Old Miss Gracing by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 17
That put an end to sleep for the night. She spent the darkness alternating between lying on the bed crying “Why, why, why?” nervously drinking tea at the kitchen table and scrutinizing her possessions. She had most of them for decades and wondered if any of them would reveal some long guarded secret. She knew that prophecy can work in strange ways and could have been set in place many years ago, patterns repeating and repeating. She saw nothing except hard colorful geometric forms, long haired solemn women and flowers on long stems. Her attention finally settled on a painting; an old still life she couldn’t remember acquiring. It was sitting with three other framed pictures on a simple oak table at the side of the bed.
The table was done in the simple Arts and Crafts style and its only decoration was green circular tiling in the center of the top. It had something drawn or written on it that had gone the way of time. The still life was of one cut red rose, perched in a clear dry vase. She thought she could see the petals just beginning to curl, the dying prisoner in its place of honor.
The first sunlight of the next morning made her a bit more relieved and she was finally able to enjoy the rest and comfort of sleep.
Soon she was walking down the hallway in her black hooded cloak. She opened the door at its end and saw Marshall sleeping alone in their queen sized bed. She withdrew the hunting knife from under the cloak and started to slash. The first three stabs roused him and he put up both his hands in an effort to block the next thrust. He said; “Stop. Stop. I’ll kill you.”
She put the next puncture in the middle of his neck and ripped her way out the side. He was attempting to say more words when the last wound made a gurgling sound swallowing them. She woke up trembling and sweating. Was there no escape? She found perverse humor in this new version of the old dream, this time ending up clean of blood and being more efficient in putting the last thrust into his neck, rather than his already dead heart.
She decided to make some breakfast and tea and tried to find something good to think about. She considered the possibility that she had survived the onslaught. “That’s a good one,” she thought sarcastically as she watched the north wind push some dark gray bulbous clouds into her sky. The friendly little puffy white clouds made their escape as quickly as possible. She thought; “Alright, I don’t believe in ‘signs from the heavens.’ Let’s focus elsewhere. That’s giving the idiot wind too much power.” She stared right at the sky and said; “Do your worst. I don’t think you can top your previous efforts, anyway.”
She ate her eggs at the counter, defiantly watching the afternoon show, in fact being critical to some extent, noting how the presentation could have been more ominous, with a few minor technical changes. If the dark clouds lowered themselves closer to the earth and produced thunder, she might have been duly impressed.
After getting bored with that she turned on her circa 1952
television. It had been set to a public broadcasting station, which was right now playing some Fellini film. In a minute she recognized that it was “La Strada.” She hadn’t seen it since it came out in 1954 and was interested to re-see the parts she had forgotten. There were many. She had forgotten how often the circus strong man, Anthony Quinn, was in chains, not fully responsible for his actions. She had forgotten how Giulieta Masina approached him with timidity, her own actions restrained by her status of a slave. She enjoyed it and when it was over she was sorry she missed some of the beginning. She was hungry and followed up her breakfast with an immediate lunch, as PBS
played some kind of science show.
She could no longer fully relax as the dark approached.
She didn’t feel safe at home and was also afraid of going outside, fearing she might run into the demented fantasy of some crazed killer, who possessed potentially damaging information about her.
As the sun fell below the western blue horizon, she put on a few lamps and sat down in front of the persistent television.
It was prime news time, so she switched channels, to find out what kind of misery happened to others today. She found out that Charlie Manson was continuing his heroics by announcing, through his attorney, that he had significant information about other “families,” and their plans to do the same things he had done. He was willing to help out the police in return for a sentence reduction. The “X” that he had carved into the bridge between his eyes, on his now bald head seemed self-aggrandizing.
“It must be a light news day,” she thought, “if they need the bizarre features.” As the airline advertisement full of smiley, happy, busy people took over the airwaves, she was returned to her own bizarre event when she heard the slow persistent footsteps in her hallway. “I..... am..... your...... judge.....
Confess..... your..... wickedness,” the ponderous voice demanded. She really didn’t feel like volunteering anything that could be used against her, so she stood resolute, scissors in hand. “I..... know..... you’re..... in..... there,” came the voice again. It then shrieked; “Answer me.”
She had heard and seen better psychotic acts while she was institutionalized and was not very impressed. Her mood changed to one of annoyance at having her evening again disturbed. She chose to answer saying; “You..... have..... no.....
business..... here..... Go..... back.... where..... you.....
came..... from,” and laughed derisively. She was greeted with silence, so she bluffed and added; “I just called 911 and the cops are on their way.” The hall light shined through the keyhole. Whatever was near the door must have moved back. When the silence persisted a few minutes, she got the courage to open the door and peer into the lighted hallway. It was gone, unless it existed only in spirit. She checked the stairs and alley way, opening the door to view only cars parked in the unpopulated street. She walked confidently back in and again sat in front of the TV. She started shaking, realizing that she may have antagonized the nut. Maybe next time he would be better prepared. She turned her attention back to the news. It seemed there were new developments in the Middle East turmoil.
