Of Bees and Mist (35 page)

In reality, it took Noah a long while to adjust to his new life. Even after his mother’s feverish bout of redecoration was completed, the archaic house with its autumnal rooms and innumerable shadows continued to terrify him. After the first night, he chose to sleep in his own room, and although his fear kept him up till dawn, he breathed not a single word to his mother. Noah would never admit that what he feared most was to spot his grandfather Gabriel among the shadows. Whenever he imagined the grim paraffin face with its sharp nose and relentless brows lurking underneath his bed, he would break into a sweat and cover his face with a pillow.

For a long time, despite Meridia’s urging, he did not dare enter his grandfather’s study. Here, year after year on his birthday, he had stood sweating before the massive desk in a necktie and a stiff-collared shirt, trying his best to keep still while his grandfather passed a terrifying glance over him. For this reason, he resolved to
avoid the room at all costs. But one afternoon, it was his grandmother Ravenna who told him to go in. He was doing his homework in the front hall when he heard her approach from the kitchen, laughing more joyously than she had ever laughed in her lifetime. “Go on,” she said, clear as a whistle. “The bastard’s got no more use for his toys now that he’s stuck with me.” The moment he felt her hand on his shoulder, he was no longer afraid. He opened the door to the study and walked in. At once she encouraged him to play with the compass and the globe, the writing instruments, the crystal flasks, the alabaster jars that housed a million tiny seeds. He studied the archaic maps on the wall, intrigued by the names of continents that no longer existed, and then boldly added his own archipelagos with a red pen. He took down book after book from the towering shelves, and while he labored to decipher the arcane texts and convoluted diagrams, his grandmother Ravenna bustled happily around him. At dinnertime, Meridia found him asleep in Gabriel’s chair, his mouth open and his feet flung exhaustedly on the baronial desk.

From that day onward, Noah spent all his time in the study. No one could have foreseen it then, but it was during those solitary hours that his hatred for his father was born. Without betraying a hint to anyone, the boy held Daniel responsible for his grandmother’s departure, for his misery and anxiety, and for the look of devastation on his mother’s face. Much in the manner of Ravenna, who close to thirty years ago was beginning to compose her dark and private language in the kitchen, Noah soon took to whispering his rage between the pages of Gabriel’s books. A few weeks after they moved in, Meridia was dusting the shelves in the study when she discovered that a whole row of books had rotted. Some inexplicably turned to dust at the touch of her fingers.

AROUND THIS TIME, MERIDIA
witnessed the return of the fireflies. Every night, regardless of weather, they appeared at the eleventh hour, cascading from the sky like a trail of candles to hover
outside her window. They never stayed more than a few minutes, only long enough for her to marvel at their flame and forget her own loneliness. Leaning against the window, she would memorize the patterns they traced in the night, those swirling and looping arabesques that remained with her hours after they were gone. She believed that those patterns concealed a message from Ravenna, and if she could only put meaning to the jumbled lines, she would find a way to bring her back.

Once the redecoration was finished, Meridia grew more restless. She had made no contact with Daniel, heard nothing from him, and except for going to the school and the market, she hardly left the house at all. During a visit, Leah and Rebecca suggested that she should throw herself back into work. “It’ll take your mind off things,” said Rebecca. “And make money while you’re at it,” added Leah practically. Meridia gave the matter some serious thought. Although the money and jewelry hidden around the house eliminated any immediate financial concern, she was not content to remain idle for long. The next evening, she invited Samuel for supper. The renegade dealer, broader and bushier than she had seen him last, arrived promptly at the appointed hour. Meridia did not give him time to offer sympathy. Talking quickly and assuredly, she showed no trace of despondency as she bombarded him with ideas. She had made up her mind to open her own shop, she said, which would showcase not only the best jewelry in town, but also her own designs. After a decade in the business, she thought she had a pretty good handle on what customers wanted, and secretly, she had been doing a few sketches of her own. She planned not only to modernize the traditional pieces, but also to offer jewelry tailored to suit their owners’ personality and lifestyle. She could come up with half the capital herself—would he put in the other half? Of course, this should not affect his partnership with Daniel in any way, and she would completely understand if he thought she should secure another backer. At this, Samuel, who had been listening with rapt attention, leaned forward and interrupted her.

“I’ll back you up in whatever enterprise you choose, madam. Magnolia Avenue would be nothing today without you. He’s one damn fool to let you slip away.”

Over the next few days, Meridia focused all her energy on work. She scouted various locations around town for the new shop, interviewed artisans with potential to put her designs into execution, and began the exhilarating process of transferring her ideas onto paper. She found herself somewhat a natural at it, for she could envision clearly the piece she wanted before her pencil scratched the paper. Deriving inspiration from everything within sight, she paid careful attention to shapes and textures, to colors and outlines and negative use of spaces. One night, while observing the fireflies, she was seized by a tremendous impulse to capture both their radiance and evanescence. She sketched all night, her pencil faithfully looping and swirling, and by morning had a stack of drawings piled at her elbow. Too excited to sleep, she was about to make coffee for herself when a loud pounding rattled the front door. Still in her dressing robe, Meridia flew downstairs and answered it. Malin was standing on the topmost step with a bundle in her arms.

