by Diane Baumer
“What was that? Who touched me?” Brother Lucas asked, intimidated, as he opened his eyes.
It’s the tree pitying me, he thought, blushing at the thought of having hurt it through his pruning.
Over the horizon, the last clouds scattered. Behind the curtain, the Grim Reaper appeared smilingly using the moon as a scythe. Deceased stars stormed the sky to embellish the universal night. Nightmarish ghosts, guided by bright lights, went on a procession to the subconscious of the tormented.
Brother Lucas was urged by a bell tinkling to feed his daydreams before bed. He barely ate, in a desperate attempt to weaken those dreams.
Once in his cell, he remained in the company of his remorse. Diego, the papers, Brother Simón, the bishop, the judge, the students. Diego, the papers, Brother Simón, the bishop, the judge, the students...
The Mexican reviewed the relationship with his friend from the beginning. He was no longer sure whether their first meeting had been casual. Suspicion caused him to feel greatly uneasy. Why had the son of a drug dealer earned his trust and given him some documents against the bishop? This was not a matter of revenge among cartels, since the papers directly betrayed his own father. They may have been fake, yet, assuming this, it did not make much sense to murder a group of young students, as well as Brother Simón. Diego had no win on that matter, unless he, for some personal reason, was seeking revenge on the Church. Might the bishop himself have ordered the execution? That was hard to believe. Accepting money from a doubtful source had nothing to do with committing a crime. And where was Diego, a.k.a. Alfonso Robledo, now? He had not died with his colleagues.
Dieguito, my buddy... I can’t simply think of you doing something like that. In you, I found a kind-hearted person. I’m not sure whether I’m just a lost fool, but that’s what my heart told me. Did you use me? Why? Was it so I would persuade the young people in the region to refuse to collaborate with the gangs? This has finished me off.
Brother Lucas had always known that he would end up hanging from a bridge. I never thought others would die in my place.
The more he thought about the matter, the more tangled-up everything seemed to him.
His head began to ache. This is due to my empty stomach. I will drink the milk and, if I fall asleep, then it will be up to God’s will. The evil vainly stalks me and rejoices at seeing me in injured mood and gangrenous guilt. I won’t let it get away with it! I owe this to Brother Simón’s memory.
Little by little, he fell asleep.
How couldn’t I see this before? My Spanish sojourn may just have been a dream. Actually, I never left Mexico. They may have hit my head, so I’ve been delirious all this time.
Brother Lucas walked from the monastery to town. He was about to enter the white chapel when he felt Satan hiding under his feet, inside the bowels of the earth.
“What do you want from me? What are you doing down there?”
The being began to convulse, which spawned a large earthquake. Houses collapsed on top of people, and there were many casualties. When the shaking ceased, a little girl approached him crying.
“My family is alive under the rubble. I can’t remove the stones.”
Brother Lucas heard the buried crying out for help. He wanted to go, but his numb body would not respond.
The kid’s anguish tore him up in the inside, yet in the outside the friar appeared to only have stone instead of skin. She insisted.
“Please, they will die if we don’t help them out. Please, do something.”
Tears were sliding down his petrified cheeks. Nothing could be done to ease the little girl’s agonizing suffering. She tugged at his habit trying to drag him, but lacked strength and fell to the ground.
“Why are you standing there? Aren’t you a servant of God?” she sobbed as she kept standing.
Brother Lucas looked down in embarrassment. The crazy laughter of the monstrous creature caused further tremors at the Earth’s core.
As soon as the trembling ceased, she ran toward the rubble. The voices crying out for help could no longer be heard.
The friar was overpowered by anger. A heartrending scream emerged from his entrails, showing the force of an erupting volcano. The stone covering him broke apart.
Endowed with the extraordinary vigor which fury injects, the friar was able to rescue the whole family – alive. When he looked up at the sky expecting to find God there, he saw the evil creature riding a thundercloud.
Why is it always close to me? Somehow, it feels as if we are linked to each other.
“Turn around and show your face, you neurotic envious being!”
The hideous creature shook the cloud, and it started raining with such fury that the village became flooded in a matter of seconds. He and the little girl managed to get on top of a floating piano. The water dragged away the rest of the family. The friar got ready to jump.
“Stay here, no matter what happens. You’re safe on the piano. I’ll go search for the others.”
He dived on and on until he managed to rescue all of them.
They all sailed to the mainland on the instrument.
Everybody was already assuming they were safe when lightning started a huge fire. Brother Lucas was exhausted.
“Run! I can’t go on.”
The girl was afraid that he would fall asleep.
“Don’t give up. The monster wants to exhaust you so we can’t be saved anymore,” she said as she hugged him.
The friar stroked her hair.
“I won’t let him beat us. I promise.”
“Then, someday this nightmare will end, once he will be the one being exhausted.”
Brother Lucas got up, ready to hunt down Death – the creature had left a trail of corpses behind. Due to impulsiveness, both the blanket and the comforter fell to the ground, yet he, being too far away, did not notice.
