Gabriel's Inferno 01 - Gabriel's Inferno

by Sylvain Reynard

  Gabriel slowly raised his head and stared at her. Ten graduate students inhaled as one and began to move backward in their chairs, fearful that he might explode, or that a dagger from his eye might fly out and gut them. She was baiting him. And he knew it. Her tone, her physical proximity to Paul, the way she flicked her hair behind her shoulder with one hand…

  Gabriel was distracted momentarily by the curve of her neck, her delicate skin, the scent of vanilla that either wafted toward him or came to him only in memory. He wanted to say something, to demand that she speak with him, but he knew that he couldn’t. If he lost his temper now, she would only retreat further from his grasp, and he would lose her. He could not let that happen.

  Gabriel blinked. Rapidly.

  “Of course, Miss Mitchell. These things happen. Please e-mail me to set up an appointment.” He tried to smile, but found that he couldn’t; only one-half of his mouth would curl up, making him look as if he’d been stricken with palsy.

  Julia shifted her gaze to stare back at him, her eyes empty. She did not blush. She did not blink. She just looked…vacant.

  Gabriel noticed her expression, which he’d never seen before, and began to panic. I’m trying to be nice to her, and she looks at me as if I wasn’t there. Is it really so surprising that I can be cordial? That I can keep my temper?

  Paul dropped his hand below the table and quickly but gently squeezed Julia’s arm at the elbow. His touch distracted her so she looked at him, and he shook his head, his eyes flickering to the front of the room and back to her.

  She seemed to be awakened from her reverie. “Of course, Professor. Another time.” For good measure, she averted her eyes and waited without expression for the class to begin.

  Gabriel’s mind was racing. If he couldn’t speak with her today, he would have to go days and perhaps weeks without explaining. He couldn’t wait that long. Their separation was eating away at him. The longer he waited, the less receptive she was going to be to his explanation. He had to do something. He had to find some way of communicating with her. Immediately.

  “Um, I’ve decided that rather than have a normal seminar today, I will deliver a lecture. I’ll be examining the relationship between Dante and Beatrice. In particular, what transpired when Dante met Beatrice the second time and she rejected him.”

  Julia stifled a gasp and looked up at him in horror.

  “I’m sorry to have to do this,” his voice took on a conciliatory tone, “but I was left with no other choice. A misunderstanding has emerged that must be dealt with before it’s too late.” His eyes met hers for mere seconds, and he lowered his gaze to his notes. Of course, his notes were of no use for this particular lecture.

  Julia’s heart raced. Oh, no. He wouldn’t….

  Gabriel inhaled deeply and began. “Beatrice represents many things for Dante. Most importantly, an ideal of womanhood and femininity. Beatrice is beautiful. She’s intelligent and charming. She has all of the character qualities Dante believes are essential to the ideal woman.

  “He first encounters her when they are both very young, too young for any kind of relationship. Rather than sully their love with any kind of pedestrian or tawdry entanglement, he chooses to adore her reverently but distantly, in deference to her age and experience.

  “Time passes. He meets Beatrice again. She has matured into a talented young lady; she is even more gifted and beautiful. Now his feelings for her are much stronger, even though he is married to someone else. He pours his affection into writing poetry and pens several sonnets for Beatrice, but none for his wife.

  “Dante does not know Beatrice. He has little contact with her. Even so, he adores her from afar. After she dies at the age of twenty-four, he celebrates her in his writings.

  “In The Divine Comedy, Dante’s most famous work, Beatrice helps to persuade Virgil to guide Dante through Hell because she, as one of the redeemed in Paradise, is unable to descend into Hell to rescue him. Once Virgil sees Dante safely through Hell, she joins him and guides him through Purgatory and into Paradise.

  “In my lecture today, I wish to pose the following question: where was Beatrice and what was she doing in between her two meetings with Dante?

  “He waited for her for years. She knew where he lived. She knew his family; she was friendly, very friendly, with them. If she cared about him, why didn’t she write to him? Why did she make no attempt to contact him? I think the answer is obvious: their relationship was entirely one-sided. Dante cared for Beatrice, but Beatrice cared nothing for Dante.”

