Lovers and Other Monsters

by Marvin Kaye (ed)

  KAIVANU STIRRED from bed, waking him with the soft whoosh of her wings. The image of her, a blurred streak as sleep left his eyes... he loved to watch her in the afternoon light, waking, walking naked to the balcony, her wings spreading behind her as she gained the railing to gaze past the deserted streets at the Mediterranean stretching around Kato Pyrgos like a moat.

  Then, instinctively, she faced into the wind, towards Olympus, her silken hair whipping about, her involuntary movements miming flight. He raised himself up on an elbow among the soft pillows, feeling a twinge of fear that she might take off. But he knew she wouldn’t leave him. He held her with stronger bonds than the ones he used to tie her on the first night she came to him.

  In the last hazy weeks his disbelief waned, but from time to time he wondered if he wasn’t in the midst of a strange dream or even a flashback.

  When he first saw her, two weeks before, standing on the balcony outside his hotel room, he thought her like the ten thousand other girls he’d left at Madison Square Garden earlier that night... a desperate fan trying to steal some of his magic, a piece of him to take home and decipher. But then he remembered that this one was eighteen stories above Park Avenue in the dead of winter.

  He was a connoisseur (of sorts) when it came to the hollow men and women who follow the Gods of music and find Heaven and Hell connate within the holy realms of power amplification and media hype. On more than a few occasions, he sought cold pleasure in their servitude, but always found them wanting.

  He knew at a glance that the haunting vision in the ice-streaked picture window was not of their strain. No other groupie was as stunning as this innocent creature, and certainly none had ever arrived naked, displaying a twelve-foot wing span.

  He allowed her into his world that night, spellbound by her crystalline eyes as much as her wings. In the hazy weeks that followed, he loved her like no one else ever before, and she learned to love him. She carried him and his guitar across two oceans and a continent at the speed of thought to Cyprus, to the mute and blind city, the bastard ghost town of the war between the Turks and the Greeks, a place now populated by rats, sea gulls and an occasional UN security officer.

  A perfect place for two Gods. Two freaks. He hadn’t been alone for more than two hours at a time since the tour started. Between the band, the press, and his agent, practically every spare minute for four months had been sucked away. But now, out of nowhere, Paradise! No agents, no opening acts, no groupies, no damn tour buses, none of the raunchy roadside food to which he’d become accustomed. When he hungered now, she disappeared for an hour or two and returned with a princely dinner, lamb and couscous, fruits and vegetables from as far away as Italy and Egypt. He wanted for nothing.

  For the first time in his life, he began to relax.

  ❖

  She floated back into the room smiling her Mona Lisa smile, so wise and out of place on her childlike countenance. Her back arched; her perfect breasts surged towards him as her wings folded to fit the door. She walked to the bathroom door, stopped, and then, like tiny bells, she turned and spoke.

  “Why do you watch me?” Her naïveté was as delightful as her voice.

  “Because I love you, dearheart... because you are the single most delightful thing I’ve ever seen.” Grinning, he dismounted the bed with the energy of a schoolboy pulsing through his forty-year-old frame. The air was so charged with power, it seemed as if all the nourishment he needed lay in the breeze and in making love to her. He met her halfway to the door, blocking her way in a playful gesture. She reared at the suddenness of his motion and her wings spread slightly. He saw something in her eyes that he could not name, but he put the thought away.

  “How ’bout coming back to bed with me, da’lin’... or I could come in there with you?” he asked as he wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her gently, wondering how well they’d fit in a single shower stall with her wings. The cistern on the roof would be filled with sun-warmed rainwater. He stirred at the thought.

  “Whichever you prefer, my love.” She slid her hands around his waist in perfect mimicry of his embrace. “Then will you play? Just a little tune? After?” She kissed him. “After.”

  He lifted her, careful of her wings, to the bed.

