Poe gave a laugh. “I did not sleep, Griswold. I went out to find Jupiter. I went to the pens.”
Jupiter continued. “She could not kill only you, Griswold. That would have left Poe, the true object of Fox’s design, alive and alerted. Then, in the confusion and aftermath of the brave assault on the slavers, she is shot.”
“Her plan unfulfilled.” Poe finished the point.
“Fox offered you my Marie for his Molly, didn’t he?” Jupiter did not accuse, only stated what he knew to be true.
“Yes,” Poe answered.
“I would have taken the deal and left you two to rot,” said Jupiter.
“Oh, of course. I do beg your pardon, Jupiter. I am a poor servant.”
“She’s hardly tradable now, is she?” Jupiter indicated Molly’s unconscious form.
“One never knows.” Poe’s voice was cold.
I looked at Molly’s face. Above the red-flecked towel, she remained pure beauty, though her eyes had begun to sink as the waters of life leaked away from her. I stroked her cheek. “But how can such a creature as this be part of Fox’s world?”
Jupiter stood over the bed. “You are a prisoner of your romantic delusions, Griswold. A victim of some poetic drug that addicts you and provides you some diaphanous curtain to separate you from this world of life.”
“I see the world through pure eyes, Mr. Jupiter.” I would defend myself. “The art of poets fills me with a gentle understanding.”
“Ha!” Poe shouted with glee. “Ha!”
“Understanding?” Jupiter placed his hand on the bed and took hold of the sheet. “Understand this, Griswold.” With a sharp pull he uncovered Molly’s naked body. I jumped back off of my side of the bed, turning my face to the wall.
“Look at her, Griswold.”
“Lovely,” said Poe.
“Look at her, Griswold.”
“I will not. It is perverse.”
“Shall I describe her to you?”
“Please. I beg you cover her.”
“Her breasts are small and tipped with pink nipples that pucker in the cold air.”
“Stop.”
“Her belly is white and smooth.”
“No.”
“Her thighs slim and her hips like a boy’s.”
“God help me.”
“Her little mount of Venus is covered in the fine Raven down of a young bird. Its lips slightly parted inviting a kiss.”
“A deep kiss of an eager tongue,” added Poe.
“No more!”
“Kiss her, Griswold. Taste what real life is made of.” Jupiter was commanding me.
“No.”
“Kiss her and then cover her throat. Give her release, Griswold.”
“Such sweet release,” murmured Poe. “Such sweet release.”
“I cannot.” My entire body trembled. Was it fear or some other deeper and more primitive response? I did not know then, and I do not know now.
“Kiss her, Griswold.”
Jupiter’s command hung in the air for long minutes. I do not recall exactly how long, if time is of any importance – I hesitated. But I did turn around, and I did see my Molly’s nakedness. She was as the Negro had described her – and more. For even her mortal blood seemed no longer rusted, but rather, red with passion. I kissed her on her hidden lips, and her body shuddered. I took the towel and pushed it down on the torn hole in her neck and held it there as I kissed her, and she shuddered again. A third time I kissed her and tasted a rich sweetness I had never known.
“The ten names.” Poe’s voice was distant but clear.
Molly’s back arched, and I kissed her.
“Adam begat Seth and on to Enish and Kenan, and Mahalalel, Jared, Enoch, Methuselah and Lamech ‘til the tenth name of Noah.” Poe chanted the list.
Molly spasmed, and I held the towel tight on her neck while I kissed her.
“And the ten names of Shem, Arpachshad, Shelah, Eber, Peleg, Rue, Serug, Nahor and Terah lead to the tenth name again, and it is Abram – Abraham.”
My eyes were full of tears as I kissed her.
Jupiter’s voice was low. “The lists of Genesis.”
“The ten names of Genesis, Chapters Five and Eleven.”
“The Odalisk?” Jupiter asked.
“I know where it is,” Poe replied quietly.
I let go of the towel and stood as straight as my spinning head would allow. I walked to the far side of the bed and picked up the sheet from the floor where Jupiter had thrown it. He stepped aside without a word as I walked back to the bed and covered Molly’s body. I covered her feet and legs, belly and breasts, neck and face. Her face was turned towards me. Her eyes open in final passion, regarded me with what I imagined was a small hint of gratitude. I closed them gently.
