fiction writing – Page 21 – three good words

November 12, 2014November 24, 2014

saving grace, 6

Port Augustine
1796, The Spanish Main

It was one of those days when the heat was so hot nothing could be done but either to sleep or swim. Ariane, Katie, Eliza and Dessie had joined forces and gone to the waterfall. It was hidden in the green, but if you knew which path to take it took only five minutes from the Freeman farm to reach it. Now they were there, jumping happily into the cool, perfectly certain of being unwatched since most people in Port Augustine thought the place bewitched and filled with ghosts and old spirits of the dead.

As young girls the four had dared each other to go to the waterfall, and touch the waterfall’s lagoon-like pool with their toes. It was the ultimate sign of bravery, until one day, Dessie pushed Katie in and in their terror all four fell into the water and found that there were no ghouls in the deep. The flashes that wavered were in fact coins of little worth, some corrugated but most still showing their Spanish sign. By the time they stopped collecting they had almost five hundred of these small copper coins, and there were still many more left. After Ariane found the gumption to show one to Father Claireborne, his surprise made him talkative, and so she found out that long before Port Augustine had become English, the Spanish had settled there and obviously thought the pool a type of wishing well. spanish gold_rare Since most of the Spanish were Catholic, and now most of Port Augustine was none the like, this wishing was attributed to ‘papist superstitions’ and so the myth of ghosts and ghouls began.

Since then the four had free licence to go and swim there, and sometimes other children would dare and join until their parents found out and forbid them to go, but that did not matter. Katie, Dessie, Eliza and Ariane were all delighted to have the water to themselves, since that meant they could strip themselves of their dresses and jump naked into the refreshing cool, surrounded by cascades of greenery. The best place to jump from was the waterfall, which would splash against their backs before they dove in deep, deep enough to snatch another copper flashing on the pebbled ground. The water was very clear, all could see to the ground without squinting, and if one could hold one’s breath long enough, even a child could dive down like a fish.

It was much the same this day, Ariane and Katie took to diving, while Eliza and Dessie splashed and swam about, all four laughing at and with each other, playing their old game of fetch-the-coin, which meant throwing a copper into the water and then doing one’s best to retrieve it before it landed on the ground below. Ariane did just this, saw the copper drop in a low arch into the deep, then plunged into the water like a knife, kicking and swimming underwater until she grabbed the coin, turned and propelled herself upwards with one powerful kick of muscle to the surface, holding the copper triumphantly in her fist. This continued for some time, the laughter and the young happy talk, all four glad and grateful to have a reason to postpone their duties at home.

It started slowly. Very slowly, like wind brushing over her skin, first not even a breath, then a gust, then a right breeze, faint but still very tangible. And finally it was there, the acutest sensation of being watched. Ariane had just climbed onto a boulder again to dive into the water. She turned her head and looked into the surrounding green as if called. At first she only saw. After realising what it was that she saw, her heart skipped several beats. Then it began racing. Ariane could feel the thud in her chest, the thundering in her ear. Her first impulse was to jump down and snatch her dress, but it was quickly quelled by a second, more prudent thought. If she ran to the dresses without a warning, the others would know something was wrong. So Ariane climbed down again, her heart beating against her ribs. She saw her friends swim and dive, and announced, a little meekly, that she was leaving.

She walked as steadily as she could to the pile of dresses after she spoke the words. She quickly found her dress and pulled it on, tying the bands clumsily. Her hands were not steady. During all this, Ariane was aware of being followed by a silent unrelenting gaze, almost as if hands were touching her, invisible and hardly tangible but still very there. She finally tied everything in place and put on her slippers. Eliza was the first to understand that she really did mean to leave. Eliza, whose Mistress was a strict but fair woman, Eliza looked genuinely disappointed, even angry that Ariane would break up the fun so soon. ‘Come on, Ria! Not now!’ she called, and Katie and Dessie quickly realised what was happening. Both asked her to stay a little longer, they still had time yet. Ariane shook her head. She explained she had promised to help with tea, which was no lie. ‘I don’t want to run back to be in time. I’ll just get sticky again.’ Katie asked if she would be all right going alone, otherwise she would come with her, but Ariane knew Katie wanted to stay as long as possible in the water, so she shook her head. She anyway could not have another with her. By some force that was not her own, Ariane knew that she would have to be solitary on her return. caribbean jungle 2

Goodbyes were said, Dessie splashing Ariane’s feet with water and all three laughing at Ariane’s feigned annoyance, wishing her a good day and greetings to her mother and Father Claireborne, which Ariane promised to give. She turned then, her heart racing painfully now. She turned and walked along the hidden trail towards the Freeman farm, five minutes that she would be to herself, five minutes during which, Ariane was sure, something decisive would happen.

After the first fifty steps, Ariane started to look about herself. She had somehow expected that something would happen the moment she stepped along the trail. But all was silent, except for the usual rustle and drip of the green about her, tall, broad leaves heavy with sunlight, and all else over grown and obscure within. She continued, holding onto the small gold chain around her neck, a gift from Father Claireborne for her eighteenth birthday that was just a week past. It had a small golden cross pendant, beautifully delicate, and to Ariane very precious. She wore it night and day, and held it whenever she prayed. Just as now. She could think of nothing but the Lord’s Prayer and repeated it over and over, looking about herself, stopping suddenly, when she heard something loud crash beside her.

