Death Or Eurydice by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 5- Life in Nod
The rest of July proved to be a busy month for everybody.
James and Ruth Paul made daily excursions into different parts of town, knocking on doors trying to drum up parishioners for his new church. They received some enthusiasm and success in the black neighborhoods, most likely because of also operating the school, which up to now was a privilege only available to the white population of Sudbury. The people themselves didn’t warm to the Pauls on a personal basis, often feeling that the overdressed penguins were there to lord it over them. When they did come to the door the white people either told of their present religious affiliation or their complete disinterest in the subject.
The Sunday western trek of the new, exclusively black parishioners grew weekly, most staying after service to find out about the operation of the school, scheduled to open in September. The majority were dismayed at the cost of tuition and books. Reverend Paul spoke to the visiting head financial priest of the Archdiocese to no avail. He was told that the operation would have to be financially viable on its own and offered no subsidy.
The western Sudbury well-to-do burghers watched the initial pilgrimages with consternation. Never before did they have to
endure the sight of so many black people in unison traversing their hallowed ground. Backyard fence conversations were guarded, no one wanting to appear upset or contemptuous of congregating Christians, though un-displayed inner sentiments belied the external postures. They watched from windows and didn’t venture out until the migration crossed the bridge and returned to the eastern shore. After a few Sundays of orderly sojourns, most decided that they could tolerate the incursion one morning a week from the safety of their window seats.
Death made only every other day visits to Orpheus; morning awakenings, during which her pliable paramour percolated plentiful personal porridge. She had fallen well behind in her usual duties, as she spent maximum hours sitting on the precipice. People in pain were waiting to die all over the globe and she did her best to accommodate them mercifully. She considered using the assistant the tribunal had offered, but decided that she didn’t need the constant company of a potential competitor. She did make a few short visits to Eurydice, initially to just watch her and wonder what the black beauty had that she didn’t. She took solace in the fact that she saw her long-time associate, Aazaziel, was also spending time with the dark drop drawers. Throughout the eons of her experience with the chain smoker, she had never known him to do anyone any good.
His interest in Eurydice would at the worst be neutral to her
and at the best would help her place with Orpheus. She realized the contradiction in what she just thought. If Aazaziel was incapable of doing anyone any good, how could his schemes with Eurydice, even indirectly, do her any good? She was too busy to try to make any sense of what might be some insoluble eternal mystery and settled with the simple thought that maybe your enemy’s enemy is really not your best friend. This worked for a few minutes, until she realized that at the very least one would have to correctly identify an enemy and define the term. This sounded like a trap for a tribunal to fall into. She had always had the belief that Death was the only thing of perfection in the universe, but now she wondered if the word was spelled with a capital or a small D. Had falling in love destroyed the logic of her existence? She forgot the whole thing and went off to kill a few people.
Orpheus’ dad was both happy and tired. Even though he hadn’t been in the area long, he got flooded with orders for nails. The fires were burning day and night, as the last thing he wanted was to tell a brand new customer that they would have to wait. He got a new pile of iron delivered, for which he had to pay cash, due to his lack of history in the area. Orpheus was working all day, but insisted on reserving his early evenings for Eurydice. Mrs. Christopher kept hearing that everything was going well, but had her doubts. She couldn’t pay
Joe McCready for his milk and sat through a few dialogues about how Joe needed the money to feed poor Pokey, while having to behold the huge black iron deposit in the side yard. She spent the rest of the days nervously over-cleaning the house and cooking.
Orpheus and Eurydice had regular early evening picnics on the wetlands near the Hoosatonic. For a while they regularly went to the southeast side, preferring the thick mature vegetation. When the river flooded it was always in this direction, prompting an abundance of willows, oaks and poplars.
They could hide in the forest and cool off on a hot summer’s night swimming in the river.
During the day Eurydice was making all the necessary arrangements for the school’s opening set for September 15. As a consequence she was too tired to get very interested in the visits she was paid by Aazaziel. The first time he appeared in her room, she sensed a noise and opened one sleepy eye to see the short, sallow, smoking man looking through the drawers of the Queen Anne red mahogany highboy.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey, yourself,” he answered, not turning around, continuing to work his hands through her personal items.
“What do you want here?” she said forcefully.
“I want to talk to you.”
“Did you ever hear about making appointments?”
“That’s becoming something I’m hearing a lot lately.” He closed the drawer he was peeping in with a bang, turned and walked quickly to the bed. She sat up and put her long black legs on the floor. He said; “Don’t bother; I’m not the least bit interested.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“Beg someone else. I don’t grant any pardons.”
“I’m really starting to get annoyed with you. The first thing you’re going to do is put out that damn cigarette.”
He took another puff and blew it in her face.
“I’m going to scream and my father won’t have any problem handling a little jerk like you.”
“If you do, I'll just disappear before he gets here.”
“Put out that cigarette,” she said in a raised voice. He took another drag, popped the lit cigarette into his mouth and swallowed it.
“Bet you never saw that one before,” he grinned, apparently very satisfied with his maneuver.
She drolly countered; “I’ve seen geeks and sword swallowers before, at the circus with the other clowns.”
“Okay, this is getting tedious. Let me come right to the point. I like you and I’d like you to think of me as a friend.”
She cut him off, saying; “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that garbage?”
Unflustered, he continued; “Nonetheless, do you know how many girlfriends Orpheus had before you?”
“No, but I suppose you’re going to educate me.”
“Precisely. I know of eighteen and he left all of them.”
“So?” She recalled having had a few boyfriends before, herself.
“So, what do you think is the next thing he’s going to do with you?”
She took the question in a different direction by answering; “None of your business, little man.”
“He’s just playing with you, stupid girl. He just wants to see what black is like.”
“Maybe, I just want to see what white is like.”
“You want me to tell him you said that?”
“I don’t care. If he’s stupid enough to believe anything you say, he’s too stupid to keep my interest.”
“Damn earth people are getting so smart these days.” He moved his mouth around and made use of his tongue, producing the cigarette he had swallowed a few minutes prior, between his lips, took a drag, blew out the smoke through his nose, put his left forearm over his eyes and disappeared.
She was still tired, so she got back into bed to get more sleep. She thought; “Some devil could have been here, or I could have imagined him. Maybe I haven’t yet woken up and this whole thing was just a dream.” She slept easily, apparently nowhere near as scared of Aazaziel as she had been of the dark apparition she had not yet gotten a good look at.
Subsequent to Aazaziel’s unannounced visit to Eurydice, for the next two days, there were constant rains, at times heavy, produced by the intrusion of slow moving dark gray clouds. The sun was almost blocked and at times, it was difficult to tell day from night. Everyone except the wildly in love couple spent maximum time indoors at their house, barn, church, or school.
Orpheus and Eurydice didn’t mind getting wet in the warm weather.
Toward the end of the second day a western wind cleared the evening sky, just as the sun made a reluctant descent, encircled by a light purple halo. Rainbows seemed to appear and disappear in places somewhere over the river. Orpheus broke from the long day’s toil, cleaned up and walked west to Eurydice’s house. The dirt road was muddy, making for slow going, but Orpheus prevailed. He thought; “I haven’t seen an evening sun for two days. Looking at it again will only enhance my mood,” as he walked carefully to avoid falling on the soft mucky surface. He didn’t want to show up covered in mud.
The breeze encountered on the cool summer evening was a nice temporary break from the season’s heat. This year was particularly tiring for him, since the incandescence seemed to be exacerbated by his regular proximity to fires of various sorts.
His legs went out from under him before he crossed the bridge, negating his efforts to stay clean in one big splash.
He kept on and noticed that after crossing the bridge that on the Housatonic’s northwest side the path became firmer, but of slippery slate. He again took his time walking, as a slip on the gray tiled surface could result in serious injury, not just mud. He thought that tonight might be the right time to picnic in the less foliated, dryer, northern region.
Roscoe Wadley popped out his east side two room shack, smoking the cigarette he had just rolled. He was very black, tiny and wrinkled, maybe sixty years old. No one knew for sure, including Roscoe, himself. He had shown up in Sudbury about thirty years prior. When directly asked, back then, where he came from, he would just smile and say; “Here and there.”
He looked at the cleared sky with disappointment showing in his expression. He muttered; “Now they’re going to be back here recruiting more church goers.” He saw that as a threat to his economic well-being, as his Jamaican accent and unknown back-
ground led him easily into the position of local herbsman. His way of speaking, that often made no sense, even sometimes to Roscoe himself, gave him the status of a mystic and spiritual healer in the community. He had been accepting enough offerings for his medicines, which he referred to as sacraments, not to have to think about money for years. Now, it looked like he was going to be challenged and tested by Christian voodoo in very proper and efficient attire. It irked him that after all the
“work” he had done over the past thirty years that at this age, when he had been expecting to be sitting on his rocking chair watching the world go by, “missionaries” of organized, corrupt religion would invade his territory. He cursed the sun, went back inside and looked through the cabinet which contained his tools of the trade, thinking “What God has united, me and my people, let no man or preacher of all things, put asunder.”
He was still perturbed with things on Sunday. He was up early enough to watch the entirety of the parade. Wagons, horses and shoes beat the soft earth down. He saw his old friend Elvira in her best deep blue dress, with her three kids.
He thought that their posture was bubbly and confident and that pushed his annoyance level into the red zone. He yelled out;
“Elvira, what for you so damn happy?”
She stopped in her tracks, watched him walking over and said; “Still the same old minister of joy, I see, Roscoe.”
“There’s nothin’ wrong wit me, girl. I just get sorry to see my old friends wasting their time.”
She put her left hand on her hip and shifted a bit, drawing Roscoe’s attention and said; “It’s my time to waste, not yours.”
Roscoe wasn’t sure if it was out of intellectual exhaustion or being distracted, but for one of the few times in his life, he had nothing to say. He just stood still and watched Elvira continue her swaying journey. When she was about twenty feet away, she stamped her foot and turned around with both hands on her hips. She said; “You should know that I don’t give a damn about the lousy church. But, I’ll do whatever it takes to get these kids an education.”
He slowly walked back to his shack, no longer annoyed. He didn’t feel happy, either, so he went through his magic books to see if he could find something to do about it.
Orpheus cleaned himself up a bit. The mud he got on his face, hands and clothes dried enough that he could brush away the large chunks, only retaining brown smears. Eurydice was looking out her window and saw him coming. She greeted him at the open front door with, “What the hell happened to you?”
He stuck out his tongue and mumbled; “I fell in the mud, obviously.”
She laughed, putting her hands on the flesh just above her knees and said; “Oh, I was afraid you were trying to darken your color.”
“Don’t most white people do exactly that?”
She laughed again; “Yes, especially the guys. So, I lighten my color and it really confuses them. It keeps me amused.” She felt no need to explain to him that she was referring to attitude rather than physicality, as she correctly knew he would understand. “Hey, let’s not waste our time here.
I’ll go throw some food and wine in a basket and let’s go on our picnic.” He waited at the door as she did precisely that, came back, took his right arm with her left and led him down the garden path, out to the road.
He said; “Let’s do something different today.”
“What?”
“It’s very muddy on the other side of the bridge. Let’s use this side for a change.”
“Okay, I’ll follow your lead. I don't know the area at all.”
“I’m not so sure I know it all that well either. But, I’m pretty sure we’ll get through all right. If we accidently trespass, we’ll apologize and ask for directions.”
Fifty year old Obadiah Armstrong was gazing out the kitchen window of his two story Federal colonial, probably built sometime around his birth. White clapboard and dark green shutters adorned the high styled nine room structure.
He said; “Helen, would you come look at this?”
His wife joined him at the “bullet glass” window and slowly said; “Oh, my God,” when she saw Orpheus and Eurydice, holding hands, running through their field. It wasn’t currently under cultivation, as the farmer, who used to lease and operate the corn operation, quit and retired two years ago. Two years’ weed growth was in evidence.
“No sense in chasing them,” he said, paused and added; “At the rate they’re moving they’ll be out of here before I get my pants on.” He was wearing the fashionable bulky, white leggings sometimes called long johns. His blue outerwear hung in an upstairs bedroom Chippendale kas.
Helen said; “Well, I hope somebody tells them something.”
They just continued to stare at the “odd” couple until they passed into the miniscule thicket of willows, which separated the Armstrongs from their northern neighbors whose property was meticulously maintained.
He shook his old, tired, white head and added; “For some reason I just know that someone will.”
Orpheus and Eurydice kept going, trying to find a spot with a grove trees near the river, foolishly thinking of possible privacy. What they kept seeing was more barren farmland just like the Armstrongs’. What they didn’t see were the four eyes peering out of each house. Their presence produced a slow shaking of countless heads.
The lovers settled on a spot. They found one where the land was five feet above the river and there was a thick congregation of willows, one weeping.
After they settled in Orpheus said; “What kind of weird conversation can we get going today?”
“I don't know. I don’t think we ever plan them, they just happen naturally.”
He opened the wine bottle and took a slug.
Elevating her voice, she said; “Use a glass.”
“Okay, okay.” He handed her the bottle which she furiously rubbed with her hand holding a white rag. He rolled his eyes, affected the posture of one who sees all and said; “I’m going to tell you what I see behind you.” He looked at her face, with hair illuminated by the declining crimson sun at her rear. The radiance in his eyes precluded the clarity he feigned. He could only see shadows of her nose and lips, but he got a full view of her bright, contemplative brown eyes.
