I am on a roll by now. I don’t think I could stop if I tried. Letting out all this bottled anger is like running downhill. I can’t stop until I crash. Just hearing Julia’s revered, beloved name mumbled by that shapeless, sagging mouth makes me gag. And I am tired of being told how ugly I am by a Hutt in a food-stained nightgown.
She gapes at me, inhaling loudly.
“You will not talk about your father like that.”
“I will talk about your husband any fucking way I want.” We have come to that point of an Italian argument where nobody wants to take responsibility for the connection with an embarrassing relative. Your husband, your father. “God knows I earned the right to talk about him as I please! Or have you forgotten the things he did? To me as well as you? You, however, will not talk about Julia again in my hearing. Say one unkind thing about her, and you’ll never, ever see me again, is that clear? You will have to sort out your cleaning, and your shopping, and your dishing, and your laundry, and your cooking by yourself, until the day you kick the bucket alone on that sofa!”
“You are as unnatural as she is!”
I grip the doorframe harder. Its sharp wooden edge is cutting into my palms.
“Yes. We are two peas in a pod, Julia and I. Get over it.”
I turn, and go to bed. Sleep won’t come for a long time tonight. The anger is like barbed wire in my stomach, clawing at me from the inside. There’s bits of me that are shredded, bleeding, burning.
****
It is almost morning when I finally fall asleep, and then the old nightmare comes again. Even as I sleep, I know it is a nightmare, and yet my heart is beating hard and fast into my pounding chest. I know that that is not a dream. As a child, my heart always beat like that, when my father was in one of his drunken furies. I know that if I don’t wake up soon I may die of this.
From the other room come raised voices, and the sound of smashing things. He may not come in my room, not tonight, not tonight I pray. But then again, he may. A bump harder than any other shakes the thin partition wall, and I curl as far under the bed as I can crawl, shaking. He will come in, I am sure now, he will. I can hear Mother sobbing, and shouting, and his raucous voice, more a bear-growl than a voice, incoherent with rage and whisky. It is a mystery how the neighbors put up with all the noise. A rising blackness of terror is filling my lungs like incoming waters, and my face and back are drenched in sweat. I try hard not to whimper. I try hard not to exist. If I am nothing, I can’t be hurt again. If I disappear, he will not find me.
And then something like a slight quake shakes the bed itself.
I try to scream, but my mouth is paralyzed. I know he has come in, he is in the room, now he's going to pull me out, and he will hit me and hit me and hit me. But instead of the yank on the blankets, the groping hand under the bed, the rough voice, the stink of spirits, there is a rush, a murmur, like a tree in the wind, and a ray of pale light filters under the edge of the bed, together with the ozone smell of a stormy wind, or of a welder’s searing blue flame.
This is new. The nightmare never did this before.
I know that someone, something, is in the room with me, but it is not my father. All my senses tense and strain, and I am still waiting for a blow, not daring yet to hope that the neighbors have come, have called the police, have broken through the door, have come to save me.
Please save me, save me, save me, I pray.
Then in the strange way things happen in dreams, the bed is gone, or maybe I am on the bed.
“Don't be afraid,” says a voice I didn’t know as a child, a beautiful, very quiet, husky voice.
But I know that voice now. I look up.
It is an angel.
A tall, incredibly tall, straight, willowy figure with endless legs. A light shines through its skin, almost blinding me after all the darkness. Its wings are huge. They rise high up behind its shoulders and then sweep down again, long feathers brushing the floor behind it, like a trailing cloak. The wings are too large for my dingy little room, and are a bit askew, pressed awkwardly between the wardrobe and the chest of drawers. The feathers are a glimmering, iridescent white, like the inside of a shell. Even now, a rush and a soft whine come from them all the time. It is the sound of the air in a swan's feathers when he is flying hard and fast. Even when the angel is still, a wind not quite of this world is singing in its wings.
The angel looks down on me, stooping like a tall, gleaming white cloud. Its face is lean and sharp, but with a sweetness to it, too. It’s Julian’s face, and Julia’s, both.