Her heart was almost in her throat, her ears full of the racing beat. She waited, standing solitary in her slippers and muslin dress, her hair still pearling with water, a black corona about her head, but nothing happened. Ariane walked on, starting with Our Father, which art in Heaven. He stepped out just then, right before her. Ariane did not shout nor scream. She simply stopped as she was, clutching the cross of her chain tighter.

The first thing she noticed was that he was clean. His shirt was white and his coat a smooth black cloth. His breeches were dark, and there were boots, real, leather boots, well-worn, yes, but definitely of some quality. The hair was shorter and starkest black. His eyes no longer looked faded but were as green as the foliage overpowering all life about her. She could also see the face. If it would have been part of one of those icy gentlemen in the main port, men who were tied up with scarves and bright waistcoats and whose boots shone a mile off, it would not have looked out of place.

They stood like that, face to face, for long seconds. All other sounds save Ariane’s heartbeat and breathing vanished. She watched as she was being watched for a long minute. A cleanly shaven face, features not only even, but the kind Miss Carla from the taylor’s would have approved of. He was younger than she thought, not even thirty by the look of it, and by his build and stance genuinely in good health. And this was to be the person who terrorised the coasts with his ships and men. There was gold at his left ear, a ring puncturing his earlobe, and she saw something reach up past the collar of his open cotton shirt. It looked black, painted. She had seen such things on those sailors that came to Port Augustine. It was said it hurt immensely to make them. Ariane could not think why one would do that to oneself, but the man before her did not look like someone who would shy from pain.

He did not look like anything Ariane knew, now that he was clean and looked human. He was neither like an officer, nor in fact like those icy gentlemen in the bright waistcoats in the main port; nor like the sailors down at the pier, nor like the salesmen and townspeople who kept to themselves so well. He looked like something utterly foreign, even outwordly, something that could not be from what she knew. Ariane stood as she was with a heartbeat that filled her whole body. She did not know what to think. Why would he be here, now, at this place and hour? Why stand across of her and stare at her as if she were something in a shop window he wanted to purchase, yet did not have the means? Ariane had seen that look on many children when standing before the baker’s window, staring at the boiled sweets set on display. It was the same look the man had, and Ariane felt how it made goose bumps spread across her skin.

The man moved, Ariane jumped. She felt a hand on her wrist, the same powerful grip and saw how he lifted it, prying the clenched fingers open. He lifted his other hand and she saw something escape the raised fist, the fingers loosen more and something bright and flashing drop out, first a chain, reminiscent of her own, only of a far purer, deeper gold, dropping in all its splendid length into her palm, held open by his hand. Finally a pendant followed, and a stone, the greenest and largest cut stone Ariane had ever seen, encased in gold. It fell heavily into her palm, which was closed by the large hand. And then he let her go. There was silence. He smiled, a quick, mischievous flash of a smile, darkly amused. Then, in a breath, he was gone.

Ariane did not know all was over and done until the rustle of greenery ebbed to silence. She turned, but all was a wall of green before her, and the trail was empty except herself. For a moment she just stood and felt her heart beat on. Then, step by step, hesitantly and full of bewilderment, Ariane walked on. She walked in silence, her right hand clutching the cross, her left clutching the green stone, the gold chain wound up like a snake inside her palm. She walked and walked, faster and faster until she was almost running, and then reminded herself to be calm and not show any agitation, for if anyone saw her like this, there would be questions. Composing herself just before she reached the fork in the trail to the Freeman’s farm, Ariane slipped the heavy chain into the sole pocket of her dress, but could not stop from clutching her cross until she reached home, doing her best to walk into the kitchen as steadily as possible – her mother was already waiting impatiently, and without a glance ordered her to cut up the onions, it was getting late.

It was such a wrenching return to normalcy, that at first, Ariane simply stood and stared at her mother. ‘What are you waiting for, Ariane, Mr Turlington’s coming for tea, you know that,’ Mrs. Bellamy frowned at her, which was enough to return Ariane to her actual life. Officer Turlington. Officer Turlington who spent the last year looking and looking, but he found nothing. Though he was surprised that the coasts near Port Augustine were so quiet. All other ports and shores were repeatedly beleagured by attacks, but at least twenty sea miles around Port Augustine, all was quiet. Officer Turlington spent almost every visit to Father Claireborne puzzling over this. He was getting letters from other officers, even a Commodore, requesting to explain how he, Lt. Hayworth Turlington, had managed to create and sustain such peace. Now, Ariane thought she knew how, but how tell the officer? It was not even to be thought of.

‘Zut alors, Ariane! Stop idling! I need those onions for the skillet!’ Ariane returned to her own life, tied the apron about herself, and took up the cutting knife, though even as she stood at the cutting table and wiped and sniffed the tears away, she couldn’t forget the heaviness in her pocket, and the sharp edge of the pendant that continuously hit her thigh.

November 7, 2014November 24, 2014

saving grace, 5

Ariane found Father Claireborne seated in the kitchen with a glass and a pitcher of cool water, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. John was right, humid as it was getting now, rain would pour soon, hopefully very soon. All tracks would run cold then. Ariane still felt that would be a good thing. Sitting down across of the Father, she asked all the same.

‘Father?’

‘Yes, Ariane, is something the matter?’ he asked, drinking more water.

