Among The Cloud Dwellers (Entrainment Series)

by Giuliana Sica

  “Yes. I’m fine,” I lied. I focused on her and noticed that, other than her flushed cheeks, she looked normal.

  How come?

  I must have asked that out loud because she answered me. “You’ll be fine in seconds. The effects fade really fast.”

  I looked at her and decided I wanted to crawl back into my crystal case. I wanted to trade places with Sleeping Beauty or Snow White, either one, it didn’t matter . . . and then my head cleared. Poof! The fog lifted. Miraculously, I was back in my skin, in Aunt Delilah’s courtyard in Savannah, Georgia. All was cool, the night air included. I suppressed a shiver. I glanced at my watch; it read midnight.

  “Come, sisters. Let me show you my spices,” Delilah said, tipping the ashes off her cigarillo. She pushed off her chair and led us back into her kitchen.

  I stood and followed her, somehow managing to keep my dignity. I glanced at Benedetta; she seemed fine, actually enjoying herself.

  Compared to the courtyard’s breeze, the kitchen tickled and moistened my nostrils like an aromatic yet stifling sauna. By the main sink, Jason wiped sweat off his brow with the back of his hand and continued stacking a dishwasher, while the raspy-voiced older lady Delilah introduced as her mama cleared the counters.

  “Dad’s got it under control out there. He’s closing down,” Jason said, pointing toward the dining room with his chiseled chin. Frowning, he cast a disapproving look at his mother. “You shouldn’t bother these ladies, Mom—”

  “Thank you, hon.” With firm authority Delilah silenced her son and reached for a jar on one of the shelves. She pulled the cork lid off and sniffed the contents. Disgust twisted her features. She offered me the jar to sniff at. “See what I mean?”

  I took a look inside and noticed how the cinnamon had clustered into wet spots resembling melted wax. Its pungent odor tickled my nostrils, bringing to mind the early stages of autolysis; that jolly revolt—post-death occurrence—when the digestive juices begin to break down the gastrointestinal tract. Odd for cinnamon, I thought, it being a spice with one of the longest shelf lives.

  Delilah continued on, showing us her spoiled vanilla beans coated with a gray fungus; her saffron, carefully wrapped in cotton gauze had stained the pure-white material with red, bleeding streaks. Her cayenne had lost all its zest. Her bottom lip quivered and her eyes welled with tears.

  I had no idea how to help her. The only thing I could think of rationally was that the cork lids might have caught some sort of moldy virus that had spread to several of her jars. I suggested that she toss out the affected jars and buy brand-new ones. Jason seemed to agree with me. He wiped his hands on a kitchen towel and told me he had already suggested something similar to her a few weeks back.

  Delilah believed it was a curse from an envious acquaintance. She had asked for divine intervention and dreamt about a blessing soon to be delivered.

  The blessing in question was busy entertaining naughty mythological thoughts with Jason as the unquestionable protagonist. Jason certainly seemed to be enjoying the attention.

  Oh, this ought to be interesting, I thought. I had never seen Benedetta practice The Craft. I crossed my arms and leaned against the immaculate stainless counter. I kicked Bene’s shin, bringing her attention back to the present. She shot me a resentful look, recovered quickly, and asked Delilah if she knew the name of the person who had started all the trouble. Delilah nodded. Benedetta pushed her glasses up her nose and cleared her throat. “Well, it’s an auspicious time to get rid of negativity, for the moon is indeed waning out there . . .”

  I had no idea what she was talking about but felt awed and afraid to interrupt.

  “Delilah, you’ll need to write the name of the person in question on a piece of paper. You then fold the paper four times to have the sealing of all four elements: earth, air, water, and fire. Then, you take the ruined spices, jars and all, and you go out there.” She pointed toward the courtyard and tugged Delilah’s arm, drawing her closer. She cupped her hands around Delilah’s delicate ear and whispered the rest of her spell.

  Delilah kept on nodding as if what was being told to her made perfect sense.

  “. . . And make sure you’re beneath the moonlight the entire time,” Benedetta finished, stepping back. A look of satisfaction spread across her face, like light returning to the dark sky after a lunar eclipse.

