[hr] [center]ONE[/center] [center]WINGS SPREAD AGAINST THE BACK OF A DEAD MAN[/center] [hr] It is impossible not to hate the Lady Sylvia on sight. There is arsenic in the way she speaks, bullets hidden behind her eyes that make it unsafe to look at her face. She is nineteen, and looks not a day older than thirty. She is staring at me as I sit down. “Tea, Mister?” The voice you just heard is that of Madeleine. She is the Lady Sylvia’s servant and, as far as I am aware, the only person who holds any kind of appreciation for that monster. The stench coming from the Lady Sylvia is too much for the human nose. It is rotten teeth and putrid fingernails, it is a knife slashing at your wrists and crows pecking at your eyes. It hits like a shot of bourbon and a tablespoon of pepper. My eyes are watery, and my mouth feels doughy. I am forced to wear my handkerchief around my face. It makes me look malicious, like a bandit waiting gun in hand on the side of the road. That is the reason my voice sounds muffled when I reply: “No. Thank you.” Then, immediately after Madeleine leaves, the Lady Sylvia asks: “Why are you here?” The Lady Sylvia has a face that says many things, none pleasant, and it says them all at once. In that moment I do feel like a bandit, and I lament the lack of a gun in my hand. I do not know what would have happened, had I had one with me at the moment. I suspect only one person would have left the room. I explain what I am here to do, as I look at my notes. I try to stay neutral. You can hear the rustling of the book while I read. “Lady Sylvia. On the Thirteenth of March, Jonathan Gard was found dead at the Cathedral.” “Yes.” “Father Harrison confessed under oath that you are the one who solicited that the Cathedral be emptied that day. That you were the only one inside, when Jonathan Gard went in. That you are the only one who left.” “Father Harrison is mistaken.” “Is he?” “Yes. Madeleine was there too.” She speaks not with wit, but rather with bulbous idiocy, a repugnant refusal to acknowledge the point. I have seen pictures of Jonathan Gard’s body by the time we have this interview, and I wish I could snap her neck in two. You can hear me scribble down. “I see. What happened at the Cathedral, Lady Sylvia?” The Lady Sylvia’s expression is blood on a snowy field, and it stinks of alcohol and gasoline. It is fangs that eat your heart. It is wings spread against the back of a dead man. “What happened is that Jonathan Gard came into the Cathedral, and we prayed to God.” “And then?” “And then we found out God is not merciful.” [hr] [center]TWO[/center] [center]JUDGE OUR WORDS AS WELL AS OUR ACTIONS[/center] [hr] The Cathedral is bathed in gold. The light that comes through the centuries-old windows is dusty and oak-scented, and it feels like a punch in the gut. The religious paintings on the walls speak of glory and sweet blood wine, and the angels all look down on those who kneel to pray. The saints, though, they look up. They’re still human after all. The voice you are going to hear now is that of Father Harrison. He is young and handsome, and has stains of lipstick on his wrist, but he speaks with faith and rapturous delight. I am interviewing him near the altar, where the angels can judge our words as well as our actions. “The Lady Sylvia is anathema to this town. She is God’s mistake, or God’s punishment. I can’t tell which. I wish she could burn, so we could do something to her corpse once she dies.” This is not the first time I speak to Father Harrison. He is pleasant to me, has warmed to my presence. When he speaks, he looks to me as a friend, fiddling with the rosary he holds in his right hand. “She killed him. I know that much. She blew Jonathan’s head off.” He asks me if I mind if he smokes, and I say no. He drags from a long cigarette, which he holds like a lady. “Did you talk to her?” “I did.” I am not looking at my notes this time. I trust Father Harrison; by the time I leave this town, I will still consider him my only friend. “She said you lied.” “Did she, now?” “Madeleine was here too, in the Cathedral, when Jonathan Gard died.” Father Harrison’s knuckles turn white, and he fiddles more with his rosary. He takes another drag, and the smoke smells like green apples. “She is not allowed here. I did not see her enter.” “Madeleine?” “Yes.” “Who is she?” “I wish I did not know.” Father Harrison hugs me around the shoulders, and we pace together around the altar. “She is the Lady Sylvia’s servant, and has been since she was born. I do not know if she is human. I fear she might be.” “Is that better than the alternative?” “Animals follow their nature. Humans act on their will. I pity the Lady Sylvia for what she is, the same way I pity the sheep eaten by the lion. But Madeleine? Madeleine is capable of sin.” Father Harrison takes a moment before continuing, focusing on his cigarette, licking the lipstick on his