Then I laid myself down on the cold floor beside her bier, and I closed my eyes.
“Tonight?” asked Jupiter.
“Tonight,” said Poe.
“There is little time left.”
“Yes.” I could hear the clinking of a glass. Poe was pouring another drink. “Are you with us, Griswold?”
“Yes.” I was considering the taste on my tongue.
“Now sleep, and sleep well. There will be no more sleep for us after today.” Poe’s voice was distant. I was fading. “At least no sleep from which there is an awakening.”
I remember feeling very hungry.
Chapter 30
October 1, 1849 9:15 p.m. - This is Indeed Life Itself -
If Poe was indeed the monstrum horrendum – the unprincipled man of genius – then what had I become? Gaining some height of self-regard is easier than the great fall which inevitably follows.
I was beyond shame or regret. The incidents of living had overthrown my carefully placed wards and ill-formed beliefs. There was no longer any anchor given by proper or acceptable behaviors. No lodestone could direct my course in a world that lacked true north. I took no time to consider Society or my place in its structures. My mouth had awakened, and I dwelt in a world of sense for the first time in my life.
I slept for ten hours or more and awoke to some food brought up to the room by the thin black boy we had met the day before.
“Eat.” That’s all Johnny Hop-Frog said. He took two dollars from me without an acknowledgement, and he was gone.
I ate without talking. The apples were bruised, but had the deepest sweetness of an orchard’s blooms I had ever experienced. The chicken was still warm and salty from the roaster, and the flavor of the spiced beans was intense. I did not so much as wipe my chin before I fell back again onto my crude pillow and slept again, my stomach heavy with the pleasure of the meal.
The alley window in the room was black with the night when I stirred again. Looking up at the bed, I saw a thick black arm dropped over the edge, dangling. I sat up quickly and likewise jumped to my feet, having to catch myself against the wall for a moment.
Jupiter was asleep on the mattress. Lying on his belly, he was snoring. I shook him roughly, and his arm swung out, pushing me back into the cracked plaster.
He turned on his side and regarded me with eyes that blinked and sought focus. “What the Hell.” He sat up.
“What have you done with her?”
“What?”
“Where is Molly?”
“It’s all right, Griswold.” Poe’s voice came from near the desk. “She’s been shrouded and wrapped with due respect.” He pointed to the far wall.
I rushed to the bundle wrapped tightly in the bed sheet. Molly was wound as tight as any of the mummies at the Baltimore Museum. And she was as ancient as they as well, for death knows no century. Even time bows at its altar.
I meant to touch her, but reaching her corpse’s side, I could not make my hand obey. I sat on the floor some five feet and an infinity away from her. I sat there disconsolate – pondering. A musk rose from Molly’s body, too sweet for death.
Poe tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned to him, startled. I had not heard him a
pproach. He offered me a cup of whiskey and a leaf to chew. I took them from him without a word.
“This shall be an evening to remember,” Poe said as he headed back to the desk.
Jupiter stretched on the bed, and the sound of his bones cracking and popping as he flexed himself was clear in the quiet room. “I am going with you.”
“Of course, dear master. Of course,” Poe assured him.
“Where is this Odalisk?” Jupiter sat up.
“Griswold knows. Tell our benefactor, friend.”
My eyes were locked on Molly’s remains, seeking some truth the pathetic bundle would never surrender. It took me a moment to realize that Poe was speaking to me.
“Tell him, Griswold,” Poe teased.
“What?” I didn’t know what he would have me say.
“The location of the Odalisk – tell him,” Poe prodded me.
“Yes, the ten names.” Jupiter looked at me. “Tell me the ten names. What are they?”
“Genesis Five and Eleven,” Poe repeated the citation.
“The Odalisk is at the Museum. The door is purple and peeling paint. An old man guards the door, and he dances all alone.” This answer came to me so clearly.
Jupiter had risen and gone to the basin. “And how is this the solution?”