  Jason and I had been completely forgotten.

  Delilah hugged Benedetta in gratitude and asked me if I would now care to talk about the recipes I came to write about. I told her I was ready and asked her if my work would intrude with her curse-riddance plans.

  “Oh no! Now that I know what to do I can take care of it later when everybody’s gone.” Her eyes moved up and left, as if repeating a well-memorized lesson.

  Jason invited Benedetta to follow him into the dining room to take photos, promising to return to shoot the display of ingredients Mama was setting up for us on the spotless counter. I began to take notes of her Smoked Ham and Bean Soup and Traditional Corn Muffins recipes.

  “The secret of the soup is to make sure the ham hasn’t been de-boned, and I usually sauté some of the juiciest morsels with a little butter and onions, until the onions are translucent. About ten minutes on low heat,” Delilah told me. “That releases the ham flavor and infuses the stock much quicker.” She paused, running her hands through a heaping bowl of multicolored dried beans, her crimson-varnished nails a vivid contrast.

  “How many varieties of beans do you have there?” I asked, still writing.

  “About fifteen. I soak them in cold water for at least eight hours, but it’s best to allow them to soak overnight. You have to change the water at least three times.” She moved to another bowl where beans of all shapes and sizes swelled happily in a water bath. Delilah drained the bowl and refilled it with fresh water, covering the beans by at least two inches. “Another secret is to use cooled ham stock to soak the beans with. When you change the water the third time, replace it with the stock. That allows the beans to absorb the flavor.” It makes perfect sense, I thought, jotting notes down.

  I suddenly realized that we were alone in the kitchen. “Where is everybody?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered. “Mama?”

  Mama appeared from behind the counter dragging a twenty-pound sack of corn flour. “Yes, dear?” She reminded me of a tiny ant struggling with an oversized cargo.

  “Where is everybody?” Delilah asked, glancing at a big clock on the wall. “Did Aeson close down?”

  “He sure did. He’s counting down at the register,” Mama croaked.

  I wondered how much agua it took to reach such a hoarse timbre.

  “Jason and The Blessing are outside taking photos of the front porch by moonlight,” Mama said teasingly.

  Aeson raised his head from his bookkeeping and silently pointed out the windows.

  Benedetta and Jason sat on the swing. He sang, softly tickling a guitar along, while Benedetta followed the melody whistling. The combination of his smooth, low voice and the lightness of my dear friend’s whistling coiled around the anguished notes of the guitar. And then she switched from whistling to singing in that low Astrud Gilberto voice of hers. The effect sent chills through me, stretching my human abilities to grasp such a heavenly melody. Emotions replaced the flow of my blood, boundaries faded, and time vanished.

  We stood motionless, Delilah and I, listening in rapture.

  The slow notes pierced the silent night like the cry of a tormented soul. It crushed my heart and squeezed ancient drops of undiluted pain from it.

  Behind me Delilah sobbed quietly. I thought of Gabe so far away yet so close, deep in my heart. I shed my pain and metamorphosed it into pure love, and cast it to him on the wings of the poignant music. Such magic was bound to find every enamored soul out there.

  Eventually, I had to tear Benedetta away from him. Morning
was fast approaching, and we still had to drive into town to get to our hotel. I asked Delilah if it would be possible to resume our interview the following day. Both Jason and Benedetta lit up at the thought of being able to see one another again. Delilah invited us for lunch, and we agreed to be back at the restaurant by noon.

  A feeling of melancholy drove away with us knowing that the evening had drawn to an end. The entire family waved good-bye from the front porch; I watched them getting smaller and smaller in the frame of my rearview mirror.

  I gave Benedetta time to recover, then asked, “You OK?”

  “Yes. Thank you, but I’m fine. I guess that agua stuff had a weird effect on me.”

  “Bene . . . how did you know how to help Delilah? I mean, what was that business with elements, waning moon, and so forth? Which goddess did you invoke?”

  “Why put a human face to magic?” she frowned. “You know I’ve been learning about The Craft for a while now. Even as a solitary practitioner, I knew how to help. It sort of came naturally.”

