The Witching Hour

by Anne Rice

  She seemed puzzled. And so was I, for I had found it so indescribably sweet to kiss her, to catch the scent of her skin and to be so near her breasts, that I was in a state of pure consternation actually. At once I said that I wished to talk of this spirit again, for it seemed my only salvation was the business at hand. "I must make known to you my thoughts on this spirit, on the dangers of this thing. Surely you know how I came to know your mother. Did she not tell you the whole tale?"

  "You try my patience," she said suddenly.

  I looked at her and saw her anger again.

  "How so?"

  "You know things that I would not have you know."

  "What did your mother tell you?" I asked. "It was I who rescued her from Donnelaith."

  She considered my words, but her anger did not cool. "Answer me this," she said. "Do you know how her mother came to summon her daimon, as you call him!"

  "From the book the witch judge showed her, she took her idea. She learnt it all from the witch judge, for before that she was the cunning woman and the midwife, as are so many, and nothing more."

  "Oh, she might have been more, much more. We are all more than we seem. We only learn what we must. To think what I have become here, since I left my mother's house. And listen to what I say, it was my mother's house. It was her gold which furnished it and put the carpets on the stone floors, and the wood in the fireplaces."

  "The townsfolk talked of that," I said. "That the Comte had nothing but his title before he met her."

  "Aye, and debts. But that is all past now. He is dead. And I know that you have told me all that my mother said. You have told me the truth. I only wonder that I want to tell you what you do not know, and cannot guess. And I think on what my mother told me of you, of how she could confess anything to you."

  "I'm glad she said this of me. I never betrayed her to anyone."

  "Except to your order. Your Talamasca."

  "Ah, but that was never betrayal."

  She turned away from me.

  "My dearest Charlotte," I said to her. "I loved your mother, as I told you. I begged her to beware of the spirit and the spirit's power. I do not say I predicted what happened to her. I did not. But I was afraid for her. I was afraid of her ambition to use the spirit for her ends--"

  "I don't want to hear any more." She was in a rage again.

  "What would you have me do?" I asked.

  She thought, but not apparently on my question, and then she said: "I will never suffer what my mother suffered, or her mother before her."

  "I pray not. I have come across the sea to ... "

  "No, but your warnings and your presence have nothing to do with it. I will not suffer those things. There was something sad in my mother, sad and broken inside, which had never healed from girlhood."

  "I understand."

  "I have no such wound. I was a woman here before these horrors befell her. I have seen other horrors and you will see them tonight when you look upon my husband. There isn't a physician in all the world who can cure him. And no cunning woman either. And I have but one healthy son by him, and that is not enough."

  I sighed.

  "But come, we'll talk more," she said.

  "Yes, please, we must."

  "They are waiting for us now." She stood up, and I with her. "Say nothing about my mother in front of the others. Say nothing. You have come to see me ... "

  "Because I am a merchant and would set up in Port-au-Prince, and want your advice on it."

  She gave a weary nod to that. "The less you say," she said, "the better." She turned away and started towards the steps.

  "Charlotte, please don't close your heart to me," I said to her, and tried to take her hand.

  She stiffened against me, and then assuming a false smile, very sweet and very calm, she led me up the short steps to the main floor of the house.

  I was miserable as you can imagine. What was I to make of her strange words? And she herself baffled me for she seemed at one moment child and at another old woman. I could not say that she had even considered my warnings, or rather the very warnings that Deborah had implored me to give. Had I added too much of my own advice to it?

  "Madame Fontenay," I said as we reached the top of the short stairs and the door to the main floor. "We must talk some more. I have your promise?"

  "When my husband is put to bed," she said, "we will be alone." She allowed her gaze to linger on me as she pronounced this last phrase, and I fear a blush rose to my face as I looked at her, and I saw the high color in her rounded cheeks also, and then the little stretch of her lower lip and her playful smile.