I answered him, though it was Poe’s reasoning, not mine that had found the answer. I had merely ascertained the truth after Poe made the matter plain, and the pieces came together in my own mind. “There are two large canvas paintings – one of Noah and one of Abraham that flank the door. The last of each list – the ten names.”
“Noah and Abraham?” Jupiter’s brow was furrowed. “Of course. Of course. Then,” said Jupiter as he splashed water onto his face, “we should go there now.”
“Now? Why, that is precisely the plan.” Poe laughed, struck a match, and sucked on his glass pipe. Sweet opium smoke formed a wreath around his head.
“Prepare yourself, Griswold,” Jupiter commanded me.
I smiled and did as he had told me. I was beyond any discomfort finding myself ordered about by a black man.
“There are five floors to the building,” Poe explained. “The second and third are filled with exhibits, as is the cellar level. There are two floors above, one full, and another of short windows tucked beneath the white facing of the roofline – the apartments of one Rembrandt Peale, artist and absentee. We shall see what use his studio is put to while he chases his art in Paris.”
I washed, though there was no soap, and in any case no ablution that could make me pure again. I pressed out some clean clothes from my bag with my hands and selected a new shirt of some quality, though somewhat wrinkled. I put on a silk vest that had been unharmed by the burglary of our room at the Barnum, and after brushing my coat and my Coke hat, I looked quite presentable.
Jupiter, too, had found a change of clothing. I had not noticed him with any luggage and can only assume Jeffers or one of his associates supplied the costume. The man looked like an African priest clad totally in black – vest, shirt, and coat. Like me, he wore a black bowler.
Poe’s tousled-wild hair was all the hat he possessed, and his threadbare clothes were nonetheless as well-tended as could be expected, though still a step below the poet’s usual fastidiousness.
“We’re off to the whores,” Poe proclaimed.
Jupiter turned to him. “We’re off to do our business, Poe. Nothing more. Remember the pressures of our time.”
“Well I do, sir. Well I do.”
“Griswold, bring the gun.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled the pearl handle high enough for him to see. “I have it.” I dropped it back to its hiding place. It felt warm.
“Though he’ll not know what to do with it,” laughed Poe.
“I’ll know,” I muttered.
“I hope you do. And God, I hope you make good use of it, sir.” Poe bowed to me. “I shall be eternally grateful to you.”
“Fox will expect us,” Jupiter observed as we walked down the hallway towards the Bradshaw’s back stairs.
“Will he?” I was not above fear. I checked my flask, and it was full.
“Perhaps,” said Poe. “He hoped to have us last night at the hall.”
“He hoped to have you, you mean,” Jupiter interrupted.
“Yes, as you say. He wanted me at the hall. Yet, I am not sure he had any intention of us finding his lair. It seems out of character for him to be so careless. Still, yes, I would expect him to be prepared, should we find the Odalisk.”
“Then I will be prepared.” I patted the pocket with the gun.
“Lord, preserve us,” said Jupiter.
“You’ll not be prepared for what we might find there, Griswold.” Poe pushed at the alley door, and it creaked open with the protest of metal on metal.
“And what will we find, Poe?” I asked.
“As is always the case, we shall find much less than we expect, and much more than we can comprehend.”
With that, we were in the dark alley, and we remained quiet as we made our way away from Camden Station and north to Liberty Street. We kept to the shadows as much as we could, taking to alleys when possible. When we reached Baltimore Street, we had no choice but to move quickly through the illuminated pools lit by the hydrogen street lamps.
“But not too quickly. We don’t want to draw more eyes than we need,” Poe whispered.
So, with dispatch but no hurry in our steps, we proceeded up Baltimore to Calvert. We passed the museum on the far side of the street and then doubled back, approaching from the east. There, under the lamp and the pictures of Noah and Abraham, the old man danced in front of the purple door.
We watched from the shadow of a doorway. The man spun and twirled as he had when I’d first seen him on my first night in the city. With his arms outstretched, he stepped off his silent waltz. After ten minutes of observing him continue his masquerade, Poe motioned to us to follow him. At the same moment, there was the sound of a faint hollow knocking, and Poe quickly pushed us back behind him into the shadow of the doorway yet again.