He jokingly started with; “Behind you is the colorful end of the day, maybe yours.” She gave him a stern look. He continued; “It’s a beautiful end and the blue skies mourn their retreat into darkness, wishing they could follow the sun. The crimson horizon is taking its last gasp.” She broke into a smile and Orpheus said; “Look, one part is trying now.” She turned around to see and he leaped on the giggling girl, who then spilled the wine. Prurient palaces pried and probed producing plentiful, puddling, pasty pap.
The following day, the owners of the prosperous northern gentleman’s farms were busy holding impromptu meetings over their back and side fences. They agreed that some type of law and order had to be established. The children must be considered. Of course, their grown children had moved away years ago, but no one pointed that out. They decided that some kind of action had to be taken, so they hired an armed guard.
They got an eighteen year old black man from across the river named Benedict Sebastian. He was glad to have the easy job.
His instructions were to occupy the northern end of the river twelve hours a day, carrying a shotgun, intercept any trespassers and give them a lecture about the nature of private property, which was written for him on papers he would carry in his uniform shirt’s pocket.
He felt important, as a trusted “friend” of the ruling class and started to feel more at home on the job, than he did at his own home. He was aware that the probable real purpose of this temporary job was to intimidate Orpheus and Eurydice. At least he was so informed by a number of his eastern section neighbors, when he appeared on his high horse. While he considered the comments to have been prompted by jealousy, he put enough credence in the possibility of his job ending if he scared the couple away, that he decided that if he did see Orpheus and Eurydice coming he would hide from them.
He really didn’t like what he saw as the audacity of the couple. They at least should try not to be so conspicuous. The feeling was shared by many on both sides of the river, though when on the “job” he often daydreamed about finding a not so nice northern white girl to keep him company.
Chapter 6- Futile Assuagement Offerings to the Lame and Flowers Forbidden
Both sets of parents became aware of the predominantly negative feelings residents had on both sides of Sudbury.
Though they personally didn’t voice any objections, they could have possibly been convinced that the liaison would, as most, quickly burn out. That would make things easy for all concerned, as together Orpheus and Eurydice were unwittingly becoming symbols of the festering racial tension, still in its infancy in Sudbury. Oddly, the pairing suggested to no one the possibility of getting along, but rather served as a picture of the problem. What no one considered was the possibility that, rather than a racial outrage, the sentiments of the burghers, might be a larger subliminal statement; the rejection of anything their limited and sequestered experience deemed unconventional or forbidden. The couple, oblivious to and disinterested in the mental failings of others, reveled in the exciting unconventional and forbidden and continued to have almost daily picnics on both sides of the Hoosatonic, probably picking up a few new critics every day. They were so engrossed in each other they were blind to everything else.
Periodically the parents re-iterated their warnings about their not likely having an easy life, which went in one ear and
out the other, if it ever made it to the first deaf ear at all.
Economic tides showed signs of turning, as the growing church enrollment flattened out and started to actually decline, while the nail business trickled as slowly as an inlet on the eastern shore.
It was September tenth, five days before the official opening of school, when a steady cold northern wind ushered in an early fall. Picnics now required the fortification of heavier clothes and jackets and endeavoring to keep somewhat in motion in a precious and elusive sunny spot. Leaves started to fall, leaving the lovers in better view of their disgruntled audience, which expanded. But watchdog Benedict always said he was elsewhere during the time the duo invaded the northern shoreline, when in actuality he hid and watched, entertaining thoughts too numerous and confused for him to get bored with his status job.
The Pauls and the Christophers both, independently, came up with the same idea. Business was suffering and Orpheus and Eurydice showed no signs of letting up. Maybe some miracle would happen if the salt and pepper couple were legally married.
Maybe the world, or at least the world of Sudbury, would recognize the validity of an official, legal and church sanctioning of the messy affair. The frolicsome, deluded duo didn’t have any particular feeling about obtaining legal
documented status. If it would make their parents happy, it was all right with them.
Quick arrangements were made and though an open invitation was conveyed to the entire town, only those few with a direct, necessary interest in the matter converged on the church the morning of September 12. Reverend James Paul performed the ceremony. Orpheus’ father acted as best man and Ruth gave away the bride. To initiate the outdoor ceremony, Orpheus and Eurydice walked down the garden path, an idea prompted in an effort to maximize the number of viewers, in hope of capturing the window watching set. Two-thirds of the hidden sky was covered with dark gray circular, bulbous and booming clouds, which at the very least threatened rain and seemed capable of producing hail and tornadoes. The red rose bushes which lined the path looked as if they could use a drink. Things went as expected. Orpheus felt odder than usual dressed in a dark blue suit, white shirt and tie, while Eurydice evinced no dis-ease in a simple light blue dress.
The rest of the audience consisted only of Orpheus’ mother, who sat on an old ladder back chair, next to the two witnesses, Hermes Jackson and Aphrodite Cornwall. The somber faced 40 year old black man from the east side held hands between the chairs, with the 45 year old northern white woman, whose face radiated, providing the best light of the morning. Orpheus and Eurydice
stood with their backs to the diminutive audience, faced by her reverend father, who stood behind a wooden podium, which supported an open Bible. The two were distracted by the cannons rumbling and kept looking at the sky, trying to find its source, to no avail. Eurydice thought; “I really hope it doesn’t rain.
It’s too cool a morning to get drenched.”
The most memorable part of the event for Orpheus was when he had to parrot back the words; “Until death do us part.”
Taking more meaning than others from that phrase, he gave a concerned look to Eurydice, who, at that moment, was searching the sky for some unknown assailant.
Business done, papers were issued to the couple. The handwriting was that of “God’s representative on earth,” who remained at the podium, making duplicates, triplicates, quadruplicates and on for filing in the appropriate places.
As Orpheus and Eurydice left, walking back down the same path with their eyes on the turbulent sky, Hermes looked straight into their faces and stoically said; “Chains of leather, chains of gold.” Aphrodite squeezed his hand, smiled at the duo and added; “Something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue.” The new husband and wife had their own thoughts at the moment, smiled and kept going. The angry, booming sky strongly suggested a day spent indoors, so they decided to pay a call on Lettie.
As they walked, their eyes alternated between the uneven ground and the insistent, coarse “heavens.” When they got to Orpheus’ house, he took her inside, wanting to change out of the suit which felt very bulky and unnatural to him. While he removed his costume they had a mid-morning brunch with juice, partaking of the perfect pageantry provided.
They left and after walking just the least bit, a downpour started soaking them. It became difficult to look up, so they watched their feet sink in the mud. They did not see anyone on the road and didn’t notice any kind of activity near Lettie’s house. She said; “I just realized something. I’m no longer Eurydice Paul. I’m Eurydice Christopher,” the water streaming down her face.
No doubt having the perception without the attendant surprise, he nonchalantly said; “Yeah, so?”
She raised her voice a trifle; “So? So names are important and all of a sudden I’ve got a different one.”
He teasingly said; “Maybe you’ve changed. Maybe you’ve evolved,” as the water ran off his matted hair into his mouth, making him choke and laugh.
“I’m being serious. There could be implications here that neither of us ever considered. I was a Paul and now I’m a Christopher. Is that an evolution or a de-evolution?”
He saw her troubled, pensive face, put his arms around her waist, leaned forward and kissed it five times and then planted a long sixth on the lips. He continued to hold her and said;
“You’ll always be the same thing to me; perfection.”
Lettie’s property still showed no sign of life excepting the wooden rain barrel, which groaned and cracked open, the water finally pushing its way through its confines, producing a warm torrent. They laughed and ran to the door. They saw an eye in the peephole. The door opened slightly and a middle-aged black man’s head with burning dark eyes looked at them.
Eurydice said; “Malcolm?”
With an air of annoyance the head said; “Yes, Malcolm. How do you know my name?”
Eurydice pertly answered; “Lettie told me, what do you think?”
Malcolm’s head furrowed its brows and calmly said; “I think it best for you two to find another sanctuary.” The couple stood there in the torrential rain, not really caring, as they couldn’t possibly get any wetter and the water felt pleasant, being warmer than the air.
Orpheus disgustedly registered his opinion and said; “Look, grandpa, we didn’t intend to have the pleasure of your company all day. Can we just say hello to Lettie?”
Malcolm glared at Orpheus a few seconds and then called out; “Lettie, you got company.”
Momentarily Lettie’s head replaced Malcolm’s in the door slot. She was surprised to see them and said; “I thought you two were getting married today.”
Eurydice said; “We already did that.”
Lettie opened the door widely to show that her 200 pound chocolate body was covered only in a thin white robe, somewhat tied around her waist. She said; “Get in here, what in hell are you standing out there for?”
Malcolm moved his thin dark body with its attendant shorts to the bedroom door and said; “You got ten minutes.” He closed the door behind him.
Lettie said; “Come on in. Come on in. Don’t mind that cranky old man. He’s never here and when he does decide to show up, he thinks he owns the place.” They followed her wide berth to the kitchen table and the three sat down. Lettie said;
“Congratulations.” She paused, then added; “I guess. So, how does it feel to be married?”
Orpheus said; “I don't know. I don’t think it has sunk in yet.”
Eurydice said; “Weird. I’m trying to find some sense about changing my name.”
Orpheus made a clucking sound with his tongue and said;
“Oh, not that again.”
Eurydice put her hand on his thigh and said; “It’s okay, baby, it’s just something new and I’m not yet settled with it.”
She turned to Lettie and said; “I used to be Eurydice Paul, EP.
Now I’m Eurydice Christopher, EC. In fact, if you put Mrs. In front of it, I’m MEC.”
Lettie said; “All you got to do is find a CA. You’re on your way to Mecca, the way I see it.”
Eurydice said; “Where do they keep CA’s?”
Lettie said; “I don't know. Maybe somewhere on the west coast.” They heard a thump. Malcolm might have knocked something down. The three looked in the direction of the door and Lettie said; “I better get in there before he leaves me with a week’s worth of repairs. But, hear me. I like you both, so I want you to know this. Every once in a while forget about yourselves and look at the real situation.” She pointed out the window at the sky and continued; “The rumblings are already turning into hard rain in the east, west, north and south on both sides of the river.” She stood up, retying her loose robe and before joining Malcolm said; “You can stay here until it lets up.”
Orpheus and Eurydice, now alone in the kitchen, listened to the droplets pound on the roof and run off of it in crashing
waves. Eurydice said; “I feel funny sitting alone in somebody else’s house.”
Orpheus said; “Me, too. Let’s go. We’re already drenched, anyway, so let’s go get another warm soaking.”
They bravely re-entered the muddy fields and road.
Slipping around in the deep mud, they took off their shoes, finding it easier to navigate in bare feet.
Benedict Sebastian got sent home from work early due to the weather. He walked down the road proudly displaying his shotgun and the snazzy new uniform his employers had bestowed upon him.
He particularly loved the pleated red jacket covered with gold leafed buttons and medallions. It made him think of a well decorated founding father. The colors were so loud and bright that he knew he was noticed and respected everywhere.
Walking away from any possible mecca, Orpheus and Eurydice were going back to her father’s house, church and school, when they spotted Ben coming toward them. The sly grin on his proud face backed up by the shotgun carried in his left hand, was intimidating. Orpheus got in front of her and they crisscrossed him in single file. Everyone’s clothes were now soaked to the skin. The couple got back alongside each other and turned to look at the protector of the rich white man’s domain, who also had turned back to look at them, or maybe he just wanted another
look at the wet woman. He blew her a kiss, smirking with squinted eyes and continued on his way.
Orpheus said; “Doesn’t that jerk know that he’s getting paid peanuts to protect his master’s prestige and property? He acts like it’s his.”
“Don’t you ever see that situation in your own people?”
“What people is that?”
“The privileged whites.”
“I guess I never noticed having the privileges some people think whites have. You have more in common with them than I do.”
She stopped, got in front of him and took his hand. She looked warmly into his eyes and said; “You have no idea how special you are.”
“As long as I’m special to you, that’s enough for me.”
They kissed, but both felt the trepidation some others were trying to instill in them for a while now, it’s first success generated by the armed protector of the rich white way. They reached her home. Instead of going into the fine house of her father, though belonging to the league of Christianity, dripping wet, they stopped in the empty church, got on their knees and prayed, neither of them knowing to who or what the thanks, praises and pleas would go. Probably to prosperous participants playing pugilistic plans on the paralytic. They knew that they had identical pumping red hearts. He whispered to her, “They’re
so smart; they can detect our skin colors. I guess it takes a god to see a heart rendezvous.”
“You called,” said Aazaziel, appearing in front of them.
He bowed at the waist. “At your service.”
They stood up to see his sallow face more yellow than heretofore noticed, excepting the parts where blotches of rouge still clung to the slimy=looking surface. His heavy black shirt and pants were covered with leather, gold and rusted dog chains.
Eurydice grimaced and said; “Repella, get out of here.”
Aazaziel dourly said; “The name is Aazaziel, my pretty lady.” His beady eyes focused on her middle, fascinated by the view afforded by the wet dress pasted on her wide hips.
Orpheus squinted when he looked at Eurydice and said; “You know this jerk?”
Eurydice deadpanned; “Yeah, lucky me. You, too?”
Orpheus said; “I wouldn’t use the word know. I’ve met him.”
Eurydice said; “Better word. I stand corrected.”