  Julia almost fell off her chair.

  All of the graduate students were following his lecture diligently and taking copious notes, although Paul, Julia, and Christa, who were familiar with Dante, found precious little that was new in his lecture. With the exception of the last full paragraph, which had nothing whatsoever to do with Dante Alighieri and Beatrice Portinari, at all.

  Gabriel’s eyes wandered to Julia’s and lingered there almost a beat too long, before he turned to Christa, smiling flirtatiously. Julia fumed. He was doing that on purpose—purposefully looking at her and then focusing all of his attention on Christa-the-Gollum, just so she could see how easily she would be replaced.

  Fine. If he wants to play the jealousy game, bring it.

  Julia began to tap her notebook with her pen just loud enough to be distracting. When Gabriel’s narrowed eyes darted around to look for the noise and landed on her left hand, she slid her right hand closer to Paul and gave his hand a squeeze. He looked over at her with a heart-melting smile, and she gazed up into his eyes through her eyelashes. She parted her lips, exposing her teeth, and gave Paul the loveliest, sweetest smile she could muster.

  A half-groan, half-cough from the front of the room caused Paul to rip his eyes away from her and stare straight at the very angry face of Professor Emerson. Paul withdrew his hand from Julia’s immediately.

  Smirking now, and still continuing his lecture without fumbling a word, Gabriel began to write on the board. More than one graduate student reacted in shock when they saw what he had written:

  In real life, Beatrice was only too happy

  to leave Dante in Hell

  because she couldn’t be bothered

  to keep her promise.

  Julia was the last person to look up because she was still huffing about what had just happened. By the time she saw the board, Gabriel was leaning his back against it with his arms folded and a very smug expression on his face. Julia determined then and there that even if he had her expelled, that smug expression was going to be wiped off his face. Immediately.

  She put her hand up and waited until he called on her. “That’s really arrogant and self-serving, Professor.”

  Paul tightened his fingers on her arm, slightly tugging at her. “Are you crazy?” he whispered.

  Julia ignored him and continued. “Why blame Beatrice? She’s the victim in all of this. Dante met her when she was under eighteen. It wasn’t possible for them to be together, unless he’s a pedophile. Are you telling us that Dante is a pedophile, Professor?”

  One of the female students gasped.

  Gabriel scowled. “Of course not! He has true affection for her, and this affection is undiminished even during their separation. If she had ever had the courage to ask him, he would have told her that. Unequivocally.”

  Julia moved her head to one side and narrowed her eyes. “That’s a bit difficult to believe. Everything in Dante’s later life seems to revolve around sex. He can’t relate to women in any other way. And he’s certainly not sitting at home alone on Friday and Saturday nights waiting for Beatrice. So he must not have cared for her.”

  Gabriel’s face grew very red, and he unfolded his arms, taking a step in her direction. Paul immediately put his hand up, trying to distract The Professor, but Gabriel ignored him and came a step closer.

  “He is a man, after all, and needs…uh…companionship. And if it makes it any more palatable, those women were just helpful friends
. Nothing more. His draw to Beatrice is undiminished. He simply despaired of waiting for her, since it was obvious that he was never going to see her again. And that’s her fault, not his.”

  She smiled sweetly as she prepared her knife. “If that’s affection, I’ll take hatred. And just what were these friends so helpful with, Professor? Hmmmm? They’re not friends—they’re pelvic affiliates. Wouldn’t a friend want the other person to have a good life? A happy life? And not be clawing after fleeting pleasure like a randy old sex addict?”

  Julia saw Gabriel wince, but she ignored his reaction and plowed ahead. “It’s commonly known that Dante’s dalliances were anonymous and tawdry. He tended to pick up women at the meat market, I believe, and when he was finished, he simply threw them away. That doesn’t sound like someone who would appeal to Beatrice. Not to mention the fact that he has a mistress named Paulina.”

