The Black Onyx Pact
Page 11
Drakkar follow them to the balcony and sits on a rattan armchair. Nora and Virginie sit on a rattan sofa in front of him, and Alma on the other armchair. The three women look at his muscular bare chest admiring his tattoo: the black bull ready to gore. They saw the other one on his right shoulder too, the black scorpion.
Once they are seated, they stare at each other. Everyone looks at everyone.
«Who is preparing the breakfast?» asks Virginie.
Alma gets up muttering, going to the kitchen.
Nora is visibly excited to meet him.
«So», she begins to say, «how was the night?»
«Yes, how was it? Sibylle informed us that she had a rendezvous with you for last night, so we came because we were dying to know how it went. Well, I guess this time we'll hear it from you.» says Virginie.
«Is it true that she has never seen you face?» asks Nora.
«Did you make her scream, last night?» inquires Virginie.
«Yes, tell us: you made her scream?» questions Nora.
«Just leave him alone! You look like two chihuahuas bothering a bear!» comments Alma, returning with a tray of fruit that places on the table.
Virginie looks at the fruit and then looks at Alma.
«Where is breakfast?»
«That's breakfast. What could be better than fruit?»
«Croissants?» affirm Nora and Virginie in unison.
«Sure, and then we have to fight with the crows to eat them!»
Drakkar takes a freshly washed peach and lifts his balaclava until he uncovers his mouth, then takes a bite while the women look at him. He leans back and continues to eat into total relaxation, as if he were alone. And again that bared chest attract the attention of the women. Nora shakes her head and says:
«Gosh, he is so handsome and virile, I feel the need to touch him and taste his skin. And I'm lesbian! Enough said.»
Virginie nods sympathetically. Drakkar, instead, acts as if he hadn't heard.
«So», he starts to say, «it was a wonderful night. Your friend is a lovely creature. Yes, she has never seen my face. And, yes, she screamed. Any other questions?»
Virginie makes a gesture of disappointment.
«Are you always so rude?»
Drakkar smiles, immediately making amends for his lack of kindness. Nora and Virginie look at that captivating mouth.
«Tell me about you, girls.»
Alma is the one who is happy to answer those questions, smiling serene as a Buddha.
«We know each other since always. We lived in the same neighborhood. Despite our age gap, especially between me and Nora, we grew up together. I run a kindergarten. It's called The Tribe of the World, and is a school that has a different teaching method. Our school is attended by children of all nationalities and all religions, who are taught the wonderful diversity that enrich us. We do not believe in punishment, but in understanding; we do not believe in control, but in doing together; we do not believe in imposing, but we believe in the good example.»
Drakkar put the peach core on the table and nods admiringly.
«Congratulations, it's really interesting. I'm fascinated.»
Alma smiles happily. She emanates sweetness in a palpable energy.
«I work in a cemetery.» says Nora.
Virginie laugh, to tease her, as always.
«Not a living soul would work with her, that's why they put her with the dead!»
Nora slaps her on the neck and Virginie not only doesn't complain, but intensify the laughter. Nora ignores her and continues saying:
«It's a very interesting job and is well paid. There aren't many people who would work in a cemetery, especially in night shifts.»
Virginie nods.
«Instead, this crazy girl here stays alone in her bungalow in the middle of the night watching horror movies, while outside the fog envelops the tombstones. And when the weather is nice she spends the night playing her cello among the graves, surrounded by the cemetery cats.»
Drakkar smiles at the thought.
«And you? What do you do for living?» asks the man.
Virginie touches her long straight hair.
«What job you think a transsexual could do?»
Drakkar lowers the balaclava and shrugs.
«The same as any other person?»
Virginie looks at him with adoration.
«I love you, faceless lover! However, I work in a rehabilitation center for young people with problems of all kinds. I help them to recover and I help them in their delicate reintegration into society. It's not easy, but it gives a lot of gratification.»
«It's a wonderful thing, Virginie, my compliments.» says Drakkar.