Aazaziel said; “Glad to see preliminaries are out of the way.
Now, my good friends, make my day and let me be of service.”
Orpheus sarcastically said; “Let me have one of your rusted chains. I’m trying to be fashionable, lately.”
Eurydice chuckled and said; “Me, too.”
Happy that they asked for something, but surprised at the desired objects, Aazaziel unfastened two rusted chains and handed them to the couple. They helped each other refasten them around their right wrists. They walked out of the church followed by the rattling one, to see that the rain had stopped and the sun was making its presence known. Orpheus grabbed the chain with his left hand and pulled. It broke and fell to the ground. Eurydice did the same, leaving two shattered articles of fashion half buried in the sunlit mud.
“Fashion statement?” queried Aazaziel.
Orpheus said; “Maybe not yours, but ours.” He looked at Eurydice who was nodding yes and smiling at him.
Aazaziel shrugged his shoulders and said; “I can replace them. More are being made every day.” He vanished.
Orpheus entered his bedroom later that evening, to behold a livid Death waiting for him. She occupied a light blue upholstered Queen Anne wing chair, her black skirt much higher than usual and her leather boots sat on the floor to the chair’s left. She said; “O, you’re really testing my patience. Let me remind you who I am and what I can do.” She pointed a long finger out the open window and six sparrows dropped from the sky.
His eyes popped wide open and he implored; “What did I do?
What did they do?”
“Don’t act stupid with me. You had to go and marry her?
It wasn’t bad enough to be with her?”
“It wasn’t my idea and it wasn’t hers either. What difference does it make?”
“What difference?” she screamed. “Papers are now filed all over the place, documenting that you two are an item.”
“It doesn’t change anything, D. We’re all still the same.”
His eyes started at her feet and slowly worked their way up.
“My world is ruled by papers and so is yours, if you’d pay any real attention to it.” Her left hand rubbed the inside of her thigh.
He said; “I see things a lot more interesting than papers.”
Protestors prorated public priorities.
A few minutes after she left, D’s anger resurfaced. She thought; “That damn Eurydice and her family are orchestrating this. But, why? What do they want? What will they do next?”
She had no idea. When she pondered unknowns in the past she would resort to her standard analysis and gauge the economic benefits to the participants. Unfortunately, this time that approach also led her nowhere, as she failed to consider the institutionalized church as a profit hungry, image conscious
enterprise. She further reflected; “If there was any possible benefit to anyone that would be Orpheus. Her family seemed to possess the bulk of the assets, but they were most likely the legal property of the church James worked for.” She hated it, when her calculations led to no solution. She decided to visit the “ebony princess.”
Eurydice was already asleep when Death arrived. She was writhing around slowly on the bed. She must have kicked off her covers and Death could see tons of curvy black flesh under Eurydice’s short sheer nightgown. She was jealous and thought of her own more angular white body. She raised her hand and pointed a finger at the wingless sparrow. She stopped. She realized that she probably was acting with emotion, always a bad idea. She remembered that Orpheus might never forgive her. She wished she had a finer tuned power, but she was limited to black and white, able only, to turn the switch off, or to leave it on.
She could turn the switch off for both Eurydice and Orpheus and take him as a slave, but that’s not the way she wanted things.
Eurydice’s pleasant dream of eternal sunlit picnics at the river with Orpheus segued into a vague sense of grey covered trepidation. She looked at him and he had the same wrinkled brow. They looked into each other’s fearful eyes, while they were shadowed by four flocks of 100 swallows flying back and forth in seeming panic. They looked at the sky and saw slow
circling hawks to the north, south, east and west. Eurydice felt herself pierce the sky and fly home alone. She went through the open second floor window to her bedroom. She lay down in bed and pulled the covers over her head. She felt them pulled down, revealing her dark curves to an intruder. Death’s black outfit was half unbuttoned and she stared enviously at the woman in bed. Eurydice sat up and said; “Who are you? What do you want?” Death’s ashen white face stared blankly. She opened her mouth and out came a six inch bright red curled tongue, reminiscent of a serpent’s. Death chuckled; “I do have my lizard qualities, you know.” She got on her hands and knees and crawled under the bed. Eurydice was afraid to get out of bed, fearing some sort of attack. So she stayed on the cushioned rest place. After a few minutes of silence she dangled over the edge, put her hands on the floor and lowered her head to the ground to look under the bed. A tongue licked softly and wetly all over her face, then disappeared as Eurydice’s legs fell to the wooden planked floor.
Chapter 7- Rumors of War and Passionate Conscription Avoidant Behavior
James and Ruth Paul anticipated the September 15 school opening day with both hope and fear. They had prepared and canvassed the town to the point of exhaustion. On opening Monday the greeting duo of Pauls and a now new duo of Orpheus and Eurydice Christophers stood in front of the wide cedar door.
Mothers trudged down the rose lined path with youngsters in tow.
Some of the children were agitated and jumped all over the place. Others were calm, silent and staring with wide eyes as they held their mothers’ hands. Still others shuffled their feet as slowly as they possibly could, leaned back toward their homes and seemed to hope for a last minute reprieve.
Roscoe stood in front of the neighboring house to the east, ranting. “What for anybody want this ras klaat? You want the babies to learn what great men were Columbus, Morgan and Lafitte?” He whirled like a dervish passing in front of many in the procession.
The residents of the house he was in front of watched the whole scene with their own form of fear and anticipation. They were less than enthused to see the black caravan for the second consecutive day. They also wished that Roscoe would find another place to register his strong opinions. They didn’t know
exactly what he was saying, but it sounded as if he liked the school as much as they did. They quietly watched, very interested in future developments.
The parents, leading their children, through the chilly, forty degree morning, evinced either annoyance or boredom toward Roscoe, adamantly doing their best to whisk their kids around him. The kids were generally amused. Some pointed and watched his fervent and passionate dance, not knowing that he possibly had a stronger self-interest than a children-interest. Parents knew the score.
When he crossed in front of her, Elvira said loudly and sternly; “Roscoe, you so damn ignorant. These kids have to learn some things you don’t know anything about, like how to read and write.”
Roscoe planned for and was waiting for this interchange in front of an audience. He stopped his whirling, confronted Elvira and said loudly, to a now stationary audience; “You want the kids know the winner’s version of history and religion?”
Elvira repeated her previous winning line calmly and confidently; “I want them to get a diploma they can take to Boston and make something of themselves.”
Roscoe raised his voice a notch and said; “What you know about Boston, bush girl? Better they stay here and learn how to farm or fix tractors.”
Elvira was embarrassed as she had been a country girl all her life, not even visiting any big city and consequently was silent.
Roscoe continued; “How much you pay them parasites to give the kids useless information and lies?”
He was on a roll and many of the mothers saw things his way and turned back, looking at Elvira as if she were some kind of fool.
The net result of this was that no one was happy. Roscoe wanted everyone to turn back and was disappointed. The Pauls shared the sorrow, having optimistically hoped for twice the actual attendance. The white west siders had grudgingly learned to tolerate the Sunday march of black feet and now saw that, at least to some degree, this would now be a daily event. They considered the constant invasion obviously conducive to commotion and potential riots.
The positions were solidified when a pair of wagons passed through town a week later, on their way from Boston to Julep, Mississippi. The carriages were of plain planked horizontal wood, interrupted only by the iron barred windows and the red tin roof. The drivers stopped at a west side inn to clean up and get some good food and drink. Three went in and one kept his seat holding a rifle, ready to shoot.
Inside, the three skinny, unshaved for weeks and consequently scraggly bearded, smelly and raucous men got to talking to the proprietors and patrons, whether they liked it or not. The Mississippians shook their heads in amazement after a few whiskey shots, when they heard about the black school and the “concerns” in this part of town.
Lemuel said; “We know how to treat our niggers down home, I’ll tell you. Come on outside. I’ll show you something.”
Five hundred feet away, school had just let out. The kids and their parents were curious about the strangers and their cargo. The nervous homeowners were all watching out their windows as they saw the undesired procession on its way.
Lemuel called out; “Randy, get the irons off of Mary Lee.”
Randy got up from his shotgun seat, did as he was told and unlocked the back door of the rear wagon.
Lemuel laughingly said; “Mary Lee. Come on out here, girl.
You have a few gentlemen callers.” Randy pushed her out the door and held her bound hands, guiding her down the three steps to the ground.
The naked light brown skinned beauty was embarrassed and twisted in different directions trying to cover up, to no avail.
Lemuel temporarily took his eyes off her ass and chastised;
“That’s no kind of dance, girl. You can do a whole lot better
than that.” When she hesitated, he took out a pistol and fired it into the ground six inches from her bare feet.
She started to bump and grind with her still bound hands held above her head. Lemuel entertained the crowd when he leered and said; “She’s my favorite.” His three partners laughed. He surveyed the multitude, grinned and said; “Any of you white boys interested?”
Some had more than a smattering of interest but didn’t want to be the first to say so. As a consequence they just nervously looked at each other, with facial expressions they did their best to mute.
Lemuel smirked, put his hand on her ass and said; “Okay, Mary Lee, nice. Go back in and join your friends. I’ll see you later.” He then said to the crowd in general; “Anybody who wants to look at the others, feel free.” He moved two boxes under the barred windows and the people got a view of sixteen nude chained and shackled slaves, sitting on the floor, leaning up against the wagon walls, eight male and eight female, all with their heads down.
It took at least an hour for Lemuel and company to get back on the road as every white person around chose to make lengthy observations, as did some of the curious black school children and their parents. It was quite a show in “free” Massachusetts.
The positions took stronger hold, but no changes of any substance took place during the ensuing month. The watchers watched the other watchers, all presently content to bemoan the current state of Sudbury. On October 15, some decisions were made. Up until now Orpheus and Eurydice maintained their separate residences and saw each other outside, for the most part. James Paul’s active and desperate mind had been working.
Fall had completely set in and the outdoors was intolerably cold at times. The trees were now completely defoliated and the couple could feel eyes on them, whichever side of the river they occupied. They tried going south, to town, where the commercial enterprises and eateries afforded shelter from the elements at a price. While the business owners were accustomed to taking money from people, black or white, the mixture of the two was disturbing, though they said nothing and hoped that the bad feelings others had about the two wouldn’t rub off on their cash registers. “Separate but equal” rules were assuaged when the couple used the black side, at least no one pointed out any violation. They were not met with any open antagonism, but took the hint, when they saw the pattern consistently and clearly.
Whenever they engaged someone in conversation, they always picked a person who just had to go do some compelling chore that very moment, excusing themselves, some politely and some not.
They weren’t overly discouraged as the lack of other stimulation
resulted in more time available to prospect prosperous paths perusing plentiful possibilities.
The town book store proved to be a haven, as it had little patronage and the owner, a French woman in her 50s, didn’t mind the company. She managed a living by selling legal books to local lawyers and she hoped this would be the time for Americans to get interested in European literature, with little success to date. Orpheus and Eurydice had a particular interest in “Jude the Obscure.” The book store owner told them that this was the fifth book of a successful author and his last. Everyone thought it was horrendous, much too bleak. Annoyed at the reaction, the author never wrote another. The couple was particularly surprised to learn that, as they did not find the insightful book any more upsetting then day to day life.
Eurydice said to the French owner; “I know a lot of black people who could have told this story,” and didn’t get any verbal reply, only a sigh, a mildly shaking head and a shrug.
After the delivery of the early cold it was one of those windless falls. The sky kept getting grayer as the chimney smoke wasn’t being cleared out and just seemed to accumulate slowly, day by day. The lack of rain had some people concerned, as the dried out fallen leaves accumulated. All somebody needed was a hot match in the wrong place.
The status remained the quo for the residents of Sudbury.
Everyone was somewhat uneasy, annoyed, worried and still.
Aazaziel’s nervous temperament couldn’t tolerate it anymore.
Something had to be done and he knew exactly what. He was livid that no human had yet taken action, so he went to see his old pal, Roscoe.
He showed up wearing black pants and white shirt. Sitting on a chair, which he had precariously leaned against the wall, Roscoe calmly said; “Where’s the artwork today?”
“I’ve lost all my inspiration watching you guys sit around here. History is calling, dammit.” He stopped speaking to take a few cigarette puffs.
Roscoe said; “I’ve been thinking about some things, but I don’t want to get put in jail.”
Aazaziel derisively replied; “You’re not going to get put in jail, if you do what everybody wants done.” When he again confirmed that Roscoe was not bright enough to pick up on the lie, he continued; “When church school lets out, send a few of your young non-school customers around for a short while.”
Roscoe saw the brilliance of the plan, made no response, but made the necessary arrangements. Roscoe’s young devotees were waiting when school let out and walked back east with the troop. They spoke loudly and used words the whites didn’t want to hear. They carried sticks and smacked them on the fences,
breaking a few rails. No one got the least bit hurt, at least not physically, but the story spread through the white part of town, increasing in severity with each telling, until the people distilled it into two words: “Race riot.”
Orpheus and Eurydice enjoyed an encouraging period. They had a new French friend and with the attention of the multitudes centered on concerns for the children and property, their treatment improved from hostility, mild insults and vigorous avoidance to one of benign neglect. This short lived paradise was ended, unsurprisingly, by an official representative of God.