‘When I came back from the market with Katie just now, we met Officer Turlington.’

‘Mr. Turlington?’ Mrs. Bellamy asked behind her. ‘What was he doing on the Hunting Trail?’

‘He was with a search party,’ Ariane said, still looking at the Father who now listened with interest. ‘He said that there is a convict on the loose, and that he is dangerous.’

‘And you think he has come here?’ Father Turlington asked, frowning.

‘What?’ Mrs. Bellamy asked, now sitting down next to her daughter. ‘Would such a man dare?’

‘Those who once defy the laws of man rarely find self-restraint when necessitated to break them again.’

‘What do you mean, Father?’ Ariane asked, suddenly feeling she had betrayed more than she wanted. She could already see that feral body hanging from the gallows, grunting and growling until it was still.

‘I have a hard time believing our mischievous neighbours would go so far as to break into this house, especially if they know it so well,’ Father Claireborne said, smiling a little. ‘It made little sense to me, you see, why they should break the window. Theft of pastries and boiled sweets, I can understand, but this now seemed too crafty. If you say there is a criminal on the loose, hounded by Officer Turlington and his men, it could very well be the man found this house peaceful enough to break in and take what nourishment he needed.’

‘Are you certain, Father?’ Mrs. Bellamy asked, now visibly concerned.

‘I am sure he cannot stop at a market-booth for victuals,’ Father answered, drinking from his glass once more.

‘So there could be a dangerous criminal in the house and we do not know it?’ Mrs. Bellamy frowned, now clearly anxious. ‘Ariane, I do not want you to leave this room, no, even leave my side until we know that he is captured.’

‘Ah, Mrs. Bellamy, I would not go that far to detain the young for a sinner’s sake,’ Father Clariborne smiled. ‘I am certain the man has already disappeared, escaped to a safer hiding place where he would not be so soon detected.’

‘But if he’s dangerous, Father,’ Mrs Bellamy said gravely. ‘I would not want my daughter wandering down the Hunting Trail with some fiend escaped from the gallows at her heel.’

‘Mrs. Bellamy, you sound quite gothic,’ Father Claireborne smiled, but it did not last long. ‘It may not be so wrong to notify the Commission, however. We could go together and report as one. They will quite likely return and search the house, and I am sure the moment the convict sees the red jackets, he will run as fast as his life is dear to him.’

In less than fifteen minutes, Father Claireborne, Mrs. Bellamy and Ariane were all three walking towards the officer’s station, the chaplain nodding benevolently at every face he knew and saw. In the station, sand-stoned and cool compared to the humid heat of the empty court before it, the report was made, and a small troop of guards dispatched to search the chaplain’s house, all seven men armed with pistols and rifles and looking very grim.

Ariane said nothing and watched, feeling she had signed the death sentence for the man-thing. It had not looked dangerous. Ferocious yes, and very obviously starved, but not something one would hang by a rope and wait till it twitched and turned to death. And yet she had to wait until the inspection was done, furthered by Officer Turlington, who by some form of communication had found out that Father Claireborne’s house was to be searched, and thus came with his dangerous dogs and rifled men. Officer Turlington had them search the house again, from the rafters to the cellars, but nothing was found, though the dogs barked as if they had seen the very devil.

An hour had passed by the time Officer Turlington emerged from the house. Half the neighbourhood had come to see, but it was all for naught. Officer Turlington looked furious, as if not finding this man was a personal insult, though he was civil to Father Claireborne as always.

‘And who is this man?’ the Father asked after Officer Turlington had given his negative report.

‘Someone we have been wanting to capture for some time. Finally, by the help of a deserter, we could secure him, but alas –’ Officer Turlington pressed his lips together and tried not to get redder than he already was.

‘A deserter you say? Is the man a soldier?’

‘Pah!’ the Officer barked bitterly. ‘He’s as much a soldier as a devil is a saint, Father.’

‘What is he then?’

‘A pirate, sir, and one of the worst these waters have seen for the past twenty years.’

‘A pirate?’ Mrs. Bellamy frowned. ‘Why not say a murderer and be done with it?’

‘That is the point, Mrs. Bellamy,’ Officer Turlington said grimly, ‘as far as we know, the man has never murdered with his own hand, but his men have done much destruction in the same vein. We cannot stop them from scavenging and torching ships, but since we captured him, all these devilish enterprises have stopped at sea. It is heavenly quiet, but God forbid the man be joined with his men. Then the cobra’s head would be rejoined with the body, and the snake will bite again, slithering out of sight after poisoning half the country!’

Officer Turlington looked ready to burst with rage. Father Claireborne layed a quiet hand on his shoulder and asked him to join him in the house for some fresh cider. Father Claireborne could not affront Mrs. Bellamy with ale yet, she did not approve of drinking alcohol before sundown if it had to be drunk at all. Officer Turlington agreed and the two men proceeded, closely followed by Mrs. Bellamy and Ariane, who did not like to stay in the small court, surrounded by all those wild-looking men of the search party. Some were giving her looks she didn’t like, and so was glad to know herself on the other side of the closed house door.

