FLAWLESS

by Leena Varghese

  The old wood burst open and suddenly Max and Fr Da’Cunha were standing staring at the scene below the steps.

  Benjamin was the first to recover as he scrambled away from Giana’s prone figure hurriedly. Ever the wily, glib talker, his words were petulant, “Did you see this, Father?” He displayed the bleeding cuts and bruises on his face from where the tacks had now fallen away. “This woman is a maniac. Just because I refused to agree to...uh...uh...”

  Max thundered down the steps three at a time and pounced upon Benjamin like a predator going for the kill. He hauled Benjamin up by his collar and rammed a fist into his florid face even before he could utter the vile accusation about Giana. The older man went toppling, screaming, his jaw, slack and displaced from its socket.

  Giana raised herself, every bone in her body shuddering in pain and shock. Her skin felt as though a thousand spiders had crawled on her and bitten her.

  “You can’t do this to me!” squealed Benjamin, attempting to rise from where he had slumped between two plastic chairs.

  “Silence!” roared Fr Da’Cunha. The basement rang with his authoritarian voice, unlike his usual friendly banter.

  Benjamin cupped his slobbering mouth to prevent himself from bawling. Max stepped back, his muscular frame tight with aggression, rearing back to strike again.

  “Giana? Are you all right, dear?” asked the priest turning gentle eyes on the trembling figure who stood like a stone statue, her hands clutching her torn dress.

  The bruises on her delicate face and the tender skin of her throat were already turning bluish. She stared unwinking, with tearless eyes in a state of complete shock. Her dress was grimy with the basement’s dust. Her cheeks were streaked and her lip, bleeding. She swayed as though in a trance and would have collapsed if Max hadn’t caught her in his arms. He helped her to sit on a bench and held her against him. He could feel the violent shudder that coursed through her delicate body.

  Fr Da’Cunha turned flinty eyes on the man sobbing copious tears into his palms as though he had been ruined for life.

  “Mr. Benjamin Fernandez, please stand up.”

  Benjamin stood up defiantly, his face swollen where Giana’s fist had slammed earlier. His hand pressed gingerly on his jaw where Max had added to his injuries. He glowered balefully at the woman who, according to him, had caused all the problems and the man who was now holding her as though he owned her.

  “I do not want to see you in any of the committee meetings from now on,” declared Fr Da’Cunha quietly. “I hereby relieve you of all your duties.”

  “You cannot do this...” Benjamin began to stutter angrily when he stopped short in terror as Fr Da’Cunha took out his phone. “What are you doing?” he shrieked.

  “Calling the police,” informed the parish priest firmly, starting to dial the number.

  “You cannot! She tempted me!” Benjamin began to sob, dropping to his knees and begging to be spared. “I have three children. Susan would never take me back!”

  “You should have thought about it before you did something so dastardly. You committed a sin in the house of our Lord where people come in prayer and faith!” snapped Fr Da’Cunha, cold and implacable. “I am registering a case on behalf of Giana Francois.”

  “Father...Please don’t!” The feeble, cracked voice was Giana’s who had raised her head from Max’s shoulder.

  “Giana, he deserves to be punished!”

  “Yes...he does,” she agreed in a whisper. “But my mother would be humiliated. I don’t want her dragged into this horrible mess. She has already suffered a lot. It was...my fault...I should have never come down here alone. He followed me! I knew what he was like. But I never thought he would go this far...” she stammered, unable to stop the tremors that went like an earthquake through her battered body.

  “None of this is your fault, for goodness’ sake!” Max lost his cool again. “He is a pervert! He has been harassing you for days.” Max growled like a man possessed as he lunged at Benjamin and raised him up by the scruff of his neck. “I will teach you a lesson you won’t forget in a hurry!”

  “Max!” scolded the priest. “There has already been enough violence in here!”

  Max flung the slobbering man as though his hands were defiled. Benjamin fell to the floor cowering.

  “Are you sure about this Giana? You must think about this again,” pleaded the priest.