One dark evening Reverend Paul told Eurydice that he would like to have a serious talk with her after dinner. They retreated to the patrician sitting room. Over the burning fireplace hung an oil painting of a revolutionary soldier alone in the woods. They each chose their favorite Heppelwhite wing chair and faced each other. The dominating upholstery was a light blue and red flower pattern on a light green background in her case and a simple pale yellow, green and brown striped pattern in his.
He held up his hands in front of his chest and said; “Now, don’t get upset until you hear the whole thing.”
Now, expecting something worthy of advanced trepidation, she braced for news very serious and just solemnly nodded at him.
“I’m going to publically disown you and you’ll have to move out of here.”
Her eyes bulged and Eurydice said; “I’m definitely upset if that’s the whole story.”
James again held up his hands defensively and calmly said;
“No, it’s not. I won’t really disown you and I’ll continue to support you the best I can. Maybe you can move in with your husband, or is that too traditional to interest you?”
She just looked at him, trying to absorb all the changes and implications that such a move would require. Her mind raced between the mechanics, the subterfuge she loathed him for, the vagary of continued support and the value judgment concerning
“norms.” She was overwhelmed and failed to come up with any intelligent response, then decided that one was not necessary as this was presented to her as a fait accompli.
He continued; “I love you, baby. You’ll always be my little girl. But the church and school are failing miserably and the financial head of the archdiocese visited and basically said that if things don’t get a whole lot better quickly, it’s the end of them.”
She indignantly said; “So you think my being with a white guy is repugnant to many of your good church goers?”
He shrugged his shoulders and firmly said; “Look, baby.
I’m not going to try to stand in the way of your happiness, but that same happiness may well be making this operation into a pariah.”
Eurydice replied, showing her anger; “It always comes down to money, doesn’t it? All your attention goes to it and it obviously doesn’t do you any good as you can’t even support yourself, never mind me.”
“I could answer that a number of ways, but I’ll tell you this once. I don’t make the rules and I have no intention of going back to Boston to light candles and clean the altar.”
She deadpanned, her eyes on the ceiling; “When do I have to be out of here?”
“Don’t be like that. Take your time, but make it soon.”
Eurydice said; “That makes as much sense as most of the things you say.” She got up and in a bit of a daze, she walked to Orpheus’ house, oblivious of her appearance and surroundings.
When she got there, Orpheus was putting his pots back in the barn. She could see that the selection was much wider and she supposed that sales hadn’t been blockbuster for weeks.
He stood up, surprised to see her. He jokingly said; “Oh, it’s you. I was hoping for a customer.”
She said; “Some joke. Another asshole more concerned with money than me. I just got thrown out of my house and I need a place to stay.” She started to cry.
He went to her and put his arms around her waist. He looked into her eyes and said; “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I didn’t know. That was a pitiful attempt at humor. You’re everything to me.” A vision of Death in a short skirt flashed in his mind. He added; “Thrown out? What Happened?”
Her tears subsided, replaced by anger and she said; “Well, kind of. I do have to make other arrangements. That hypocrite father of mine thinks that you and I are screwing up the financial well-being of his coin operated altar. She laughed, looked at him provocatively, caressed his pudenda and with feigned shyness, asked; “Would you mind having me all day, hubby?”
“When you put it that way, I’ve got no questions. Let’s go in and talk to my mom.” He kissed her cheek, took her hand and led her inside, where his mom was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking something out of a pewter mug.
Orpheus said; “Mom.” She turned his way. “Eurydice is here.” They took seats at the table.
Mom nodded and with no inflection said; “Hi.”
Orpheus excitedly continued; “Can Eurydice stay here?”
Mom was startled and flatly said; “No, you’ve got to be kidding.” She looked at Eurydice with soft eyes and gently added; “No offense. You know what’s been going on.”
Eurydice took the statement to have similar meaning as her father’s and considered saying something similar to what she said to him, but remembered that it was a losing argument and that it should be Orpheus’ job to deal with his family. So she just dismissively waved her hand across her stomach and replied;
“Yeah, I know. It’s crazier than ever.” She looked at Orpheus.
He was surprised at the parental rejection, recovered and implored; “Mom! You don’t understand. Eurydice has been thrown out of her house!”
Rather than repeating herself or saying anything of substance, Mom preferred to get off the main point onto a useless informational tangent. She turned to Eurydice and with a face dripping of pity and concern said; “Thrown out of your house? What happened? This can’t be a permanent state of affairs. They’ll change their minds.”
Eurydice decided that continuing this tedious conversation would be of no use and flatly answered; “Yes. I was told to leave. Yes, it can. No, they won’t.”
Eurydice saw Mom’s fluttering eyelashes and thought that her response may have been considered surly. In an attempt to
correct this, she continued; “Their business is awful. So is yours, right?”
Mom said; “Worse than we could ever have imagined.” She pointed at Orpheus and added; “His father is in the backyard taking another survey of the un-moving iron pile and his pots sit in the barn or at roadside attracting no buyers.”
Eurydice shrugged and said; “That’s basically why I’m here.
Same garbage all over. It’s perversely humorous to think that Orpheus and I are fouling up everyone’s life.”
Mom said; “Oh, don’t ever think that. It’s the church and school, themselves. It’s the race riots. It’s the attitudes of people, considering the situations they are not prepared for.
You two are merely the crystallization of all of that, right in front of their eyes and burned into their brains.”
Eurydice thought it was fruitless and unproductive to point out the contradiction of blaming other people, thereby exonerating one’s self by implication and then acting the same way the others act, thinking they’re fooling someone voicing platitudes. Maybe they need to fool themselves.
Orpheus had the lifelong experience of hearing this tap dance. Once his mother got into her modus operandi he knew it was useless to continue pursuit. To do so would only result in him being judged as rude. Still, Orpheus thought that his Mom was one of the best, so he learned to sigh and merely back off.
The years had given him no clue whether her game was a willful subterfuge designed to avoid helping or a sincere concern coupled with a subliminal need to continue to see herself as a good person. He knew that people are often successful at fooling themselves.
Eurydice stood up and cordially said; “You are a good woman and you don’t need any more troubles.” She tweaked Orpheus’ ear and said; “Come on. We’ve got to go get a place to live.” He followed her out of the house, smiling and waving “Bye” to Mom.
He turned back in Eurydice’s direction and for the first time noticed that her light blue dress was stuck in a crevice, exposing strong black legs to the upper thigh. He soon forgot about the worries of the day and chose to walk behind her as long as possible.
“Come on up here, baby,” she said, extending her hand.
“We’ve got serious business to talk about.”
He took her hand, stepped up alongside her and said; “If you want to be taken seriously, fix the back of your dress.”
She looked behind her and got the general idea, laughed and said; “Fix it for me.”
Orpheus gently did as he was told, pulling the hem down and taking his time to smooth out the wrinkles.
She said; “That’s good enough.” He kept smoothing, slowly feeling the curves beneath. She raised her voice; “Good enough.
Pay attention for a minute. Do you have any kind of income or cash?”
“Almost nothing.”
“Then somebody’s going to have to get a job.”
He had a feeling he was that somebody, but didn’t really want the honor. He offered; “I think we’d be better off if I keep making these pots and ride out the temporary slump. People like them. Most people already have one or two in their houses.”
“Maybe that’s the problem.”
“I’m getting better at it. I can now offer them a new improved version.”
“Couldn’t you do that part time?”
“I guess I could. But what kind of job can I get? The only other thing I know how to do is make nails and my father’s not hiring.”
She looked in his eyes and found them to be sincere. She said; “Okay, I can probably find some kind of job in town.”
“No, don’t. This can be our honeymoon.”
She raised her voice, but smiled when she said; “Yeah, if we live outside and it’s damn cold.”
He had no solution for the weather, so he said; “Where are we going, anyway?”
She laughed, thinking of a number of possible funny answers, finally settling on; “The home of the freaks.”
He looked at her curiously and she continued; “We’re going to Lettie’s. She knows everybody around here and maybe she knows a little house we can rent.”
The sun was setting behind them and they became aware of their long thin shadows. They made odd movements and writhed around to see if they could do something the shadows couldn’t follow, but the longer companions were well up to the challenge, often able to exaggerate the contortions of the little people.
There were no signs of life or lights at Lettie’s. Even so they knocked at the door. No one answered, so they knocked again and heard Malcolm slur; “What the hell does anybody want from me?”
She said; “We want to see Lettie for a while.”
Malcolm made a derisive laugh and said; “Me, too.” After a few seconds of silence he opened the door widely, only wearing shorts. He looked the couple over and then rested his eyes somewhere in the middle of Eurydice’s body and said; “If you put on a few pounds you could be a suitable replacement. Don’t you know that black is better?”
Eurydice emphasized each word when she said; “Where is Lettie?”
“She took the kids to her sisters’ in Vineland.” He again looked her up and down and said; “The darker the berry, the sweeter the juice.”
Orpheus put his left hand around Malcolm’s neck and said;
“One more answer like that and I’ll knock all the juice, sweet or not, out of you.”
Malcolm reeled away, obviously drunk, laughed and said;
“Okay, okay. Let’s start from the very beginning. What the hell does anybody want from me?”
Eurydice said; “Do you know of any houses for rent?”
“I know something for rent. I don't know if I’d call it a house. It’s been empty a long time and people say it’s haunted.” He raised both hands over his head, wiggled his fingers, opened his eyes as wide as possible and broke into another laugh, this time bent over at the waist.
Neither was amused and Eurydice coldly said; “Where is it and who owns it?”
Malcolm said; “Don’t you ever joke? Don’t you ever play?
Shit, you get right to business.”
After a few more exchanges Malcolm considered playful, he must have felt assuaged and the couple learned the address and the owner’s name. Orpheus closed the door as Malcolm attempted some kind of dance. Orpheus saw the last vestiges of sunlight disappearing below the horizon and said; “We’re going to have to
put this off until tomorrow. That address is in the east, but is well off the beaten path. We’ll have to go through the woods to get there.”
He walked her back to her house, kissed her lips and said;
“We’ll get through this, honeypot. You have my word.”
She blinked her tired eyes at him, smiled and went inside.
On the way back home, he tried to think of other ways and other areas in which he might sell his pots. He realized that he should have been thinking about this previously. He forgave himself for the lapse, when he pictured Eurydice in his mind.
He didn’t have any control over his obsession. Tonight was not the right time and both of them were tired. Still, in his head, he couldn’t stop seeing what was beneath her clinging dress.
Chapter 8- A Place of Their Own and Covert War Preparation The next day’s journey took Orpheus and Eurydice as far east as they had ever been in Sudbury. There were no trails and they just kept moving toward the morning’s rising sun. They saw that it would soon pass behind some threatening dark gray clouds, hanging low, seemingly anxious to cast a pallor over everything. They realized that they should have prepared better, as something told them they were in a place where no one wants to be lost, sans a gun. As a minor consideration they realized that they should have brought hats and heavier jackets to potentially cover the identical blue jeans and short sleeved, white, button-up shirts they wore, devoid of additional support.
It was simply too cool to be wet.
While they had been in and enjoyed the forest before, they were never in one quite like this. The tallest trees were only about twenty feet and the bark was peeling off most. Others lay flat and dead on the soft ground, their small root systems lifted out of the ground during previous high winds. The difficulty they had walking, coupled with not being sure of their destination and the decaying beauty, made them think that something was going to jump out at them any moment. Aazaziel came to both minds and Death entered his. Company was not desired. The sun worked its way west and hid behind the
foreboding obstacles. A maniacal blackbird shrieked and flew closer to them than was comfortable. They jumped and looked at each other. He took her hand and started a song she recognized.
Soon they were laughing at the absurdity of the whole thing and were singing; “Over the river and through the woods, to grandmother’s house we go.”
There were few houses in the area and those that did exist were sheltered behind stockade fences. They knew they were in the right general area when they passed a padlocked sturdy wooden gate, sporting a red lettered sign which said; “MIND YOUR
OWN BUSINESS.”
Orpheus batted his lashes, opened his eyes wide and said;
“My kind of people. I think I’ll like living here.”
Eurydice said; “Promising.”
They came upon another fortress with a sun-bleached and weathered sign saying; “FOR RENT.” When they opened the unlocked gate they were surprised to see that the grounds looked exactly like the outside; scraggly trees and lots of leaves. He thought to himself; “Great. Natural. No maintenance.” As they approached the structure sitting in the middle of the lot, their first impression was that this two room shack looked like somebody, not very talented, built it himself. The intended white clapboard was turning green from mold and the planks were placed in a haphazard irregular pattern no professional builder
would use. The two front windows were simple batten wooden shutters on leather hinges, one set wide open.
The similarly fashioned unstained front door withstood three hard knocks. When no answer came they looked in the open window and saw a white woman of about 50 with a medium length mixture of black and aggressive gray sitting on her head. Her ass was on the floor surrounded by newspapers and books.
Eurydice knocked on the shutter and said; “Excuse me.” The thin woman turned her head to the sound. She lilted; “Oh great, company.”
Eurydice said; “Is this place for rent?”
The old lady said; “Since creation, I think. I’m the owner, Sybil Norn. Meet me at the door.”
The door opened and the couple saw a sparsely decorated kitchen, with a floor to ceiling brick cooking fireplace and walls lined with full bookcases. They seemed to have been constructed with unstained graying planks of walnut, rabbited together. Sybil led them to a round oak kitchen table which stood on four spindled thin legs. The three simultaneously sat on three armless wooden chairs painted a deep blue, each with two wide horizontal splats. Their only companion was a twin.