«Oh! Did you hear how he said my name? That voice, that vibration! Say it again, please.»
«Virginie.» repeats Drakkar in a deep voice.
«Ooh! Did you hear? Say it again!» exclaims Virginie while her two friends look up.
«Virginie.» says Drakkar in a whisper.
«You make me shiver! Say it again, please!»
«Virginie.» pants playfully the man.
«Again, Drakkar, again!»
But Drakkar stops, staring in a precise direction where Sibylle appeared. The smiling woman approaches them, wearing a blue silk robe. She stops to look at Drakkar and smiles sweetly.
«You stayed.» She is surprised and really happy he did.
The three friends exchange glances, understanding that the atmosphere became instantly more intimate. They get up at the same time and leave in silence.
Sibylle goes to sit astride on Drakkar's thighs, holding on to his strong shoulders. They look into their eyes, feeling the excitement again. Drakkar unveils her shoulders, lowering the robe down to her waist, then grabs her buttocks and slowly moves her on his crotch. She smiles, leans over him, raises his balaclava a bit, just to lick his lips. They kiss deeply, languidly. Sibylle pushes her tongue deeper, desiring almost to eat him. Drakkar slips a hand in her hair and keeps her still to enjoy better that intense kiss.
«Surely you know how to give a proper “good morning” to a man. I could get used to it. But maybe it's just because I'm ‘new’, maybe in a year you wouldn't even say “hi” after a night together.»
She puts a finger on his mouth, smiling tenderly.
«If you were my man, Romain, this is how I would say “good morning” to you every day of my life.»
When Drakkar hears those words he feels a strange warmth in his chest, right where the fourth chakra is, the heart one. He puts his hands on her cheeks pulling her closer to him.
«And if you were mine I would love to wake up next to you every morning.»
She bends over him hiding her face in the crook of his neck.
«I'm already yours, Romain.» she rustles.
The man closes his eyes. What's going on? That's not the kind of talking two lovers have. They shouldn't say things like that...
- Chapter VI
“If you realize that all things change, there is nothing you will try to hold on to.”
— Lao Tzu
~
The event at the Galerie d'Art Sibylle is a success. There are hundreds of people including guests, artists and journalists. The Gallery has large colorful corridors where many people are admiring the beautiful paintings and sculptures exhibited. There are artworks by artists from all over the world, and to honor those beautiful ethnic diversity the waiters are dressed in colorful African robes, floral Japanese kimono and precious Indian sarees.
The only painting of Sibylle exposed that night it's the oil painting which portrays the man dressed in black, wearing a dark mask with a naked woman hugged to his legs. It's one of the most admired paintings in the Gallery.
Sibylle is in one of the larger rooms, where people stop by to talk, to eat something at the buffet or to get a drink. It's a huge room with mirrored walls and a glass dome as ceiling, from which hang hundreds of chains with stars of aluminum illuminated by the many colored headlights
. The stars shine under the light creating an evocative dreamlike atmosphere. Sibylle is in front of the buffet, busy to taste all those delicious snacks. She is in the Gallery since that morning and she hasn't eaten all day.
Her long black hair is tied into a ponytail. She is wearing a mechanic overall genuinely stained by many colors. She is wearing it in honor of her mother, whom always wore her husband's mechanic overalls when she painted.
Jaqueline is the artistic director of the Gallery. She is an elegant woman with her head almost completely shaved. She wears a long gold dress, a pair of gold bracelets and large circular earrings. Smiling around she goes near Sibylle and growls in a low voice:
«What the hell, Sibylle! You can't come to an international art event wearing a fucking mechanic overall?!»
Sibylle is intent on looking at a puff pastry with purple cream in it.
«Hmmm, now is it black cherry or blueberry? It seems I have to taste–check.» she says sticking a finger in the pastries, to taste the cream. Then turning to Jaqueline she says: «Black cherry. Oh this you mean? It's the overall of my father when he was a boy and I won't take it off, not even under torture, Jaja, sorry.»