  She nodded feebly.

  “You heard her, Benjamin. You are lucky that you escaped this time. The lady doesn’t want a case against you. So here’s your punishment. You will resign next week and join a counselling session of my choosing. I want you to confess to your wife about what happened and beg for her forgiveness. And if I hear one whiff of you coming anywhere near Giana, or so much as set your eyes on her or any other woman, I will have you arrested for sexual harassment and assault. Is that clear?”

  Benjamin shuffled closer to the door, relieved that he had been spared.

  “Now get out of here before I become less forgiving than what God intended me to be. I will be watching you,” warned the elderly priest with surprising venom as Benjamin scurried out like a cornered rat.

  Max watched in scathing contempt as Benjamin made a hasty retreat out of the basement. He held Giana close as though she were made of glass. She looked it too. A fragile broken figure. As if she would shatter into pieces any moment.

  “I think she needs a doctor,” muttered Max holding her steady when she swayed.

  But she came to again and detached herself from Max. “No,” she said hoarsely. “Toby is waiting for me at home.”

  “You are injured, Giana,” insisted Fr Da’Cunha, touching her head soothingly. “I am so sorry, my child, that I let him accompany you down here.” He turned to Max, concern etching his wizened face. “Take care of her, Max. She needs immediate attention. We will discuss this later.”

  Max picked up Giana’s handbag from the floor and led her out where his vehicle was parked. She was limping and her neck was at a stiff angle.

  “Do you have a family doctor where I can take you?”

  “No. Please, Max...I am fine!” She raised pleading eyes to him as he helped her settle into the car seat.

  “You need a medical check-up!”

  “No... Just take me home!”

  Max curbed the words of wrath with difficulty. He couldn’t bear to think of how she could sit there in pain and not cry. He drove in silence, shifting gears in suppressed rage, as Giana slumped in the seat with her eyes closed through the ride. She winced as the vehicle swerved in a particularly crowded segment of the road. Max slowed down. He needed to make sure that she was fine.

  So he took her home. His home.

  Soon, they were parked in the garage of Max’s villa. Giana looked at the dry thatch of scrub in front of the porch in bewilderment. Of course, he was parking the car. All she had to do was walk into her own house. Even as she touched the door handle, Max had leapt out, strode to her side and opened the door for her. He held her around the waist as she stumbled and nearly fell out. She never expected him to pick her up, handbag and all, and carry her to the front door.

  “Max!” she whispered, clinging to him as the trees and the villa whirled around her at dizzying speed.

  “You need a doctor. But you don’t seem to understand that. So, you are not going anywhere until I make sure that you are all right.” He looked down at her sternly, cutting down her protest. “No, don’t tell me that you are fine because we both know that you are not!”

  She lay quiet in his arms as he stepped under the portico. Gently setting her down on her feet without relinquishing his hold on her waist, he unlocked the door and led her in. She was limping badly, he noted, in grim assessment of her unsteady movements. He led her to the kitchen and helped her onto a chair where she sat without looking at him. He thrust a glass of water into her hands. She drank thirstily and set the glass gingerly back on the table. Max put the kettle on for tea and took out a box of biscuits
from the shelf.

  She didn’t say a word. She didn’t protest or ask anything, or weep either. Max was seriously worried about her. He saw the beautiful eyes, glassy with shock, staring at the pattern on the polished teakwood of the dining table. Her hands were limp in her lap, her head stiff. He knew she was reliving the moments of horror in the basement when a shudder passed through her.

  The clink of tea-cups brought her world to focus.

  Max sat down on his haunches in front of her. She saw that he was holding a medical kit similar to the one she had used in his bedroom upstairs a week ago.

  “Why are...you doing this, Max?”

  “For the same reason that you came running to a stranger’s house in the middle of the night, uncaring for your own safety. I want to help you, Giana.”

  She looked at him, bewildered, like a wounded child.

  “Now, I want you to tell me where it’s hurting,” said Max, softly.

