Clean and fragrant with perfume. A room familiar. A bedroom. A place she had once shared. Lit with candles. This was their place. Their secret place.
Then he entered. He wore a military uniform. Sharp. Beautiful. Healthy. Smiling. Alive! Antoine took off his beret and walked up to her and held her close. He smelled like cooled-off heat, like sweat dissipating. His bulk surrounded her. She swung in his arms, helpless with shock.
“Antoine?” Words clogged in her throat. “Thomas told me … I didn’t believe … I thought you were dead.”
“Dead? Why would you think I was dead? I was only gone for a few months for training.” She touched his face to feel the breath from his nose and mouth on her fingers. She drank in his warmth.
“But …”
Spinning. Turning. Slipping. Sliding. This was the truth. This was a lie. This was the truth. A lie. This was real. But … it couldn’t be. She remembered him. Another time. Another place. Sick and dying. Then healthy and leaving her.
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“Shh, you silly woman. I’m fine.”
“Something is wrong. …”
“Nothing is wrong,” Antoine said. “Not with us. Everything is as it should be.”
“Everything …” Adrianne touched the nape of his neck, caressed his ear, whispered tender words too deep to recall. She kissed him on the tip of his chin. Smoothed his eyebrows. Touched the back of his head and the softness of his hair. She was his. He was hers. They were one. “Everything …”
“We don’t have much time before I have to be back. The war is not going well,” he said.
“The war …” she said. So far away. Meaningless to her just hours before. Now it was everything.
“I think they will be shipping me out soon.”
“Then let’s make the most of the time we have,” she replied.
They sat on the bed together. He kissed her deeply. She tasted the sweet saltiness of him. The slip and moistness of his tongue in her mouth. The soft juiciness of his lips. She undid her robe and removed her shirt. She moved his hand to a place no one else had gone to before. A promise broken — for him. For Antoine. She opened and received all he had to give.
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5.
The owl, sensing the cool of the evening, opened its eyes. It turned its head to see in all directions. It was hungry. There — hiding among the trees — now in the bushes — something scurried. The something knew it was being watched. The owl waited for the slightest lapse in judgment. … Wings expanded. Wide. Wider. Fly. Fast. Faster. Talons extended, down through the air. Silent death. It pounced to take its prey squeaking into the trees. The owl snapped the thing’s neck to stop its scream, then devoured it.
In the sanctuary surrounded by manicured forest, they kept the holy silence. Unnecessary noise was frowned upon. The Sisters walked close to the walls like mice and bowed their heads in greeting instead of saying hello. Their steps were slow and careful lest they make a sound. A tug on a sleeve to get the attention of another. A whisper instead of a spoken word. They lived separate from everyone in these old ways taken from the old country, just like this building, brick by brick, stone by stone, statue by statue, painting by painting. Traditions left unchanged and unquestioned and so ancient that no one remembered when they started or why. Outside, times might be changing. But behind these walls, nothing did.
Sister Adrianne posed near the inner courtyard where a tabby cat lived to enjoy watching him roam among the wild flowers and drink from the stone fountain. Adrianne was one of few who would leave him some food in a tiny bowl. Sometimes she left a little cream or a small piece of salmon. She liked to see him bathe in the sunlight and turn over on his back to expose his belly. But today, a heavy gray sky and a few drips of quickening rain told of the coming storm. Adrianne opened the glass door to let the cat in.
“No need for you to get all wet,” she whispered.
The cat meowed gratefully and slipped through the door, purred lightly, and rubbed against Adrianne’s shin. She bent down to scratch him behind the ears.
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The rain fell heavier, harder. The sky turned static gray. The cat backed away toward the stone wall. So did Adrianne. The falling water appeared like sheets of perfect white. Pellets of hail ting-ting-tinged against the windowpanes. Adrianne looked at the cat. The cat looked at her. If they could speak, they would both say, “What in the world is going on out there?”
Adrianne had not seen the weather reports today. She sensed it would rain, but not like this. The wind whipped violently. The scene outside the window was like a whirring blender. Trees, leaves, hail, water, dirt flew past. Then, as quickly as it had all begun, it ended. The trees in the courtyard were bent and broken. The plants lay on the ground.
Silence returned to the hall. It was interrupted by a ringing phone. Mother answered. Adrianne could hear her gravelly voice echo as if she gargled with sand every morning. Her words were muffled. Then she gasped.
Bad omens were everywhere.
Tornados had descended onto the city. Two funnels touched down near the water on the west side, mangling trees, throwing rocks, leaving destruction along their intoxicated paths. The Sisters tending the fire failed to keep the flame alive, and the mayor had been called in to relight it. The Sisters who had allowed the flame to go out were arrested.
Eight Sisters flanked the path to the entryway. Two were Sisters who were more than friends. One was the-girl-with-the-curly-red-hair-that-was-slowly-turning-auburn. One was Stephanie the brave. One was Helen. One was the-girl-with-the-gray-eyes-who-didn’t-speak-too-much. One was the Mother. The last was Adrianne. A vigil in white flowing gowns. The drizzle steadily soaked through their clothing, the rain commingling with the water already on their faces.