Lina was sleeping in nervousness. In her dream, she searched among the skulls of a painting by Zdzisław Beksínski32 as she tried to find her relatives. In the distance, she saw the friar. He was chasing Death. The pianist wanted to follow him, yet Doctor Ledesma avoided this by pulling her hand bandage, which had begun to untie.
“No, please – I need to go help him.”
“You don’t – it’s just your imagination.”
Doctor Ledesma woke up with a start. Although he knew it had been nothing but a dream, he still seemed to hear Lina’s voice begging him to transplant her hands into Gebre because she preferred it if he had them.
32. François’ ruminations
Mercedes and François were arguing about the price of an iron sculpture inspired by the Greek mythology. It had the shape of a winged store cart, so its title was Icart.
“Two hundred eighty thousand dollars looks like an unreasonable amount – our asking sum should be two hundred twenty thousand,” she said with sharp friendliness.
“No way! They asked for three hundred thousand!”
“You are not trying to pump up your sales commission – are you, frank François...?”
Mercedes had the ability to say what she thought without being hurtful. The Belgian smiled mischievously.
“I’ll bet you anything that, in less than a year, I’ll put it on the market at a thirty-percent increase,” he said greedily as his lips strove to conceal a mischievous smile.
“Sure, yet they lowered the price at the beginning. Let’s wait and see how far their desperation reaches. What are your thoughts on this, William?” she asked as she positioned the catalog to face the butler, who had just come in to serve tea.
Standing still as he was holding the teapot, the butler slightly looked down in contempt.
“I think Icart will fly away with the money of whomever decides to buy it, madam.”
Mercedes burst out laughing.
“You are a wise man. Then, no more talk. François, just offer the m
inimum amount.”
François jumped up, offended.
“What? Is a servant’s opinion more valuable than my own?”
“Don’t be an elitist, Belgian gentleman. Art doesn’t care about social classes. Don’t you think, William?”
“The poor have run out of room in their tiny houses to hang on their walls as many Picassos as they buy,” the butler pointed out as he haughtily took away the tea set, which left Mercedes in fits of laughter.
François received a call. He went to the garden to talk in private. It was the bank. His account was in the red, so several bills had been returned. Either due to his nervousness or for being in his shirtsleeves, the Belgian’s teeth started chattering.
“William, bring me a blanket, please! I’m cold!”
François pictured a mental outline of feasible alternatives to obtain a large sum of money in a short time. He could simply inflate the price of some trash and put it on the Chinese market, or probably re-launder money for Chulo Torres. Or maybe... It had come to his ears that someone on the black market was trying to unload a coveted canvas which had been stolen years before. He could not offer it to Mercedes, because she, despite her intelligence, was governed by ridiculous moral principles. To hell with scruples! I’ll sell it to Chulo – I’ll always give him the original stuff. Also, I’ll make a copy for the Chinese. For a while, I’ll live comfortably on the money I get.
“William!”
He stretched his neck to the right and to the left, up and down... How tense I am! All this shouldn’t be affecting me. A large percentage of lawful masterpieces are forgeries from doubtful sources. An unknown number of them are exhibited in museums. Why wouldn’t I be able to do the same? Endzela will complain when I send her to Germany again. Lately, she is looking a little annoyed. Someone is calling home every now and then and hanging up without saying a word. It’s so infuriating! She doesn’t deserve to be scared like that... She’s such a sweet girl. I hope this is Lina trying to make us mad, rather than a creditor… I’m paying off my debts very soon. Patience is the greatest virtue of a gentleman. François always fulfills his duties.
He called Endzela. The Belgian needed to listen to some beautiful syllable combinations from her mouth and forget about danger for a while. After some seconds, the call went to voicemail. Isn’t she going to answer? What must she be doing? I’m supposed to be the most important thing in her life. Oh, she must have gone to the library. Anyway, even when the phone is silenced, a calling light flickers.
“William! Can’t you hear me? Bring me a blanket!”
When the butler appeared, François stretched out in the easy chair, expecting William to tuck him up.
“At last!”
The Englishman threw the blanket over him from where he stood and turned around. Bewildered by such a rude reaction, François stuck out his tongue in mockery.
“Cocky Brit...”
As soon as he covered himself, he returned to Endzela. Why didn’t she pick up the phone? He called again, and again, and again, and again… His anger was compounded by his shaking from the cold. Why wouldn’t she take a break to talk to him? Lina would have done that immediately. Indeed, the pianist combined all the qualities to keep a man’s mind at rest – an unattractive physical appearance and a brilliant, yet weak, mind. He regretted not falling in love with her. Sexual selection had sentenced men to instinctively fight for the youngest, most beautiful ladies.
Then, he felt great sympathy for all men throughout history – they had been forced by anthropological chains to get rid of fragile females, though these were the only capable of giving themselves blindly… Miss Georgian lady, for your own sake, I hope you’re not cheating on me with another man – François definitely won’t tolerate that.
He soon received a message – I’m meeting my publisher. I’ll call you when I’m done.
Meeting? he asked with a pout of disbelief.
The Belgian made some calls to China and Mexico to lure the fish into the net. He was nervous. A single spark would cause the forest to catch on fire with him trapped inside.