“Will you help me?” said the girl.

Meridia remembered her promise and let her in.

I
n many respects, that fateful night in July was coming to a close like any others. After dinner, Ahab retired to the library to smoke cigars and write letters. Permony, seven months pregnant, followed a minute later with a book and a knitting basket. Though she understood little of the missives Ahab dispatched to his home country, she took a great deal of pleasure in watching him work. At ten o’clock, she excused herself to bed and went to her room. As usual, the maid had placed on the dressing table a cup of bitter tonic, which Ahab insisted she drink every night to ensure an easy delivery. That evening, however, the baby gave a massive kick just as Permony was reaching for the cup, spilling every drop on the floor. Amazed at the force of the kick, Permony pretended to scold her child and cleaned up the mess. Ten minutes later, Ahab came in and helped her to bed. He asked the usual question as he fondled her belly. “Did you drink the tonic?” Permony pointed to the empty cup. “Good girl,” he said. “You won’t scream one bit when the time comes.” He winked lustily, ripe with meaning, and with his big hands squeezed her breasts until she squealed half in pain, half in pleasure. Afterward, he covered her with a blanket and went to wash himself. As on any other
night, she was fast asleep before he returned, her flushed skin smelling strongly of his sweat.

Since her marriage, Permony was given to sleeping like a log: nine hours of solid rest that no sound or movement could disturb. But that evening, four hours after she went to bed, she awoke to the sound of a great engine chuffing from underneath the house. The walls were vibrating too, and even in bed she could feel heat and steam rising from the floor. From the sound, she imagined enormous steel claws boring into the soil, pulverizing stones and plundering minerals from the earth below. Permony sat up in fright when she heard a muffled scream colliding with the noise.

“Ahab,” she whispered. He was not in bed. Forcing herself to remain calm, she turned on the light and clambered to the floor with difficulty. Her limbs were shaking as she slipped on her robe and slippers and went to the hallway. The chuffing noise grew louder. It was coming from the east wing of the house.

She moved as swiftly as her swollen feet allowed. Crossing the shadowy hall, she was besieged by a terrifying feeling that she had never set foot in this house before. The prized old tapestries that had often delighted her with their flaxen-haired maidens and flower-strewn meadows were now bursting with malevolent beldams. The mirrors reflected a thousand disfigured eyes, the splendid vases leered at her like giant floating heads. Permony pressed her hand to her mouth and hurried away.

When she reached the east wing, the sound was no longer that of an engine chuffing but of a great beast panting. Down in the cellar where Ahab kept his wine and hunting rifles, something seemed to be rearing and rasping, its tail—or fin—sending shuddering slaps along the belly of the house. The muffled human scream nearly froze her with dread, but curiosity kept her going. There was something familiar in that collision of panic and outrage, something she had heard many times before in her dreams. Permony crept forward to the cellar door and opened it.

Candlelight swayed on the ceiling. A shadow rocked violently along the wall. Still without a sound, she climbed down the stairs in infinitesimal steps. The panting was by then deafening, the scream lobbed to a higher pitch. By the time she reached the floor, the baby’s heart was pounding faster than her own. Permony patted her belly and looked around the staircase.

What she saw she did not at once understand. First there was the beast, naked and huge and slimy. In the candlelight it looked half swine, half human, moaning and gasping on all fours and facing away from her. The beast was furiously thrusting itself against a bed of straw. She could smell the sweat slipping down its back. She could see the enormous scarlet genitals smashing into the straw. And then the candle guttered and the whole scene altered. It was not straw the beast was mating with but a girl, then another girl, then another. Barely older than children, they kicked and screamed helplessly with all the force of horror. Before Permony could move, the candle guttered again. This time there was no beast anywhere. Only corn yellow hair, pale white skin, muscular backside. Atop the girls, Ahab was bucking in a systematic fashion.

Permony screamed and fell back against the wall. The beast reappeared to take Ahab’s place, and without seeing her resumed its business. Too shocked to do anything, Permony stood about until she received another kick in the womb. The thought of her baby fired blood into her legs. Heavily, she trudged back up the stairs, through the door, and out to the hallway. She labored to cross the hall and made her exit through the front door. Only after she reached the street did she realize that she was in her robe and slippers. By that time her mind was made up: Not for the world would she return and chance another glance at the beast.

The warm night offered little light. There was no one in the street, only dogs baying at the sky. With each block traveled, Permony felt a fresh pain shooting up her womb, which caused her to stumble more times than she cared to count. Despite her fear, she stopped
often to relieve the pressure on her knees and the more urgent one in her head. How long had this been going on? How was it possible that she had not heard the noise until tonight? The tonic! Of course! Was it true, then—the rumor about Ahab and the girls he’d violated for the sake of land? Thinking her head would explode, Permony longed for someone who would comfort her and explain away the horror.