The old man danced to the door and bent his head to it. The knocks came again – two knocks followed by three in a rapid run. The pattern repeated again. The old man looked up the block and down. Satisfied there were no witnesses, he rapped twice on his side of the purple door, and it opened.
A dim orange light leaked out into the darkened recess of the doorway, and two men emerged. They were proper citizens and more, judging from their formal attire, though they were slightly disheveled and unsteady on their feet. Behind them on the inside of the portal was a large shadow that came into view only briefly and then disappeared with a dull clank of iron and a latch’s muffled throw.
The old man walked to the curb and whistled once. In a moment, the sound of steel-rimmed wheels and shod hooves grew louder as a black Landau approached. The men, laughing and singing some garbled song, got into the coach with some help from the old man, and then their driver made a slow turn before heading north towards Monument Square. In a few minutes, quiet had returned to the street, and the old man held his invisible partner in his arms once again.
Poe looked at Jupiter. “Inside. Did you see?”
Jupiter nodded.
Poe turned to me. “Whatever I tell you to do…”
“I will do without question,” I replied. There was no need for me to hear all of his instruction. I knew it too well by then.
We waited another minute or two as Poe scanned the intersection, and our ears strained for any telltale sounds. Then with a quick gesture, Poe bade us follow. He crossed the street in a straight line towards the waltzing codger. I followed right behind, and we were halfway before I realized that Jupiter was not with us. There was little time to wonder, and I sensed it would be unwise to ask about the Negro’s whereabouts at that moment, for Poe spoke.
“Good evening, Janus.”
The old man danced without opening his eyes, but at the mention of the nam
e ‘Janus’ he hesitated for half a step.
“I say, good evening, Janus,” Poe repeated.
“Not my name,” replied the old man, and he spun his phantom partner away and back again in a graceful pass.
“Not the four-faced Roman doorkeeper of heaven,” Poe laughed. “Well, it was a good guess.”
“I’m just a janitor,” said the old man.
“The origin of the word is the Latin ‘janus’ meaning passage,” I observed. “Janus ergo janitor.” I hoped I was helping.
Poe smiled at me. “Right you are, Rufus.” He turned back to the dancing man. “You there! I still say your name is Janus.”
“You are surely the doorkeeper,” I continued on Poe’s lead.
“We’re here, old man. Whatever your name is. Open the door for us.”
At that, the man stopped. He opened his eyes and looked at us – up and down from head to foot. His eyes were almost blood red where the whites should be, and one orb was cocked off to right. The effect was disconcerting, as one could not be sure that the old man could see at all.
“Where’s Molly?” he asked.
“She’s…” I was ready to tell him the truth, but Poe stopped me.
“She’ll be along in a while. Now, let us in.”
Again, he examined us in his way. He gave a sniff and then with a quick turn, moved to the purple door. “Step over here.” He gestured for Poe and I to stand close to where the latch would let the iron sheet swing open. He knocked on the door twice and then after a hesitation, once more.
I could hear a bolt slide and the hinges started to squeak as the door started to move. Things happened very fast. Poe pushed me away, and as I stumbled over my heels towards the street, I saw that the old man was holding a large blade in his hand. In the same moment, Poe threw himself away from the threshold just as a huge arm emerged and grabbed at his lapel.
The dancing man started for Poe, who was falling straight backwards. Just as the blade was raised over the prone figure of Poe, Jupiter appeared behind the codger and, grabbing the old man’s head in both hands, gave a quick twist. The snap was loud and final, and the janitor, or whatever he was, collapsed as if all his bones had turned to water. The arm that had emerged from the doorway started to snap back, and the iron swung closed. But before the bolt could be thrown, Jupiter had hold of the edge and with a mighty jerk opened it again, and in the process, the behemoth attempting to hold it shut was pulled out onto the sidewalk on his knees.
Imp: Being the Lost Notebooks of Rufus Wilmot Griswold in the Matter of the Death of Edgar Allan Poe Page 22