by Eboni Snoe
Without further thought a force from deep within compelled her to accept the necklace. The diminutive tablets felt cool to the touch as she took them from the cliff dweller’s hands. It was only after she accepted the necklace that the woman looked into Nadine’s face again, and waited for her to place the ornament about her neck.
The stones made a light clattering noise as she worked her hair from between them, then straightened the necklace so it lay against her skin beneath the ruffles of her blouse. Once the woman saw her task was complete, she rejoined her group with the same swift but quiet movement. Nadine watched the cliff dwellers draw their gaze away from her and look, as if with the same mind, toward the still. The necklace was the only evidence that the uncanny incident had even occurred.
Chapter 8
“You should have told me you were about to leave,” Ulysses called to her as he emerged from the evergreen trees beside the path.
“Well, I didn’t,” Nadine countered without even turning to look at him. Her anger at his deserting her burned close to the surface.
“No, you did not.” He looked down at her stern profile. “Are you ready to see some of the collection of works we spoke of earlier? Or is the poised Nadine too upset to think of business?”
She stopped, her flashing hazel eyes lashing into him. Now he was treading water where Nadine was extremely confident. “Look. I am a professional. I am on this island because of my work. So please, don’t misjudge me. I’m ready any time you are.”
“Maybe we will both need to remember the real reason why you’re here.”
“You don’t have to worry, I won’t forget it.”
“It is a shame,” his husky voice chided her. “You dance so well.”
“It’s all relative. Dancing is a part of the island culture. What better way for me to understand a people than to join in their traditional festivities,” she replied with one generous, well-shaped eyebrow arched high.
A wry smile crossed Ulysses’ lips as he allowed Nadine to walk in front of him. The rapid sway of her round, slim hips emphasized her no-nonsense mood. He was not accustomed to being brushed off, and initially he was amused. But that shortly changed to aggravation as she walked further ahead, ignoring him as they advanced up the road. Among the islanders Ulysses was known for his short patience, and that reputation doubled when it came to women.
Under normal circumstances Nadine would have been unnerved by Ulysses’ presence behind her. Watching her. She had never been comfortable under the watchful eye of men. But her outrage at his leaving her for the wanton Cassandra was more than her pride could take. Let him watch her. She was glad he had plenty to watch. Her breath blew out forcefully through her nostrils. Who did he think she was? Somebody he could use as a toy? She could feel the heat rising to her face as she thought about the decision she had made earlier. Let him be the first? Over my dead body!
Ulysses caught up with Nadine as they reached the kitchen door. She stood and waited for him to open it. Her eyes showed disdain and a challenge before she looked down at the handle.
“Does business also include small courtesies like opening the door?” Ulysses asked her calmly.
Nadine refused to answer the needling question. Without a word she swiftly opened the door, almost hitting Ulysses in the face. It took all her concentrated control not to smile at the irritated look she had managed to put on his dark features. And to think, she did not even conjure up Gloria for that. “Now where do we start?” she asked, feigning ignorance about what had just transpired.
This time it was Ulysses who took the lead. “Right this way, Miss Nadine.”
She waited quietly while he lit a lamp beside the heavy oak door. His attitude toward her could be described as no less than icy when he was leading her up the stairs, uttering a mere “Up here” as he proceeded in front of her. He had searched through several keys before settling on the newest one in the bunch.
Nadine could not remember how many times as a teenager she had sat and watched the old movies where the trusting female was being led to a secret chamber by a not so trustworthy male. The thought amused her, but it also unnerved her, and she wondered if she had pushed the man in front of her too far. The little she knew of him would not be considered normal by a long shot. The odd meeting in the cave. His less than conventional actions in the bath, and the strange magnetism he developed as she watched him dance. Eros was a long way from Ashland, Mississippi, and Nadine decided to tone down the antagonistic approach she had taken only minutes before.