Swirls of dry leaves pruned by the wind encouraged him to get it off his chest. He jumped up and went toward them. In astonishment, William halted to gaze at the scene from the library window. What was wrong with Mister Monsieur? Why was he pirouetting in a panic? May that wobbly soul have stepped on a wasps’ nest? The butler wondered whether he should fetch his crucifix to protect himself.
What is he doing now?
In amazement, William saw the Belgian using the blanket as a cape.
Now he thinks he is a superhero! Should I report this mental perversion to the lady?
His surprise grew as he saw François dragging his feet back and forth. Is he planning to take off using his cape?
What a waste of brain! Poor ants.
A couple of minutes later, the Belgian started jumping frantically over the fallen leaves. Lacking enough willpower to look away from such a funny show, William spent some time giving a wipe over the window from which he was watching. I wish he just shot away so we wouldn’t have to see him anymore. Following a count of one hundred forty-two leaps, the devilish man ran inside the house. The butler felt grateful to be born in unruffled England. Up there, we like to say that “personality is to a man what perfume is to a flower.”
Mai entered the library carrying a tray. She had prepared a typical English meal called “ploughman’s lunch.” The dish included cheddar cheese, cooked ham, salad, tomato sauce, crusty bread, and pickles. William thanked her with a gesture. They had learned to understand each other without words.
She headed downstairs thoughtfully.
An older man with no children or wife... Who will take care of him when he can’t even look after himself?
Mai was touched by the story of a servant who had sacrificed his personal life for remaining loyal to his boss. No, William was not like the others. And now he was getting old and so lonely.
Thoughtfully, he sat down to eat lunch.
A girl unable to go out and get along in the world. What will become of her if anything happens to Mercedes?
William’s heart broke at the thought of the terrible story of a girl sold by her parents to a prostitution ring.
If there was something that really flayed Mai, even more than the atrocious experiences she had lived on the streets of Hanoi, that was the fact that her own parents had handed her over to bad men. She soothed the pain by presuming they had been deceived in their praiseworthy intention of providing her with a better future. Probably enough, someone had told them that their girl would go to a childless wealthy lady or something of the kind. Now, she was glad she had not escaped to look for them. That way, she had saved them the shame of knowing the truth.
François was panting in the kitchen when she entered. The girl’s blush brought out a tender protective instinct in him.
“Did I scare you, milady? Please forgive me. By the way, could you prepare two bánh mì for lunch? It's one for you and one for me...”
She remained in stiffness, not answering either yes or no, terrified at the thought of sitting at the table beside him. Guessing the root of such fears, François tried to reassure her.
“I’ll eat in the garden,” he said.
Somewhat relieved, Mai hastily began to make the typical Vietnamese sandwiches. She wanted to finish as soon as possible. That man made her feel uncomfortable. Even from behind, she could perceive his scrutinizing gaze on her.
François shortened the physical distance between them.
“Would you like to get away from here someday, get married, and have your own home?”
He could not help laughing as he saw the girl petrified, her knife hanging in the air.
“Don’t worry – it was just a question,” he said as he held out the pickled vegetables to her.
Even at the risk of
completely frightening her, he delicately removed the lock of hair that was threatening her eye. Mai seized the pan handle so tightly that François started fearing that she would attack him if he got an inch closer.
“Did I bother you? I was just trying to be nice. Your contempt makes me feel bad – huh, milady?”
After harshly swallowing several times, the girl spoke with a thin voice.
“I... ask Mercedes if bánh mì too.”
François stopped her as he smiled with mischief. I shouldn’t be doing this, but this creature looks so irresistible to me.
“The lady doesn’t want anything right now. She is busy working.”
Mai busied herself with the food again. The Belgian went to answer a call from the Mexican agent. Theoretically, Chulo Torres appeared interested. François swallowed. Here I go. The die is cast.
By the time he hung up, he was being suffocated by a lump in his throat. As he reentered the kitchen, the beautiful sight of Mai by the stove gave him pleasure and vertigo in equal shares. The charm of simplicity was delightful, but only as an observer. Paintings of local customs and manners were magnificent as long as one was not part of them. Better yet, as long as one had enough available funds to trade in them. He had managed to escape mediocrity and was willing to do everything in his power to avoid falling back into its unpleasant clutches – even selling his soul to the devil, a.k.a. Chulo Torres. Indeed, he had enough ambition to endure the stench of filth. I can cope with it. I’m strong and resourceful. François is a winner. Nothing and no one is knocking him down.
He gathered his courage to believe he was invincible, but a disguise does nothing but conceal – in a moment of carelessness, an image of Pu Yi came to his mind and caused him to remember the last emperor in prison. For a moment, he saw himself in his place, dethroned and deprived of the protection of his family. Mom, forgive me for stealing your money... I promise I’ll give it back with interest, but I feel so embarrassed now...
He began to sob. It was not a cry as strong as when heavy downpour breaks out unexpectedly, but rather a drizzle of the kind which penetrates the barren land and revives the seed of remorse hibernating inside its bowels.