The Devil's Madonna

by Sharon Potts

  Seth kept moving, faster and faster.

  Kali’s cell phone. It rang again, then again.

  She felt Seth’s member shrivel, then he slid off her.

  “Who the hell?” he said.

  Kali reached for the phone and flipped it open. “Yes?”

  “Ay, dios mio,” said a woman’s frantic, angry voice. “Loca. Es muy loca.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kali said. “You have the wrong number.”

  “No, wait. Mrs. Kali? This is Luisa.”

  Kali sat up. “What is it, Luisa? Is my grandmother all right?”

  Seth mumbled something, then got out of bed and headed toward the bathroom.

  “All right?” Luisa said. “She crazy. She try to kill me.”

  “Wait. What are you saying?”

  “She come up the stairs and attack me like a wild animal.”

  “That’s impossible. My grandmother had a stroke. She can’t climb stairs.”

  “Well, she did. I call to tell you, I don’t stay there no more. Not with some crazy lady.”

  Kali heard Seth flush the toilet.

  “Are you still there, Luisa? At my grandmother’s house?”

  “No. I pack my bag and go.”

  “So she’s alone?”

  Seth stood in the doorway to the bathroom, the light shining on him, his arms folded across his bare chest. He’d put his briefs on.

  “I want to stay until you come,” Luisa said, “but she tell me to go. ‘Get out of my house,’ she say.”

  Kali climbed out of bed. “When did you leave? How long has she been alone?”

  “Just now. I call you right away when I get to my car.” A clap of thunder came from overhead. “I sorry, Mrs. Kali. You seem a nice girl. I very sorry about your grandmother.” She disconnected from the call.

  Kali closed her phone. The rain was hitting the window in waves.

  “What happened?” Seth’s face was pale in the harsh bathroom light.

  “I’m not sure, but the aide left.” Kali dialed her grandmother’s house. The phone rang and rang. “Shit.” Kali closed her phone and took the cotton blouse and leggings she’d been wearing earlier from the chair in the corner of the room.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I have to go. My grandmother’s not answering her phone.”

  “Wait. Call your neighbor. He can check on her.”

  Kali hesitated. She really wanted to see for herself, but Seth was right. Neil could easily run next door and make sure her grandmother was okay. Knowing Neil, he’d probably even stay with Lillian tonight. Then Kali could go there in the morning, after the storm had passed.

  She scrolled down to Neil’s name and hit his number. She listened to the phone ring.

  Seth was watching her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Neil’s not answering.” She closed the phone. “I have to go.” She tried to squeeze past Seth into the bathroom.

  “It’s not safe for you to drive in this.”

  “It’s a Volvo. A battle tank. You said so yourself.”

  “Don’t go, Kali.”

  “I don’t have a choice. My grandmother’s alone. I have to make sure she’s okay.”

  “But why? I don’t get it. She’s never given a damn about you and you drop everything—”

  “She’s my flesh and blood.” Those were the words Lillian had used a few hours ago.

  Seth was breathing too hard, but it wasn’t from the sex. He looked at the clothes in her arms with the panic of a frightened animal.

  “Seth, this is an emergency.”

  “That’s exactly what it is. An emergency. Don’t leave me.”

  “Come with me, then. Drive me if you’re worried.”

  He turned his face away.

  “Seth? You know I don’t have a choice here.”

  “You do have a choice.” He wouldn’t look her in the eye. “It’s me or her.”

  “What? You’re giving me an ultimatum? Really?” she said, raising her voice. “An ultimatum?”

  He didn’t answer. He went to their bed and climbed under the comforter.

  The thunder rumbled.

  Kali closed the door to the bathroom and braced herself against the sink.

  She felt his semen running out of her.

  27

  The drive from Hollywood down to Miami Beach was slow and treacherous. Sheets of rain hitting the windshield made it almost impossible for Kali to see more than a few feet in front of her.