She entered the room behind Ulysses as a single lamp gave eerie life to the myriad of objects within. Statues and busts looked blindly about, carved in marble, bronze, and limestone. Detail and color grew in clarity as Ulysses somberly ignited a series of lamps revealing bookcases filled with books. His chilling silence added to the breathtaking aura of the place. Rodney had said Sovereign was considered “the Protector of Eros’ Treasures,” but Nadine had not been prepared for the abundance of treasures that were kept within the room.
Her lips parted in awe as she surveyed the treasures around her. The black velvet floor-length drapes that covered the walls and windows supplied an appropriate backdrop; like a velvet-lined jewelry box, they displayed the numerous works of art in the best possible manner. “It’s overwhelming,” she breathed, her eyes sparkling with the wonder of it.
Despite the frostiness that had encapsulated his feelings, Ulysses had no choice but to warm to Nadine’s sincere appreciation of his beloved collection. “Right here in this room you will find the richest source of Eros’ history. But this collection,” he passed his hands across the leather bindings of several books before caressing a female statuette, “spans many centuries and tells much about people around the world, their lives, their dreams, and their beliefs.”
Had the statue been a real woman, Nadine thought as she watched him, there would have been no doubt in her mind how much Ulysses loved and treasured her. As she gazed at the plethora of treasures Nadine discovered there was no need to ask Ulysses about the pieces that graced the second floor of his home. He began to talk about them out of a need born of pride and love, like a parent bursting to share the accomplishments of a cherished child. After a while, Nadine found herself joining in his recitations, citing periods and styles. Each one of them fed on the other’s enthusiasm and true appreciation for the paragons that surrounded them.
Ulysses’ vast knowledge of his people and their artistic accomplishments enthralled Nadine, and he in turn had never had a more captivated audience. Any awareness of time dissolved, and the wall of mistrust crumbled between them.
“They look so real,” Nadine said as she looked at the ivory statue of a man stabbing himself above the limp body of a woman. “Pain and agony are so clear in his eyes, whereas her eyes and body convey death compellingly.”
“Yes, it is an old replica of the Dying Gaul.” Ulysses’ words were spoken in wistful tones. “It is a tangible example of pain and courage. It shows what a human being will do, knowing his enemy’s capacity for cruelty.”
The pang in Ulysses’ voice as he spoke was unexpected. Nadine could tell from his posture, as he turned to look at the painting on the easel behind him, that it took extreme effort for him not to show his feelings, and yet she didn’t know if it were hurt or anger that he was trying to subdue.
Nadine turned her attention to several marble statuettes displayed within a glass case behind lock and key. “These are lovely. They are most definitely Dionysian. There is such an erotic feel about all of them, and some of their hair is so close and tight to their heads, as if they were of African descent.”
The first one was a nude Eros embracing and kissing a half-nude Psyche. The others featured men and women in several positions indulging in amorous pleasures.
“That is the one continuous theme that I have found throughout the artwork believed done here on the island, love and passion.” Ulysses crossed the space between them. “It is said that long before the
settlers arrived, the island of Eros was actually named by the goddess Aphrodite after her son. And with the name, she cast the spell that all whoever lived here, even for the shortest time, would eventually taste its sexual pleasures in some way or another.”
“Is there no other record connected with the name of the island?” Nadine asked, suddenly feeling giddy, the heady sensation brought on by Ulysses’ tale and his close proximity.
“None that we know of.” His voice plunged to a seductive purr as he came even closer. “There is no reason to be afraid of yourself, Nadine. I watched the change that came over you while you danced in the sugar fields. I know that your battle is not with me, but with what you Americans call your convictions. Here on Eros, the island of love, the only conviction is not to deny yourself pleasure. Take it if it is offered to you.”
He raised his hand to caress her cheek, allowing the back of it to trail down the curve of her jaw, only to open his palm to softly stroke her slender throat as he looked searchingly into the hazel eyes that watched him.