  “Wicca and voodoo mix?” I asked rather dumbly.

  “Magic, when used in love, has no boundaries.”

  Maybe I ought to introduce her to Evalena. “What is magic, Bene?”

  “Magic is willing energy operating on a level that our minds know nothing about. It streams from our hearts, Porzia.”

  “And Jason?”

  “He didn’t drink any agua,” she yawned.

  “That’s not what I meant,” I said, stifling a yawn myself.

  “I know what you meant. But I’m too tired to talk about it.”

  “What was he singing out there, Bene?”

  “I have no idea. He said something about a lullaby, and I just made up words to follow.”

  “It was beautiful, but you’re right, that agua did have a weird effect.”

  Dark shapes of gnarled, arthritic oaks shadowed the moonlight with their heavily mossy branches, looking like stylized souls ready to stir and jump on us at the first provocation. The dashboard clock read 1:00 a.m.

  I caught myself breathing more softly than usual. Next to me, Benedetta was just as silent until rounding a corner we, skimmed a graveyard. Talk about spooky. I heard her intake of breath and her shoulders sank lower in the passenger seat. “I can almost feel the Confederate ghosts’ mournful laments,” she murmured.

  “Confederates? I’m thinking of pirates.”

  “The pirates wouldn’t be mournful. Their victims might.” She had a point.

  “We’re almost there,” I told her, recognizing the street sign for our destination on our left. I turned, passing a lonely bench, and saw a lit sign straight ahead. I drove head first into a parking spot in front of the main entrance.

  Our room featured a garret ceiling sloped all the way to the floor. Two full-size beds beckoned us, inviting us to jump on the multi-flowered, quilted bedspreads. Open, round windows allowed the cool night breeze to flow in. Our feet sank in a plush maroon carpet.

  Benedetta jumped on the far bed by the windows. “Ahhh, I’m so tired,” she sighed, tilting her glasses on her forehead to rub her eyes.

  “I guess that’s your bed choice?” I pulled my suitcase onto a chair and began to look for my nightclothes.

  “Yes, it is. You sleep close to the door in case the pirates decide to pay us a surprise visit. They’ll get you first, and I’ll have time to escape through the window.”

  “You’ll end up stuck like Winnie the Pooh.” With my cosmetic bag, I headed for the bathroom. An antique claw-foot bathtub stood by another round window, this one large enough for Benedetta to climb through. Loads of fresh towels were piled up on a pine table next to a wicker basket stuffed with a selection of herbal products. I took a quick bath gazing over endless Savannah roofs and the occasional patch of trees. The moon lay low on the western horizon, resigned to the imminent arrival of a brand-new day. Lazily, I wondered if Gabe ever looked up at the sky and realized that, no matter the distance, we did share the same firmament. I slid underwater and held my breath like I used to when I was a child, when I still believed wishes may come true. With my eyes shut tight and my lungs ready to explode, I tried to last until my effort materialized my hope into reality: “Gabe will be sitting in the tub with me when I open my eyes.”

  I emerged from the water gasping for air, my rush of breath louder than the water’s splashing. I adjusted to my disappointment in the darkness of the empty room. If only I could have lasted another second or two. I almost tasted Gabe on my tongue. I turned toward the window and blew him a silent kiss before I finally grabbed a towel to dry off and get ready for bed.

  CHAPTER 18

  Driving through Savannah in blazing daylight restored our courage. Even the graveyard looked a little less intimidating. We found a decent radio station and made it back to Delilah’s a little before noon. The place looked more peaceful than last night, and I found parking right away.

  Jason must have been hanging on the ship’s crow’s nest, for even before I brought the car to a halt, he was lunging off the front porch grinning from ear to ear.

  He had eyes only for Bene, which proved essential when she almost fell, tripping on her own feet as she got out of the car. He managed to catch her right before she went splat!

  Maybe she did it on purpose so he’d have to hug her. Stars shot out their eyes and violins started playing.

  It wasn’t violins instigated by their passions, but violins we heard undeniably, as Benedetta’s cell phone screeched for attention like a newborn demanding a feed. It was my turn to get all worked up. Benedetta answered, discontentedly dislodging her limbs from Jason’s. She handed me the phone, smirking.