No one spoke. Adrianne couldn’t swallow as the van pulled up onto the wet cobblestone driveway. Helen and Adrianne’s clasped hands hidden behind their robes. The sound of the side door sliding open felt like a knife piercing her chest. The four climbed out in handcuffs, wearing only white slips, exposing all their shame, shivering. There was only one other thing a Sister could do that was worse than this.
One of the four was Kimberly. Adrianne considered Kim a friend. They were not close, but still … Adrianne liked her. If only for a moment, their gazes met. Almost imperceptibly, Adrianne lifted her chin so that watching eyes wouldn’t notice. Kim nodded in return. They were led inside and taken to one of the sublevels below to await judgment.
“What do you suppose they are going to do to them?” Helen whispered in a shaking voice once they reached their rooms upstairs.
“I don’t know,” Adrianne said.
“I read that they used to kill the girls who let the fire go out,” Stephanie said.
“They won’t,” said the-girl-who-didn’t-talk-too-much. “They can’t … Can they?”
“That was a long time ago, Steph,” Adrianne said.
“It’s still possible,” Stephanie said. “In wartime, people take the fire very seriously.”
“The storm was bad. It could have happened to any one of us,” Helen said.
The simple truth was finally stated. There was a freedom to the life they led. They could go shopping at the best stores, eat at the finest restaurants, go into the most elegant establishments in town — all without charge. But it was an illusion. They belonged to the state, and their lives were subject to the whims of chance. A freak storm had occurred. The eternal flame had gone out. Someone had to pay. Someone had to be sacrificed.
It was the middle of the night when the Sisters were finally ushered down the stairs, past the levels where their guards lived, to a floor that
Adrianne had only heard about and had never actually seen. It was a humid, shadowy room lit with only candles. The Sisters formed a semicircle around four posts set in the middle of the floor. The wood looked new, as if cut recently.
Adrianne did her best not to seem scared. She had to show that she agreed with the punishment or risk sharing in it herself. In her mind she was flying up the stairs, out the door, and into the woods above. She was running and running and running so fast no one could catch her. She was the wind. She could take flight.
The four were unceremoniously dragged into the room. Thomas was one of the guards who dragged them to the posts. He looked up at Adrianne with fear in his eyes, even as he pulled at the struggling women. The guards tied them to the posts. The sounds of their whimpering tore at Adrian’s insides. I’ll fly away, O Lord. I’ll fly away …
“These did the most heinous thing any of us could do,” Mother said, letting her voice bounce off the high ceilings. “They let the light go out.”
One of the girls shouted, “It was raining so hard!”
Another, “We tried everything we could. …”
Another, “Please …”
Mother ignored their screams and said, “What is our duty? What is our most sacred duty?”
The Sisters spoke in unison, an automatic response like a trained muscle instilled in their minds from childhood, “To keep the flame alight.”
“Cover their mouths,” Mother said.
“No, please, don’t —” one of them shouted, but no one would help. Everyone knew it. Even she knew it.
The guards did as they were told. This only made the four shout more, even as their mouths were gagged.
One great morning when the world is over, I’ll fly away … away, away, so far away I’d fly, and no one would ever catch me.
“We have been too lax here of late,” Mother said. “Perhaps the changes in our dress and the other new freedoms have led us to forget who and what we are. This is a time of war, Ladies. Our people look to us to be a shining example of our country’s courage. We must never fail to keep the flame. It is our only purpose.”
The air was charged with static that pricked the skin. Adrianne had no idea what was going to happen next. Each guard, including Thomas, stooped into the corner to pick up something. They reentered the circle and stood about six feet away from the posts. Adrianne squinted her eyes tight, trying to make out the objects in their hands. They were whips. The whites of Kim’s eyes showed as a guard ripped off her slip, then that of the girl next to her, then the next, and the next.
Mother began to sing — My country, ’tis of thee …
The rest of the Order joined in, singing lightly in shaking soprano — Sweet land of Liberty …
The first lash sent red rippling. The splatter of it stained white robes. A scream, even through the cloth tied around their mouths, pierced the ears and filled the room. Mother sang louder to cover the echo — Of thee I sing …
The second lash — Land where my fathers died
The third — the fourth — Land of the Romans’ pride
Lash after lash after lash after lash — From every mountainside
Let freedom ring …
“So, are they dead?”
“No,” Adrianne said. “But I’m sure they wish they were.”
Antoine ran his fingers through her dreads and kissed her exposed shoulder. Then he pulled up the blanket to warm her.
“I didn’t think they did things like that anymore.”
“They do. I saw it with my own eyes.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“It wasn’t me that went through it.”
