by Kim Ekemar
Oona hadn’t noticed the fate of her coat. She stood stiff as a rod with eyes shut and her hands crossed in front of her. Lewis did not settle for gently cupping his hands around Oona's breasts. By bending the outermost joints his spread fingers resembled claws. When he sank his nails into her bosom Oona gasped and against her will her eyes were forced open. Puzzled, they stared into Lewis’s face, now hideously distorted by lechery. Feelings of fear and resentment and incomprehension and revulsion and a thousand other feelings showed in her face.
Irving sprang to his feet with a roar. At last he understood that the characters we had ended up with were more dangerous than waiting out the storm in the van. In two strides he reached Lewis, whose head he pulled backwards with a firm grasp on the curls. Lewis's eyelids closed upon the attack, his lips parted and it was startling to see him apparently enjoy the pain. Still, he did not let go of Oona.
“Hold it!”
Despite the outrage Irving must have felt, he swiveled to face the man who had boomed out the commanding words.
“Now – Lewis is a victim who needs support”, Porfirio lectured, his voice determined. “If he’s held back, he will be subject to a collapse and have a crying fit. If there's something I truly detest, it’s Lewis's crying fits.”
Irving's jaw fell to his chest while he listened to Porfirio. He kept his hold on Lewis's curly strands while Lewis continued to press his naked body against Oona's.
“He has no right to behave like that towards my future wife!” Irving shouted at Porfirio.
“Now, what is right, what is wrong,” Porfirio sighed contemptuously. ‘“he only thing we can conclude with certainty is that we all are slaves to our caprices …”
“Whatever that's supposed to mean, I can't accept that he assaults –”
It was Porfirio's turn to interrupt.
“Aboard my ship I make the decisions!” he said, his voice hard. “If I, sovereign on this vessel, wish that one of my subjects diverts himself with an intruder, there is no one to thwart that decision!”
Irving must have relaxed his grip on Lewis's hair, because suddenly Lewis jerked his neck and freed himself. He opened his eyes and ogled at Oona's frightened face with pleasure. Saliva glittered in one corner of his mouth. Lewis leaned forward, and using both hands he forcefully ripped her sweater and blouse open. His saliva dropped on the exposed breasts where no man had ever before rested his eyes. Oona clasped her hands over her face and started to snivel anxiously. At the end of the table the obese Gordon gurgled contentedly.
“Enough!” I have never seen Irving so infuriated as when he shouted this word. “No one lays a finger on my woman!” He applied a waist lock on Lewis and threw him into the burnt corner of the cabin.
Porfirio let out a dry, cheerless laugh and nodded at Wayne. A moment later Irving was secured on a chair by the shorter but considerably sturdier Wayne, now strategically positioned behind Irving. Lewis raised himself from the floor, stretched languidly and stroked the curls in his nape with his hands. When he realized that Wayne held Irving immobilized on the chair his face brightened slowly, and the glint of desire returned to his eyes. A moment later he had returned by Oona's side.
Oona was sitting on her chair with her torn clothes wrapped about her. She sobbed and her big eyes alternately implored Irving, Porfirio and myself for help. Lewis began to caress her again, this time over the hair. Irving's face was red from exasperation but he could not break free from Wayne's hold.
Lewis began pulling one garment after another off Oona's body. Irving shouted his protests. Everybody ignored him. In a monotonous voice Porfirio launched a sermon from his easy chair.
“My intention to reach my vast Spanish estate in good time before the autumn equinox was hampered by an unforeseen change of climate. The ineptitude of the subjects in my care did of course enlarge the problem, but then again nothing less should be expected – I realize that now.”
He paused when he saw Wayne, annoyed, turn to look at him. “Ineptitude is a phenomenon whose significance my subjects can’t comprehend. As a result, we are captives of the ice until spring warmth releases us. Then we shall continue our voyage to my domains.”
Lewis lifted Oona's legs onto the table and started pulling off her shoes and stockings. Close by Everett’s face twitched as his stare jumped back and forth between Oona and Lewis.
“The fact that the members of my crew are distinct when it comes to their individual quirks”, Porfirio continued, “doesn’t present a problem at all since they acknowledge my authority.”