Passion and panic rose simultaneously within her, and Nadine searched for something that would provide an escape from the rapid change in circumstances. Two gold busts of Egyptian origin caught her eye and she started toward them, then stopped abruptly. “My goodness. What is that?” she asked, pointing to an intricately carved bronze chest.
“This container houses my pride and joy.” Ulysses allowed his attention to be diverted. “If you are good to me, one day I will show it to you.”
Nadine felt a quiver run down her spine, a natural reaction to the seductive invitation lying beneath his ambiguous words. She began to babble. “It is most intriguing. I’ve heard so many stories about the islands from my grandmother that I’ve always dreamed of coming to a place like this. I wanted to find out if her stories were true. You know, launch my own private treasure hunt. It’s why I love my work.” She kept her eyes on the case covered with figures and symbols that somehow looked familiar, but she had no inkling why. Bending closer for a more detailed assessment, Nadine saw the symbol that was tattooed in the cliff dweller’s hand. The ancient cross was carved on a thin bronze shield covering the lock.
“This has something to do with the cliff dwellers, doesn’t it?” she asked, pleased with herself and wondering what could the container possibly hold that was more precious to Ulysses than anything else among the slew of priceless pieces. Nadine looked at him with expectation, but Ulysses’ face had changed from soft and yielding to a distrusting mask.
“How do you know that?” The words were low, threatening.
Before Nadine could answer, Ulysses had grabbed her by her arm and was leading her toward the door as he badgered her. “That case is none of your concern, do you understand me? And if I find out you are here for reasons other than you have told us, you will regret it!”
He forced her out of the room, shutting the large door in her face. Shocked by his reaction, Nadine stood listening to Ulysses turning the key in the lock from the other side. She was shaken by his actions, and her arm actually ached where his hand had held it in a vice grip.
Her eyes burned with tears of confusion for the second time that day. Nadine took the stairway nearest to her to put as much distance as she could between herself and the irate man. Once she considered herself out of harm’s way, Nadine loosened the button on her cuff to see what damage had been done to her arm.
What is wrong with him? One minute he is trying to get next to me, and the next he’s acting like some fool off the street. I’m not going to be bothered with this kind of insanity, she fumed, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. Nadine pushed up her sleeve, searching for evidence of the pain she was still feeling.
“There you are.” Madame Deane’s voice reached her through an open door. “Come here. Right now! I’ve been waiting for a moment alone with you.”
Nadine wanted to disobey the shrill voice that called to her, but she thought better of it. Catherine had already warned her of madame’s moods. She wished someone had warned her about Ulysses.
“Hurry up! Close and lock the door before somebody sees you,” Madame Deane ordered in a conspiratorial tone. “She told me to tell you that you should be thanking us for keeping this safe until you returned. We have kept it hidden for years.” A dangerous, somewhat demented gleam accompanied her irrational claim. “This story is one of the reasons I am in this wheelchair today.” She looked up from the dirty object she held wrapped in her lap. “They thought they could get rid of me, but we were smarter than they were.” A perturbed look descended on madame’s wrinkled features. “What is wrong with you now, Lenora?”
Nadine looked at the pitiful creature before her, and all of a sudden she felt very tired. “Madame Deane, I am not Lenora.”
“Never mind all that. What is wrong with your arm?”
“You tell me. It’s your nephew’s fault,” she spat out in exasperation. Then, looking into Madame Deane’s glassy eyes: “Oh, what’s the use!”
“Pay no attention to Ulysses. He has been moodier than ever since someone broke into the house and stole some of the collection. Before that he never locked the room. Now, you can’t get Ulysses to part with that key ring of his. I think he sleeps with it.” An irritating hissing sound passed between her clenched teeth.
“Madame Deane, are you in there?” Catherine called from outside the door. “You know I’ve warned you about locking these doors, especially so close to your medication time.”