  ❖

  As he lay locked in her fevered embraces, he realized why he had allowed her to take him away from the endless draining circus that “Richey Vergo” had become. Fifteen years of living up to the expectations of the press and millions of strangers who thought they knew him. Two nervous breakdowns, three divorces, alimony and enough lawsuits to wallpaper a house. In the last year, he’d begun to understand how easy it would be to jump off a hotel roof like Billy Jet, his lead singer, had done.

  He didn’t want to end his chapter in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame like so many of his friends. But so many times over the years he heard, “It’s better to burn out than fade away.” And two years earlier, he had faded away. Deep away. He bought a mansion two hundred miles upstate from Milwaukee and drank himself into a stupor nightly to kill the buzzing... to stop the music. But after two months of it, he learned what the Mississippi blues men knew all along. The lower you go, the more blood you spill for the art... the sweeter the music becomes and no matter what he tried to do, he could have no more stopped playing the guitar than quit breathing.

  He wrote more songs than he had in ten years. Good songs. Songs that put the commercial crud he had been pushing to shame. Songs that rang of life and love and tragedy. When his agent finally called, Richey was ready for him. After the critically acclaimed “comeback” album (he hated it when anyone called it that), after the heavy rotation of the accompanying videos on MTV, the tour was inevitable. And it rocked. Twenty-eight cities and a live satellite simulcast worldwide from the last date at the Garden. He owned the world that night; but there was something that no one, not the fans nor the drink company sponsors nor the roadies or even the religious freaks who picketed his shows knew. The music, that haunting collection of old and new hits, had one distinct message. Utter loneliness and total despair.

  It was something that Kaivanu understood. She was his redeemer, his salvation. She had flown into his life without a question or stipulation.

  Except that he play for her. just for her.

  Her eyes met his and he saw the same nameless expression. It was a look he’d noticed in many a late-night poker game. It was as if she knew both of their hands. Only pretending to play.

  ❖

  After the lovemaking, she showered. As she rose from the bed, he, curled into a fetal ball, smelled the incense and candlewax of a long-ago confessional and tasted redemption. The water drummed against the glass door of the shower.

  She reentered the room unfurled. The water clung to her white down in tiny beads and she carefully preened each wing dry.

  He sat naked on the foot of the bed, guitar in hand, and began to strum. When she noticed that he had the instrument, she beamed and came to him, coaxing him up and out to the balcony. She stood on the railing for a moment, slipping elegantly back and forth on her wet feet until the warm wind blew her off them. Then she hung there. Her tanned features and long black hair, the contrast of her gently oscillating wings, her eyes that matched the sea behind her... he thought for a moment that he would cry. What had he done to deserve this creature?

  “Play, my love, and don’t stop. I shall show you a dance that mortal men have only dreamt of,” she said as she folded her wings for a dive.

  He began to play, starting with a strong melody with resounding repetitions of resonate chords. She dipped and swooped around the parapet, flowing in unaltered synch with the sound. He changed to a sultry blues tempo and she switched as fluidly into an undulating series of movements in time with the beating of her wings. Feeling as connected to her as he had during their physical bonding, he played steadily faster as her movements grew more erotic. He stopped and broke into a bit of Beethoven, watching her circle and writhe on cue. He segued to a gr
oup of power chords, their dissonant beginning resolving into a complex structure on which he built to the close of his solo. As he drew near its end, he caught a glimpse of the tears in her angelic eyes. He strummed the last resolution and in she flew, lifting him to the bed, kissing him and bathing him in her perspiration. He let the guitar slide to the floor, glad to be rid of it, and found sanctuary in her arms.

  ❖

  Later, the wind and approaching twilight roused them from bed to walk the deserted streets to the beach. Instead of the stairs, she carried him to the ground. There was no getting used to the rush of being flown from place to place by an impossible creature. He landed unsure of his feet and positive he left his stomach somewhere on the twelfth floor of the lifeless building.