She had been hearing the same story since 1948 and didn’t feel the least bit surprised or interested. She stared blankly, not listening to “news” for someone somewhere.
Castor was in the alleyway changing into his evening’s attire. He became a large, mostly orange serpent or snake, with yellow tattoos for decoration. His orange head looked much like a dolphin in structure, its oblong black eyes stared blindly and its frozen smiling open mouth seemed about to talk or bite. The two tiny arms emanating from the head tapered to the ends, so that rather than fingers, two sharp blades protruded. He had to
crawl down the hall as the outfit extended another five feet below him, in an attempt to maximize the snake like appearance.
He brushed up against her door and forcefully said; “Open up, Bonnie. Tuoni demands your presence.”
She was flustered as she fully expected whatever was there to have left for the evening. Fear took over when she realized that her bluff was called and that “whatever” now knew she did not engage any possible help. It knew she was completely alone.
She froze and ignored the demand. She had the presence of mind to grab her scissors and turn out the lights. The keyhole was again a source of light, suggesting to her that Tuoni was either very short or wasn’t near the door anymore. She crawled over to the door and tried to get a glimpse through the keyhole.
Through it came a stream of black slime, shot from Castor’s water pistol. As it hit her eye and ran down her face she was revolted and scared. Tuoni opened the door, as she remembered that in the short lived confidence she had in expelling the nut earlier she had forgotten to lock it. The force of the thrust again knocked her on her back, somewhat dazed. The snake crawled up her prostrate body. When his dolphin face was over hers, his bladed protrusions cut five slashes to her face and neck. She screamed. He said; “Shut up or I’ll kill you right now.” She quietly stared at the blank eyes and open mouth. He said; “Open wide. I have a present for you from Marshall.”
She did as she was told and bloody animal entrails rolled out of the smiling dolphin’s mouth into hers. She started to choke trying to spit it out, but he placed one of his blades on her neck and said; “Eat it, pig.” Her face was now not only host to black slime, but her own blood, animal blood and the remnants of entrails.
She followed orders as he watched, saying; “Marshall has commanded; ‘Take and eat of me, for this is my body and this is my blood.” When she swallowed the morsel, he squirted more slime in her face, through the smiling dolphin mouth. She turned her head to the left side, her cheek on the floor. He crawled off her the same way he had gotten on, giving his final message; “Bonadea, judgment has come. You will suffer for seven days and then you will die a slow painful death.”
As he left Bonnie was motionless on the floor. She lay there crying violently for about ten minutes. She screamed at her silent god; “Why? Why? Why? Why? Why me?”
When she got up she showered, put on pajamas and a clean robe. The bleeding from the five gashes he gave her had stopped, but made their two inch red presences obvious. The vanity mirror reflected the lines in her face, taking her attention away from today’s wounds, but also bringing back the sad thought of; “Why now? Why me? Haven’t I suffered enough yet? Where are the golden years? Goddammit, does this vicious
God, the majority worship and love, get his amusement watching this misery?” Just as many previous times, when she was ready to turn away from her long held beliefs, she recalled the counterveiling thought; “Like Job, maybe if I’m able to retain my ideals in the face of this, there will be some eternal reward.” Pragmatically, she thought; “Who knows, but it’s a better bet to accept the earthly fate as the bulk of the road has already been traveled, anyway.”
The logical side of her mind continued to dominate her thoughts as she again tried to come up with some non-divine plan. Outside help was out of the question. The only safe way out of the current mess was for her to kill the intruder. It probably wouldn’t be hard to convince the authorities that she acted in self-defense when they saw a corpse with knives dressed as a snake with a dolphin head. She laughed.
She put Vaseline on her facial wounds and got under the covers, imagining a happier time, being joined by Simon. “I know he’s with me in spirit, but I wish I could feel his furry body purring next to me.” Like the previous evening, sleep eluded her as the vivid thoughts of her earthly sacrifice, her Christian concept of God, his possible non-existence or perverse sense of humor, her best play and her rational plan kept circling in her mind.
She was surprised that the night passed quickly, as her exhaustion produced dreamless sleep at some point she couldn’t recall and the next thing she knew she saw what passed for sunlight and the clock said 10AM. She quickly got out of bed, not wanting to be caught unprepared and went about her daily kitchen routines. Her brother-in-law, Castor, popped into her mind as a possible suspect. She decided that the thought was irrelevant, not the least bit useful and also unlikely as if the authorities could not find her, how could stupid Castor.
She spent the day eating and formulating a plan. She was in no condition to survive a protracted fight, nor did her circumstances allow her the luxury of some type of draw or truce. She would have to take him out as quickly as possible.
She heard two knocks at the door, turning her boldness into timidity. She hoped she had heard incorrectly. Four louder knocks came, pounding logic into her brain. “What the hell?”
she thought, “Maybe he’ll kill me, but at least all this garbage will be over.” She grabbed her trusty scissors, holding them over her head in her right hand and swung open the door with her left.