In an exaggerated whisper madame urged Nadine to come forward. “Here, hurry up and take this. And do not show it to anyone! No one, you hear!” Madame Deane seemed unusually strong as she shoved the animal skin into Nadine’s hands, then changed her tone for Catherine’s benefit. “I was just in here talking to Nadine. I guess she must have locked the door when she came in.” The woman extended her neck outward, reminding Nadine of a vulture.
Nadine took the skin without protest, simply to get away. Then she unlocked the door. A perturbed Catherine stepped inside.
“Miss Nadine,” Catherine’s emphasis on the word “miss” accentuated her discontent with Nadine’s actions, “if you do not mind me saying so, I do not think it is a good idea for you to lock any of these doors unless it is your own. What would happen if Madame Deane had one of her spells? I could not get in to help you, and I assure you, you would not be able to control her,” she warned with a final snub.
Frustrated, Nadine threw up her hands in surrender. “Yes, ma’am.” She exited to Catherine’s announcement of dinner in forty-five minutes, and the distasteful hissing of Madame Deane’s snicker behind her.
Entering her own room, Nadine firmly closed the door and locked it. She thought of the things Catherine had told her about Madame Deane while she helped her dress earlier that morning. Nadine looked at the roll of matted skin and hair the eccentric woman had given her, and dropped the unsightly object onto a slat of wood behind the headboard of the bed.
Nadine felt she had taken more than she wanted to take from the occupants of Sovereign. After the events of the day she lumped the entire household into one category. Psychotic. In her opinion, the entire place was full of people with, to put it mildly, extreme personality disorders. She thought if all the islanders were like the people here at Sovereign it would be a very difficult place to live. Nadine placed her forehead in her hands. God, I don’t know what to expect next.
“Miss Nadine?”
She exhaled long and hard at the sound of Catherine’s voice breaking in on her mental tirade.
“Yes . . .?”
Catherine paused, waiting for Nadine to open the door, but when she didn’t she continued. “Just thought I’d let you know Clarence says the roads should be clear by tomorrow.”
“Thank God.”
“Pardon me?”
“Thank you, Catherine,” she replied with as much patience as she, could muster.
Nadine listened as the woman left muttering to herself, the word “rude” being
more audible than the rest.
Ulysses stared long and hard at the two empty spaces inside the open case. It was like picking at a festering wound, and his mind raced as he tried to figure out why the carved slabs containing the manuscript had been taken.
The set had remained in the collection room for years until two weeks ago when the jade and onyx slabs were stolen. He guessed he was lucky the thieves had not taken the entire case. By sheer coincidence the two stones had been left in the treasure room. The others had been taken to his room where he continued to tediously clean the intricate etchings that covered the bronze case. It was a process that had been going on ever since he found the case half buried in an abandoned cave on the south side of the Sovereign estate. During the cleaning process he had discovered two paper-thin pieces of bronze on the inside of the lid that slid in and out, masking two extremely shallow compartments.
But the secret compartments were not what occupied Ulysses’ thoughts. Now, since the theft, only three stone carvings, three pages remained of the Five Pieces of Gaia. The carvings had been in his family’s possession for many years, although it was just recently that Ulysses discovered the manuscript pages hidden inside the slabs.
A coin that Ulysses had been given when he was a child playing in the cliff dwellers’ caves was the key, literally. He discovered this when he realized the cliff dwellers’ symbol etched into the coin matched the size and shape of the medallions carved on the Five Pieces of Gaia. Ulysses placed the coin inside one of the medallions and it fit so perfectly it was hard to remove, so he turned it, and the slab slid apart, revealing the manuscript inside.
This time Ulysses used the coin with intent. Carefully, he opened the rose quartz slab and gazed at the papyrus filled with hieroglyphs. The airtight stone had preserved the paper and ink through time, and he wondered for the hundredth time what the writing meant. Ulysses also wondered if the thieves knew about the manuscript pages hidden inside the stones. He had never noticed the hairline fracture encircling the carvings. Ulysses believed one would almost have to know about the manuscript to find the pages inside the slabs.