Not long after, Tenny walked into the kitchen asking if it was all right now to hang the linens, there was still a good deal of sun before the weather broke. Ariane was sent out to help the washing woman, which she did in silence, listening to Tenny talk about what it meant to have a criminal in these parts, and how dangerous such men were, and now it was said it was a pirate, scavenging fiends that would burn in hell for all eternity, murderers and oath-breakers in whose presence no living soul was safe.

Ariane listened and helped spread the white sheets across the lines, thinking of how the man-thing had eaten out of her hand like a starved animal. She tried to think how that could command men to an extent that made Officer Turlington look as if he would explode. She could not see it. He was still hardly human to her, more a thing and beast than anything with reason, even though he stood upright and had the build of a grown man. He maybe had the look and the limbs, but definitely not the smell nor the articulation, she had never seen anything so dirty.

With Mrs. Bellamy’s Christian ways of cleanliness and the fact that Father Claireborne adhered to them without question, Ariane had no patience with dirt either, and could not tolerate anything that would smudge her dress or linens, which made her monthly indisposition quite a trial where a catastrophe always seemed close at hand. That she should think of such things now, but with the white sheets, wide as sails before her, billowing in the usual sea-breeze coming up from the near coast, she could only think of those bright red stains she abhorred, as they betrayed not only carelessness, but something about her Ariane could as yet not fully accept, though it was a part of her these six years. She did not know why it happened, and saw it as due punishment after the Fall, for it was Eve who ate the first fruit and thus her descendants would be constantly reminded of her trespassing, for why else would God allow such a thing to take place at such pagan times, always when the moon waxed and her mood plummeted… no, she should rather think of something else.

Right then Ariane’s eyes fell on her own dress, where she saw those stains made by the tomato juice that had spilled and sprayed onto the white skirts, which she had tried her best to clean out, but it would not do without some soap and she would not change again, her mother never liked that. They were mere shadows now, and only visible to the eye who knew they were there, but she knew, and so saw them clearly. They were further reminders of what was out there, running away from Officer Turlington and his search party with their rifles and horrible dogs. How long would he survive? She could not imagine that so many men would not finally succeed in finding one who had to ambush innocent girls for tomatoes.

Well, she would see. Officer Turlington would hardly curtail his triumph once the man, if he was one, was recaptured. And then he would be hanged at the gallows, the dead body swaying in the ocean breeze. Ariane picked up the next linen and spread it across the line, hardly hearing what else Tenny was saying. Looking at the pure white of the cloth, she thought of those faded eyes that seemed to have no colour and wondered for a moment if the man-thing was maybe blind. But for something blind he moved very fast, and she did not think blind eyes could issue commands to be silent. It was a command, there was nothing pleading, nothing soft in that first look, his dirty finger pressed against grimy lips. How dirty he was, the complete opposite to this dream of white. Ariane traced a hand across the white plane, her hand and arm starkly dark against it, every finger clearly seen. He did not curl from her hand as sometimes happened on market days, he did not hesitate to touch, but feral as he was, he probably hardly saw her, just grabbed what held the food he wanted and ate as an animal for he was hungry like one.

Stepping away, Ariane picked up the next linen and continued her work, trying her best to listen to Tenny, but hardly finding patience for what the washing woman was saying, it was all about terrible deeds, murderous pirates, and other horrors Ariane didn’t want to think of. She looked to the sky, saw the silver in the white clouds tumbling to mountains above, and thought of the few hours that were left before the heavens opened and let out all the rain. With the sun so hot, and the air so sticky, the sheets would have dried to an untainted white until then. Everyone would rush inside once the rain poured, everyone except the man-thing running away from Officer Turlington and his awful men and dogs. Hopefully, when the rain finally fell, it would not only sweep away the tracks, but cover the feral creature and wash away all its dirt as well.

November 7, 2014

saving grace, 3

Ariane helped her mother set the table, dress the salad, and make sure the roast chicken and other delectables were as Father Claireborne liked them. Unlike other Englishmen, or so Mrs Bellamy said, Father Claireborne had a taste for good food and knew to give high praise when a meal was done well. Today the Father had a guest however, so Mrs Bellamy was agitated and curt with her commands. Once all the platters and bowls were brought up to Father Claireborne’s private office where the meal was to be taken, Mrs. Bellamy returned in calmer spirits, ready to feed the rest of the house.

John Mallory, the gardener, came in right then. He was tall and dark as night, with eyes so white they almost shone in his face. John took care they had enough potatoes, parsnips, pumpkins and cabbages in the garden, and saw to it that the lemons and oranges grew well. That way Mrs Bellamy could make her famous lemonade whenever she wished, and order ice in time for the wonderful sorbet she always made on Father Claireborne’s birthday.

Grey-haired Bertram Mahoney walked in after John, calling out ‘Hurry up lads, they’re not going to wait.’ Bert who liked to talk of his home in that faraway place, Ireland, where there was ‘real weather’ and rain fell sideways. His blue eyes grew dreamy then, as he sat back and puffed on his pipe, talking about The King’s Arms where it seemed men only went to drink and brawl and misbehave themselves. Mrs Bellamy did not approve of tales of The King’s Arms, which was one reason why Bert enjoyed telling them. He was always teasing Ariane’s mother like that, and Father Claireborne never stopped him, but then Bert and Father Claireborne had known each other for very many years. Once Father Claireborne was appointed at Port Augustine, Bert followed a year later, ‘ready to settle’ as he said. Since he was very good with wood and glass, he made sure the house and church remained in order, never mind if it was ‘an ungodly Protestant place’, Bert still prayed to the Holy Mother Mary.