How could his companions accept Porfirio’s insolence with such equanimity? Perhaps it was true what Porfirio claimed. Each one among these men only paid attention to his own particular obsession.
“I'm a longtime supporter”, Porfirio said, exhaling smoke through his nostrils, “of the philosophy ‘bread and circus to the plebeians’. We were unavoidably slowed by Gordon’s never-ending fixation about provisions when we stocked our supplies before departure. Gordon can't enter a supermarket without wanting to deplete its contents. He is pursued by fantasies of one fabulous meal after another. His exaggerated opinion about the amount of food and drink you need to cross the Atlantic has coincidentally turned out to be to our advantage. Consequently, we are well furnished as far as the bread is concerned. Well, that has left me with the circus yet to be solved. Only hours before you arrived, I was sitting here brooding about what kind of spectacle I might offer my minions. Naturally you can imagine the astonishment I felt when the three of you arrived as the answer to my contemplations!”
By Irving’s disoriented looks I gathered he had a hard time concentrating simultaneously on Lewis's violations and Porfirio's revelations. His eyes were glued on Lewis's hands, which were fervently kneading Oona's breasts. His ears were filled with the powerful, persuasive voice of Porfirio. Knowing him, I could imagine how the impressions blended in his brain causing overwhelming confusion.
While this was going on I had pushed my chair inch by inch towards the cabin's exit. I desperately sought Irving's attention to get his agreement for a common escape. He could just as well have been on another planet. Not once did he look my way.
Lewis abruptly raised Oona from the chair and impatiently plucked at her remaining garments. The excitement in the audience was tangible. Everett sat with his nose inches from Oona's right breast and could not keep calm. Increasingly more agitated, he switched his gaze from Oona to Lewis's smug, obscene face, and then back again.
Irving's frame shook in the clutch of Wayne's viselike grip. His eyes glowed with a mixture of fury, impotence and uncertainty. He muttered indistinguishable protests. Everett's face changed expression more often than he moved his gaze. Then Everett flew from his chair with a roar and shoved Oona aside. Clumsily he tried to get a grip on Lewis's throat. Lewis looked startled by the attack, but to hold the frailer Everett at bay presented no difficulty for him.
“I see, you want your share of the pumpkin pie”, Lewis smiled self-assuredly at him. “That's not possible, Everett. First you have to win her trust. Meanwhile you must satisfy yourself watching until I'm finished. Let’s hope you learn something.”
Lewis's condescending tone made Everett even more embittered. His pocked face was dark and the black eyes spat fire. He freed one hand and clawed Lewis's cheek with his long black fingernails. Lewis screamed.
“I'm going to teach you the meaning of pain,” he howled. Lewis's eyes narrowed and he smiled. The scratches from Everett's nails were brimming with blood. With the intent gaze of a predator, Lewis slowly raised a hand with well-manicured fingernails that sharply contrasted Everett’s. Everett took one apprehensive step backwards.
Suddenly Lewis's other hand shot out and hit Everett on the cheek with the palm. Everett raised his arms to fend himself. Lewis continued to strike his face openhandedly.
I shot a quick glance around the cabin. Oona held her fists in front of her mouth. Her eyes were distant and in shock. Irving panted through his
open mouth. His slow-wittedness when there was rapid action did not allow him to assimilate all impressions at once. He was still tethered to the chair by the brawny Wayne, whose amused pig eyes looked at the fighting men. Porfirio casually knocked the ash off the cigarillo he was smoking and observed Lewis and Everett's struggle from under half-closed eyelids. Stuart, Gary and Gordon did not show any reaction at all; they all acted as if the fight did not concern them. Apparently in deep concentration Stuart methodically stacked playing cards in an attempt to build a house. Gary’s gaze constantly scanned the cabin before it regularly returned to Irving's watch and the gold chain Oona wore around her neck. All this time Gordon continued devotedly to eat, drink and gurgle.
By now I had moved my chair to halfway between the table where Gordon was sitting and the cabin's exit. I had been unsuccessful in my attempts to catch Irving and Oona's attention. What should I do? Retreat into the storm without outdoor clothes and leave Oona and Irving to their fate? Try to fetch help? I racked my brain for counsel. What would be worse – to stay with this horde of degenerate rogues, or to venture on foot to Haven insufficiently dressed in the cold and the snow? I was too afraid to make up my mind.