  Immediately, ten pairs of eyes swung inquisitively to Julia. She flushed a deep red but continued, somewhat flustered. “I—I found something once by a woman from Philadelphia who unearthed evidence of their relationship. If Beatrice lacked affection for Dante and rejected him later in life, it was completely justified. Dante was a self-absorbed, cruel, and arrogant man-whore who treated women like toys for his own personal amusement.”

  Now at this point, both Christa and Paul were wondering what in the holy hell had just happened to their Dante seminar, for neither of them knew anything about a female Dante expert from Philadelphia or a mistress named Paulina. They silently pledged to spend more time in the library from now on.

  Gabriel glared at the back of the room. “I believe I’m somewhat familiar with the woman you’re talking about, but she isn’t from Philadelphia. She’s from some podunk village in rural Pennsylvania. And she doesn’t know what she’s talking about, so she should refrain from pronouncing judgment.”

  Julia’s cheeks flamed. “That’s an ad hominem objection. Her place of origin doesn’t diminish her credibility. And Dante and his family were from a podunk village too. Not that Dante would ever admit it.”

  Gabriel’s shoulders shook slightly as he tried to control himself. “I’d hardly call the Florence of the fourteenth century podunk. And with respect to the mistress, that’s just shoddy research. In fact, I’ll go further. That woman’s head is filled with nothing more than appalling rubbish, and she doesn’t have a shred of evidence for her conjectures.”

  “I wouldn’t dismiss her evidence out of hand, Professor, unless you’re prepared to discuss it in detail. And you haven’t given us an argument, just an abusive attack,” she countered, arching an eyebrow at him and trembling slightly.

  Paul took her hand underneath the table and squeezed. “Stop,” he whispered, so low only she could hear. “Right now.”

  Gabriel’s face reddened again, and he began to breathe through his mouth. “If that woman wanted to know how Dante truly felt about Beatrice, she knew where to find the answer. Then she wouldn’t be shooting her mouth off about things she knew absolutely nothing about. And making herself and Dante look ridiculous. In public.”

  Christa looked from Professor Emerson to Julia and back again. Something wasn’t right. Something was definitely wrong, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. She was determined to find out.

  Gabriel turned back to the board and began writing, trying to calm himself down:

  Dante thought it was a dream.

  “The language that Dante uses about his first meeting with Beatrice has a dreamlike quality. For various—ah—personal reasons, he doesn’t trust his senses. He’s not sure who she is. In fact, one theory is that Dante thought Beatrice was an angel.

  “So later in life, Beatrice is completely out of order in assuming that he remembered everything from their first meeting and in holding that fact against him and not giving him the opportunity to explain himself. Clearly, if he thought that Beatrice was an angel, he would have no hope that she would return.

  “Dante would have explained all of this to her, if she hadn’t rejected him before he had the chance. So once again, her lack of clarity on this point is her fault. Not his.”

  Christa’s hand shot up, and Gabriel reluctantly nodded at her, growing very tense as he waited for her to speak.

  But Julia spoke first. “The discussion of their first meeting is patently irrelevant, since Dante must have recognized her when he saw her the second time, dream or not. So why did he pretend not to?”

  “He wasn’t pretending. She was familiar to him, but she was all grown up, he was confused, and he was upset about other things in life.” Gabriel’s voice grew pained.

  “I’m sure that’s what he told himself so he could sleep at night, when he wasn’t on an alcoholic bender in the lobbies of downtown Florence.”

  “Julia, that’s enough.” Paul raised his voice above a whisper.

  Christa was about to interject something when Gabriel held out his hand to silence her.

  “That has nothing to do with it!” He inhaled and exhaled quickly as he tried in vain to keep his emotions in check. He dropped his voice and stared only at her, ignoring the way Paul shifted his body so that he could come between The Professor and Julia if need be.