  We entered a central hallway, very spacious, though nothing on the order of a French chateau, mind you, but with much fancy plasterwork, and a fine chandelier all ablaze with pure wax candles, and a door open at the far end to the rear porch, beyond which I could just make out the edge of a cliff where the lanterns hung from the tree branches as they did from those in the front garden, and very slowly I realized that the roar I heard was not wind but the gentle sound of the sea.

  The supper room, which we entered to our right, gave an even greater view of the cliffs and the black water beyond them which I saw as I followed Charlotte, for this room was the entire width of the house. A bit of light still played upon the water or I would not have been able to make it out. The roar filled this room most delightfully and the breeze was moist and warm.

  As for the room itself it was splendid, every European accoutrement having been brought to bear upon the colonial simplicity. The table was draped in the finest linen, and laid with the heaviest and most elegantly carved plate.

  Not anywhere in Europe have I seen finer silver; the candelabra were heavy and well embossed with designs. Each place had its lace-trimmed napkin, and the chairs themselves were well upholstered with the finest velvet, replete with fringes, and above the table, a great square wooden fan hung from a hinge, moved back and forth by means of a rope, threaded through hooks across the ceiling and down the wall, at the end of which, in the far corner, sat a small African child.

  What with the fan and all the many doors open to the porch, the room had a coolness and a sweet fragrance to it, and was most inviting, though the candle flames did fight for their lives. No sooner had I been seated at the chair to the left of the head of the table, than numerous slaves entered, all finely dressed in European silks and lace, and began to set the table with platters. And at the same time, the young husband of whom I had heard so much appeared.

  He was upright, and did slide his feet along the floor, but his entire weight was supported by the large, heavily muscled black man who had an arm about his waist. As for his arms, they seemed as weak as his legs, with the wrists bent, and the fingers hanging limp. Yet he was a handsome young man.

  Before the advance of this illness, he must have cut a likely figure at Versailles where he won his bride. And in well-fitted princely clothes, and with his fingers covered with jeweled rings, and with his head adorned with an enormous and beautiful Parisian wig, he did look very fine indeed. His eyes were of a piercing gray, and his mouth very broad and narrow, and his chin very strong.

  Once settled in the chair, he struggled as it were to move himself backwards for more comfort, and when he failed to accomplish his aim, the powerful slave moved him and then placed the chair as the master wanted it, and then took his place at the master's back.

  Charlotte had now taken her place not at the end of the table, but at her husband's right, just opposite my place, so that she might feed and assist her husband. And two other persons came, the brothers, I was soon to discover, Pierre and Andre, both of them besotted and full of dull slurred drunken humor, and four ladies, fancily dressed, two young and two old, cousins, it seemed, and permanent residents of this house, the old ones being silent except for occasional confused questions as they were both hard of hearing and a little decrepit, the young ones past their prime but lively of mind and well-bred.

  Just before we were serv
ed, a doctor appeared, having just ridden over from a neighboring plantation--a rather old and befuddled fellow dressed in somber black as was I, and he was at once invited to join the company and sat down and began to drink the wine in great gulps.

  That composed the company, each of us with a slave behind his chair, to reach forward and to serve our plates from the platters before us, and to fill our wineglasses if we drank so much as a sip.

  The young husband spoke most pleasantly to me, and it was at once perfectly clear that his mind was wholly unaffected by his illness, and that he still had an appetite for good food, which was fed to him both by Charlotte and by Reginald, Charlotte taking the spoon in hand, and Reginald breaking the bread. Indeed the man had a desire for living, that was plain enough. He remarked that the wine was excellent and that he approved of it, and talking in a polite way with all the company, consumed two bowls of soup.

  The food was highly spiced and very delicious, the soup being a seafood stew filled with much pepper, and the meats being garnished with fried yams and fried bananas and much rice and beans and other delicious things.

  All the while everyone conversed with vigor except for the old women, who seemed nevertheless to be amused and content.