  “That’s nice, luv. Come along and take my hand.” Me held it out for her and she reciprocated. They walked past the artillery-shelled restaurants to the quiet boardwalk resplendent with Cyprian advertisement posters and signs rusted and ruined by the salty spray of the Mediterranean Sea. The sand stretched for miles to meet the gathering tide. And they paused, momentarily, as if on the edge of some undetermined future, their shadows cast five times their length pointing east towards Morphou and further, towards Syria and other mysteries. He felt like a man reincarnated while still holding the regrets and memories of his past life. In that instant, standing on the shore of forever, he thought he knew something of eternity.

  ❖

  As they stepped from the walk to the sand, Kaivanu’s eyes widened and her ears pricked up visibly. She squeezed his hand.

  “Something comes.”

  Then Richey heard the speedy little engine of a jeep reverberating down the street they had just exited.

  “We have to hide, Luv!” He pulled her towards the boardwalk and the concealment one of the signs might offer, but it was too late. Riding past the theatres and abandoned food vendors still advertising their ten-year-old Specials of the Day, the jeep rounded the corner and saw them. It bore the blue and white flag of the United Nations Security Forces.

  “Do not move,” the PA speaker blared at them. “This area is off limits to any unauthorized personnel. You are under arrest.” The voice was young, but confident. It repeated the warning in Greek and what Richey thought must be Turkish.

  Wondrous! he thought. How will we explain you?

  “Take no thought of me, my love!” she said, taking flight, not waiting to explain.

  And she reads my thoughts, too?

  She turned at three meters out and smiled. A sudden white coolness filled his head. Of course I can, Richard! How do you suppose you drew me to that lonely room in New York?

  He stood there in his cut-off Levi’s, rooted, as she flew on a collision course with the men and the jeep.

  The vehicle came to an abrupt stop. A young officer wearing a Canadian uniform jumped out amongst the billows of sandy dust. His mouth dropped at the wonder of what was flying at them, then he shouted orders to the radio operator and to a boy manning a mounted .50 caliber machine gun. Completely unsure of himself, the soldier slid back the cocking mechanism.

  Through the surf, the engine and the booming sweep of Kaivanu’s wings as she neared the group, Richard heard the odd click of the gun. He fell to the sand waiting for the magnificent dream that was his reality to disappear in a burst of lead, down and blood. He turned away from the sight, but as he watched her shadow in the sand, it began to change. The lines became indistinct and the wings blurred.

  Richard looked up and saw her soar suddenly upward into the setting sun and then dive at the vehicle. Only it wasn’t she. It was something else, something hideous.

  Where her beautiful white wings had been, there were solid dark blue sheets of marbled skin that popped and rippled from the force of her dive. Seven thick brown tentacles trailed behind her. As she reached the jeep, whiplike antennae struck out and decapitated the radio man. His microphone dropped, its attached radio still asking frantic questions through the static.

  Her wings fanned and she stopped, hovering directly above them. Richard could see her head, bald, brown, reflecting the sun as it disappeared from view. Her arms clung to what used to be her knees, with two curling reptilian fingers where her soft hands had been.

  The gun strobed out its answer to her attack, the young soldier manning it screaming in total panic. The rounds sounded like a thousand metal spatulas slapping plastic. They ricocheted in all directions, breaking the windows of a former ice cream shop, splattering the stone walls with lead. Every fifth round bore a luminous tracer that bounced around the sandy canyon of buildings.

  She raised her new head and shrieked. The sound chilled Richard to the bone. It was not a scream of anger or pain. It seemed more like... laughter.

  Two more jeeps raced into view from side streets two and four blocks away. Kaivanu turned to face Richard and buzzed out one distinguishable word: “Run!”

  With totally mixed feelings about running from the soldiers, trying to blank the sight of her transformed face from his mind, he leapt from the sand and headed for the shadows of a nearby alley. He turned for a moment and saw her arms spread as she vomited sulphurous fire onto the men. As they thrashed and writhed and moaned, she swept away from the smoldering mess towards the reinforcements. Staring at the scene, Richard nearly ran to the aid of the men in the first jeep. Then the fuel tank exploded, sending a black mushroom into the purple sky and instantly, mercifully, killing the soldiers.