«Oh, interesting.» observes ironically the woman. «Be serious, there are some elegant dresses upstairs. Please, go and get change right now.»
«Why? Otherwise your valuable customers will be influenced by my appearance?»
«Sibylle, I would like to remind you that I'm the artistic director of this Gallery and I want everything to be perfect, I can't allow any kind of jarring or aesthetic abomination!»
Sibylle gobbles two more pastries and looks at Jacqueline trying to look assumptive. But she can't, not with those kind eyes and even less with her mouth full of food like a little girl.
«I'd like to remind you that I am the owner of this Gallery», she begins to say in a funny and incomprehensible voice due to the pastries filling her mouth, «Don't ask me to change my clothes again or you'll be fired!»
Jaqueline snorts and walks away muttering something about her little credibility in threatening. Sibylle looks at the tray of savory tarts.
«Hmm, let's see how many of these I can stick in my mouth.» And begins to eat. An old woman goes to her. It's Amelie, Sibylle mother's best friend. The woman is dressed (so to speak) with myriad of soft colored feathers glued on her bare skin.
«Sibylline, my deawest child!» flutters the plumed lady, with her winsome speech disorder.
Sibylle jumps to that cry and turns to look at her with her mouth full like one of an hamster.
«I'm so happy to see you, deaw! I was so wowwied, deeply wowwied, knowing that you wewe in that howwible, howwible deep abyss of depwession! But you awe stwong just like youw fathew, and hewe you awe again, mowe beautiful and lovely than evew.»
Amelie hugs and kisses her on the cheek while Sibylle tries to chew faster so she can talk.
«Awe you okay, deaw?»
Sibylle nods smiling, her cheeks bulging with food.
«Look at you, Sibylline, you awe so gowgeous, simply gowgeous! Oh deaw, I'm moved to teaws to see you in that mechanic ovewall, you wemind me of youw beautiful mothew.»
Sibylle nods to thank her, still unable to speak.
«Youw painting, Sibylline, I want it! I don't cawe about the pwice, it must be mine. Who is that intwiguing man powtwayed? He isn't youw husband fow suwe, it's too handsome and imposing to be him. Oh, I'm glad you get wid of that howwible, howwible man. He demeaned you, he chained youw cweativity, youw talent. But now you awe fwee again, awe you happy, deaw?»
Sibylle swallows the last bite, motions her to wait, drinks some water and turns to look at her with a smile.
«Actually I am determined to have him back, Amelie.»
The old lady sighs and shakes her head.
«Sibylline, deaw, awe you suwe?» starts saying gravely. «You want him because you weally love him ow just because you don't accept the loneliness? You don't have to pwove anything to youwself now to othews. You desewve a man who can make you vibwate in his stwong awms. Think about it, deaw, because often what we want — what we think we need — is not what will make us happy. Choose the one with whom you don't need to seek happiness. Choose the one with whom you feel happy fow no weason, Sibylline. See you latew, deaw.»
He kisses her cheek and leaves.
«Amelie?» calls Sibylle.
The old woman turns to look at her waiting in a graceful ballet position: the croisé derrière.
«How can I tell if I'm making the right choice?» asks Sibylle confused.
The feathered lady smiles warmly.
«If when you'we with him you feel that you miss nothing, then you awe doing the wight thing. If othewwise you feel you awe missing something then wun to that thing, because that's youw destiny!»
Amelie walks away, and Jaqueline come close to Sibylle again.
«What did the rainbow ostrich wanted?»
«Hey, be nice. Amelie was my mother's best friend, and right now she helped me to better understand what I need.»
«That stoned old lady?»
«She is very sweet and she is fond of me, so please be less offensive, okay?»
«Come on, look at her, with those ridiculous feathers glued onto that loose skin. Of course you feel that mutual sympathy: you both are fashion criminals!»
«She wants to buy my painting.»
Jaqueline raises her eyebrows then heads toward Amelie.
