up all the sun.

Joined by Patina and Gabilan, they toiled for the next three hours. But for every marigold they ripped out, two more sprouted in its place. At four o’clock, Eva threw up her hands and told everyone to stop. “It’s no use,” she panted with exhaustion. “An evil spirit is possessing these flowers.”

In the next six days, Eva summoned twelve holy men to perform exorcisms on the front lawn. One sprinkled ashes to destroy the marigolds, another petitioned cutworms to do the job, yet the flowers kept breeding. On the seventh day, exterminating her last marigold, Eva admitted defeat. “Let them do what they want,” she sighed. “I’ve done everything to stop them.”

She fell into a dark mood after this, and the house suffered. She reduced Permony to tears at every conceivable chance, decried Patina’s cooking as unfit for sow, and threatened to dismiss Gabilan for an alleged affair with the grocer. She made Elias’s life impossible by disrupting his habits. She rearranged his books so he could not find them, rang the dinner bell early to abridge his reading time, and dragged him out for impromptu strolls when all he wanted was to sit in his rocking chair. Behind his back, she trained the caged birds to shriek at her command, priming them to yell “Thief!” or “Fire!” whenever she deemed he was too absorbed in his book. Not even Malin was exempt from her temper. During one historic outburst that shocked the house, Eva sent the girl to her room for playing with her food, brusquely telling her to keep her long face to herself.

Daniel she burdened with money matters. She complained that
despite her parsimony, there was still not enough money at the end of the month to keep the house afloat. “All it takes is one miscalculation,” she said, “and we’ll all end up in the street.”

“Don’t worry, Mama,” Daniel tried to humor her. “We’re not quite there yet.”

“Why am I the only one who is worried about this family?” she retorted.

To prevent their unthinkable fate, she had Daniel review their expenses until late into the night. The result was a drastic tightening of the purse strings. Eva ordered Patina to put more vegetables and less meat into the meals, clipped more coupons, became a greater terror in the market square, and insisted that all purchases, no matter how small, be cleared through her. She reduced everyone’s allowance by ten percent, including the salaries of the servants and the shop assistant, and contemplated doing without sugar and cream at breakfast. When she started frequenting thrift shops to purchase undergarments, Elias drew the line and had it out with his wife. Eva relented only after he promised not to purchase any more books until their condition improved.

Daniel’s finances also took a hit. Meridia had thought that he received a monthly salary for his work at the shop, but instead, Eva gave him money whenever she felt he needed it. From this stipend, Daniel put aside a certain amount each month for Meridia, which she used to purchase personal necessities. Soon even this was curtailed. Eva’s reply to Daniel’s requests followed the same pattern. “We’re not a wealthy family, son. Perhaps you could be more careful with your money. Last week alone you dined out on Tuesday
and
Saturday nights. And have you asked Meridia to watch her spending? I saw her with a new shade of lipstick just the other day…”

Immersed in her tasks, Meridia found little time for herself or for Daniel. All day long Eva occupied her with cooking, cleaning, shopping, sewing, gardening, and, if there was nothing else to do, dictation of letters. In the beginning, Meridia did not mind this; in fact, intrigued by the novelty of her married life, she was eager to
learn whatever Eva had to teach her. As the months passed, however, her mother-in-law’s constant faultfinding began to chafe her. Eva criticized the way she arranged her room, the powder she used, her weak tea, her spending “so much time with Permony and so little with Malin.” In those early days Eva was not outright critical, but made sly, insinuating comments to underscore her points. When she disapproved of Meridia’s dress, she lowered her lashes dejectedly and remarked, “Heavens, I didn’t know they make them in that cut.” When Meridia saw something at the market that delighted her, Eva would chime in, “I don’t know, dear. I saw a charwoman wearing the exact same thing yesterday.”

Though she had no proof, Meridia suspected Eva of keeping Daniel from her. In the evening, after the plates were washed and the silver polished, Eva often called him to her sitting room upstairs and occupied him with the account books until late. The few times that Meridia invited herself up, Eva made it clear that she was not welcome. As soon as she saw Daniel greet his wife with amorous looks, Eva blew out a stream of smoke and rapped the stack of books irritably. “Focus, son. There will be time for lovemaking later.”

One evening in late September, Meridia took the opportunity to slip upstairs while Eva was scolding Patina in the kitchen. In the sitting room, Daniel was swearing at the ledger, his index finger jabbing the paper as though accusing it of deceit.

“These figures don’t match,” he said in frustration, motioning her to sit on his lap. “I’ve gone over them half a dozen times and there’s no way they add up.”

Meridia settled herself between his knees and added the columns of numbers in her head. “There,” she said before long. “That should be an eight instead of a three.”

Daniel redid his computation on a piece of paper.

“I’ll be damned,” he said. “Fix this one then if you’re so smart.”

She came up with the answer quickly. Daniel, incredulous, scribbled more figures on paper. Meridia was once again correct.

“Where did you learn this?” he asked in amazement.

“It’s nothing. My nurse used to say I have a knack for numbers.”

“Why, I’ve never seen anyone—”

Just then Eva walked in, her almond eyes ablaze from admonishing Patina.

“I’ve married a genius, Mama,” said Daniel excitedly. “You see these numbers? Meridia can add them up faster than I can! Let her help me do the books from now on.”

Without changing her expression, Eva picked up her ivory pipe from the ashtray. “Don’t be silly,” she said. “Meridia has enough responsibilities around here. Now enough fooling around. If you’ll excuse us, dear, we have a lot of work to get to.”