  Charlotte spoke of the weather and the business of the plantation, and how her husband must ride out with her to see the crops tomorrow, and how the young slave girl bought last winter was now coming along well with her sewing, and so forth and so on. This chatter was in French for the most part, and the young husband was spirited in his response, breaking off to ask me many polite questions as to the conditions of my voyage, and my liking of Port-au-Prince, and how long I would be staying with them, and other polite remarks as to the friendliness of the country, and how they had prospered at Maye Faire and meant to buy the adjacent plantation as soon as the owner, a drunken gambler, could be persuaded to sell.

  The drunken brothers were the only ones prone to argument and several times made sneering remarks, for it seemed to the youngest, Pierre, who had none of the good looks of his ailing brother, that they had enough land and did not need the neighboring plantation, and Charlotte knew more about the business of the planter's life than a woman should.

  This was met with cheers by the loud and nasty Andre, who spilt his food all down his lace shirtfront, and ate with his mouth stuffed, and put a greasy stain from his mouth upon his glass when he drank. He was for selling all this land when their father died and going back to France.

  "Do not speak of his death," declared the eldest, the crippled Antoine. To which the others sneered.

  "And how is he today?" asked the doctor, belching as he did so. "I fear to inquire if he is any better or worse."

  "What can be expected?" asked one of the female cousins, who had once been beautiful and was still pleasing to look at, handsome one might say. "If he speaks a word today, I shall be surprised."

  "And why shouldn't he speak?" asked Antoine. "His mind is as it always was."

  "Aye," said Charlotte, "he rules with a steady hand."

  There ensued a great verbal brawl, with everyone talking at once, and one of the feeble old ladies demanding to be told what was going on.

  Finally the other old woman, a crone if ever there was one, who had nibbled at her plate all the while with the fixed attention of a busy insect, suddenly raised her head and cried to the drunken brothers, "You are neither of you fit to run this plantation," to which the drunken brothers replied with boisterous laughter, though the two younger females regarded this with much seriousness, their eyes passing over Charlotte fearfully and then sweeping gently the near paralyzed and useless husband, whose hands lay like dead birds beside his plate.

  Then the old woman, apparently approving of the response to her words, issued another pronouncement. "It is Charlotte who rules here!" and this produced even more fearful looks from the women, and more laughter and sneering from the drunken brothers, and a winsome smile from the crippled Antoine.

  Then the poor fellow became most agitated, so that he in fact began to tremble, but Charlotte hastily spoke of pleasant things. Once again I was questioned about my journey, about life in Amsterdam, and the present state of things in Europe, which related to the importation of coffee and indigo, and told that I should become very weary of life in the plantations, for nobody did anything but eat and drink and seek pleasure, and so forth and so on, until suddenly Charlotte broke off gently and gave the order to the black slave, Reginald, that he should go and fetch the old man and bring him down.

  "He has been talking to me all day," she said quietly to the others, with a vague look of triumph.

  "Indeed, a miracle!" declared the drunken Andre, who now ate in slovenly fashion without the aid of a knife or fork.

  The old doctor narrowed his eyes as he regarded Charlotte, quite indifferent to the food he had slopped down his lace ruff, or the wine spilling from the glass which he held in his uncertain hand. That he should drop it was a distinct possibility. The young slave boy behind him looked on anxiously.

  "What do you mean spoken to you all day?" asked the doctor. "He was stuporous when last I saw him."

  "He changes hourly," said one of the cousins.

  "He'll never die!" roared the old woman, who was again nibbling.

  Then into the room came Reginald, holding a tall gray-haired and much emaciated man, with one thin arm flung about the slave's shoulder, and head hanging, though his bright eyes fixed all of us one by one.

  Into the chair at the foot of the table he was put, a mere skeleton, and as he could not sit upright, bound to it with sashes of silk. Then the slave Reginald, who seemed a very artist at all this, lifted the man's chin as he could not hold up his head on his own.