wrists. I am forced to interrupt him; I have an appointment. “You pity the Lady Sylvia?” “As much as I can. She is not human, but she wishes she were. That is deserving of pity, I believe, if anything. Have you noticed her stench?” I tell him I did. I admit that I had to wear a handkerchief over my face while talking to her so that I could breathe, even though I promised I would not, when Madeleine asked me before the meeting. I tell Father Harrison that I tried to apologize, but they wouldn’t let me. Father Harrison is understanding, and unsurprised. “They revel in their own hatred. They treasure insults, like you or I may treasure memories. It is how they measure the passage of time.” “Madeleine was not wearing anything. She breathed just fine.” Father Harrison shrugs. In his eyes I can see a prayer. “Love knows no bounds.” He finishes his cigarette and throws it to the floor, where it burns bright against the white tiles until he smothers it with his shoe. “She has served the Lady Sylvia since they were both five years of age, she feels nothing but adoration for the demon. I assume she is used to breathing poison by now.” “I don’t know if it’s possible to get used to it.” “Me neither. That is why sometimes I tell myself she can’t be a human.” Father Harrison hugs himself, and looks up. The golden light makes him look endless. “A vain hope, I suppose.” “Do you think it was her, then, who killed Jonathan Gard? Madeleine?” “It’s possible. I did not see her enter, I did not lie there. But if she was here, she did it. She would do anything for the Lady Sylvia.” Father Harrison looks back at me. “What did you do to that handkerchief?” “The one I wore?” “Yes.” “I burned it. Doctor Harley told me to.” Father Harrison nods, and sucks the lipstick on his wrists once more. “Good. The stench was never going to leave. That is why I wish the Lady could burn, too. I do not know what we will do, when she dies. I suppose we’ll simply leave town.” “Why would they want to kill Jonathan?” “Did she not tell you?” Father Harrison replies instead. His voice is soft. “Did you not ask?” I did. I tell Father Harrison what the Lady Sylvia said, about looking at God’s face, and Father Harrison laughs a laughter that makes his fangs look longer, and his hands look like claws. Then he tells me: “Jonathan Gard was a fool. He came from the farm at the other side of town, and had not a penny to his name. He used to wear his father’s wedding suit, and it looked miserable. He would go to the Lady’s house. And you know what?” “What?” “He did not wear a handkerchief. He could breathe around her just fine. Such are the things we do for love. That is why they killed him.” I leave Father Harrison’s side; I have an appointment, and I can’t be late. I promise I will write, and I know he will write back. But before I can disappear, I ask one last question. “Do you hate the Lady Sylvia?” There is no hesitation in his face when he replies. “Yes.” “How can you pity and hate at the same time?” “Because I know she does not have a will. I know she did not choose to be a scar on the face of Creation, and I pity her existence, because I know she suffers, almost just like us. I know hatred is undeserved.” “But?” “But, my Lord have mercy on my soul.” He smiles, and the lipstick has tainted his teeth red. “I am only human.” [hr] [center]THREE[/center] [center]LIKE COURTING A FLAME, LIKE THROWING SALT AT A WOUND[/center] [hr] Doctor Beatrice Harley moves out of spite, as if her blood were mercury. She does not look at you when talking, as if she was always asking you to leave. Her face is hidden under a plague doctor’s mask; this is her one and only pleasantry. “Fuck that child. And fuck her manor. We should set them both alight.” “Father Harrison told me she does not burn.” “I know. I am the one who found that out.” We are talking at Doctor Harley’s clinic. It’s a tight space, stinks of kerosene and sick breath. The plague doctor’s mask does not muffle Doctor Harley’s voice; it is hollow, and it carries sound well. It’s not the first time we meet, but it will be the last. This time, I ask about the Lady Sylvia, and she answers. “A wolf seduced a maiden, and so the Lady Sylvia was born. Her mother died of the plague, and the Lady carved her way out of the womb. She ate rats as a toddler, and if you strike she does not bleed. She came out of the river, one stormy night. Maybe she grew from the tree by her manor, like a sick apple.” “Are any of those true?” “Fuck if I know. Maybe all of them are. She does not burn. She [i]does[/i] bleed, I know that. Her servant, that tall girl?” “Madeleine?” Doctor Harley nods. It is one of the very few times I will see her make any gesture whatsoever. “Human. Father Harrison entertains other thoughts, but he’s an idiot.” “I found him to be pleasant.” “Then you’re an idiot, too.” Speaking to Doctor Harley is not easy. Her eyes are invisible behind her