  He reached to touch her face where her lip was swollen and covered in a crusty blood clot. She flinched violently at his touch and he snatched his hand away immediately.

  He took out the salves and antiseptic lotion and asked her again, “Tell me where you are injured.”

  She cleared her throat and said, “I crashed against the benches when he...pounced over me. My hip is a little bruised and I have...a stiff neck. It’s making me...dizzy. And my hand is cut...But nothing that merits a visit to the doctor.”

  Max grimaced mentally at that. Her injuries were enough to hurt for a week!

  It was easier to list the physical injuries. But Benjamin’s assumption that no one would believe her had hurt and humiliated her most. Giana knew that a more vitriolic scene awaited her at home.

  “Are you sure nothing is broken or sprained?” he asked seriously concerned.

  “I got rattled badly, I guess. I should be fine by tomorrow. You came in time! He was about to...” she stopped abruptly, trembling, the nausea overwhelming her.

  “Easy…You are safe. May I apply the medicine?” Max didn’t want to touch her again without her permission.

  She nodded slowly.

  “OK. We start with the face.”

  She stared at him, her eyes finally losing the terrified look.

  Max knew that she was slowly coming out of the shocked stupor. He touched the swab of cotton to a bruise on her forehead and then her jaw where the brute had hit her. She closed her eyes and stood her ground despite the sting. He cleaned her face with gentle swipes of the cotton ball. The cut on the lip was superficial but it stung her badly as he cleaned the congealed blood. Her hand was examined next. He poured antiseptic on the cut on her palm where the tacks had pierced. The blood had dried and deepened the lines on her palm. He felt her shiver in reaction as the stinging liquid penetrated the cuts.

  “I am sorry, it will hurt a bit,” he cajoled as though to a child.

  “It hurts more...where no one can touch!” she whimpered, in a fragmented whisper.

  He knew how that felt. Hurt, where no one could touch. The pain never went away. It remained like a lead ball lodged in your guts. He wanted to haul her into his arms and kiss her sorrows away. If his hands could soothe the pain he would have spread it over her injuries and healed her. But he sat helpless in front of her because she would not welcome a touch right now. So he poured some more antiseptic onto another ball of cotton.

  “You fought him, didn’t you? Very few can do that,” said Max, in encouragement trying to engage her in a conversation.

  But Giana wasn’t listening. She was still trapped in that basement with the monster. “He said...” whispered Giana reliving the horrible moment when Benjamin had ripped her dress.

  “What did he say, Giana?” probed Max gently.

  “He said, that I wore this dress to deliberately...” she shuddered at the memory.

  “That pervert would hound a woman in sackcloth.”

  “What should a...woman wear so that she doesn’t...attract undue attention to herself?”

  Max sighed. He was a man. And he would have said that his wife wear something modest, especially when she went out among strangers to an unknown place. It was a matter of safety for him. He had never dictated what Eva should wear. But he did feel that personal preferences were irrelevant where safety was concerned. He did not consider the human race evolved enough to understand the meaning of freedom of choice. There were still men out there who behaved like animals and did not understand the meaning of mutual consent. He couldn’t bear to think of someone he loved being mauled just like this.

  “I don’t know, Giana. I would say that you wear what is comfortable to you. There will always be someone ready to accuse you of attracting unwanted attention, whatever you wear. God made you very beautiful. It shines through any attire. Young women your age are probably wearing lesser clothes and still not attracting much attention.” He smiled grimly. “I can’t proudly say that our society has progressed to levels of freedom of choice for both men and women equally or that it provides safety to the vulnerable. But yes, I would say that a man shouldn’t touch or want something that he is not permitted to have. If the woman says no, it means no.” He dropped the soiled cotton ball and picked up a fresh one. “Most cases of molestation happen because of the skewed mindset of a man who cannot take a refusal. If the reports are to be believed then the victims in most of these cases are modestly covered in traditional clothing. How do you explain that? And how do you explain the atrocities against little children? Ultimately, it is all about power over the weak.”