Standing in the kitchen door, Bert called, ‘Come on, lads, what are you waiting for?’ again, and finally young Mel and Wesley came in, quietly, removing their caps just like John and Bert. They were five and six years younger than Ariane, and did everything Bert told them, learning all they could from the Irishman, and John as well, for ‘a man should know his way around the garden,’ as Father Claireborne said. Mel and Wesley’s past was one of those terrible histories you found so frequently on the islands. Bert had ‘bought them off a man in Antigua’ three years before, he had had to sail down on business. Bert never said more about Mel and Wesley, and the two boys hardly ever talked anyway. They were brothers, and stayed together at all times, sharing a room and a bed in the small house Bert called his own. Ariane had seen it herself when she once brought Bert a book Father Claireborne wanted him to have. She had asked Bert why the boys didn’t have their own beds and Bert shrugged, ‘They didn’t want them. Plain refused.’ Then he added, ‘I wager they don’t want to get separated again.’

From what Bert hinted on if he did talk about Antigua, there had been more brothers and sisters, and a mother, but Ariane still did not know what happened to them. Bert did not offer to tell, and she did not know how to ask. She knew of Antigua, she had heard the stories, she knew which islands were nightmares, which colonies further north were utter hell. She knew in whispers and tales told in secret, she knew in the bulletines Father Claireborne sometimes read and made him gloomy for a whole day. Now at nearly seventeen, the Mississippi had become a place of terror for Ariane, the delta synonymous to Hell, pockets of hell fire littered all across the Spanish Main, Antigua being one of them, so she did not know how to ask Bert about what happened there. It was enough to see how quiet the two boys were, standing together now, Mel with his eyes to the floor, and Wesley alert, watching everything carefully. Both would not say one word through the entire meal, but Ariane had come to accept it. They ate well at least, and Bert made sure they stayed healthy and clean. Ariane knew John and her mother made sure to know where they were at all times, and Father Claireborne took care they learnt their alphabet and their sums. It was, Ariane felt, the best one could do after all that happened to them.

They were free now though, at least they were given that mercy. They were now equal to all other Freemen in Port Augustine. Like Father Claireborne, Bert was a staunch believer that no man should own another, though where Father Claireborne saw such ownership as a deep sin against the Lord on High, Bert was far less religious. As he told Ariane once, ‘No one on this blessed earth owns anything, lass. We just stay for a while and then move on. Anyone trying to tell you anything else and I swear on me own mother’s grave they’re trying to sell you something. Don’t ever trust a word they say.’ Bert never said who ‘they’ were, but from how Bert always talked about them, ‘they’ sounded very powerful and very dangerous. He did give Mel and Wesley a last name though, Callaghan. Apparently it would throw a man Bert knew into all kinds of torment to know that ‘two little Negroes were carrying his perfect name.’ Every time Bert said that, he grinned wide right after and sighed satisfied as if he accomplished something.

John, Bert, Mel and Wesley greeted Ariane and Mrs Bellamy with silent nods before they sat down at the large kitchen table, Bert saying happily, ‘That smells wonderful, Mrs Bellamy, what’ll you surprise us with today.’ Mrs Bellamy told Bert to stop trying to flatter her with such insincerity, and their usual banter began. John sat by in silence and listened with a faint smile, while Ariane poured out water for Mel and Wesley, Mel who was tracing the grain of the heavy oak table. It was a massive thing where everyone reconvened in the evenings, even Father Claireborne, who said it made little sense to sit in solitude up in his office when there was such merriment and joy in the kitchen.

If John was in the proper mood, he would take out his guitar, a beautiful instrument he was gifted by his former Master’s wife when he became a Freeman. She was a duke’s daughter who knew how to play by a Spanish artisan at her father’s court, and so had taught John since he was a child. Once anyone heard John play, they knew why the high lady took such time to teach him. Ariane could spend whole evenings just listening to John play on his guitar. When she closed her eyes, it was as if an angel was playing, yet it was John, John who was as dark as night, John Mallory who was actually Juan de Majorca, ‘John from the large island’ as he once explained, John Mallory whose English still had that Spanish accent, which was why he never spoke when Officer Turlington was near. John who was dark as night and played like an angel sent down from on High to make them remember that there really was Someone watching.

They would sing the songs they knew when John began to play, Ariane showing her skill and Mrs Bellamy sometimes singing the beautiful French ones she remembered, never mind how melancholy they were. Father Claireborne himself knew quite a few, joyous songs of praise, and slow, sombre songs of longing, not to mention Bert who had many more songs than he was allowed to sing by Father Claireborne and Mrs Bellamy. They were apparently not for children’s ears, never mind how Bert started grinning.

It was such things as these that made Father Claireborne very unlike other Fathers Ariane had heard of and knew. Ariane always felt that his house was truly a house of God, for in it all souls present, man, woman and child, were at peace. There was joy, there was laughter, there was song, and they all had good clothes to wear and enough food to eat. It was, Ariane knew, the best of fortune to know such a house as one’s home, and to have it’s master be such a man as Father Claireborne. The Father was a stout man with dark hair still thick and full about his head, he had a hearty laugh and a handsome smile, though he could look like God himself come down to take furious vengeance when he was thunderous, but that did not happen often. Mostly when someone scavenged his herb garden again where he was still trying his hand at strawberries.

