The Djinn (23 page)
Although the djinn possessed her in many appalling forms and she was
eventually killed by his ministrations, she was so delighted by the carnal
pleasure of the torture that she would have done anything to have more, and
probably agreed to allow the djinn to destroy her beautiful sister in return
for further ecstasy.
There are later stories which indicate that both sisters, at the time
of their deaths, were pregnant.
The plain sister was apparently impregnated by the djinn itself,
although we cannot be sure of this, and it may have been one of the sorcerers
of the N’zwaa or even (as Ms. Modena aptly put it) a stray goatherd. The
beautiful sister was pregnant by her fiancé.
Both the babies were removed from the bodies of the sisters when they
were killed and given to women of the surrounding villages to look after.
Possibly the N’zwaa wanted to rear them (since the babies were such a
peculiarity) as future sacrifices to their cult’s demons and djinns.
However, as the story goes, both babies survived and left the region,
which suggests they lived in the time of K’oris the witch-hunter, who was a
local official dedicated to stamping out illegal practices and demonic
religions such as that of the N’zwaa.
Ms. Modena believed that throughout the years, the family of the plain
sister sought the djinn the world over, hoping that they might live again
through the terrible ecstasy that had created them; and that in their turn the
family of the beautiful sister sought the descendants of the plain sister, so
that they might wreak their revenge on them for the betrayal of their ancestor.
I hardly knew whether to believe her or not, but I have come across stranger
truths in my work on ancient artifacts, such as the time in Aqaba during the
war when I was shown a piece of “magic carpet” which flew around my tent like a
frenzied butterfly.
There was only one other point that I remember from Ms. Modena’s story.
She said that if ever a descendant of the beautiful sister found the Jar of the
Djinn, then she would know that the descendant of the plain sister could not be
far away. But she would always be in mortal danger, because it was the
daughters of the beautiful sister that the djinn most wanted to possess, and
once the daughter of the plain sister was dead, there would be nothing on
heaven or earth to protect her from it.
I sincerely hope that these few fragments of recollection have been of
some use, and I look forward to the day when you can call at my office to
discuss this and perhaps other matters connected with Iranian antiquities at
leisure.
I remain your obedient
K. L. Asrah.
Bedford Street,
Cape Cod.
Dear Mr. Erskine,
Since we last met, I have finalized all the arrangements for the
funerals of Miss Johnson, Miss Modena, and the other gentleman. As you said
yourself, it was most unfortunate that all three of them should have been so
susceptible to swine flu, and my death certificates show this to be the cause
of extinction.
I have looked through Winter Sails at some length for the year, but I
regret there is no trace whatsoever. It is quite gone or destroyed in the
storm. I cannot say. The house anyway is now up for auction, and I doubt if we
shall hear of it again.
If you are ever at the Cape again, do not hesitate to call for tea
perhaps.
Best wishes,
M. Jarvis, M.D.
West Good Hope Road,
Milwaukee, Wis.
Dear Harry,
A brief note to thank you for all your help.
I am now spending some time at the U. of
Wis.
delving
into the less scarey side of ethnic pottery.
I think you may be right when you say the Jar of the Djinn was a
complete freak, although I came across a story in an old copy of the Persian
Occult Encylopedia which says that all jars are used by demons and genies as
hiding places, and that it is worthwhile closing the lids of empty jars and
bottles at night to prevent demons lodging in them, because once they’re in
they take a great deal of getting out.
Never mind, we mustn’t let superstition run amok, must we? But thank
you anyway for everything you did. It was a bad time best forgotten.
Yours,
Gordon Qualt
T
hese few letters are all I have left to remind me of the djinn and
Anna. I keep them in the top left-hand drawer of my old rolltop desk, and now and
again I take them out and read them slowly and carefully, then put them back.
There’s
something else I do, too, as a matter of habit. When it’s dark, and the wind
whistles softly through the fire escape outside my apartment, or rattles and
nudges at the door that leads out into the corridor, I can’t help but look at
the two tall jars that stand on my mantelpiece.
They’re
Victorian, and they’re green-glazed and ugly, but I can’t stop myself from
thinking that maybe some nineteenth-century hobgoblin is nestling malevolently
there, and that one night, when I’m asleep, the time will come when it feels
like manifesting itself in the stillness and darkness of my room.
You see, it’s
always easy to frighten yourself, but the truth of what’s really in those jars and
bottles is even worse.
The End
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