  Gabe, from Australia. Gulp!

  “Hey, luv!” he greeted me, melting me. I sprouted wings, taking a chance at fluttering on the spot; I batted my eyelashes, found solid ground again, and blushed.

  “How are you?” I chirped.

  “Not bad. Where are you?”

  “In Savannah with Benedetta. We’re in the parking lot of the restaurant I’m writing about.” I plugged my free ear with a finger to hear him better.

  “So the fun hasn’t started yet?”

  I thought of last night and smiled. “The fun has already begun. Ever since we left home we’ve been busy.”

  “I actually meant to ask you about that.” He paused. “When are you due back home?”

  “We’re leaving later tonight, after supper. We should be back in Pensacola tomorrow morning, early.”

  “Great, because I’m sending you something, and I wanted to make sure you’ll be home for it.”

  “What is it?”

  I heard him laugh softly. “You don’t know what I’d give to see the look on your face right this moment.”

  “Well? What is it?” I asked again, rocking impatiently on the balls of my feet.

  “Just wait and see.”

  “You’re making me want to jump in the car and head back right now.” I was seriously intrigued. I stopped the swinging; I was getting motion sickness.

  “No, don’t do that. I haven’t sent it yet. I was thinking about you last night, and I felt you closer than ever. But it was so bloody frustrating, luv. I don’t know how you’re managing to hang on. So I figured I’d ship you something to close the distance a bit.” He was really fueling my curiosity.

  “I was thinking about you too,” I said, once again amazed at the connection between us. “I was taking a bath before bed and wondered if you ever—”

  “Look up at the moon and ask if you’re staring at the sky as well?” he finished for me.

  “You know—you take my breath away.” I smiled softly.

  “How long you think you can go without it?”

  “At the rate we’re going, not much longer.”

  “Hang in there, luv. In a few minutes you’ll have forgotten
all about it, busy with delicious food and other important matters.”

  “No. What’s going to happen is that I’ll be so busy trying to figure out what you’re sending that I won’t be able to write anything sensible. Give me a hint,” I pleaded.

  “Hint, eh?” He paused to consider my words.

  How great it was to talk to him again, even to just play and tease one another like this. I felt an adrenaline rush, and my emotions stirred, responding to his energy.

  “No. Sorry. No hint. You’re going to have to just wait. It won’t be long.”

  I gave up. “OK, then. I’ll try. But it better be good,” I laughed.

  “I’ll call you again tomorrow evening once you get home . . .” He lowered his voice, “. . . when you’ll be alone and I can tell you how much I miss you and all sorts of other things that might really distract you from your job.”

  “Great. At least I’ve been warned and can now plan on fighting back.”

  “Fighting back is healthy.”

  “OK then, I’ll look forward to tomorrow evening.”

  “Me too. Bye, luv.”

  “Bye, Gabe,” I said, hanging up.

  I found myself standing alone in the parking lot. Gabe’s voice still sizzled in my ears. I pocketed the cell phone, grabbed my notebook, and walked up to the restaurant. Delilah greeted me at the front screen door looking even more stunning than she had the previous night. She wore a simple wraparound dress the color of glowing amber. Her hair shone raven-black, braided high on her head and coiled, held in place with multicolored pins. I felt rather homely in my cargo shorts and yellow tank top.

  “How are you today, my dear?”

  “I’m great, Delilah,” I answered. I still basked in the afterglow of Gabe’s phone call.

  “Ready to continue our conversation? Or would you rather eat something first?”

  I told her I would prefer to finish the interview first, and she nodded in agreement, leading the way to the kitchen.

  Benedetta and Jason had evaporated. I soon forgot about them as Delilah and I began to go over her corn muffin recipe. She handed me an oversized apron and tied one around her body as well and then proceeded to show me how she soaks Silver Queen corn kernels in warm milk for several hours until they are plump and moist. She added them to a smooth batter of corn meal, eggs, maple syrup, unbleached flour, whole milk, salt, and baking soda.