mask. Her hands are laced together atop her desk. I look at them during the interview. It is easier than anything else. “How can nobody know where the Lady Sylvia came from?” “The manor has been there forever. The Lady Sylvia just popped out of nowhere, one day. Ask Victor Monte, he will know. Are we done?” “No. What can you tell me of Jonathan Gard?” “He disgraced the Lady Sylvia.” “What?” “It is what she told me. The servant girl, she came here and made me go to the manor. I had to examine that monster, as if it were a fucking human—and she is not. She looks the part, but that is all.” Doctor Harley sounds like steel bending, like a needle scratching fabric. So I ask: “For example?” “She bleeds black. She does not have toes. She does not burn when set alight. And the stench, of course. Did you burn the handkerchief?” “I did.” “Good. Jonathan Gard did not wear one, and that was his demise. The servant girl, she kept asking if the Lady Sylvia was healthy still, if I could do something to help. Piss on them for taking advantage of my integrity; I did my fucking job.” “What did they want?” Another gesture: Doctor Harley moves her head slightly, tilting it to the side. She cannot show a frown under the mask, but I can feel it in her voice when she answers. “I told you. He disgraced her. Madeleine wanted to know if the Lady was pregnant, if there was anything I could do to her.” It’s getting dark outside, and the last rays of sunlight enter the clinic and die in the sterile air. There are no lamps inside; if Doctor Harley is caught working after sunset, she will sit in the dark. I do not know what would be harder to guess: if she would mind, or if she would notice. “I should have stuck an iron rod up her groin and ended it there.” She spits these words, and I fear the plague doctor’s mask might rot and fall right there. “But the servant girl would have killed me.” “Would she?” “She had a gun. She thought I could not see it, but I see everything.” I believe this. “So I just gave her the treatment. There are herbs, moonlight petals…” The voice of Doctor Harley drifts away, and I let it go. “She bled, and it was black, and that was it. She is not going to bear child any time soon. Next day, Jonathan Gard was dead, and nobody cried.” “Did Jonathan Gard force himself on her? Is that why they—?” “No. You cannot force yourself into the Lady Sylvia. She has ways to defend herself.” “Are you sure?” “Yes. I did not find signs of violence either. Whatever happened, it was consensual. Much to the servant girl’s distaste.” You can hear me writing everything down in the recording, to buy time. I did not know what Doctor Harley just told me. If Father Harrison did, he hid it from me, but I do not blame him for the courtesy. To lay with the Lady Sylvia would be like courting a flame, like throwing salt at a wound. To picture her face, her teeth, close to flesh. To picture her dress falling down, her legs welcoming the touch of another. The thought alone screams against my own mind, bangs its fist against the inside of my eyes. To confront this fact, to observe the aftermath up-close, would be maddening. The plague doctor’s mask makes sense, now. I do not hate Doctor Harvey anymore. When I change the topic, I do it out of necessity. “You were the one who examined Jonathan Gard’s body after it was found?” “Yes.” “How did he die?” “They blew his fucking face off. The bullet entered from the chin and went out of the top of his head. Whoever shot him, they shot from the hip.” “Is that shot even possible? From the hip, aiming up, all the way to the head?” “If you are good enough. Anything else?” “Yes.” I feel Doctor Harley’s distaste from my seat, it’s like bitter tea on the tongue, but I keep talking. “You said you cannot force yourself on the Lady Sylvia?” “You have seen her. You tell me.” I agree with Doctor Harley. “But you said you tried to set her alight?” “Yes.” “How did you manage that?” “She begged me. It didn’t work. You may leave now.” [hr] [center]FOUR[/center] [center]THE ONLY THING THE HEART REMEMBERS[/center] [hr] Victor Monte grins without teeth and his cane is made out of stone. He shakes like he’s dancing and refuses to sit down. His house sits atop a hill, far away from the Lady’s manor. His eyes are glassy, but his gaze is piercing. “The Lady Sylvia is not human, but she was not sired by a wolf.” His voice reflects his age, but he is perfectly understandable. “Doctor Harvey told me about that. She also said the Lady Sylvia came from the womb of a dead woman, or maybe grew out of a tree.” “Yes, yes. I am aware of those tales. But that is not true either.” “How come nobody knows where she came from?” “Because the Lady Sylvia carries death.” Victor Monte is walking me around the town, aimlessly. The only light comes from the lamp I carry; candlelight dances in his eyes and I believe, for a moment, that he is blind. “Is that why nobody