He said; “I’m Orpheus Christopher and this is Eurydice Paul
-- I mean, Christopher.”
Eurydice said; “It takes some getting used to. We just got married.”
Sybil smiled and said; “You don’t have to tell me your story. I already know it. The books you see all around you are classics; Greek and Roman mythology, philosophy, religion, love, war and whatever else comes between. I don’t understand why anyone continues to write books. If they didn’t hear it the first time through, they won’t hear it the second, third, fourth, fifth or sixth time, either.”
The duo looked at each other, neither sure of what they just heard or what to reply. Eurydice finally said; “We don’t plan on writing any. We have too many other important things to attend to.”
Orpheus said; “One of which is to find some place to live.
I like what I’ve seen. Can we rent this or are you living here now?”
Sybil replied; “Sure, you can. I live in Boston and just come here when things get too crazy. The solitude, privacy and books restore me to some semblance of normality.”
Eurydice said; “What’s the rent?”
Sybil smiled and said; “You can have it for free. I’ll be coming back a few times a year and you’ll have to accommodate me when I do.”
Eurydice said; “Sounds good to me.”
Orpheus chimed in; “Me, too. Tell me, what were you reading when we got here?”
Sybil said; “I was looking at books on religion. I’m thinking of putting them in the fireplace. They all speak of a good God or Cosmos, its infinite wisdom and fair judgment.
BULLSHIT! They must have been written by utopian hermit monks.”
Eurydice misunderstood and thought of church operations when she said; “They fail to notice the hypocrisy, don’t they?”
Sybil answered; “The hypocrisy is something provided by mankind. I just think that if there is a god, he, she, or both did a lousy job. I would not have created a world of hate, war, disease and death. I think he, she, or both should go back to the drawing board and not subject living things to a cruel experiment.”
Eurydice laughed and said; “I think men invented hate and war themselves.” Orpheus shot her a surprised look she didn’t see, but expected. Her eyes were fixed on Sybil.
Sybil answered; “I grant that, though I would add that at times hands and feet are bound with invisible chains. I can’t understand a good, all knowing entity resorting to death and disease though.”
Orpheus found the thoughts mentally stimulating and wanted to enter the conversation, but didn’t have any idea what to say.
He felt safer asking a question than attempting to postulate anything and queried; “So what should he do about it now?”
Sybil said; “I see you used the word ‘he’, so I’ll answer in your parlance. He should go back to the drawing board and work on the problem until he gets it right. In the meantime, since ‘he’ won't do it himself, men will do to the earth what I’m going to do with these stupid religion books.” She got up, retrieved the books she had laying on the floor and threw them into the flames.
Orpheus thought that Sybil was a bit odd and gauchely said;
“Were you ever married?”
Sybil, kindly regarded the comment as an innocent, uncouth faux pas, made a derisive laugh and said; “For a while, a long time ago.”
Silence prevailed for a minute, broken by Sybil’s voice uttering; “It’s very private here. I can see just looking at you two that you’re going to need all the privacy you can get.”
With a lilt in his voice, which indicated his interest, rather than the sound of a probing question, he said; “How do you know so much?”
Sybil said; “Good books concerning mythology and solitude do wonders and I’ve already told you that I know your story. Do you think you are the first Orpheus and Eurydice?”
He shrugged and said; “They aren’t names you hear every day. But, this isn’t the first time we’ve heard something similar. What’s the story?”
Sybil looked at Orpheus and casually said; “Same old story.
Its better you don’t know of the tragedy.” She then turned to Eurydice, laughed and said; “You’re going to have to teach this boy plenty.”
Eurydice, again misunderstanding, though recalling what Lettie had said, made her commentary from another direction and said; “I’ve already started. He’s a pretty good student.”
Orpheus laughed and pinched Eurydice’s thigh.
Sybil said; “Well, I’m going to be on my way now. It looks like you’ll be fine. I’ve got to get back to Boston and pretend that what everyone tells me is new and interesting.”
Eurydice said; “What do you do for a living?”
Sybil said; “I’m a nun.”
They all had their best laugh of the day and Sybil walked out in her frilly white frock and closed the door behind her.
Orpheus got up and took a closer look at the volumes of information lining the walls. He remembered something of significance, opened the front door and saw Sybil walking slowly over the terrain strewn with dead tree branches. He called out;
“Sybil, is this place haunted?”
She said; “Only by me,” and continued her careful pace under a sky devoid of light, now filled wall to wall with cuddly dark gray tumors.
He rejoined Eurydice inside and they both perused the collection of ancient wisdom and/or pretentious nonsense. They focused on the drawings of symbols, geometric patterns, numbers and beastly heads. He found that when he leaned on one of the bookcases it swiveled on a hinge and opened into another room.
It was dark and tiny, but it had one window, a chest of drawers with a mirror above and a bed. He said; “Guess what I found.”
Eurydice said; “You do have certain natural talents. I knew you could do it.”
He hadn’t had anything to drink for some time, so he licked his lips and said; “Ready for one more exploration?” and moved into the tiny dark room. Penultimate penance pronounced primary pastime.
Later that day, she said; “We’re going to have to get a horse, primarily for my daily trips to town.”
“Daily?”
“Yes, silly. I’m going to be getting some sort of job.”
“No, don’t. The hell with that. We’ve got free rent.”
Eurydice said; “I’d like to be with you, too, baby boy.
But, despite the free rent, we’ll still have to buy other things, like food.”
“How about a part time job? I know my pots will start selling again soon.”
“We’ll see how it goes. Maybe I can taper off in a while.”
They both laughed and sang as they walked south to town in defiance of the overhead malignancies.
Aazaziel was still fidgety over the calmness in Sudbury.
The “race riot” got plenty of talk but no action. Today was a perfect day for him to appear as the darker the day, the better he looked. He popped in on his old friend Judge John Caprice, who lived in a large stone house on ten acres in the north. He chose a dignified outfit for this visit, probably a bit over the top, but appropriate under the circumstances.
He donned a gray suit with long tails, over a pink ruffled shirt. His white powdered wig improved his appearance as he stood on the black and white checkered floor in the center hall, scrutinizing a painting which hung in an elaborate gilt frame.
Aazaziel waited for the Judge to come down the curved, carpeted, spindled staircase. When he thought he could be clearly heard, he said; “Whoever painted this one sure had things right.” It was a hunting scene, depicting well-dressed
white riders with long coats and ruffled shirts, waiting for a black servant further down the field to release the foxes.
Barking dogs were restrained by white attendants near the horses.
The portly Judge was disinterested in or unable to discuss the merits of his long owned work of art and said; “Aazaziel, what can I do for you today?”
“Judge Caprice, with all due respect, it’s more a question of what you can do for you. If you haven’t noticed, the natives are restless.” He puffed his cigar.
“So?”
“So, whether you know it or not, you’re paid to keep the peace here. The pot is simmering. Get the point?”
Caprice laughed but also recognized the seriousness of the situation and half-jokingly said; “So how do I turn down the flame?”
“Finally, a good question. You turn it down by turning it up.” Openly proud of himself, Aazaziel paused and waited for a reaction to his ironic brilliance. When none came, he continued; “I have a business associate in town named Roscoe, who is on the verge of burning down the church and school, anyway. If someone offers him money to do it, he’s over the edge and it’s a done deal.”
Caprice was still pondering the seeming contradiction of
“turning down” by “turning up” and eventually replied; “I don’t understand what you’re saying. Do you think I’m going to have any involvement with arson?”
Aazaziel derisively said; “I can see why you’re a judge.
Your lack of artistic capability is only exceeded by your fantastic grasp of what is made obvious.” Caprice knew that Aazaziel intended to be insulting, but his commentary was taken as a compliment. After a short silence, Aazaziel continued;
“Look, Ace, let me spell it out in a way even you can’t misunderstand. The entirety of Sudbury’s white population is extremely unhappy with the black church and more so the black school, in their part of town. The daily parade of black faces and the riot constantly remind them of the situation. And guess who they blame? Elected government officials. And, who is the next government official up for re-election?”
The judge made a weary nod, recalling his imminent, ridiculous requirement to suffer the ballot boxes.
Aazaziel continued his spiel; “So, my esteemed arbiter, it is in your interest to eradicate the problem. You’ll be happy and so will white Sudbury. A nice state of affairs, no? I’m telling you this Roscoe voodoo man is on the verge of torching it anyway. He just needs a little more incentive.” Aazaziel knew that Roscoe was a herbsman, not a voodoo man, but thought
that Caprice would not be aware of the difference and that the latter term was more clearly an indication of Roscoe’s craziness, which he wanted to imply.
The judge was impressed with the testimony and summation, so he got right to the point and said; “How do I get a hold of him?”
Aazaziel was successful in hiding his sigh of relief and calmly said; “I’ll send him here. Be prepared, he’s a bit opinionated, but he’s a good, trustworthy guy. Sometimes he gets vexed and starts ranting some religious, mythological and philosophical stuff. If that happens, just let him talk himself out and then he’ll calm back down. Oh, hey, if you haven’t deduced it already, he’s black.”
Caprice said; “Perfect.”
As Aazaziel left he thought; “I wish they were all that easy.”
Just after sunrise the following day Roscoe coolly sauntered up to Caprice’s door, his wrinkled thin body covered only by a dirty white tee shirt and black shorts. The judge saw him there, came outside, put his arm on Roscoe’s shoulder and led him away from the house. This procedure was followed as just in case Roscoe got excited over something, it would not be in the house, with expensive things lying around. The judge was
compelled to explain the need for an outdoor discussion by saying his wife was busy throwing a fit. Roscoe knew the game, didn’t care and felt confident that Caprice needed him to do something he couldn’t handle himself.
Negotiation was negligible, as, one might say there was a true meeting of the minds, mind, or lack thereof. Both parties were happy with the deal made on Caprice’s lawn. When details were concluded Roscoe felt very powerful as he had gotten $400
for doing something he might have done for nothing, half now and half after the deed, He thought; “Thank you, Aazaziel, my good, good friend,” and went back home.
Chapter 9- Bucket Crabs and Disillusionment The next day Eurydice met Orpheus at his parent’s house early, carrying some clothes in a burlap bag. He was waiting at the door in anticipation, with his own satchel and came out when he saw her coming. She increased her speed, dropped her bag and threw out her arms. She said; “I’ve got the greatest news, baby.” They shared the briefest kiss and she excitedly added;
“I got a job at the bakery in town. I can start tomorrow.”
He said; “Ooooh you. Do you have to be so good at everything?” He took her hand and added; “Well, let’s go. We still have today.” They felt the cool morning air, but were confident that the sun leisurely reclining in a cloudless sky would soon warm things up. In the meantime they walked quickly holding hands. The river straddling bridge was crossed and they followed the dirt path east as far as they possibly could, with the new sun in their faces. They had to continue on with no clear route other than the trampling of the currently invisible deer. The two aimed directly at the steadily rising sun, both hoping that they didn’t have any nuns or ghosts waiting at their destination. They spent the day playing a preponderance of properly prescribed Pan-like pulsations, prolonging profligate pastiness.
After Eurydice left for work the next morning, D greeted the still reclining Orpheus, with a face that would stop the unwanted clock Aazaziel had given him in a possible dream. She said; “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” as she showed him the three inch black nails on her right hand.
“Whoah, baby,” he said, getting into a sitting position.
“This is too much. Now, you’re going to be living with her. I suppose that next she can watch our morning visits, too.”
“Sounds like kinky fun, but I don’t think any of us are ready for that yet. Besides, there haven’t been many of those morning brunches lately.”
“I’ve been working my tail off. I’m behind.” She smiled and added; “I suppose I should put my ass in there somewhere.”
She slapped her left hand on the butt covered by the shortest of tight black skirts.
He tiredly shrugged and said; “That’s going to be a common refrain around here. Busy, busy, busy. Come on over here.
She’s going to be gone all day, six days a week anyway.
Sometimes forces beyond your control take over. You know that.”
Her face softened and she came to the head of the bed and he kissed her left hand, reminiscent of a knight on one knee with his queen. He said; “Just be careful with those nails.”
She playfully, purposefully and perilously placed petting
producers of prestidigitation around his neck, laughing out loud.
When D recused herself, Orpheus said; “Oh, great. Now I’ll have to make stupid pots all day.”
She said; “Oh, you have to be a good boy. If you are I’ll come back.” She caressed her inner thighs, blew him a kiss and vanished.
After going about her usual routine for the next half hour, a foul mood started to make incursions into Death’s head. After an hour it occupied the place.
Roscoe now had more money than he could remember having at one time, with another $200 due after the deed was done. He decided to wait for a dry Saturday; dry to enhance the burning and Saturday so that no people would be inside. He took a few trips there and surveyed the layout. His wizened face became an oddity and an attraction at the places of learning and religion.
When kids started to point at him and watch him walk slowly around he knew it was time to end his surveillance. He got a good enough picture to see that there wouldn’t be any resistance.
Elvira got a view of him walking home on Thursday afternoon and thought that he was probably returning from one of his
sacramental deliveries and called out; “Who you blessing today, Roscoe?”
He looked toward her house and saw her standing in front of it, hands on hips and he called back; “Be happy it ain’t you.
You look like you have enough to do all day fixing your face.”
“You one the rudest heathens I ever met.” Referring to the lines the bald black man had on his face, she said; “And you could try to fix your face all day and night, too and you’ll still have all those deep pits.”