  He fled down blind alleys and empty streets. He heard more gunfire and explosions behind him as he knocked down the locked door to the hotel and bounded up nine flights of dark stairs. Near the tenth it seemed his heart would burst, but he climbed the side rail and treaded the last two flights without understanding why.

  When he reached the room, he saw she had already arrived and was showering by candlelight. He paced about, glowing with sweat, wondering what he was doing there in the same room with a monster, but from the sound of her voice he knew she had become her beautiful self again.

  “I’m glad you’re back, Richard.” She came from the shower, rubbing her wings with a soft white towel, looking none the worse for her battle. She moved towards him, her eyes unblinking in the sparkling candleglow.

  How?

  She did not answer, but came closer, sliding her arms around his neck. He jerked away and fell on his back beside the bed.

  “You are repulsed,” she said matter-of-factly, walking to the sliding glass doors and out into the night. The sound of sirens filled the air and helicopter rotors tore the skies.

  “No... I am confused, uh... luv,” he said, trying to conceal his fear as he followed her onto the balcony.

  “So now you will become a liar, sweet Richard. Now you would take your leave.” The night wind ruffled at the feathers bordering her wings. Her back was turned to him as she leaned out over the Pyrgosian street.

  Whatever she was, he was in love with this part of her. He shuffled towards her like a guilty child. “I’m sorry, dearheart. It was all so unexpected. So strange to me.” He touched her shoulder.

  She whipped around to face him. “And so you will play for me, sweet Richard?” She had the look of a predator. “Will you give me more of your music?” She held him tightly and kissed him, but it was like none of her other kisses; she had the grip of a linebacker and her tongue shot down his throat. Gagging, he tore her arms away and leaned over the rail waiting for the sickness to come.

  “No, no more music,” she said with calm sarcasm. She whisked her hair back, tilting her head, watching him through the bottom of her eyes.

  He turned and slid to the deck. As he did, an ambulance screamed around the corner below them bearing the UN flags and a huge red cross in a field of white on its roof.

  She leaned over him, her childlike features marred by her sudden anger. Her nudity contradicted her bearing, but he remembered the beach and the bodies melted into the sand.

  “You reject ME!? I am a goddess in my homeland. I have
shown you all I can feel. You are all alike. Your passions are confined to the notes you play. What do you know of passion? Of walking along Everest at dawn? Of sleeping with the demons in the pit of Fujiyama? You could not stomach the things I relish!”

  As she grew steadily angrier, Richard felt the air becoming warmer. Stay calm, Richey! Keep your head! A small tear crawled down his cheek.

  “Even your thoughts are mine, you pitiful little man.” She turned and went into the room, emerging a second later with his guitar. “Even so, you will play now!” She tossed the instrument on his kneeling lap. It thudded out the echo of a hundred chords.

  He wept. Then, taking the guitar in his arms, he began to play. Softly at first, a simple melody with simple chords. She couldn’t control her reaction. She began to undulate with the tune. She took to the air around the balcony with a gentle glide. A smile returned to her face.

  Richard tried to think of nothing. He let his fingers think for him. Changing the tune. Following the lead of his heart, where no one could see, not even Kaivanu. The chords grew intensely dissonant, ripping at the fabric of coherent sound. He thought of his friend Billy Jet who leapt from the twenty-second floor in Atlanta, he thought of the endless list of friends and mentors he had seen die at the hands of their own obsession, driven by some unexplainable force to destroy themselves. Watching Kaivanu circle the precipice like a moth, he wondered how much of their misery was caused by forces that the world could never believe or accept.

  In his mind’s eyes, he saw the young lieutenant and his squad burned under the fire of her mindless, senseless fury.

  Looking up from his impromptu serenade, he saw that she was twisting and stalling in an impossible flight that would have destroyed the wings of any normal creature. As she contorted in concert with his music, on her face he saw an expression he had never expected. Anguish. She was obviously not enjoying the dance. Her distorted body, her grimace brought pity. He slowed the pace of his strumming. Her eyes met his.