  At once the female cousins began to chatter at him, that it was good to see him so well. But they were amazed at him, and so was the doctor, and then as the old man began to speak so was I.

  One hand lifted off the table with a floppy, jerky movement and then came crashing down. At the same moment his mouth opened, though his face remained so smooth that only the lower jaw dropped, and out came his hollow and toneless words.

  "I am nowhere near death and will not hear of it!" And again, the limp hand rose in a spasm and came down with a bang.

  Charlotte was studying this all the while with narrow and glittering eyes. Indeed for the first time I perceived her concentration, and how every particle of her attention was directed to the man's face and his one flopping hand.

  "Mon Dieu, Antoine," cried the doctor, "you cannot blame us for worrying."

  "My mind is as it ever was!" declared the old creature in the same toneless voice, and then turning his head very slowly as though it were made of wood and grinding away in a socket, he looked from right to left and then at Charlotte and gave a crooked smile.

  Only now as I bent forward, escaping the dazzle of the nearest candles and marveling at this strange performance, did I perceive that his eyes were bloodshot, and that indeed his face appeared frozen, and the expressions that broke out upon it were like cracks in ice.

  "I trust in you, my beloved daughter-in-law," he said to Charlotte, and this time his total lack of modulation resulted in a great noise.

  "Yes, mon pere," said Charlotte with sweetness, "and I shall take care of you, be assured of it."

  And drawing closer to her husband, she gave a squeeze to his useless hand. As for the husband, he was staring at his father with suspicion and fear.

  "But, Father, are you in pain?" he asked now softly.

  "No, my son," said the father, "no pain, never any pain." And this seemed as much a reassurance as an answer, for this picture was surely what the son saw as a prophecy. Or was it?

  For as I beheld this creature, as I saw him turn his head again in that odd way, very like a doll made of wooden parts, I knew that this was not the man at all speaking to us, but something inside of him which had gained possession of him, and at the moment of recognition, I perceived the true Antoine Fontenay
trapped within this body, unable to command his vocal chords any longer, and peering out at me with terrified eyes.

  It was but a flash, yet I saw it. And in the same instant, I turned to Charlotte, who stared at me coldly, defiantly, as if daring me to acknowledge what I had realized, and the old man himself stared at me, and with a suddenness that startled everyone gave forth a loud cackling laugh.

  "Oh, for the love of God, Antoine!" cried the handsome female cousin.

  "Father, take a little wine," said the feeble eldest son.

  The black man Reginald reached for the glass, but the old man suddenly lifted both hands, bringing them down upon the table with a crash, and then lifting them again, his eyes glittering, took the wineglass as if between two paws and, bringing it to his mouth, slopped the contents onto his face so that it washed into his mouth and down his chin.

  The company was appalled. The black Reginald was appalled. Only Charlotte gave a small steely smile as she beheld this trick, and then said, "Good, Father, go to bed," as she rose from the table.

  Reginald tried to catch the glass as it was suddenly released and the old man's hand thumped down beside it. But it fell to one side, the wine splattering all over the tablecloth.

  Once more the frozen mouth cracked open and the hollow voice spoke. "I weary of this conversation. I would go now."

  "Yes, to bed," said Charlotte, approaching his chair, "and we will come to see you by and by."

  Did no one else perceive this horror? That the useless limbs of the old man were being worked by the demonic agency? The female cousins stared at the man in silence and revulsion as he was drawn up out of the chair, his chin flopping down on his chest, and taken away. Reginald was now quite completely responsible for the old man's movements and took him towards the door. The drunken brothers appeared angry and petulant, and the old doctor, who had just downed another entire glass of red wine, was merely shaking his head. Charlotte quietly observed all this and then returned to her place at the table.

  Our eyes met. I would swear it was hatred I saw staring back at me. Hatred for what I knew. In awkwardness I took another drink of the wine, which was most delicious, though I had begun to notice already that it was uncommonly strong or I was uncommonly weak.