Two days later, Eva made a detour to Lotus Blossom Lane on their way home from the market. Meridia had visited the shop once during her courtship with Daniel, but now the sight of the white-and-yellow awnings and flower boxes at the windows aroused a new affection in her heart. Hanging above the glass door were a cluster of roses—a new bundle was cut by Eva every Monday morning from the front lawn and placed there for good luck—and a golden bell that jingled every time a customer walked in. Inside, the tall ceiling was painted blue and the granite floor checkered white and green. There were cushioned stools for customers, a long row of display cases, and behind it, a desk and a small room designated as an office.

Eva went into this room to speak to Elias. Since Daniel was occupied with customers, Meridia strolled behind the counter to the desk. Her attention was immediately absorbed by a tray of precious stones. She put down her shopping basket, picked up a green and a pink stone, and held each of them up to the light. Their raw brilliance dazzled her; in a flash she experienced again the thrill that had once drawn her to Gabriel’s desk. She began to see potentials to which the stones could be put, and wished she knew what they were called. To her surprise, the answers came to her at once.

“The green one is tourmaline, the other pink topaz. If you want, I can tell you the names of the others.”

She turned and found Elias standing behind her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…but yes, I’m curious—”

Eva’s melodious laugh voided the rest of her sentence.

“Don’t bore her, dear,” she said to Elias. “What makes you think Meridia’s interested in those trinkets? Come, my girl, put them down. We have work to do at home.”

Meridia cast a regretful look at the stones before returning them to the tray. From this and the incident with the account books, it became clear that Eva did not wish her to have any involvement with the shop.

A FEW DAYS LATER,
a high-pitched wail ruptured the tranquility of dawn and snatched Meridia awake. She sat up abruptly, groped the bed in the dark, and was relieved to find Daniel at her side.

“That impossible woman,” he muttered.

“What is it, Daniel?”

“Nothing. Mama will take care of it. Go back to sleep.”

Daniel covered his ears with a pillow and promptly began to snore. Guided by a light from the window, Meridia pulled the blanket over his chest, got to her feet, and threw on her robe. When she opened the door that led to the back garden, the wail pitched to a higher range. Her heart stood still, then pounded harder than before. It was unmistakable; the cry was coming from the wilderness of the roses.

A golden dawn had broken, the air restive from the crow of roosters. The wind swept hot and dusty, griming sky and windows in its sightless passage. Without a noise, Meridia crept to the front lawn and halted before the roses. Shrouded in fog, the marigolds were shivering. Tottering among them like a lost sibyl was the crumpled figure of Patina.

The old servant was parting the flowers with one hand and holding her stomach with the other. Her hooflike feet made her progress
difficult, yet she did not seem to notice as the roses’ thorns cut her with every move. Streaked with tears, her childlike eyes were searching the ground blindly, while from her throat poured the saddest and most inhuman lament Meridia had ever heard.

“Patina!”

Meridia rushed toward her. But instantly her shout was drowned out by the violent crash of the front door. Without thinking, she dropped to her knees and hid behind the marigolds. Eva burst out of the house with her hair undone and her robe unbelted, reaching the wilderness of the roses in six angry strides.

“What now?” she thundered at Patina as the flowers parted.

“My child…my baby…”

“Have you lost your mind? Stop this nonsense right now!”

“Please…my child, my baby.” Patina buckled to the ground and tugged at Eva’s robe. Patches of scalp glistened through the sparse white of her hair.

“Get up and get back in the house!” Eva firmly whisked away her robe. “Have you no shame? What will people think if they see you?”

“My child…my baby…” Convulsing with tears, Patina continued to wail. Eva lowered her voice to the hiss of a python.

“How many times do I have to say it? If you’re unhappy here, you may leave whenever you wish. But don’t you dare embarrass me like this! There is nothing that’s keeping you chained to this house. Say the word and I’ll pack your bags myself!”

Patina shook her head despairingly. “My child, my baby…Please…”

All of a sudden Eva swooped down and struck Patina across the head. The sound jarred Meridia’s stomach loose from her spine.

“You ungrateful woman!” cried Eva. “What haven’t I done for you? What haven’t I sacrificed? I put a roof over your head, feed you, clothe you, take care of you when you’re sick. And this is how you repay me? When will you stop shoveling up the dead and throwing their bones in my face?”

Patina whimpered and dipped her head to the ground. “I didn’t mean to be ungrateful. Please forgive me. Please…my child, my baby…forgive me…”

Indignant, Eva swung on her heels and strode back into the house, slamming the door behind her. Before the vibration ceased, Meridia leapt up and ran toward Patina. At once the roses moved to block her, erasing the spot where the old woman had knelt. “Patina!” she whispered urgently. The wind replied by spitting dust in her face. When she opened her eyes, she was alone in the yard. Only the shivering marigolds told her that what she had witnessed was real and not the trick of ghosts adrift from another time.

MERIDIA NUDGED DANIEL AWAKE
and bombarded him with questions.

“What happened between them? Who is Patina calling her baby? What did Mama mean by saying ‘When will you stop throwing the dead in my face?’”

Daniel rubbed his handsome face drowsily. “Can’t this wait until morning?” he protested. “Look. There’s a long history between Mama and Patina. I don’t know much about it, and I prefer to keep it that way. Trust me, the last thing they want is for someone to come between them. Now, be a good wife and let me sleep.”

“Daniel!”

Yawning, he pressed his index finger to his lips and rolled away from her.

That afternoon, Meridia waited until Eva retired to her room before cornering Gabilan. The girl was sweeping in the back garden, humming a dance tune and tapping her feet to it on the sly. She blushed with self-consciousness when she saw her young mistress approach. Meridia decided it was best to be direct.