  He cleaned the bruises on her elbows and knees with all the efficiency and grim detachment of a medical practitioner and finally wrapped the bandage on her hand deftly. He lifted her chin to touch the swab to the bite mark on her throat. Her delicate skin was blue where Benjamin had sunk his teeth viciously.

  “The filthy animal!” Max swore under his breath and Giana flinched at the fury in his tone.

  “Animals are kinder than this,” whispered Giana, her voice becoming more wobbly.

  His hand knotted into a fist. He was momentarily blinded by the bloody rage that engulfed him. He wanted to torture and kill Benjamin for what he had done to her. Yet, his touch on her gentled, barely there, the whisper of a butterfly wing. He saw the tears surge and spill down the cheeks in a torrent. It broke his resolve not to touch her. He threw the swabs down and wiped his hands quickly on the towel. A sob escaped her constricted throat as he cupped her head soothingly.

  “Hush, my dear! You are going to be fine! It is over.” Max gathered her gently into his arms like a baby, afraid to hurt her.

  She slid down to the floor to his level and clung to him sobbing her heart out, unable to stop the flood as it gushed forth.

  He sat on the floor leaning on the leg of the table with her in his lap and held her close. Just like on the night she had held him even when he was drunk and had fallen far below the standards of decency in his own eyes.

  Her fragile strength broke, as the sobbing grew ragged. Max’s thoughts wandered to a far off memory in his childhood when he and his brother Philip had raided a sparrow’s nest on a window ledge in their house. Max had thoughtlessly lifted the quivering fledgling in his hands, curiosity getting the better of him. He had been scolded by Philip when the baby bird cheeped frantically, staring at him with its bulbous eyes, terrified for its life. Max felt as though he was holding that fledgling in his hands, its tiny heart pattering against his palm. It was an unsettling feeling. To be powerful and yet being helpless.

  Giana, who sat, weeping into his shirt, felt the same powerlessness as she clutched his shoulders, her face pressed into the crook of his solid neck.

  And yet, it was enough. She was safe.

  The steady beat of his heart told her that she was. She didn’t remember feeling safe like this with Ricky. Ricky had never held her to console her. He had been fun to be with. When the fun times were over, she had been cast aside. But she remembered a time when her father had held her clos
e when she had wailed after a bad fall. She had been four years old. He had held her like this, trying to cheer her with soothing words.

  Her father whom she would never see again because she had made the fatal mistake of eloping with Ricky Bartholomew. Her sins had killed her father. And Michael...her beloved Michael.

  And now this man from nowhere was holding her as though she was precious. She wept harder, unable to put a lid on it. Max held her wordlessly, running a hand through her tangled messy curls and the sensitive skin on her nape as she poured her heart out through her tears.

  Her dress gaped at the shoulder, her sensitive, bruised skin bared to his eyes. He was not immune to that beautiful body in his arms. He averted his gaze to her ravaged face. She could do without another man disrespecting her personal space and dignity. She lay trustingly in his arms because she needed his support as a human being. So he straightened her torn dress, pulled down the skirt, covering her legs, and swept a comforting hand on her back as she wept like a lost child.

  They sat like that until Giana’s crying jag turned into sniffles. The delicate hands that gripped Max’s shoulders eased. The tempest had calmed and now she could let go. The kettle whistled. Giana’s phone rang twice, its muted sound buzzed through her cloth handbag kept on a chair. The kettle whistled again indicating that the water had reached the bottom, fizzling into vapour. But they sat wrapped in each other, uncaring.

  After what seemed like eons, Giana lifted her head from his broad shoulder. A lancing pain jolted her upright. She clutched her stiff neck with an unsteady hand.

  “You need hot fomentation for the pain and a good balm,” advised Max solemnly, still holding her close. Her eyes were swollen and red-rimmed. Her face was blotchy and bruised. But to him she was the most beautiful woman. He could have held her forever if...

  The memory of another pair of eyes intruded upon his thoughts. And his countenance hardened. What he had lost could not be replaced. He should not even try to. And that was his punishment.