  “Haven’t you ever been lonely, Miss Mitchell? Haven’t you ever ached for companionship, even if it’s only carnal and temporary? Sometimes it’s all you can get. And so you take it and you’re grateful for it, while recognizing it for what it is, because you have no other choice. Instead of being so high-handed and self-righteous in your assessment of Dante’s lifestyle, you should try having a little compassion.” Gabriel snapped his mouth shut as he realized he had revealed far more than he had ever intended. Julia stared back at him coolly and waited for him to continue.

  “Dante was haunted by his memory of Beatrice. And that made things worse, not better, for no one ever measured up to her. No one was beautiful enough, no one was pure enough, no one made him feel the way she did. He always wanted her—he just despaired of ever finding her again. Believe me, if she had presented herself earlier and told him who she was, he would have dropped everything and everyone for her. Immediately.” Gabriel’s eyes grew desperate as they bore into Julia’s deep brown eyes.

  “What was he supposed to do, Miss Mitchell? Hmmmm? Enlighten us. Beatrice rejected him. He only had one thing of value left and that was his career. When she threatened that, what else could he do? He had to let her go, but that was her choice, not his.”

  Julia smiled sweetly at his tirade, and he knew that he was in for it.

  “Your lecture has been very illuminating, Professor. But I still have one more question. So you’re saying that Paulina is not Dante’s mistress? That she’s just a fuck buddy?”

  A very loud popping sound echoed across the seminar room. Each graduate student gazed in complete and utter shock as they realized that Professor Emerson had snapped the whiteboard marker in two. Black ink spread across his fingers like a starless night, and his eyes ignited into an angry blue fire.

  That’s it. That’s fucking it, he thought.

  Paul pulled Julia into his side protectively, curving his body around her as he watched The Professor’s shoulders begin to shake with rage.

  “Class is dismissed. In my office, Miss Mitchell. Now!” Professor Emerson angrily shoved his notes and his books into his briefcase and exited the seminar room, slamming the door behind him.

  Chapter 16

  The graduate students sat in the now silent seminar room, stunned. Since the majority of the students weren’t Dante specialists, they quickly dismissed the altercation as an entertaining (albeit aberrant) internecine debate. Academics could be passionate about their subject matter; everyone knew it. Some, like Julia and The Professor, were more passionate than others. Today’s seminar was a train wreck, of course, but not entirely surprising. Not, thought Paul, as bizarre as some of the things that happened the previous semester in Professor Singer’s Medieval Torture Methods seminar…which turned out to be surpri
singly hands-on…

  As the students slowly realized that the steel-cage death match they’d just witnessed was over, and that there would be no second round (or popcorn), they began filing out, with the exception of Christa, Paul, and Julia.

  Christa fixed Julia with narrowed eyes and went after The Professor like a co-dependent duckling.

  Paul closed his eyes and groaned. “Are you suicidal?”

  Julia seemed to be shaking herself awake from a dream. “What?”

  “Why did you provoke him like that? He’s looking for a reason to get rid of you!”

  She was only now able to grasp the gravity of her predicament. It was as if she’d been another person, spewing venom and anger, without any thought about the audience. And now that she’d vented she felt deflated, like a lonely and empty balloon left after a child’s birthday party. She slowly began packing her things and tried to steel herself for what she knew would be a very, very unpleasant conversation in The Professor’s office.

  “I don’t think you should go,” said Paul.

  “I don’t want to go.”

  “Then don’t. Send him an e-mail. Tell him you’re sick—and you’re sorry.”

  Julia thought about that for a moment. It was very, very tempting. But she knew that her only chance at saving her career would be to woman up and take her punishment, and try to piece her personal life together afterward. If that was even possible.

  “If I don’t go to his office, he’ll be even angrier. He could kick me out. And I need this class, or I won’t be able to graduate in May.”

  “Then I’m going with you. Better yet, I’ll speak with him first.” Paul drew himself up to his full height and flexed his arms.

  “No, you need to stay out of this. I’m going to go and apologize and let him yell at me. And when he has his pound of flesh, he’ll let me go.”

  “The quality of mercy is not strained,” muttered Paul. “Not that he would know anything about that. What were you fighting about, anyway? Dante didn’t have a mistress called Paulina.”