She had meant to go to Magnolia Avenue. In her distress, however, she was halfway there before she remembered that Meridia was no longer living in that house. She considered going ahead to Daniel with her confession, but as much as she loved her brother, she decided it was a woman’s counsel she needed. By this time, she was far away from Monarch Street or Museum Avenue, so she decided to seek refuge at Orchard Road. In the hours to come, Permony would regret her decision bitterly.

It was half past three when she rapped on her mother’s door, breathless and drenched in sweat. A startled Eva screamed when she saw her.

“What’s wrong?” She cupped both hands over Permony’s belly. “Is it the baby?”

“No, the baby’s fine, Mama. It’s Ahab…”

Eva sat her down in the parlor. From the start there was no stopping Permony’s tears as she relived the terror and tension of the past hour. She did not skip a single detail, but often became confused as she spoke, shaking her head, losing her voice, visibly overwhelmed by emotion. Eva listened without interrupting. After Permony finished, she stayed silent for a minute before replying, “I don’t believe it.”

“Neither do I,” sobbed Permony. “I never suspected he was that kind of man. Oh, I feel so lost and wretched, Mama. You must tell me what to do.”

“You must do only one thing,” said Eva instantly. “Get that ridiculous story out of your head and go home at once.”

Permony looked as if she had been slapped.

“I don’t understand, Mama.”

“What don’t you understand? Ahab is a respectable man without a breath of scandal on his reputation. You’re obviously nervous about the baby and your imagination has gone haywire. Listen to me. Be a sensible girl and go home.”

Eva stood up. Struck by the finality of the gesture, Permony remained in her seat. The next second Eva was grasping her daughter’s wrists and pulling her to her feet. Her strength was all the more astounding given her years and Permony’s advanced state of pregnancy.

“You’re not listening, Mama,” she said weakly.

“I have listened enough!” Eva suddenly roared with anger. “I have done my best to secure your future and make you the most enviable bride in the history of this town. But not only have you neglected to thank me, now you’ve created some cock-and-bull story to spite me. What kind of mother do you think I am that I would hand you over to a fiend? When your father was alive, you might have had him wrapped around your spoiled little finger, but not me! I swear I’ll crush you before you drag me down in a scandal!”

By force she steered Permony to the door. The girl, pale and trembling, could do nothing but yield.

“I’ll walk you home before your husband becomes alarmed,” said Eva.

“Mama, please! How could you send me back after everything I said?”

Eva pushed her out the door. “You’ll hold my hand and we’ll walk and you won’t speak another word.”

Her eyes smudged with tears, Permony turned to get a clear look at her mother. In that second she achieved a final and complete understanding of the woman whose love she had failed to earn despite a lifetime of obedience. There was nothing to do but take back her hand.

“Don’t bother, Mama. I can walk on my own.”

There was a sharpness in her tone that caught Eva by surprise. Before she could protest, Permony had set out into the night. “Suit
yourself,” Eva shouted after her. It was only later, after she shut the door and climbed the stairs and returned to bed, that it occurred to Eva that she had never seen her daughter’s lavender eyes flash so defiantly before.

Permony started off toward Monarch Street, but her feet soon followed her tangled thoughts and veered off course. The sky was primed for the coming of dawn, rich with splashes of saffron, and the silence grew less thick as more swallows chirped over the rooftops. For a long time, Permony plodded past the endless sleeping houses before collapsing against a tree trunk. Her feet were blistered from the thin slippers, yet the pain was nothing compared to the gash in her heart. A bitter smoke filled her lungs as she cried softly, and it was then she realized she had taken shelter in the cemetery.

The first trickle of blood did not surprise her; on the contrary, she was relieved by the unforeseen sense of release. It was only after she saw a thick, dark pool form between her legs that she panicked. “Help!” she screamed, but even to her own ear the cry sounded distant. Dew dropped from the sky and beaded her skin. The saffron light flashed and lit up the town in one blushing coruscation. And then suddenly Permony saw a legion of demons returning to their graves. As soon as they scented her, they shrieked aloud and wrung her belly like a cloth, sucked her lips with rotten teeth, and jumped up and down on her chest until she lost all air and fell headlong into darkness.

When Permony opened her eyes, there was nothing to convince her that she was alive. A bright golden light shone around her like a halo, and an angry, otherworldly voice was keeping her away from darkness. She opened her eyes wider and saw a radiant spirit beating the demons with flying fists. “Get to your graves this instant! Touch her again and I’ll get every mutt in town to dig up your bones!” At this, a warmth seeped into Permony’s veins and restored sensation to her limbs. Something soft and fragile tickled her feet, and with amazement she saw that the pool of blood had transformed into brilliant orange blossoms. The baby was alive. The demons
were scattering. Gratefully, Permony looked up at the spirit and recognized her sister, Malin.

Some time later she felt herself being carried on a stretcher. The journey was long and arduous, but Malin’s hand never once left hers. The next thing Permony knew was being lowered onto a soft, white bed. An old woman with a delicate touch began kneading her stomach. The pain came and went and came again. Malin was pleading with her to muster every bit of strength. Permony heard herself cry and moan, scream and cry again, her last words slipping, slipping like vapor from between her lips.