remembers her?” “Nobody remembers her because nobody was here when she came. Nobody but me.” Victor Monte pats my arm. “They all passed away, they just left me behind. The Lady Sylvia forgot about me. One day, I think, she may remember, and then I will leave too.” “…Everybody died?” “Father Harrison came to town ten years ago. Doctor Harvey has only been working here for three, but she does not have the Father’s faith, and she is already breaking. I’m the only one who has anything to remember in the first place.” You can hear in the recording how I stop, how I make Victor Monte sit down on a nearby rock so I can look through my notes. You can hear how I read through them. You can hear the confusion in my voice. “Nobody told me about this.” “It is hard to count time around the Lady Sylvia. She clouds one’s mind with her poison, she makes hours feel like years, and minutes feel like seconds. Father Harrison does not lie when he says they count insults to mark the days. It is the only thing the heart remembers.” “So the town is… Everybody came after the Lady? And still decided to stay?” “Because she stays in her manor, and life is easier when there is something to hate.” Victor Monte signals me to help him up. I am forced to put away my notes and obey; his eyes won’t take a no for an answer. Once we are walking again, he talks once more. “The Lady Sylvia,” he says, “is not the first, but she might be the last. Her kind used to roam the Earth long ago, and they had many names. Some called them monsters, some called them demons. Doctor Harvey would call them the plague. All of them are right.” “So what is she?” “A carrier of death. A beast. A scar in the face of Creation, or God’s punishment, or God’s mistake. All at one.” “Yes, but… Where did she come from? What is her origin?” Victor Monte takes a moment to reply. “Sometimes children are born wrong. They bleed black, or do not cry. Sometimes the parents were born wrong in their turn, and the child inherited the worst out of both. Did you know the Lady Sylvia asked Doctor Harvey to burn her to death?” “I was aware.” “That is because burning them used to work. We called them witches, when I was younger. But if life moves on, so does death.” We have walked all the way up to the manor, now. We are lighted by candles, but the manor has its own light. It’s white, and sickening. Dark mist pours out of the windows, as if the stench of the Lady had taken a physical form. Grotesque and captivating, like an open wound festering with maggots. When I look at Victor Monte again, he is offering me a handkerchief. I do not take it. Instead, I ask. “What about Madeleine? The servant?” Victor Monte shakes his head. “Love is strange. She is human. The Lady Sylvia has forgiven her; why, I do not know. She was there when the Lady was but a child, and they took care of each other.” “The Lady took care of Madeleine?” “The Lady Sylvia is the only thing Madeleine has. I do not know if the Lady Sylvia can understand love, not like we do. But I know that she looks like a human, that she talks like a human. She lives in a human house and moves like a human girl. She does not need to do any of those things. It is merely a mask she wears.” I think back of the Lady, of her teeth, of her eyes. “It is not very convincing.” “It is a mask made out of glass. The point is not that it hides who you are. The point is that you are wearing it.” Victor Monte is still offering me the handkerchief. I am still not taking it. “She did not choose to be born a witch.” “And Madeleine plays into that?” “Madeleine loves the Lady, and the Lady knows this. The Lady does not love her back, even though a human would, but she can pretend. Or try to pretend.” “And Jonathan Gard…?” “I can only guess so much. You should ask them about this.” I hesitate. I can see the dark mist pouring out of the manor’s window. I can remember the stench of the Lady. I do not wish to go back. But I take the handkerchief Victor Monte is offering me. [hr] [center]FIVE[/center] [center]ONLY HUMANS ARE CAPABLE OF SIN[/center] [hr] Madeleine has hair of sugar and diamonds, and she wears no handkerchief over her mouth. There is sawdust in her voice and hot ice in her chest. She is nineteen, and looks not a day older than twelve. She is snarling, and holding a gun. She points from the hip but aims up, straight towards my head. I am wearing a handkerchief, and raising my hands above my head. I have no time to speak before Madeleine speaks. “What do you want?” “I am here just to investigate. I’ll ask some questions, and then I’ll leave.” “Why are you doing this?” “I search for the truth. Nothing else. I will not harm the Lady Sylvia once this is over. I don’t think I could, even if I tried.” The stench is killing me. The Lady Sylvia must be next door. I can see Madeleine taking a deep breath, and the sight alone is enough to make me nauseous. “I know you killed Jonathan Gard at the Cathedral. Everybody knows. But we’re not going to do anything. The Lady Sylvia won’t burn even if we try.” You can hear the alarm in Madeleine’s voice when she speaks next. She does not lower her gun at any point. “How do you know that?” “She asked Doctor Harvey to try to—” “[i]When?