  Impressionism ad absurdum. That’s what she tried to concentrate on—Monet’s Water Lilies, the details blurred almost beyond recognition. Because if she let herself acknowledge the sick feeling inside her, she might just fall apart.

  She envisioned the muted colors of Water Lilies, Poplars on the River Epte, Rouen Cathedral. Beauty and clarity in the haziness.

  But there was no clarity in Kali’s mind. What was wrong with Seth? Why didn’t he understand that her grandmother was old and alone? She had only Kali.

  Water Lilies, Water Lilies. Think about Water Lilies.

  He was upset, irrational. They’d talk it over and work it out. Just a minor crisis.

  It’s me or her.

  He didn’t really mean that. No, of course he didn’t. They were having a baby.

  Her neck, shoulders, and hands hurt from clenching the steering wheel when Kali finally pulled into her grandmother’s driveway almost an hour after receiving the phone call from Luisa. The rain was still heavy and although Kali opened an umbrella when she got out of her car, the rain slashed at her, soaking her clothes and hair. She dropped the umbrella under the portico and opened the front door, half expecting to find her grandmother’s twisted body in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. But except for her grandmother’s walker in the front foyer, the house appeared to be as Kali had left it earlier this afternoon. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Kali,” Luisa had said, her hand on Lillian’s shoulder. She had smiled broadly. “Mrs. Campbell and I have a great time.”

  Kali should have known at that moment it could never work. Lillian disliked people who smiled too hard.

  She slipped off her soggy sneakers, dried her feet on the doormat, then went slowly up the steep, winding staircase, holding onto the banister. What an effort it would have been for Lillian to do this in her condition. But on top of that, something had frightened her grandmother so much that she had attacked—that was the word Luisa used—her grandmother had attacked the aide. It would have taken a surge of adrenaline for her to do that. But what could have driven Lillian to such a frenzy?

  Kali stopped outside her grandmother’s bedroom door and listened. The only sound in the house was of rain pounding against the roof. She quietly opened the door. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, then she made out her grandmother lying in bed, her head propped up against several pillows. Her mouth was open and she was breathing hard. Kali got closer to make sure Lillian wasn’t in distress. She wasn’t, but she seemed to be reacting to a dream.

  Kali thought about Seth gasping for breath after they finished making love. His scent was still on her skin.

  She closed the bedroom door and went to take a long, scalding shower.

  28

  It was warm and dark in Altwulf’s studio. The smell of oil paint and turpentine hung in the air, burning Leli’s lungs each time she inhaled.

  She was breathing too hard, but Leli wasn’t frightened. Wulfie was the gentlest man in the universe.

  He lifted her hat off her head and rested his hand on her curls. She could feel him trembling, as though it was his first time, not just hers.

  He leaned over and kissed her. The short hairs from his goatee felt like butterfly wings.

  “Are you all right?” There was cognac on his breath.

  “Lovely,” she whispered.

  One by one, he opened the buttons on the back of her dress, slid the satiny fabric down her arms and let it drop to the floor.

  The only light in the room leaked in through a narrow g
ap between the drapes, but she could feel him studying her as she stood in only her white lace slip.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said.

  She was shaking. He cocooned her in his arms and she buried her face against him. His jacket smelled like wool and mothballs. He took it off, opened his shirt.

  “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.” He pulled out her hairpins, letting her curls cascade over her shoulders.

  His hands ran up and down her body. Her slip fell to the floor. He opened the garters and eased one silk stocking down her leg, kissing the inside of her thigh.

  She felt weak, about to collapse.

  He led her to the sofa, pressing her arms and chest into the cushions. Her brassiere came away, her panties. He was behind her, fondling her breasts with his warm hands.

  “I’ll try not to hurt you,” he whispered.

  He parted her legs, touching her where no man had ever been before. She tensed, then opened to him.

  She felt him against her now, pushing from behind. His breathing came in short, raw gasps.

  She buried her face against the sofa cushion, blocking the smell of paint and turpentine, trying to think about how she’d always imagined it would be—gentle caresses and sweet kisses.