Ariane liked Father Claireborne very well, as did everyone in Port Augustine, and it was good that he would still have many years to pray for the parish, for despite the grey at his temples, Father Claireborne was hardly past forty. It was he who had taken Ariane’s mother out of the desperate situation of widowhood when Ariane was but two years, and installed her as his cook when he was appointed to Port Augustine. Some thought his choice immoral if not outright sacrilegious, but since Mrs. Bellamy was a widow and had shown herself to be good Christian woman with an unshakable Christian faith, those who would talk evil soon hushed their mouths. Now no one in the small town questioned that the holy man and his cook lived under the same roof, with John, Bert, Mel and Wesley as their constant helpers.

November 7, 2014November 24, 2014

saving grace, 2

tomato (1) Neither Ariane nor Katie moved until the group of men was well out of sight and sound. They did not release each other’s hands until Ariane saw she dropped one of the tomatoes. She whispered ‘Oh no’, she knew how much her mother disliked wasting food, and now the red fruit lay bruised on the gravelly ground. She crouched down quickly to pick it up, ants could be quick on the Hunting Trail.

As she bent down to pick the fallen fruit, Ariane gazed into the surrounding greenery in passing and saw two eyes. They were looking back at her. Ariane stopped, startled. She opened her mouth to speak, but the eyes became a face with a finger pressed against its lips. The eyes did not ask, they commanded silence. The insistence was so clear, it was equal to Father Clairborne’s piercing looks when he turned to the whisperers in the pews. Ariane did as she was told. She picked up the fallen tomato and straightened, Katie was already tugging on her arm to walk on. Ariane couldn’t help a last look over her shoulder as they walked. ‘What is it?’ Katie asked impatiently. ‘Are they coming back?’ Ariane shook her head, ‘No, I was just making sure I didn’t lose more, you know how Mama always counts’. Katie smiled ruefully, she knew of Mrs Bellamy’s strictness. ‘We should go, Ria,’ she said, tugging at Ariane to hurry. ‘Officer Turlington looked very serious.’ Ariane looked into the greenery once more. There was nothing. She must have seen wrong.

The two girls walked on, quicker than before, even running a little, their smooth calves kicking up the muslin of their white skirts, their young sandal-clad feet quick on the bright trail. They finally reached the chaplain’s house and the pathway to the Freeman’s farm where their ways had to part. Katie did not stop to say good-bye, she said a quick ‘Please tell Father Clairborne I’ll come tomorrow!’ and ran. In a matter of heartbeats, Katie was out of sight, beyond the wooden gate of the Freeman’s farm. Ariane turned to her own destination, her heart still quick in its beat. She must have seen wrong.

There was a small copse she had to pass before she reached the compound’s back gate, only a few feet to walk, but right then those twenty-five steps seemed like miles and miles, lined with greenery on one side as they were, and a picket fence on the other. It was a tall fence, painted white by her own and Father Clairborne’s hands. The Father never shied from using his hands, he saw such work as honouring the Lord on High for giving him such strength and health for so long. The picket fence was a bright contrast to the dark gloom on the other side of the small path, the wildness and green seemingly constrained by an invisible wall from encroaching further.

Ariane hurried to the gate, still holding the broken tomato in her hand, the cord of her woven bag, heavy with fresh vegetables, cutting into her shoulder. Seven, ten, twelve… Ariane began to feel relief, she was about to reach the latch when, with horrible suddenness, something jumped out of the green, grabbed her wrist – and something burst with wetness in her hand. There was no time to scream, her heart skipped several beats. Staring, transfixed, Ariane tried to understand. The wildest, dirtiest man she had ever seen was on his knees before her, eating the fallen tomato out of her hand, not even waiting to release it from her grip, but eating past her fingers like an animal until that was not enough and he pried her fingers open and ate on until the entire fruit is gone.

Ariane just watched, too shocked to move, to even try to stop what was happening. She felt the eerie tickling sensation she always had when one of the Freeman’s dogs licked her hand like her mother detested. She could not laugh now, however. Nor could she remove her hand when she had enough, for she did try, yet every tug was met with a growl or grunt of some kind, the grip on her wrist unrelenting. In those moments of shocked silence, the creature before her seemed more thing than man to Ariane, more beast than human. He had not seen water for days, if not weeks, and smelled accordingly. What was once a shirt was now rags, the pantaloons torn ragged things ripped at the knees showing scarred and bare feet, horribly dirty. She could not see much of the face, what she could see was just dirt and grime, but there was hair, a whole thatch of it, much like a crow’s nest, though crusted with dirt and littered with twigs and leaves and other things she did not care to inspect further.

All this took place in what felt like three claps of a hand. The tomato was eaten in rapid speed and the thing, the man, lunged for her bag full of vegetables. Ariane turned it away, ‘No, you can’t have that,’ and was fixed with feral eyes, bloodshot and wild, almost mad, and for a moment Ariane was certain the thing would bite her. Instead, it grabbed the bag in lightning speed, yanking it off Ariane’s shoulder violently, but Ariane refused to let it go, she could not return home with nothing. There were heartbeats of confusion, and suddenly her arm was grabbed and wrenched behind her back so painfully, Ariane let everything go in a sharp cry of pain. ‘Ariane! Viens!’ came suddenly, blessedly close, from the garden. ‘Don’t idle, child, the Master will not wait all day for his dinner!’