The silence the Sisters lived in was now filled with a sense of terror. Their steps were more careful. Their gowns more starched and sparkling white. Mistakes were hidden more quickly. And the fire blazed hotter and brighter. To escape watchful eyes, Adrianne had used every trick of evasion to get to the room where Antoine was waiting — their special place of hiding — their place of love — that felt more and more like a tomb. She folded into his arms, feeling safe for only brief moments. Then the fear would filter through again and cover all they had in a thick black cloud.
“I leave tomorrow. We’re being shipped out.”
Adrianne rolled over to face away from him.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said.
“I know.”
“Maybe it’s better if I’m away.”
“How do you mean?”
“It will be safer for you. Less chances to take for a while.”
Adrianne didn’t know what to say to that. It had been on her mind. Thoughts of him being so far away, of him running from bullets, or being blown up in his vehicle swarmed in her mind. She hugged herself tighter.
“You’re being awfully quiet about this,” he said.
“What do you want me to say?”
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking about the fire going out,” she lied. “They say that it is a bad omen for the war.”
“Adrianne, do you honestly think that what you do in that park makes a hell of a difference when I’m out there getting shot at?”
“No. … Maybe. … I don’t know. …” she said.
“The war is already going badly. It might even —” He stopped mid-sentence and nuzzled her hair.
“It might even what?”
“It might even reach our shores someday.”
Adrianne thought about this for a moment, then dismissed the idea. Antoine could be so melodramatic sometimes. She turned over and faced him.
“I wish you would get away from that crazy cult you’re in,” he said.
“Antoine, I wish you would stop saying that. You know that it’s impossible. And breaking my vows would be wrong.”
“Then what is this? Isn’t this breaking your vows?”
She swallowed, “I suppose, but this is different.”
“How is this different?”
“It just is. …” she said. “Besides, it’s not so easy to leave. You know that. There is nowhere to go.”
“Maybe we could smuggle you up north. Maybe we could go together.”
Silence.
“Adrianne, one day you’re going to have to admit to yourself that this is not who you are. This is not what you want to be.”
“Don’t tell me what I want,” Adrianne said and got out of bed. She searched for her clothes that lay on the floor. Antoine put his hand on her bare back and gently brought her into his arms again, then under the sheets. He kissed her tenderly on the shoulder and said, “I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about it anymore.” He turned her over on her back. He kissed her again on the forehead, then the cheek, then the neck. He firmly put her leg to one side. She didn’t resist. He entered her and she felt the fullness of him. The weight of him. The slip of him. The pull. The thrust. The ache. The smell. The moan. He was hers, she was his. They were one.
Adrianne walked out to the harbor. In the distance, the crescent moon sprinkled light on the water. A dot of green flickered in the night sky. The tide had gone out, leaving mud below the dock. A slight breeze moved the fishy sweet air. Surrounded by shades and the irregular shapes of boxes and abandoned storage equipment, Adrianne felt a chill, then covered herself. Antoine had left a half an hour ago. Now it was her turn. Thomas would make sure she got home.
“Thom,” she called. No answer.
“Thom?” she repeated. Still, no answer.
Adrianne stepped over the broken boards.
“Thom?” she whispered.
“Hey,” someone said, “you’re out pretty late.”
Adrianne couldn’t see the source of the disembodied male voice. It came from behind a stack of old crates. She decided not to answer, only to move faster.
“Where ya going, sista? Somewhere you need to be?”
The voice was right behind her. She could feel its male bulk following her. She was easy prey. Exposed. Helpless. Befor
e her moved the shadows of several men.
“Run, Adrianne!” Thomas called. His voice was cut off by the sound of meat being pounded, then a loud bang. Adrianne scrambled frantically. Her robes twisted about her legs, almost making her trip. She held up her dress so she could run faster. She looked around, went to the edge of the pier, and jumped. She fell wrong on her foot, onto wet soil. Above her, running feet scuffled on the wooden planks. Her ankle hurt like hell, but she had to keep moving. She was surrounded by reeds and slimy, smelly, nasty things. She had no time to think or feel or be scared. She moved silently among the leaves. Flashlights peered down from the dock to find her.
Her white robe was sullied with mud and muck as she went deeper and deeper into the reeds. Someone jumped down from the pier, then someone else. She kept moving. Then a flashlight found her. The men grabbed her. She fought like a cat. A wet cloth with a sweet chemical smell covered her mouth. And all went dark.
Adrianne woke to light and colors with unfocused edges. She blinked several times and still she could not see clearly. She had a terrible headache, one that she felt in her ears and on the bridge of her nose. The fuzziness focused. Twelve Sisters were in the room. A vigil in white flowing gowns. Four were the Sisters who were best friends. Two were Sisters who were more than that. One was the-girl-with-the-curly-red-hair-that-was-slowly-turning-auburn. One was Stephanie the brave. One was Helen. One was the-girl-with-the-gray-eyes-who-didn’t-speak-too-much. One was the Mother. The last was Adrianne. Ten Sisters held each other. Helen stood alone with skin as pale as her white robe.
Elysium Page 5