It is neither male nor female, but poised exactly halfway between the two.
It is heartbreakingly beautiful.
“Don't be afraid,” repeats the angel, and gives me its hand. It is hot, smooth, and dry. It shines, so that my own child-hand looks dark like a stone when I lay it in its palm. Then, as if the heat of the angel’s hand has ignited something in me, I can see the light, filtered red, glowing through my own skin. I am aglow with the angel’s own light.
Suddenly I am not afraid anymore. The raised voices and the thumps still come through the wall, farther off now, as if the wall has grown thicker. I am not afraid anymore, but I cannot not quite ignore them. Walls have always been too thin, in my life. The angel looks at me with burning, burning, green eyes, and one of its vast wings unfolds, its long flight feathers catching on the corner of the wardrobe, then snapping free one by one, and as it leans forward, laying an elbow on its knee, and its chin in its palm, the wing comes to rest over and around me like a cloak of whispering leaves, warm and soft as goose down, but with sinew underneath the softness. The rushing whispering wind of the angel’s wing drowns out everything. The voices, the thumps, the fear. Everything is swept away in this gleaming white noise. I close my eyes in the murmuring quiet it has made over me, and, finally, I sleep.
****
Nina
Wednesday evening. Cinema with Julia.
I stuck a note on the back of my room’s door, as if I could possibly forget it. I just wanted to write it out. I love to write her name with an enormous, flourishing J.
I shower, and go through Lizzie’s wardrobe like a truffle dog hunting for buried treasure. Finally, I settle on a black jersey dress that hangs down to my knees. The neckline is picked out with a border of mother-of-pearl sequins. It is a bit much for going to the movies, but when am I ever going to wear it else? I pick up a dark grey pantyhose and the green coat. My boots are at Julia’s of course. I think they like it there.
“You are not going out again, are you?” whines the pudding as I pad on woolen socks along the passage.
“Yep. Going to the movies. Don’t wait up for me.”
Julia is spectacular, in tall tan daim boots, dark stockings, and a black and white knitted dress that barely grazes her knees. A pale brown silk scarf shot with gold sways lazily from her shoulders to her waist. It looks like her mane of brown-blond hair is twice as long as usual. When she kisses me, I close my eyes for a moment when her skin brushes my skin. Her scent is almost familiar by now, and yet still as exotic as a jungle bird.
“You know where the bathroom is,” she says with a smile. It is really ridiculous that I have to use her bathroom to change and pretty up, but somehow, I can’t imagine going out of my flat in a sequined dress. Changing takes me a minute. Makeup takes a bit longer. Thank God I don’t need to do my hair. It is a cap of short black stubble now. I can’t see my scalp anymore. Maybe I’ll let it grow out to the shortest possible pixie cut. After all, I am not quite a kobold anymore. On the shelf where Julia’s makeup things are, there is also the black and gold bottle of her perfume. I am so very tempted to steal a drop of it, so I can bring some of her magical aura home with me later tonight. But I behave. She’ll think I am a total creep if I do that. I smile to my mysterious, glamorous face in the mirror, and exit the bathroom to retrieve my boots and join Julia.
“Well, wow!” she breathes, in that husky voice of hers. She is sitting on the sofa, with a smo
king cigarette in hand. I shoot her a big grin as I go sit by her to put on my boots.
“You don’t think it’s a bit overdone to go see a movie?”
“Not to go see a movie with me. Hell, if I go see a movie, I want the movie to see me. Julian can be as drab as he likes. I am an all or nothing sort of girl.”
“I noticed,” I say with a smile.
Later, while we are queuing for tickets, Julia’s tall, elegant figure certainly draws some quick covert glances from people. I guess it doesn’t help that even in heels I stand no taller than her chin, if at all.
“Well, that is one tall girl,” says a muffled voice behind us in the queue. Julia throws me a look, grinning behind her hand.
“Every time,” she whispers. “There is always one who has to say it.”