He never broke stride and cheerfully said; “See ya real soon, girl.”
Eurydice spent the morning learning how to bake from her initial employer, Cornelius Jefferson, known as “June Boy.” As he had been sampling his own wares for a few decades, he carried about three hundred pounds with him. He seemed a rather jolly guy and was one of the most successful black businessmen around.
He was not married or involved with anyone in particular.
She was to bake early every morning and help June Boy behind the counter the rest of the day. They worked in a small area and she noticed that it was difficult not to make contact with the elephant which seemed to be familiarly brushing by her regularly. At first he said a smiling; “Excuse me,” but soon settled into a grin, he probably thought inviting.
Business picked up right away, as many black women wanted to get a close up look at the notorious rich newcomer. Two non-church going black women with a self-serving convenient disdain for education named Cheryl and Corrine entered and wanted to have some fun with the outsider now at their disposal.
Eurydice politely said; “May I help you?”
Cheryl looked her up and down and said; “Aren’t you the preacher’s daughter?”
Eurydice made a slight shrug and simply said; “Yes.”
Corrine’s huge “jovial” body shook closer and her distended lips were able to articulate their attempted humor; “Well, I guess you’re qualified to show me some of those buns over there.” She, Cheryl and June Boy actually chuckled, not necessarily at the wit, but at the intended recipient.
Eurydice went near the items, again making contact with June Boy, who showed no interest in the potential transaction.
She pointed and said; “These?”
Cheryl looked at Corrine and said; “She sure is a smart girl.” She looked at Eurydice again and said; “Bring them over here. We don’t have all day.”
Eurydice carried the pan over to the two customers and slipped when she tried to navigate her way around June Boy. She managed not to drop the buns and placed them on the counter in front of Cheryl.
Cheryl touched one and in a mock discerning way said; “Are they fresh?”
Eurydice was now sure of their intent and flatly said; “I made them this morning.”
Cheryl continued her “superior” posture and admonished; “A simple yes or no will do.”
Eurydice hoped June Boy would see the bullshit going on and step in. She turned in his direction and saw his glazed eyes staring at her legs. She felt that she needed this job, so she merely responded; “Yes.”
Corrine said; “Good girl.” She sniffed at the buns, laughed and added; “Smells like you go heavy on the white flour.” Corrine, Cheryl and June Boy smirked at the pointed observation.
Eurydice impassively said; “Would you like to try something else?”
Corrine pointed with a finger attached to one of her jello arms and loudly instructed; “Yeah, bring us that pie over there.”
Eurydice did as she was told and brought over the indicated cream pie.
Cheryl looked at the pie disdainfully and said; “Did you touch it.”
Eurydice’s patience was exhausted, as she was certain of what was going on, but still decided to remain polite, as she needed the job. She wished useless June Boy would say something. She chose to reply in her protagonist’s poorly veiled, headless entendre de duo style and disdainfully said; “A few times when I put the cream on top.”
Not quite fathoming the commentary, Cheryl and Corrine looked at each other with disgust and Cheryl said; “Well, get it away from me then. Get me something with chocolate that you haven’t gotten your hands all over.”
Eurydice brought over some brownies to the apparent delight of the two.
Cheryl said; “I’ll take six of these.”
Corrine chimed in; “And four for me.”
Eurydice grabbed a napkin, intending to bundle the goodies, but Cheryl said; “Wait there, girl. June Boy, will you wrap them for us? I don’t want any white rubbing off on my brownies.”
June Boy brushed by Eurydice, slipped a little and
“accidentally” put his hand under her dress. He wrapped and gave the brownies to Cheryl and Corrine.
As they were exiting Cheryl said; “June Boy, you’ve got to teach this educated religious girl to keep her hands off the white stuff.”
June Boy lasciviously put his hand on his pants, smiled and said; “I’m just the man for the job.”
The rest of Eurydice’s long day contained only a few other encounters as unpleasant as the first. When she was getting ready to leave, she said; “I’ll see you early tomorrow, June Boy.”
June Boy said; “You can see me right now. I’ll teach you how to work with the dark stuff.”
She just kept going. As she walked home she considered her options. She didn’t envision many. Either she or Orpheus had to have an income. So, if it was to be her, she may as well try to tolerate this job, as any other would probably put her in the company of similar garbage. With the struggling local economic situation, she lacked a plethora of potential employers. Ideally, Orpheus will make money from his pots. She liked them and previously, everyone in town had use for one or two. But, at some point, he would have to get realistic and do something else if they didn’t sell. If he worked in the bakery at least he wouldn’t get touched all day by June Boy. She laughed when she thought that maybe he would and visualized the pathetic unsightly incident.
She got crankier as she headed east as the sun declined behind her. She thought; “I’m going to have to get that horse soon. The day is long enough, by itself. I don’t want to cap
it off with a protracted trek through no man’s land.” She couldn’t help remembering the story she heard as a kid. She knew a guy with a dog who’d often go crabbing at the bay. He told her of a phenomenon he regularly witnessed. When there are two or more live crabs in a bucket, one will always climb up on the others and try to get out. What the others will invariably do is grab him by one of their big claws and pull him back down with them. He called it the “crab in the bucket syndrome” when he saw that the behavior was not unique to crabs.
When she was fully exhausted and disgusted she arrived home, passed by the front window and saw Orpheus in his knightly position in front of an older white woman who wore no skirt.
She bolted to the door, flung it open and saw only Orpheus.
When D heard the door she said; “Dammit, what timing,” and disappeared. Now, alone, she tried to compose herself but remained frustrated and mad as hell. As she got back into her job routine, her mindset didn’t change and what she usually had done with mercy was carried out with a vengeance.
Eurydice forcefully said; “Where is she?”
Orpheus timidly and nervously said; “Who?”
Eurydice said; “Don’t give me any crap. I think I’ve seen her before.” She stomped through the small house taking inventory. She found nothing of interest and then looked out the windows.
She tersely said; “How many pots did you make today?”
“None.”
“Then, what the hell have you been doing?”
He crawled over to where she was standing, put his hands behind her knees and said; “Thinking about your luscious chocolate fragrance.”
Eurydice’s tone remained stern when she said; “You have a couple of other senses, I hope.” Orpheus felt relieved and rewarded. Prurient perturbed prominence persisted in a plebian procedure.
Later Death still remained absolutely livid. She decided that this was it. She’d been thinking about killing Eurydice long enough to have decided that there was really nothing Orpheus could do about it. He’d be inconsolable for a while, sure, but his only choices were either to be probably alone, or forgive her, by concluding that the passion of the moment was caused by uncontrollable love and all that stuff. Tomorrow morning, Saturday, Eurydice will have another unannounced visit when she leaves for work. In the meantime Death decided to see what progress the Tribunal had made in working out the details of under what conditions and how she might someday step down.
She returned to what she thought of as the “Bastion of Mindless Rules and Procedures,” knocked twice and entered. The
five decaying executives were sitting on their backless benches, this time appearing more like potentates than clowns. Their lined faces didn’t sport any makeup and it looked as if they were sharing a joke, irregular and impossible as that might be.
They didn’t look her way. She walked straight to the middle man, last session’s spokesman and said, “Excuse me for interrupting. Have you had a chance to look into my request?”
The middle man turned to her, smiled and said; “Oh, hi, Death. Don’t you believe in making appointments? Just kidding, I’m glad to see you. We’ve been festive today. The matter was handled by the gentleman to my far left, so let me turn you over to Matthew.” He gestured and she moved in front of her potential “liberator.”
Matthew said; “Actually, we’ve had this wrapped up for a few weeks now. Law did an expeditious review and their interpretation was that after we pick your successor, which we’ve already accomplished, you’re free to go, be completely mortal and subject to the Second Death.”
“I request the right to perform three more executions, including my own. I guess that one is technically a killing or suicide, but whatever. And I do not find it acceptable to be under the whim of this Second Death.”
Matthew shrugged his shoulders and said; “We can’t do that.
If you were not subject to the Second Death, you would be, in
effect, granted both mortality and immortality. We don’t have that kind of power.”
Death thought for a brief moment. She didn’t want to delay matters any more by requesting another ruling, so she ventured;
“What if I agree to be subject to the Second Death, say, in one hundred years?”
Matthew squinted his eyes and said; “That sounds like a reasonable deal to me.” He looked to his right and said; “Does anyone have any problems with that?”
He was greeted with the shakings of heads and the mutterings of “No.”
He turned back to Death and said; “I guess we have an agreement. When do you want to retire?”
“One more thing. I want to be clear on this. I am the one still responsible for the deaths of Orpheus and Eurydice, which will be accomplished within one hundred years, before I become subject to the Second Death. There will be no early interventions by Number Two.”
Matthew remained his affable self and said; “Sure, I thought that was understood.” He again looked to his right and heard; “Fine.”, “Sure.”, “No problem.” and “Yes.”
Death said; “Thank you. I’d like to quit right now.”
Matthew said; “Good, I’d like to wrap up matters, too. I’m going to bring in the Second Death and she’ll follow you out.”
Death had two thoughts. First, she was surprised that Death Two would be female. And, second, she had to stop referring to herself as Death. D would suffice until a better name was thought of.
Matthew brought in “Claire,” and introduced the two. D
scrutinized her. Her short bobbed hair was very blond and hid little of a round, pleasant face. She wore small earrings but no makeup save light lipstick. Her thirty year old body could be best described as average and was covered with an off-white dress, which hung below the knee. The strangest thing about her was her maniacal perennial smile. As they walked out of the room D said; “You’re really going to like your new work, aren’t you?” and got a quick and smiley “You betcha.” While D
considered her old job one of mercy, she understood Claire’s reply to be indicative of a more brutal world and death to soon come. She momentarily considered changing her plans, but thought that the deal already struck was probably irreversible and more significantly, that she just didn’t want to do it anymore. She had served her time and more and now had new feelings she wanted to explore. She realized the degree of selfishness involved, but justified it to herself with the thought; “Since time began I have done my unrequested job as well as I knew how and now it’s up to others to do their part.
I’m not god. Let him or her worry about it.”
“I’m serious, Orpheus. Don’t play.” Eurydice had her back to him putting “The Republic” back in its right place on the shelves. “I can’t keep doing this type of work forever. You’re going to have to kick in somewhere. I’ve been thinking. The only reason people pay a few cents more to buy your pots is because of those little drawings you do on them. The pots themselves are no different from anyone else’s. So, why don’t you just do little drawings and see if you can sell them? You can turn out a lot of them and if in six months’ time they don’t sell, it’s off to the bakery, or some such place.”
Orpheus grimaced at the thought of trudging off to a bakery daily and said; “That’s a lot to think about.”
Eurydice placed her hands on her hips and said; “I’m not kidding with you, honey lover. I have the right to feel supported.”
Orpheus saw the opportunity to assuage her, considered six months a reasonable amount of time, as he remembered her originally saying and interjected; “You didn’t let me finish.
It’s a lot to think about, but it sounds good right now. I love you, baby and in six months’ time if I can’t do anything else, I’ll get a job at the livery, cleaning up after the horses, if need be, to take care of you.”
They hugged. His mind wandered off and he said; “What other places, besides pots, should I draw and paint on?”
She just looked at him with knowing eyes. Partial to participation with his protagonist’s pileous partition, the pantophagist pantingly pastured on his provider of plenty.
Chapter 10- War, His Odyssey and the Big Lie Eurydice left Orpheus sleeping in bed the following morning. She walked out into the cool pre-dawn moonlight.
Though her destination was to be south, her attention was taken by a light coming from the west. Then she heard the wheels coming from her left. Much too late she tried to move out of the way, but D’s horseless black carriage was only two feet away. For less than a second, she saw the driver and she looked vaguely familiar. She saw the whip in Death One’s gloved left hand and then it was over.
The wooden wheels of the carriage were so loud in the otherwise morning calm that Orpheus woke up and went to the window. He saw the carriage going through the open gate and Eurydice face up on the ground. He ran to her. He tried to pull her arm to see if there was any sign of life. He waited a few seconds, on his knees with his left leg between hers, rubbing her stomach hoping that she was just knocked out. Then the thick bright red blood came out of the side of her mouth.
He knew. He lay down, half on top of her with his arm around her stomach and licked the blood from her face. She disappeared. He remained face down on the ground, punching it with both hands above his head, crying; “Why, why, why, why, why, why?”
He heard; “Because, because, because, because, because, because.”
The flames were now fifty feet above the treetops with the school and church totally engulfed by the time the fire wagons arrived. The drivers just stood there watching the preacher and his wife scurrying about, sweating in the cool morning. Since there was no breeze and there were no trees to burn near the structures, the firefighters felt that they didn’t have any other choice than to watch it burn itself out. The buildings started to collapse; the school preceded by the church. Once the process started, it didn’t take long to finish and then the firefighters wet down the perimeter. The chief yelled over the flames; “Was anybody inside?”
Ruth said; “No.”
The chief followed up with; “Are you sure?”
Ruth stopped her scurrying and looked at him, finally saying; “No, how can I be sure?” wondering if the chief’s job was to put out fires or to be an absurdly useless interrogator.
The Reverend was in no mood for nonsense and walked up to the chief and grabbed him by the shirt collar with both hands, temporarily lifting him off the ground and yelled in his face;
“You come here to ask stupid questions? Take a look around yourself whenever you feel safe enough to.”