«My dear! Oh, look at you, Amelie, with those magnificent feathers! You are divine, my love, simply divine! What a touch of style, what an artist you are! Let me see you. Oh, you are beautiful!»
Sibylle shakes her head, amused and disgusted at the same time. She could never do the job of public relations.
«Sibylle, what a surprise. I thought you were dead.»
Sibylle turns to look at the woman who talked. It's a beautiful woman with brown hair, hazel eyes and an asymmetric bob haircut. She is wearing an elegant black dress and a long necklace made of transparent stones. Sibylle smiles.
«Greta, nice to see you too. I expected to see you more intelligent. Damn, it seems we disappointed each other.»
The woman looks at her with disdain, bringing to her red lips the crystal goblet in which the champagne is fizzing.
«I admire your courage, you know? I'm not talking about the courage of getting out of depression after the failure of your marriage, but about the courage of coming to an important event like this one bringing just a single plain painting.»
Sibylle smiles sweetly.
«This is your personal opinion which has no value apart in your own universe. And I didn't fail, my marriage failed, not me. A person doesn't fail: a person can do wrong, can fall, can surrender, can gets depressed, but doesn't fail if returns to live. Is like saying a phoenix can die. It never dies, it does only apparently, but then it rises from the ashes more glorious than before.»
«Nice. Did you learn this crap from those absurd books you read? Cute. And tell me, do you often repeat this nonsense to yourself before falling back into depression?»
«Absolutely, every moment of my life. Just to avoid becoming a frigging egotistic like you.»
Greta mocks a laugh.
«Oh! Our precious Taoist painter who verbally attacks another person because she cannot control her emotions!»
Sibylle take a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and drinks it in three quick gulps, looking back at the woman.
«Emotions should never be suppressed, you idiot. You must accepted them as they are and adapt yourself to them.»
«You are boring as person as you are talentless as painter. It's not just me, my dear, is the opinion of all those with whom I have talked. And I talk to many people. Why don't you accept your mediocrity and quit painting?»
Sibylle takes another goblet of champagne from a maid in saree and drinks also this one in a few sips, uttering a satisfied sound.
«Those pastries made me thirsty.» she observes, almost talk
ing to herself. Then, looking at Greta: «Sorry I cannot quit, because I don't create for the people, I create for myself. Besides I create out of gratitude and love. Gratitude toward the inspiration that gave me the gift to take the images enclosed in my mind and give them life making them real. Love toward the world, because I don't create for today or for tomorrow, I create for ever. You see, Greta, you are a beautiful balcony flower, which is always well-kept and beautiful to see, a pleasure for the eyes; but its roots are restricted in a pot and in order to survive must have someone who takes care of it. Me, I am an almond tree in a field. What I create — my fruits — I create them because it is my nature to do so. Yes, it is true, I am prey of the changes: if it rains too much or too little my fruits won't be good, but my roots will always be sunk deep into the ground. There will be the time in which I'll give new fruits, there will be the time in which all my leaves will fall, and then there will be the time in which I'll sprout again. I'll wilt, I'll bloom, I accept it, is the natural cycle of life. I abandon myself to it and in this way I'll never have to worry about anything. And I don't regret anything, because everything I do is out of love. And those who act out of love become immortals.»
Greta purses her lips, not knowing what to reply. That's strange since she always has a ready answer.
«You are a successful woman, Greta, because everyone likes you. I'm happy for you, really, believe me.» she says amicably, brushing Greta's bare arm. «But do you respect what you are, do you respect your art? Your hands create what you want, what you feel inside, or do they create on behalf of other minds? When you finish your painting you look at it and feel the desire to hug it, to tell it that it is the son you so long wanted and that you will love it forever no matter what? Do you just paint or do you give life to your creations? You know, dear, you better plant out in a field, because when you depend on someone you'll wither irremediably.»
Greta's lips quiver and she turns to leave but Sibylle holds her by the arm.
«No, please, don't cry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt your feelings.» says Sibylle mortified.
Greta smiles, shaking her head.