In flash Ariane’s arm was freed. There was movement, quick, and a rustle of greenery. Ariane turned around and saw that the small path was empty of mad, violent creatures, her bag and half its contents scattered on the dusty ground. Right then Mrs. Bellamy opened the gate, holding a carving knife and a plucked chicken. She stood large and matronly at the picket fence, looking sternly at her daughter, ‘Ariane, what is this? Why are the vegetables on the ground?’ ‘I – fell,’ was all Ariane could say and hastily picked up everything, though she was careful to leave one tomato and a carrot, gingerly pushing both into the greenery with her heel. Then she quickly followed her mother past the gate and into the safety of the compound, her breath finally returning when she heard the latch click into place.

Ariane could hardly follow her duties. Cutting and stirring, helping her mother prepare Father Claireborne’s roast chicken dinner, Ariane could only think of the thing-man that was in the green, and what Officer Turlington said, that there was a dangerous criminal on the loose. She thought of how she struggled with the thing, and how she could have been murdered if he was truly that dangerous. It did look mad. Or rather, like someone lost in the forests for so long he knew nothing of language or civilization. Father Clairborne had spoken of such people, poor souls so lost to mankind, they hardly found their way back again once returned to safety. She had only heard grunts and growls from the thing. Standing at the kitchen window as she was, cleaning carrots and cutting tomatoes, Ariane could not help look out towards the herb garden, the picket fence, the gate. She tried to see if anything moved there, but there was nothing, just the usual view, a broad green lawn with a sanded pathway curving through it like a smooth river, and Father Claireborne’s herb garden at the far end, with the orange and lemon trees at the back.

It was a quiet compound, peaceful, it was what Ariane knew as her home. And yet, looking out, it no longer exuded peace but was simply the last frontier to the mystery and danger beyond. It is out there, the man-thing, and who knew, maybe Officer Turlington and those dangerous dogs and rifled men already found him. Ariane felt a tinge of pity, a soft prick of sadness beneath her ribs. She knew what happened when escaped convicts were captured. They were hung at the gallows in less than a week. She continued cutting the cucumbers and tomatoes her mother wanted for the salad Father Clairborne called ‘Greek’, he had known a man from Athens in his seminar, a man whose sister apparently made miracles with fresh foods. Father Clairborne’s voice always acquired a particular kind of softness when he spoke of his Greek friend’s sister. Ariane often wondered if her mother was aware of this change when the Father talked of that particular lady. It did not change the fact that beyond the picket fence, that creature was in the green. He has nothing to eat. Ariane could still feel the heat and wetness of his hungry mouth, the sharpness of those feral teeth as he ate the tomato right out of her hand.

How hungry must one be to not even take it, but eat it right out of her hand? Ariane stopped cutting cucumbers and looked at her hand, dark as the caramel her mother made for the special dinners, and light as toffeed cream on the other, in the rainy season almost white. Ariane had always wondered why this was so, what trick of nature and providence it was that gave her such promising hands on one side and then diverted it all with the back. On the other hand, Father Claireborne often said the Lord made all by design, and since the Lord was all Wisdom and Benevolence, He had to have put some thinking into it, and so Ariane let it be. Yet she could not get rid of the sensation of that man-thing eating out of her hand, so hungry like a starved dog who was ready to bite her if she did not release her bag. Did he get the tomato, the carrot? Did he see them, pick them, before some bird or insect found them? Ants were everywhere on the Hunting Trail, one had to be careful. Ariane looked out, but there was nothing to be seen except the usual peaceful garden, her mother working busily behind her, asking her to hurry, Master had guests waiting, one of the magistrates had come to talk about some business again.

November 5, 2014February 9, 2015

hook, line…

Not PG rated

Word was out. Chris ‘Dizzy’ Leroy was out of the clink, his boys were already waiting. Tall enough to try for the pro leagues if he’d ever had a head for school, Chris was muscular too, inked up nice, he always went to the pros. Everyone called him Dizzy, he no longer remembered why, just like no one knew he never liked it.He was Chris, but the only person who called him that was his Gran, Gran who opened her arms wide when he walked up the stairs, smiling ‘My boy’s back’ before hugging him with her tiny arms. Said nothing about how strong the woman was though. Dragged him down the street once, nearly tore his ear off, hollerin’ how often she told him to get back when the lights came on, he had no goddamn manners. That was Gran though, tough as nails. Best woman on the whole fuckin’ planet.

Friday night, and Tala was out clubbing with her girls. It was just them, no guys, they were going to have some fun. Tala was in the best mood. The week was good, her boss praised her for finishing the project perfectly in record time, and she meant it too. Nobody looked pissed, she was getting ‘genuine feedback’ as they called it. She could see that they were taking her seriously now, she really did know what she was doing. Those night courses really were helping, it was good that she followed through with that.