Orpheus looked up to see Aazaziel. His sallow skin was covered with a white pancake makeup and what he had of hair was dyed red. His perennial cigarette was ensconced in a silver holder. “What do you think?” he said as he put forward a canvas he had behind his back. Orpheus stared. The book size painting had a light blue background, disturbed only by two horizontal parallel lines near the middle, which ended before the edge, the dark green over the black. Aazaziel looked at Orpheus’ dazed face and speechless mouth and facetiously inquired; “Don’t you like it? I’m into minimalism now. It’s easy.” Aazaziel again eyeballed the picture and said; “Oh, no wonder.” He turned the painting around so that the horizontal lines became vertical.
He said; “My apologies. There you go.”
Orpheus stood up and said; “I ought to knock your teeth out.”
“Relax, pal. I was just really excited about this one.
Having a bad day, huh?”
Orpheus gasped.
Aazaziel said; “I know, I know. That’s why I’m here. I can help you get her back.”
Probably because of desperation, Orpheus paid attention.
Aazaziel could see the interest in his prey’s eyes and continued; “I know where she is being held. You’re going to
have to do your part, too, of course. It’s up to you to get her out.”
“Just show me where to go.”
“See, I’ve been telling you all along, who’s your buddy?”
“All right, all right. Thanks, thanks and thanks, buddy.
Can we get going?” Orpheus still did not like or trust Aazaziel, but in his time of desperation no one else offered any help and even if they did, it probably wouldn’t hold out the chance of getting his love back.
Aazaziel puffed away and calmly chided; “No need to rush.
She’s not going anywhere. She’ll be there when you get there.”
He shook his head and snickered.
Orpheus was silent and agitated.
Aazaziel said; “Follow me.” He led Orpheus out of the fenced property and into the woods. “Be quiet, now. I have to concentrate and watch for a certain spot.” The sun had still not risen, making it difficult to see more than ten feet. The imitation mime stopped and stared at a thicket of trees that looked impassable. He said; “Let’s try this one. There should be a drop off and then a path to what looks like a large one story ranch house. You’ll know it when you see it. You’ll have to enter at the east end and go through eight rooms. Eurydice is in the ninth. When you get there carry her out the same way you came.”
They passed through thirty feet of thickly packed trees, zigzagging and tripping. Aazaziel said; “Okay, pal, this is as far as I go.”
Orpheus looked at him silently and questioningly.
Aazaziel said; “Go through those two trees and you’ll be there. I’m going to go see someone who knows a bit more about contemporary art.” He disappeared.
Orpheus went through the opening and down a gradually dropping fifty foot hill. He found open land with a smattering of mature trees devoid of leaves. Orpheus followed the downward sloping dirt path into the unfenced valley with increasing ease as the sun appeared behind him and started to illuminate the area. The half-moon disappeared. He noticed that the grass was not mowed, extending two feet skyward.
Then he saw it. Aazaziel was right. This had to be the unmistakable “one story ranch.” The structure was like none he had ever seen. The cut stone extended from top to bottom, giving it the appearance of being partially buried. The gently sloping red tile roof ran from front to back of the seemingly one room deep structure. He could see only two windows and they were in perpetual shadow because the roof was supported by reeded pillars stationed three feet away from the house, which resulted in a walkway around all sides. He climbed the steps of the stone porch, noting that at the top, piled uncut stone
formed a formidable solid fence at his head’s level. He considered hopping the six foot structure, knowing that he could, but he was also aware that he could be injured or surprise a sleeping lioness on the other side. He found a thin two foot tall opening near the center. He slowly put his head through it and seeing no lioness, crawled to the other side. On this, the eastern entrance, the roof was held up by five eight foot black and white marble statues of women he had not previously seen. Though each was different in appearance and age, the somber unsmiling face was a common feature, sitting on top of bodies covered only by a light sheer wrap around their stomachs, one long strand hanging to the floor, which covered the womb and part of one leg. He recalled that Aazaziel had told him to carry Eurydice out “the same way he came” and saw that this would be difficult, if not impossible through the small opening. He decided to worry about that later, as his first priority was to get to her.
The heavy dark, oddly five paneled door had a black iron decoration at eye level. It looked like an angry or hungry bird, with a curled tail twice as long as its body. Two overlapping circles covered the body, but the head and tail were free of restriction.
He tried the door and it opened inward, revealing a dark room illuminated only by a small skylight. The four plain
wooden floor to ceiling square posts that supported the roof were anchored in a light gray concrete floor. In the middle was a three by four foot rectangular opening. Orpheus climbed the small step leading to the edge, peered in and saw nothing.
He heard; “I do that all the time.” Orpheus looked up and saw a man sitting at a circular metal machine. As he turned the crank the wheel went around, producing paper money. He was surrounded by three foot stacks of hundred dollar bills. He said; “Come on over here. I’ll show you something much more interesting.” Orpheus didn’t need two reasons to evacuate the opening to nowhere and slowly walked over to the seated sixty year old cheerful, well groomed caller.
Orpheus said; “You’re right. I’ve seen nothing plenty of times already, but I’ve never seen so much money.”
“I’m Victor Eshu and I can give you all you can carry out.”
“That’s very tempting, but I’m trying to get through here, not out.”
“That’s impressive. Most people turn back right here, Orpheus.”
He wasn’t surprised that his name was known, as he now expected surprises. Victor continued; “Do you have any idea of how much you can carry out of here? You could fill your pockets, hands and mouth.”
Orpheus asked; “How long have you been here?”
“Since they invented the concept of money.”
“That’s a long time. Can’t you take the money and leave?”
“Yes, I could. But I want more. Guys like you keep coming through and taking piles of it.”
“Then why do you give it to them?”
“It’s my job.”
Orpheus reflected on the situation. Victor was imprisoned by his perennial need for “more” and it didn’t look like much fun to be sitting here for eons turning a stupid wheel. So he said; “This isn’t what I want. No matter how much I can take, I’ll probably soon want more, much more and wind up cranking some stupid wheel for eternity. And if I die tomorrow, I can’t take it with me.”
The door on the far side swung open and slammed against the wall. Orpheus walked through it and saw a similar room, but with a window that was now shuttered. On the left side were ten totally naked women, ranging in age from fifteen to fifty and ranging in color from deep black to snow white, with graduations in between. They sat on deep purple upholstered sofas. One was a camel backed Chippendale version supported by four ball and claw foot legs in the front and four plain stands in the back.
The cabriole knees exhibited sunburst carvings that looked nothing like what they imitated. The second was of the Sheraton school with a flat wood lined back rail and four thin reeded
spindle legs. As thin as they appeared on top they gradually narrowed to the bottom, which ended in a gilded metal covering on wheels. It looked too delicate to be supporting the four seated women. Perhaps the plain, heavier back legs helped matters. The third was the popular style of the day; Empire.
The arms were wooden scrolls first turning outward, then in and then out again. The back was capped with a carved severely curving piece of wood, one side coinciding with the scrolled arm. However, the back only covered two-thirds of the sofa, the open end culminating in a downward scroll. There were four sturdy legs styled as ending scrolls facing outward. Orpheus had a private chuckle as the current height of modern fashion looked like drawings he had seen in Sybil’s books of Egyptian and Roman antiquities.
Regardless, what was even of more interest and amusement were the pieces of flesh currently touching the sofas. The variety was impressive and silent and watched him. He looked down the hole in the middle of the floor and thought he saw another hole beneath it. He walked toward the still quiet objects of pleasure. Natural feelings struck him, but then he remembered Eurydice.
He said; “Can any of you talk?”
A well-proportioned one hundred and eighty pound black woman sitting on the Chippendale couch, laughed and said; “The
time for talk is over, baby.” The other anti-sirens glanced at each other and started giggling.
He said; “I guess I’m old fashioned. I require at least a little conversation first.”
The same woman made a sneering laugh and said; “What do you want to talk about with those big lips of yours?”
He took a long look at the unshaven spot between her legs.
She saw his focus and spread out. It was tempting, but he thought of Eurydice. To keep conversation going until he found his way out of the room, he said; “I don’t want to talk about anything. I want to talk to your hairy lips. Do I have to choose one or can I have all of you?”
“Whichever way you want it.”
“Do you have any specialties?”
“If you can dream it, we can do it.”
“Is ten all there is?”
The black woman got up, turned her back to him, put both knees back up on the couch and leaned forward, displaying the other side of the large untended garden. He briefly forgot about Eurydice and got down on his knees to get a better view of the jungle. She said; “Breakfast, lunch and dinner is served.”
Maybe it was her blackness that reminded him of Eurydice.
He stood back up and minimally varied his last question; “Is that all there is?”
She made a visible sigh, got her feet back on the floor and said; “Let’s go, girls.” They all got up and changed seats.
When she got to her new position, on the left side of the empire couch, she changed into a thin, very young, shaven white girl.
The others also went through their own transformations and it appeared that ten new people were in the room. She said; “And if I take the middle seat, I’ll change again.”
Orpheus asked; “Can I split into two and be with two of you at once?”
A fifty year old white woman, now sitting on the Sheraton couch, became the new spokeswoman, saying; “You can split into ten and have all of us at once if you like. Whatever you dream will be.”
Orpheus assessed the situation and said; “Can I stay here for just a while and then leave?”
She said; “No. Once you start the fire you can’t put it out.”
He said; “I think you girls are great and I’d like to be with all of you, but I love Eurydice. So you’re only reminders of what I truly desire. To me you’re like mannequins. I’m after the real thing.” The third door swung open and gently rested against the wall.
When he walked in, he took little notice of the room itself, as he saw ten guys sans clothing. Orpheus thought;
“Finally, an easy one.” The group was milling about, idly chatting and smiling at each other’s jokes. Orpheus said; “I don’t want to waste your time or mine. You guys should be content here with each other. I add nothing to your existence, just another useless number.”
A sophisticated looking, thin white man, broke away from his talk group, appearing somewhat gracious, annoyed and flaccid. He said; “My, my, aren’t you the presumptuous one.
You’re intruding on a very elite group.”
Orpheus said; “I realize I’m in the wrong place, but someone put it in my path. I’m not looking for artifice. My destination is real art. If you can’t understand that try this one; I’m interested in affection, not affectation.” The fourth door slowly creaked open and as Orpheus walked toward it, Mr.
Flaccid said; “Ciao.”
He first noticed that this was the room with the second and last window. It was open to the light of the day, but without sun shining in. He stepped to the center pit and walked around the perimeter, to get a view from as many angles as possible.
He thought; “There’s got to be something down there. Maybe I’ve just missed it so far.” Darkness was again the rule of the road, though he may have seen a light flash and then quickly vanish. He wasn’t sure and he was still staring in an attempt to see it again, when he heard a female voice say; “Oh, please
come over. We’ve been patiently waiting.” She was about twenty-five years old, attractive, well groomed and made up impeccably. She was very well dressed, perhaps on her way to a ball. She put her arm under his and led him over to her companions.
The other four members of the group looked like they, too, were soon to be attendees at a regalia. Three men in tails, aged forty, forty-five and fifty, broke their conversation and smilingly looked in Orpheus’ direction. The group was completed by a seventy year old proper looking white woman, whose movements could have been the result of being a bit tipsy or having a mild case of Parkinson’s disease. Orpheus concluded that the former was the most likely case, when he saw the table held ten bottles of white wine and the half-full wineglasses held between the third and fourth fingers of each left hand.
The twenty-five year old woman unlocked arms and said; “Let me get you a drink, Orpheus. Do you have a favorite vintage?”
He looked at the table, disappointed at not seeing a red bottle and said; “Any 1776?”
She looked at each bottle and somewhat flustered she said;
“Sorry, that’s not in our repertoire. Let me choose for you.”
A recalcitrant display of required bourgeois conviviality prompted Orpheus to affect a smile and say; “Fine, thank you.”
She brought something back to him, which he also put between the third and fourth fingers of his left hand. Not accustomed to this digital dexterity, when Orpheus took his first sip he bowed his head to meet the glass. He immediately noticed ten eyes blinking and staring and five mouths partially open, momentarily gasping, at a loss for words.
Orpheus pretended not to notice and took a second sip, this time properly. The woman who got him the drink introduced herself as “Martha,” and went on to point out; “Peter”, “Cy”,
“Alan” and “Helen.” Each raised their glasses to him and Orpheus returned the salutation.
Cy said; “We’d like to congratulate you.”
Orpheus laughed and said; “Thanks, but for what?”
The five had their own small titter. Alan furrowed his brow and softly said; “Oh, come on now.”
Orpheus responded; “Let me guess; for getting this far?”
thinking in terms of his progress through the house.
Martha touched his hand and said; “Of course. We’re your biggest fans.”
Orpheus said; “I’d like you to know that it wasn’t easy.
The only breeze I had was number three.”
The group thought that he was referring to some artistic progression or some money evolution.
Peter felt left out of the conversation, so intending to sound his calling card and also to get to the point before he got too drunk, he said; “We all truly love your work and think that we know how to better market the pots.”
Alan said; “We can get it to a bigger distribution at better prices.”
Orpheus now knew the game in this room, so mildly choosing to not play it, he spoke about where he had gotten inspiration, the evolving nature of his technique, what other pot makers he admired and then he was cut off.
Peter said; ”That’s all very interesting, but we have some other stops to make today. Permit me to be rude enough to get to the bottom line.”