  He pounded into her.

  She bit down so she wouldn’t scream aloud.

  From the pain, from the ecstasy.

  Lillian woke up, her screams silent in her head.

  From the pain.

  29

  Kali awakened a little after nine the next morning. Birds were screeching in the poinciana tree, but there was no longer the sound of rain. The air in her bedroom was muggy. Kali had left the windows open last night and fallen asleep as the storm heaved, then ebbed, around her.

  She got out of bed. The cotton blouse and leggings she’d worn here were still damp, so she left them on her desk chair to dry. She found her old sweats in the bureau, brushed her disheveled hair back into a single braid, and went to check on her grandmother.

  Lillian was still in a deep sleep. Kali went downstairs to make coffee. While it brewed, Kali slipped on her still soggy sneakers at the front door, then went outside to get the newspaper. It was Tuesday and several cars went by, splashing through residual puddles. Probably people on their way to work or school. Just an ordinary day for them.

  She thought about Seth. If she were home, they’d be having breakfast right now. In a little while, Seth would leave for work and Kali would drive to her studio. That was their routine. Just an ordinary day.

  When had life stopped being ordinary for her?

  The newspaper was lying in the grass. Kali shook off the plastic wrapper, which was saturated with the early morning rain. A movement in the overgrown ficus hedges of the vacant lot across the street caught her attention—black, green, something that resembled a hand, an eye. It reminded her of Braque’s disjointed cubism. Several small parrots went squawking into the sky.

  That’s what she must have seen in the bushes—the birds.

  The front door to the Rabins’ house slammed. Kali turned and saw Neil coming toward her, wearing shorts and a white T-shirt. He was home. Why hadn’t he answered his phone last night?

  She looked back at the hedges. They were still.

  “Hey, good morning,” Neil called as he approached. “I didn’t expect to find you here. I just got back a couple of hours ago on the redeye. What’s going on?”

  “My grandmother’s home from the hospital. We tried out an aide, but that didn’t work out.” She tugged on her braid. “Where were you?”

  “I had to fly back to L.A. to clean up some pressing things at work. Sorry I didn’t have a chance to tell you.”

  “What about Gizmo?”

  “A friend agreed to keep him. But he probably won’t again.”

  “Why? Gizmo misbehaved?”

  “That’s a nice way of putting it.”

  “Sounds like my grandmother.”

  He pushed his glasses up on his nose. The bump on his forehead had receded and the large bandages on his hands had been replaced with a few small Band-Aids. “So what are you going to do?”

  “Stay here with her for a while.”

  “Is everyone okay with that?”

  She knew he meant Seth. “Not really.”

  A car splashed past. They both watched it go down the street.

  “Hell of a storm,” Neil said. “Gizmo was terrified. He kept slinking off to corners, trying to dig under the carpet to hide.”

  Was that what Lillian had been doing? Trying to get up to her bedroom to hide? From the storm? From something else?

  Kali stepped onto the portico. “I need to go inside in case she wakes up.”

  “Sure. If you need anything—well, you know. I’m here.”

  “Thanks.”

  Neil backed away. “By the way, those movies arrived. I started watching them when I got home a couple of hours ago.”

  Kali stood at the open door. “Movies?”

  “You know, the cigarette card? Leli Lenz?”

  “That’s right. And?”

  “It’s pretty amaz—”

  A sound came from inside the house. “She’s awake,” Kali said. “I need to go.”

  “Sure. I’ll catch you later.”

  Kali went into the house, closing the door behind her.

  “Who’s that?” Lillian called from upstairs. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s me. It’s just Kali.”

  Then more to herself than aloud, she said, “Looks like I’m back.”

  30

  Javier Guzman stood hidden in the jungle of hedges across from the Rabins’ gray New Orleans-style house, relieved that the storm had passed. He’d spent Sunday and Monday driving past the place repeatedly, waiting for a car to appear in the carport, but the house of Neil Rabin, the man who’d ordered the three Leli Lenz films, appeared deserted.