Everett and Lewis continued their fight. It soon became obvious that Lewis was the stronger while Everett was the most unrelenting. Lewis suddenly shoved Everett an arm's length away and gave him an uppercut that hit him hard under the chin. The punch was so powerful that it hurled Everett across the table, where his head came to rest on a platter of leftovers in front of Gordon. Lewis smirked, moved to stand behind Oona and placed his hands on her shoulders. Slowly he let them slide down her chest.
The dull sound that rose from Irving's abdomen grew into a roar as he wrestled himself free from Wayne's grip. He lunged forward, and the force behind the punch that hit Lewis made him to back off from Oona. The attack from the uninvited guest on one of their own even caught the eye of the habitually disinterested Stuart.
Lewis's reaction to Irving's attack was astonishing. When his assailant embraced him, a grin spread across his face. He gave Irving no resistance, only looked at him with his mouth ajar. Irving wore the expression of a madman and squeezed Lewis harder. Screaming, he hoisted Lewis into the air, then wheeled and hurled him towards Wayne. Everett lifted his head from the scraps on Gordon’s platter and looked surprised that someone had taken over his fight.
Irving's scream had not subsided before it was replaced by a fiercer voice. Wayne had watched Irving with annoyed interest, but now he came storming towards him. Not for an instant slowing down, he kneeled and picked up the axe Gary had stolen from our van. Wayne raised it, and drove it down on the top of Irving’s head. The incredible force behind the blow parted the skull to the neck. My last memory of Irving before he died was his eyes that, uncomprehending, searched for the axe, which Wayne tried to disengage. Then he fell over the cursing Wayne. The axe came free in the fall and blood poured in jets over Irving's murderer.
Oona was standing next to the spot where Irving collapsed. She pressed her wrists hard against her cheeks and let out a long, painful moan. Gordon pushed Everett off the table. Porfirio pensively exhaled smoke. Stuart's house of cards fell apart.
For a brief moment everybody in the room remained still – whether distressed, deep in thought or unimpressed. A chair being pushed was the first noise to disturb the unreal situation. Gary strolled over to Irving and kneeled on the floor. At first I believed he wanted to help him, but when Oona a second later kneeled by his side, Gary viciously pushed her away. Lewis caught her by the hair and threw her, back down, on the table. Later I understood that Gary had been busy looting the corpse of its watch, ring and other valuables.
Everett had collected his wits and leaned over Oona before Lewis could stop him. He groped ecstatically over her trembling body. Snorting, Lewis sneered at Everett's clumsy hands and shoved him aside. He started to loosen the belt around her waist. Wayne stepped away and laughed dryly at the rivals. Gary silently slipped out of the cabin.
Lewis rotated Oona until her legs dangled over Irving's body on the other side of the table from where I sat. Oona desperately held on to the top of her trousers while Lewis tried to yank them off. To do so, he leaned his pale hairless torso over hers.
Everett crouched like an animal, took a leap and landed on Lewis's back. He closed his hands around his throat with such force that Lewis's eyeballs protruded from their sockets. Lewis let go of Oona and staggered backwards. Everett got a firmer grip on Lewis’s throat and locked his legs around his belly. Everett’s face was a nightmare. The scars left by the pox were purple, tiny black hairs fluttered in his dilated nostrils, and the malevolent pupils were merciless.
Although Everett momentarily had the upper hand, it was obvious Lewis would regain the initiative before long. He gave the impression to actually enjoy the pain Everett caused him. Sluggishly, Lewis reeled and freed himself from Everett's grasp. It would be a matter of moments before he would reverse their positions.
Everett realized what was bound to happen and attacked Lewis with additional frenzy. His hairy hands tore at Lewis's throat, but Lewis seemed unconcerned about the pains and lack of breath. Lewis pounded his fists into his assailant's abdomen. Everett moaned with every punch, and finally he had to let go of Lewis.