“Well,” I whisper back, “you got to admit that you are hardly a hobbit maid.” She laughs, and I am just supremely happy to be out and about with her, doing something as normal as going to the movies, and having a laugh at some little nonsense like this.
As we make our way into the auditorium, I almost lose her in the press at the doors, but she turns and reaches out for me. We make our way to our seats hand in hand. After shedding coats and scarves, we look around. The room is half empty, and we have several vacant seats on every side. Movie trailers and advertisements cast a changeable light on Julia’s pale face. I lean a bit closer to her to talk into her ear over the loud sound system.
“My mother does not approve of our friendship, you know? She believes you are a lesbian and you will pervert my morals.”
Julia bursts into a snort of laughter.
“A lesbian, is it? Well, tell her the truth, then. That will put her mind at ease!”
We both start laughing helplessly, which draws some curious glances from our closest neighbors. When the advertisements are over and the lights go off for the start of the movie, we both must make an effort to stifle our mirth and be quiet. Every time I think I’ve got it under control, I hear Julia struggling to suppress a chuckle and I begin giggling again.
As we finally settle down in our seats our elbows bump against each other over the armrest. There is an instant of confusion before Julia draws my hand into the crook of her elbow, so we are sitting with twined arms. I put my head on her shoulder, thinking I’ll just leave it there for the briefest moment, but she eases her long hair out from under my cheek, and slides a bit further down on her seat to accommodate my head better in the long, warm curve of her neck and I know, I know, that I have never been so happy in my life. When her slender hand comes to rest on my cheek, and she turns to lay a kiss on my forehead, I think my heart might burst. I weave my fingers through hers and draw her hand to my lips to kiss them.
Later, I must admit that I hardly know what the movie was about.
****
Julia
They were walking towards their building in silence. Julia’s arm was around Nina’s shoulders, and they were both smiling, but the rain pattering loudly on the umbrella made it difficult to have a conversation until they stepped under the portico outside their front door.
Julia’s head was full of Nina’s new beauty, of her diffident tenderness, of her smile.
“Why don’t you come in for ten minutes? For a quick drink and a chat?” she asked, as Nina fumbled for her keys.
“That would be lovely,” Nina said, with a quick glance upwards, as if to check that Julia had really spoken.
Julia folded her umbrella and put her arm around Nina’s shoulders again as they walked to the lift. She drew the girl closer to her as they waited, and felt Nina’s body relax against hers. In the lift, Julia kissed the top of her head again. Her lips lingered on the yielding, slightly prickly stubble of her hair, relishing that unusual sensation.
“Will you grow it out a little?” she asked, lightly, lightly, caressing Nina’s head.
“Maybe. Just a little. I don’t think I want long hair.”
“No. You really don’t. It’s just a pain in the ass, honestly.”
Nina smiled, looking up at her, in that terribly endearing way she had. “Is it?”
“It is. Not a day goes by that I don’t want to get rid of it all. It takes so much looking after. And it’s dreadfully inconvenient. For Julian, you know?”
Nina shyly stroked the ends of Julia’s mane with her fingertips.
“Well, Julian will have to lump it,” she said with a rather alarmed look. “It’s so gorgeous. Don’t cut it, please!”
Julia laughed. “Oh, he will lump it, honey, don’t worry. He always does, in the end, poor darling.”
The lift groaned to a halt, and Nina took hold of her hand on the way to the apartment door. Julia’s heart fluttered a little. She knew that Nina liked her. But she was not too sure how far she was willing to go with a man in full female kit. Even very tolerant girls usually balked at that. Julia felt on edge and euphoric, and all in all more than a little flustered. She didn’t really know what to expect or what to do. She hated the idea of scaring Nina off with too much initiative. She hated just as much the idea of appearing cold and distant if she did nothing.
I’ll let her take the first step, I guess. The worst that can happen is that we will have a glass of wine and a nice chat and maybe a little cuddle, before going our separate ways. Hell, I’ve had worse evenings.
Inside the flat, Julia switched on lights, switched them off again, switched other lights on, trying to achieve something not too obviously brothel-like, but still, just a little bit suggestive that seduction was not entirely off the menu. I am fretting about the lights. Jesus Christ. I am more of a female than I knew. And that’s to say something.