  After circling the block a few more times yesterday, Javier had finally gone home. He returned at seven this morning, leaving his car on a side street a block away. He was surprised to see a white car under the mildewed awning of the Rabins’ house. He waited, hoping Rabin would appear. Javier’s black shirt, slacks, shoes, and cap had become saturated from the early morning drizzle. To keep his mind off his discomfort and stiffening legs, he ran through his findings one more time.

  His research trying to establish a link to Leli Lenz, aka Ilse Strauss, was only leading to frustration. After spending hours investigating Sophie Delanski Rabin, Neil Rabin’s paternal grandmother, Javier had uncovered nothing promising. Quite the contrary. The records confirmed Sophie Delanski had been born just outside of Warsaw, which at no time had been part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Therefore a connection to Austria and subsequently Berlin seemed speculative, at best. And then to increase his disappointment, Javier learned that the entire Delanski family had moved to New York in 1925, when Sophie would have still been a little girl. So unless she had moved back to Berlin in the thirties to begin an acting career, which was highly unlikely, then this grandson of hers was a dead end. Why then had Neil Rabin ordered the Leli Lenz films?

  Shortly before nine, Javier watched Neil Rabin emerge from his house with a dog. Rabin stopped in front of the shabby, columned white house next door. The house where Lillian Breitling-Campbell lived—the ninety-three-year-old with the British passport. Rabin seemed interested in the silver Volvo in the driveway and went around to inspect it. Then, he walked out into the street, very close to the bushes where Javier was hiding, and stared up at the second-floor windows.

  The dog growled and squirmed, but Rabin gave the leash a jerk and told the dog to settle down, then returned to his own house.

  What was so interesting to Rabin about the Breitling-Campbell house, Javier wondered?

  A few minutes later, Javier saw Rabin step out onto his second-floor balcony and watch the white house next door.

  The front door opened and a petite blonde woman in sweat clothes came out to pi
ck the newspaper up off the lawn. Her hair was pulled back in a single braid. She straightened up and shook out the rainwater from the newspaper wrapping.

  Javier let out a gasp and slapped his hand over his mouth.

  His involuntary movement caused the woman to turn. She seemed to be staring directly at him, through the hedges. Just then a flock of small parrots flew out around him and went squawking into the sky.

  Javier held his breath and remained absolutely still.

  The young woman was exquisite—with large blue eyes, long neck, angular face. Just like the woman Javier had become so familiar with in the photos and movies.

  But how much more beautiful in the flesh!

  Rabin strode across the front yard and called to her.

  Javier’s heart was pounding as he listened to their exchange, watched their body language. He tried to clear his head and focus. Rabin and this young woman were clearly attracted to each other, although they both went to some trouble to hide their interest.

  They were talking about the young woman’s grandmother, an aide leaving, the young woman staying.

  Javier felt his excitement grow. And then Rabin mentioned the films and Leli Lenz. But Javier already knew. This was it. This was the connection.

  Javier had found her.

  31

  Kali left the newspaper on the foyer table, then brought her grand-mother’s walker upstairs with her. She rolled it across the worn hallway rug into her grandmother’s bedroom. The covers were thrown back, the pillows indented, but no one was in the bed.

  “Lillian?” Kali called softly. She went toward the bathroom, picking up a faint smell of Pine-Sol and lavender. The doors to both the walk-in closet and bathroom were wide open, but there was no sign of her grandmother.

  Kali stepped back into the hallway. Where was she and how was she getting around without her walker?

  Then she heard something. A low, unrecognizable melody was coming from Kali’s bedroom. It sounded like a mournful dirge. From the doorway, she could see Lillian in the rocking chair. She’d turned it around so that she was facing the framed photo of Kali’s mother. She rocked as she sang in a guttural language something unfamiliar. But then—Kali had never heard her grandmother sing in any language.