Again Wayne let out a staccato clatter, which I suppose was his way of voicing joy. On the table in front of Gordon lay the knife Gordon used to carve the meat he constantly put away. With a litheness I would not have credited to his bulk, Wayne leaned past Gordon and seized the knife. It shimmered with fat when he extended it to Everett. Everett grabbed the knife. Lewis, concentrating on beating his fists against Everett’s head, didn’t notice.
The first time the knife sank into Lewis's shoulder, he looked surprised. For every cut he was dealt his face contorted into a sort of restrained hurt, an expression beyond mere pain. He responded by clutching the throat of Everett harder, and both men tumbled to the floor. Lewis landed on top of Everett, who never ceased hacking the knife into his opponent. The blood flowed on the cabin's floor.
With the same fervor, the two men tried to kill each other. Lewis grunted every time he rocked back and forth while inexorably pressing his thumbs against Everett's larynx in his attempts to break it. The knife in Everett's hand penetrated Lewis's bleeding body time after time after time after time with mechanical precision.
No one in the cabin made a move to stop the battling men. Oona had sat up on the edge of the table, shaking of emotion. Her eyes roamed the cabin. The same instant they met mine, she pushed her way past the two men in their battle of life or death and ran over to me.
Lewis and Everett, now standing up, continued to fight furiously while Oona and I looked on in fear. The others studied them unconcerned. Never easing his strangulating hold, Lewis pitilessly shook Everett’s head. His face now had dark blue shadows for lack of oxygen. The knife he incessantly bored into Lewis's trunk had no apparent effect. Suddenly they tripped over the chair where Oona had been sitting when we first arrived, and both fell to the floor. In the silence that followed the distinct sound of larynx bones being broken could be heard. Everett's hand ceased to withdraw the knife from Lewis's body. With a prolonged whining sound, Everett toppled to one side. When he sensed that Everett no longer offered him resistance, Lewis relaxed with a groan and collapsed.
With difficulty Lewis sat up, still holding Everett's lifeless head in his hands. His fat, nude body was smeared with sweat, dirt and blood. He looked around the cabin. Triumphantly he looked at all the noncommittal faces that stared back at him. Slowly he became aware of the blood gushing from his cuts and the knife in his chest.
His reaction was one of incomprehension. In the wake of Everett's death more than a minute passed while Lewis studied the blood streaming from his wounds. His face made a grimace, and a scream rose from the depth of his gut. He pulled out the knife and struggled to get up on his feet. The exertion made him gasp for breath and fall headlong over Evere
tt's corpse.
February 20 – 24, 1973
Paul Crimson’s diary
Notes and letters exchanged between Paul Crimson and John Partridge
February 20, 1973
I haven’t seen Daniel for two days now, and when I ask Inocencia about him she only gives me bewildering answers. All of a sudden she appears tense and nervous. She stammered she was sorry he hadn’t told me goodbye in person. Then she explained he had gone to Boston on some business for a couple of days.
So, despite my dislike for her brother I felt I had to ask him about Dan’s whereabouts. In that patronizing way of his he told me Dan had left on Tuesday morning to catch the early bus south.
“And Vicente?” I couldn’t help asking him. “He’s gone, too.”
“Well, they didn’t go together – why should you ask? Is it any business of yours?” The way he said ‘business’ made cold fingers trip up my spine … like a sea burial out on thin ice.
It’s amazing how slimy he is while his sister is such a perfect creature. She’s nervous. It worries me. My life when I’m not writing now revolves like a satellite around Inocencia. I do everything to not make it an obsession, but I feel infatuated with her. There’s no other word that fits the description of my feelings for her.
February 21, 1973
I didn’t sleep a wink the whole night because of my disappointment over Inocencia. Our fat neighbor – who always drops by the McPherson house for that ‘wholesome meal no one but Inocencia can cook, ho, ho, ho’ – has all this time schemed and praised her food just to get into her panties.
Yesterday afternoon, with Dan and Vicente gone and Xavier down in the village, I found myself alone with Lorena. Inocencia had left the house without calling out to me as she usually does. When I came down from another intense, wearisome wrangling with my words, Lorena eventually responded my query in that peculiar accent of hers by saying: "Inocencia? Gone."