Finally, she repaired into the kitchen to open a bottle of wine and light a cigarette before she made a complete fool of herself. When she came back to the living room Nina was sitting barefoot on the sofa with her knees folded up under her chin and her arms around her legs. With the short-ish dress she was wearing, that left half of her thighs uncovered, but Julia didn’t think that it was a conscious move. She smiled at her little wildling and put the glasses and bottle down on the table. Her coffee table had remained immaculately neat since Nina had given her the silvery sphere. It was the least one could do.
She sat by Nina and poured the wine. Neither seemed able to speak, which felt strange and awkward. They clicked their glasses in silence and drank a sip.
“I am…”
“I was…”
They started talking at the same time, as if both had been uneasy in the silence, and they both burst out laughing.
“Sorry. You first,” said Julia.
“No, nothing,” said Nina, smiling. She put out a hand and brushed Julia’s arm, tentatively, as if Julia might disappear in a cloud of smoke.
Julia smiled and caressed her hand, her arm, and then her face, very lightly. Nina’s head bent sideways to lean into her palm, and Julia cupped the back of her skull, to draw her closer. She laid the lightest kiss on her forehead, then on her eyelids—Nina kept her eyes closed, as if entranced—and then down to her cheeks, and the curve of her jaw.
Only when Nina moved to search for her lips did she allow herself to kiss her mouth, light as a feather. Her lips were very slightly parted, and Julia touched them with the lightest flick of her tongue. They tasted of wine. Julia opened her mouth wider, to invite Nina inside her, if she wanted to come in, and Nina took a deep shuddering breath, as if something had cracked in her soul. Julia caressed the back of her head tenderly, and after a moment Nina’s tongue touched her lips, once, twice, and then slipped between her teeth, to search for her tongue. Julia gave it to her, playfully, lovingly, unreservedly, curling it around Nina’s tongue, tickling it with its tip, sucking on it. When Nina retreated Julia followed her. Nina’s mouth was small and warm. Nina went soft in her arms, melting in her embrace and towards the back of the sofa.
Julia reached sideways to put her hardly touched wineglass on the table, then took Nina’s glass from her hand and p
ut it away, too. She extinguished the cigarette in her own glass. Nina smiled to her, and Julia kissed her again, deeper. She could feel Nina’s hands shyly exploring her shoulders, her hair, the back of her head. When Nina broke the kiss to lay her face in the curve of her neck, and gently, very gently bite on it, Julia felt the first stirring of an erection and took a deep breath. Not now, please. Not yet. Oh dear. Oh dear.
****
Nina
Her fingers run along my forearm slowly while she retreats a little from my bite. I hope I have not hurt her. It was just a small bite… I craved for her like one craves for some rare food. Her fingers are warm, full of life on my skin. Long, agile pianist fingers, they seem to play a silent tattoo on my arm. They almost appear to trace a path for me to … where? I look up at her face, trying to read her expression.
This close, her eyes are a world of colors, jade green edged in malachite, with flecks of copper and gold in them. Liquid stone and floating metal, with a soul.
She takes a deep breath, like a swimmer before a dive.
“Would you like to move to the bedroom?” she asks. Her voice has never, never been so soft, so low, so rich. My neck bends sideways like kelp under the sea. Her voice is like a tidal stream that carries me away, and I willingly surrender to it. This is the element I was supposed to be in. All along. All my life, I was coming here, to this, to her.
“Yes.”
Her bedroom is dark. She leads me by the hand; she switches a light on. She smiles to me, switches on a different light, a smaller, warmer light. She switches off the first light, and we are left in an orange semi shadow, bathed in fiery tones, almost like candlelight.
“Come,” she whispers, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
She reaches out with both her hands, and I take them in mine. Like the first time we touched. I could take off, take flight like a bird in the black sky, away from my absurd life, but not alone, no, never alone any more. With you, my love, my angel, my beautiful, beautiful angel.
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