[/i]” I have to answer the truth. “I… do not know. I think their perception of time has been affected. I myself don’t know how long I’ve been here.” There is a pause. Madeleine is looking at me for a while before she replies. “A week.” “I thought it had been a day.” “It has been a week.” “Do you know why the Lady asked Doctor Harvey to try to burn her?” “I…” “I know she’s a witch. I know she is… wearing a mask. But… why did Jonathan Gard have to die? What did he do?” “He disgraced the Lady Sylvia.” “What does that mean?” Once again, Madeleine says nothing for a while, and simply looks at me. But then, she lowers her gun, and her gaze, and all I can see is her hair made out sugar and diamonds covering her face. “The Lady does not love me. I know that much. She tries, but she cannot comprehend what it feels like. Only humans are capable of sin. But I am a woman. The Lady Sylvia hoped that might be the reason.” “Is she capable of hope?” I can feel the venom in Madeleine’s voice when she replies. I can sense that she wants to shoot at me for that—but she does not point her gun at me once more. She says: “She is capable of longing.” As if that were enough. I have to push her. “And then, Jonathan Gard…?” “He was a fool. He could see past the mist, and the poison, and her teeth. I do not know if he fell in love for real; I fear he did. The Lady Sylvia thought laying with him might be her last chance.” “Her last chance to what?” “To try to feel something [i]other[/i] than longing.” “And it did not work.” Madeleine looks at me. “Jonathan Gard had his fun, and then he left. The Lady Sylvia felt nothing. Nothing. She is not capable of love, no matter how hard she tries.” We stay in silence. Slowly, I lower my arms. I get the feeling I am not going to get shot after all. Madeleine speaks again. “It broke her heart.” “So you killed him.” “He took the last thing she had. He took her hope, and he—” Madeleine visibly chokes. She needs to rub her neck to speak again. “He [i]touched[/i] her.” I push the thought out of my mind. With the Lady Sylvia so close to me, with the stench around me, I would not be able to survive it. “Who decided he had to die?” “We did it together. I sneaked into the Cathedral so that the Lady Sylvia would not have to do it herself.” I will forever remember this moment. I will never stop asking myself if this is my fault. “Do you…?” I start, then I stop, then I start again. “Do you think the Lady Sylvia asked Doctor Harvey to burn her after she laid with Jonathan Gard, or after you killed him?” The clatter you can hear in the recording is the gun falling from Madeleine’s hand. “What?” “I…” I wish I could look through my notes, but I can’t. I need to rely on my memory. “Victor Monte told me that the Lady Sylvia does not understand love, not like us. But maybe she understands it in a different way. You said she can feel longing. Maybe, once Jonathan Gard was dead, she realized she could…” I am not able to finish this. I lack words to describe the way Madeleine looks at me. In that moment, I would believe she carved her way out of the womb of a dead woman. “I tried to ask Doctor Harvey.” I’m stuttering, I talk too fast. I’m afraid. I keep talking. “But time is—she can’t quite tell. I think, if we ask the Lady Sylvia, she might be able to—” “Leave.” Just one word, but it is wrapped in finality. Madeleine does not reach for her gun. She does not need to. “Leave now.” “I—” “Please. If—if she loves that man, even after death, I…” The recording is completely silent for the next three seconds. “Please. I need to be alone.” I leave. [hr] [center]END[/center] [center]A WOMAN TEARING HERSELF IN HALF[/center] [hr] I flee the town, not bothering to say goodbye to Father Harrison. I will send him a letter later, and he will say he understands. I turn off my recorder. I have not returned to the town yet; I doubt I’ll ever do. The death of Jonathan Gard was written down as an accident, and nobody but me ever came down to investigate. The Lady Sylvia was left alone. As I was leaving town, I could hear a scream coming from the manor. It was undoubtedly Madeleine’s voice; I wish I had not turned off my recorded. It was the howl of a woman tearing herself in half, the screech of the sun dying every sunset. It was wood being split by lightning, and silk being torn to shreds. Next, a gunshot followed, and the screaming was no more. Father Harrison writes me in his letters that the Lady Sylvia lives alone now. Sometimes, at night, when the guilt won’t let me sleep, I idly wonder if she has learned to love Madeleine, now that she is not with her anymore.