Now it was Friday, and Tala felt like partying, celebrating, simply enjoying herself, and going out with her girls was just the thing. The club was great, the house was packed, everyone was having such an awesome time Tala just felt happy. Then she turned and saw him. Great build. The kind of chocolate skin that made a girl lick her lips. Ripped. You could see it past that shirt. And a calm face, the kind of seriously handsome dark face with eyes that just sucked you in. She looked a little more, then she stopped. Her Moma told her to stay away from them. No matter how good they looked. ‘They like sugar, girl. The better they look, the worse they are. You need to look out for your health with that head o’ yours. It’s just too good to waste on all that honey that don’t keep your stomach full.’ Or the other one, it was last weekend actually, they were out shopping and of course her Moma caught her looking at Will Delaney who was picking up some ice and had grown up to look real good. Tala got, ‘Stop givin’ him those looks,’ for that. ‘Next thing you know he’s hangin’ around my porch like some lost puppy. What? Look at him. Best way to get yourself big, and I ain’t talkin’ about fat. And a Delaney too. All talk and no sense, those boys. Why’re you still lookin’? Didn’t you hear anything I just said?’ So Tala, dancing in the club with her girls, Tala turned back to her drink and didn’t look again.

Chris had decided it was time to see people. He hadn’t been with a woman since he was out of the joint, and he wanted to see some again. There was this new place everyone was talkin’ about so he decided to join. He had to get back to normal, remember how it was outside. It was his second time now, the first time he was in juvi at fourteen, Gran nearly killed him after. This second time it was either three months for him or six years for Dwayne, his cousin, who talked him into driving that bullshit car… just thinking about it got Chris to the wrong side of angry. He’d known it was bad. He just didn’t think Dwayne was that fucking stupid. Still, it was six years for his cousin, if he didn’t say nothin’, so he spoke up. Dwayne got two, he got three months since he’d been steady since Gran nearly put him in a coffin after juvi, but the Feds had to do something, and the judge knew it.

Anyway, he was out now, finally, the air smelled real again, and there were women everywhere. Chris didn’t want to rush it though, push it too fast and suddenly you had a set of claws in your back you never saw coming. Or some thug who decided you’d looked at his girl wrong. So Chris hung back, watched first, loving what he was seeing. The place was packed up tight, and the women… yeah, this was – what the – There, again. That girl, dancing. Fuck… Everything, just everything about her was… He wanted to feel that ass in his hands, all round. He wanted those legs around him, he wanted her naked and wet, fuck, he’d fuck her so good, she’d never want anythin’ else – there was no way he was just gonna stand around and do nothin’.

Chris walked up to her when one of her girls went to get more drinks. He stayed to the side and watched her, he didn’t want to come on too fast , but fuck she was… He waited till she looked. She did and smiled, shyly. She had style. There were no guys around her, and she only danced with her girls. When they left the floor he sent her a drink, something simple but good and she appreciated it, smiling at him and raising her glass. He could see how her girls worked her to do something, how she looked and got all shy again and smiled. He helped her by walking half the distance. Finally, she came over. She said Hi, and he nodded, said what he had to say, what her name was, who she was with. She told him, smiling like that, still shy. He wanted to peel that top off her and see those tits that were just waiting for his mouth, fuck they were… Her skin looked… he’d forgotten how perfect, perfect really was.

They talked some his name, hers, Tala, Chris, what she was doin’ out with her girls, the dj, the music, the club, until one of his boys crashed in and he saw how she got scared. Ray wasn’t the type a girl like her would look at twice, and Ray just slapped his back and nearly fucked it all up. She went back to her girls, ran back actually, and Chris tried not to show how pissed he was. Fuck Ray. She didn’t look at him again, so he did his best to get rid of Ray and finally could got him to stay busy with some girl whose tits were almost spilling out, but by then Tala was already leaving. Chris left the club and finally called after her out on the curb. She stopped and talked to her girls who pushed her towards him. He said, ‘Sorry ‘bout that. Ray’s some of my old crowd.’ ‘He’s not, like, dangerous, is he?’ she asked, her eyes wide. He wanted to touch her so bad he’d have sworn Ray was a fucking angel if he’d known that would get her to stay. ‘They’re gone,’ was all he said. She looked less nervous, but still nervous. He had to get her to stay with him, so he said, ‘Look. I’d like to see you. How ‘bout you pick a place and I’ll see you there.’ She looked confused. ‘See me? When?’ ‘Now. If you got time.’ She looked back at her girls who were giggling and waving her to stay. ‘Well…’ ‘Pick a place. Any place.’ ‘Not mine,’ she said, looking nervous again. ‘Ok.’ ‘And not yours either.’ ‘Ok.’ ‘I’d say a hotel, but…’ ‘But what?’ ‘I’m not a prostitute,’ she said, and he knew, just the way she said it, he knew this one had brains. He didn’t know why that just made everything ten times better. Brains usually meant trouble, but he wouldn’t mind trouble from her. ‘Never thought you were,’ he said. ‘Know one?’ he added. ‘One?’ ‘Hotel? Know one we could go to?’ ‘Um… yeah. I mean… yeah, I do.’ ‘Ok.’

So they went, taking a cab, she wouldn’t get into his car. They reached the place, he’d never seen it before, though he knew the street. They went in and she smiled at the girl up front who said ‘Tala! Hey, darling!’ She smiled and they whispered and finally she had a card and they went up to the room. There was a mini bar, she said they could use it, so he mixed a Jack with coke, and they were on the couch and she looked at him with, ‘So. What next?’ He showed her. She loved it. She loved it so much she gave him her number the next mornin’.