Orpheus said; “How menacingly blunt. But, please continue.”
Peter did just that and without inflection said; “If you sign with us, we can guarantee you $500 up front.”
Martha squeezed his hand. It got Orpheus’ attention. When he looked at her she was smiling mischievously and said; “And you and I will have to work very closely together.” She revolved the wineglass in her hand showing her own practiced digital dexterity and took another sip.
He realized the lie being perpetrated in this room was that their perception of him was based completely on his utility to
them, a mere barter, intended to appeal to his stupid vanity.
On a pragmatic basis he saw that he’d be soon become slave to a production schedule and though she looked fine to him, he also would be engaged in the “flattering” process of being encouraged by Martha. It seemed to him that she had more to gain by the temporary dalliance. Looking at it on a ”worst case” basis this deal could result in an extremely short term relationship, ending when pot sales fizzle, in which case he’d probably wind up with an abundance of pots and an advance to repay.
Additionally, encouraged by Eurydice, he wasn’t sure that he should go on making them, preferring the idea of merely, somehow making the flowers. So he said; “I’m looking for reality, not the blessings of parasites.”
The silent group appeared to be a combination of annoyed, hurt, surprised and disinterested, but the fifth door opened, however this time only the slightest bit. Perhaps, because of his recent consideration of pragmatism, Orpheus didn’t swing it wide open. Rather, he peered through an ever widening crack to see five black, growling and salivating Dobermans, showing as many of their teeth as they could.
In the air two four foot black, white and yellow birds were circling in an agitated manner, maybe not accustomed to confinement or maybe hungry. The edges of their huge beaks glistened like razors. The three lions in the background scared
him the most. They sat on their haunches perched on a foot high slab. When they roared it sounded as if it came from elsewhere, being so deep. Their long hairs’ natural prettiness was of no interest to the kings of killers, as it lay on their heads matted and spiked.
Orpheus held the door six inches open and turned back to his would be benefactors, saying; “Pardon me if I overstay my welcome. This one looks like a place where only fools rush in.”
The group was gathered around the table, looking at a map.
It was of so much interest that they didn’t even fully look up at him. Alan raised one hand in his direction absently waving and mumbling, “Fine, fine.”
Orpheus took another peek into the room, trying to make sure he didn’t miss anything the first time. He saw 100 inch long black and red ants crawling the floor, some fighting.
Sitting on a tall black pedestal containing gold letters saying
“CERBERUS”, near the back door, was a three headed dog; a Chihuahua head on its right; a Dalmatian head on its left; and a German Shepherd head in the center. Orpheus guessed that this beast was the one in charge, as it did nothing, but calmly bark out commands.
The Chihuahua head said; “Take positions at the back door.”
The Dalmatian head said; “Go to the front door and take him as soon as he comes in.”
The German Shepherd head said; “Lions to the front; Dobermans to the back; everyone else in the center.”
The beasts were confused, paid no attention to Orpheus, stopped in their tracks and looked at Cerberus for clarification.
It was now or never. Orpheus hoped he could take advantage of the disarray in the troops and make it twenty feet to the back door, praying like hell that he could push it open and that another group of killers wasn’t waiting behind it. He didn’t think the odds were greatly in his favor, but was consoled by recent events that death was not inevitably a permanent state of affairs and that, if necessary, D would probably come and save him.
He slammed the door open and bolted. He had taken three steps by the time anyone looked his way. They looked startled, excepting one Doberman, who apparently had not been paying attention to Cerberus. He got his teeth into Orpheus’s leg just as Orpheus hit the back door, thanking the Lord that it opened.
He wondered what to do with the very painful dog attached to his calf, but decided that the first priority was to shut the door behind him before anything else came through. When the door shut, the dog disappeared, but a fair amount of blood was flowing from a three inch bite. He looked around for his next nemesis.
Almost as disturbing as the dogs, he was sitting on a wooden pallet in the middle of the floor. It was an oriental man with long hair tied back, culminating in a pony tail that reached the floor. His beard was also uncut and reached his stomach. He was wearing a dirty blue outfit, matching shirt and pants, seemingly denim, had bare feet and was looking down at a large open book he held in his lap.
Orpheus nervously decided to venture a friendly opening and said; “Good book?”
Pony Tail impassively responded; “I’ve read better. The unknown author of this one seems to think that everything boils down to fate. He never uses the word, but there is a strong suggestion of predestination.”
Considering the lack of control he had been experiencing recently, Orpheus thought that the book might have something going for it. He said; “You don’t believe in predestination, I take it.”
“I don’t believe and I don’t not believe. However, if predestination is the case, one doesn’t have to write a six hundred page book about it, as it doesn’t matter.”
“Why?”
“If you have no effect on anything and no matter what you do, you get the same outcome; the logic suggests that you should do whatever you want all the time. What becomes of duty, honor,
friendship, helping, love, achievement and all other aspects of life that the free-willers espouse?”
“Who are you and what do you know?”
“My name is Anansi and I know all the stories of life on earth.”
“Do you know mine?”
“Up until now.”
“Then you knew I’d get here!”
“Only when you did. You made a mistake in the last room, but it was relatively small and didn’t do any harm. I can give you all the knowledge of the world. Stay here.”
“What was my mistake?”
“Monsters are figments of your imagination. They only exist on the mental plane and therefore can only hurt you on the mental plane.”
Orpheus said; “I guess you haven’t gotten a good look at my leg.” He picked up his pants leg to show a still bleeding bite wound.
Anansi had no response. Orpheus considered Anansi’s worth and found nothing. He was already obviously wrong about the mental plane’s power over physicality. Orpheus recalled reading one of Sybil Norn’s books concerning two men with all the knowledge that existed. Unwashed and in tattered clothes, they sat on a garbage heap, saying profound things that the other did
not understand. Orpheus also wondered how one could get knowledge from books alone. Experience must surely count for something. He saw the sign above the back door which said; “The road to hell is paved with best intentions.” He said; “Anansi, how long were you out in the world?”
“I was born in this room and I will die here.”
Orpheus put his right index finger to his wound and put it in Anansi’s mouth and said; “Taste real blood.” The seventh door swung open.
A long haired blonde girl of about ten was sitting on a swing holding on to the chains which supported it, which, at the other end were attached to ceiling. She was surrounded by a garden of blooming wildflowers. The room had a skylight and its rays hit some of them.
The little girl said; “I can give you eternal happiness.”
Orpheus replied; “How can I possibly know happiness unless I also know sadness?” She silently continued to swing, as did the eighth door.
Orpheus saw a giant sitting on a red and gold throne, which straddled the abyss in the room’s center. He had seven heads of different colors and seven iron horns emanating from the top of them. They looked a bit ridiculous, acting as a hat rack for seven crowns. As the crowns were larger than the horns, whenever a head moved, the crown rolled around making a silly
rattling sound as it hit the iron. Orpheus was reminded of the game of ”Horeshoes” and wondered if the crown moved enough, would it fall off. His body was that of a man, only much larger, making the seven heads appear comically small. When all seven mouths moved in unison, saying the same thing, it was like a resonating lion’s voice.
It rumbled; “Come out now.” A nude duplicate of Eurydice climbed out of the abyss and stood at the crowned seven’s left hand. “I give you Eurydice, forever obedient to your every whim, forever sexually aroused.” She looked at Orpheus provocatively, putting her left hand between her legs and her right in her mouth.
Orpheus was tired, bleeding and disinterested. He said; “A devil’s creation cannot love. The creator cannot imbue the created with something he does not himself possess.”
The multi-crowned seven roared like a wounded beast and the ninth door opened. Rather than swinging on a hinge, it split in the middle, the right half sliding to the right and the left half sliding to the left. The room had great visibility as a skylight covered the entire ceiling. Some clouds must have been gathering, because as good as it was the light was not perfect.
He saw Eurydice’s light black face and feet as they stood out. The rest of her was covered by a snow white shroud. She was motionlessly reclining on a three foot tall concrete slab.
The floor was half covered with small pots, each containing one rose, of every possible color, including black and blue.
Orpheus thought the prettiest ones were the reds and pinks at the base of the slab. He didn’t see any opening in the floor, so when he walked slowly to her he only had to watch out for the pots and thorns on the flowers with five petals. She didn’t move. He kissed her lips and picked her up, one arm in the middle of her back and the other under her thighs.
He could see straight through the house as all the doors were now open. He slightly limped from the supposedly nonexistent dog gouge in his left leg.
When he entered room eight, the seven headed giant, again in unison bellowed, “You’ll be sorry. She will leave you.” The giant laughed maniacally when Orpheus didn’t look his way or comment.
In room seven the little blonde girl, gleefully gliding on the chained wooden slab, playfully asked; “Does she want to swing?”
Orpheus sarcastically replied; “Not right now. I’ll ask her when she wakes up, but we all already know the answer.”
In room six the oriental wise man on a pallet said; “Will she move?”
Orpheus thought a bit, not wanting to appear ignorant and finally said; “You say you know all the stories. Why ask me?”
In room five Cerberus was holding court, enjoying his follower’s rapt attention. The three heads re-directed their prognostications to Orpheus. The Chihuahua head on the right said; “You can go. You just can’t come.” The Dalmatian head on the left said; “No, you can come, when you go as you please.”
The German Shepherd head in the center had a third take on the matter, saying; “No, no. You have already come and now you may go.” Orpheus noted that none of them had any problem with his going and that’s all he wanted to do. Any reply would only compound the confusion and waste his time. A voice out of nowhere echoed; “You can go now, but you will never leave.”
Room four was vacated by the promoters, probably off to engage another person who may have created something. Orpheus was surprised to see that they had left some of their white wine behind. He was thirsty and needed a drink, so he put Eurydice on the table and poured himself a glass. He was glad to taste that it had turned to pure water and drank his fill. He again picked Eurydice up and entered room three.
One of the men turned away from the group conversation and in an apparent attempt to affect a look of disdain by furrowing his brows, succeeded only in completely closing one eye and derisively said; “Breeders.” Refreshed, Orpheus chose to respond and said; “Nothing wrong with that unless we produce something like you.”
The couple continued on into room two, where ten nude ladies were still sitting on the three couches. A voluptuous woman of about twenty, with long red hair stood up, put her right index finger on the top of her head and did a slow jiggling pirouette. She said; “Don’t be stuck with one forever, baby.” Orpheus stopped and looked. He then kissed Eurydice’s belly and said; “She can be any of you any time she wants.”
In room one, old Victor was too busy cranking the wheel to take any notice of him. Orpheus pulled open the heavy, dark, five paneled door to see the sun now in his face and beaming through a five foot high, two foot wide opening in the six foot stone fence. He continued with ease through the porch, down the steps and the two were covered with bright sunlight, as if it were a garment. There was no cooling breeze and he became overheated, in need of some refreshment. But, he thought; “I’ve come this far. I don’t want to stop now.” Limping more than before, he carried her uphill, through the field and found the opening in the trees. Turning slowly to navigate the thicket took time and his arms were getting weary, but he didn’t want to put her down. When he successfully exited, he had a burst of mental energy, forgot his weariness and injury and took his love home.
When he got her there, he passed through the book lined main room and went into the smaller back room and placed her on
the bed. He removed the shroud and she opened her eyes. They kissed.
“How sweet. My heart would be warm if I could find it.
You’ve got to see this one.” They both looked toward the door and saw Aazaziel, standing there in a black beret and clothes that looked like he’d been wearing them for weeks. He smiled, tilted his head to one side and took a two by three canvas from his pants. The heavily textured painting depicted a leafless tree standing on medium blue hilly land. The night sky was a deeper blue and contained fifteen yellow full moons, most stationary and two swirling, spilling their yellow into the blue.
Orpheus said; “Maybe I’m just in a good mood, but I like it. By the way, thanks for everything.”
Eurydice smiled and nodded approval, pulling the shroud over her middle.
Aazaziel bowed from the waist and said; “I appreciate the review. This hat is pretty good, too. At the very least, it covers my balding head and makes me look younger.”
Eurydice said; “Do you know who was driving that black carriage? She looked familiar to me.” The question was directed to Aazaziel, but she looked at Orpheus, whose face went numb with unease.
Aazaziel saved him and said; “You should know. That was Death. She’s very unpredictable. Before we get on too many tangents, I have something important to tell you.” He paused and the two just looked at him. He continued; “Orpheus, you were in such a rush, that I never got a chance to give you the fine print on the deal. I apologize for not insisting at the time, but very few people manage to get through Hades and frankly, I didn’t think you would.”
Orpheus started to say something, but Aazaziel held up his left hand and cut him off, saying; “Please, let me finish. I also considered it irrelevant to tell you, because I know you’d have gone for Eurydice no matter what. Anyway, I’m really sorry, but if you look at Eurydice, she will disappear forever.
You can take one more look now and that’s it.”
Both Orpheus and Eurydice opened their mouths to say something, but Aazaziel vaporized before any words came out.
Orpheus looked into Eurydice’s eyes, which reflected back the helplessness of his own. She removed the blanket and he looked all over the beautiful blackness he loved so much. He looked at every part, trying to decide what he wanted his last vision to be. He touched her hand and then backed away a few feet, which enabled him to see the totality of her flesh. He turned away and retrieved a pink rag from the chest of drawers.
He tied it around the top half of his head. He turned back to
her and they discovered that he still had four of his senses when he reached out in the darkness. Personable passageways paused at penetrable places.