Gabriel's Inferno 01 - Gabriel's Inferno (11 page)

Julia looked at the small but comfortable space as if it were the Promised Land, her eyes wide as they wandered over the large built-in workspace, comfortable chairs and floor to ceiling bookshelves. A small window offered a very nice view of the downtown skyline and the CN tower. She wondered how much it would cost to live in a carrel rather than in her not-fit-for-a-dog hobbit hole.

“In fact,” said Paul, clearing some papers off one of the bookshelves, “I’ll give you this shelf. And you can have my extra key.”

He fished around and came up with a spare key, writing a number down on a piece of paper. “That’s the number on the door, in case you have trouble finding it again, and here’s the key.”

Julia stood, gaping. “I can’t. He hates me, and he won’t like this.”

“Fuck him.”

Her eyes widened in surprise.

“I’m sorry. I don’t usually cuss—that much. At least, not in front of girls. I mean,
women.”

She nodded, but that was not
exactly
why she was surprised.

“Emerson is never here. You can store your books, and he’ll think they’re mine. If you don’t want him to catch you, you don’t have to work in here. Just drop by when I’m around—I’m here a lot. Then if he sees you, he’ll think we’re working together. Or something.”

He smiled sheepishly. He really wanted to
key
her—to know that she could drop by at any time. To see her things on his shelf…to study and to work next to her.

But Julia didn’t want to be
keyed
.

“Please.” He took her pale hand in his and gently opened her fingers. He felt her hesitate, and so he ran his thumb across the back of her hand just to reassure her. He pressed the key and the paper into her palm and closed her fingers, taking great care not to press too hard lest he bruise her. He knew that Emerson had bruised her enough.

“Real isn’t what you are; it’s something that happens. And right now, you need something good to happen to you.”

Julia started at his words, for he had no idea how true they were.

Is he paraphrasing from…? Impossible.

She looked up into his eyes. They were warm and friendly. She didn’t see anything calculating or crude. She didn’t see anything underhanded or harsh. Maybe he truly liked her. Or maybe he simply felt sorry for her. Whatever his mysterious motivations, in that instant Julia chose to believe that the universe was not entirely dark and disappointing and that there were still vestiges of goodness and virtue, and so she accepted the key with a bowed head.

“Don’t cry, little Rabbit.”

Paul reached out to stroke away a tear that had not yet fallen. But he thought better of it and placed his hand at his side.

Julia turned away, ashamed of the sudden and intense rush of emotions she was having, over being
keyed
of all things, and having him cite beloved children’s literature to her. As she frantically looked for something, anything, to distract herself, her eyes alighted on a CD that was sitting by its lonesome on one of the bookshelves. She picked it up.
Mozart’s Requiem
.

“Do you like Mozart?” she asked, turning the jewel case over in her hand.

Paul averted his eyes.

She was surprised. She moved as if to put the CD case back, worried she had embarrassed him by going through his personal effects, but he stopped her.

“It’s all right, you can look at it. But it’s not mine. It’s Emerson’s.”

Once again, Julia felt cold all over and slightly sick.

Paul saw her reaction this time and started speaking very quickly. “Don’t tell anyone, but I stole it.”

Her eyebrows lifted.

“I know—it’s terrible. But he was playing
one track
from the damn thing over and
over
and over again in his office, while I was cataloging part of his personal library.
Lacrimosa, lacrimosa, lacri
-fuckin’-
mosa
. I couldn’t take it anymore! It’s so damned depressing. So I stole it from his office and hid it here. Problem solved.”

Julia laughed. She closed her eyes and laughed.

He smiled with relief at her reaction.

“You didn’t do a very good job of hiding it. I found it in what, thirty seconds?” She giggled and tried to hand him the CD.

He cautiously pushed her long hair back behind her shoulders so he could have an unobstructed view of her face. “Why don’t you hide it at your place, instead?”

Instinctively, she stiffened and took a step backward.

Paul watched her head go down and her teeth clamp onto her lower lip. He wondered what he’d done…should he not have touched her? Was she worried that Emerson would find out she had his CD?

“Julia?” His voice was quiet, and he made no move toward her. “I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?”

“No. It’s nothing.” She glanced at him nervously and placed the CD on the shelf. “I love Mozart’s
Requiem,
and
Lacrimosa
is my favorite part. I didn’t know he liked it too. I’m just…um…surprised.”

“Borrow it.” He placed it in her hand. “If Emerson asks, I’ll say I have it. But at least if you borrow it you can upload it to your iPod and give it back to me on Monday.”

Julia looked at the CD. “I don’t know…”

“I’ve had it all week, and he hasn’t been looking for it. Maybe his mood has shifted. He started listening to it after he got home from Philadelphia. Not sure why…”

Julia impulsively slid the CD into her decrepit knapsack. “Thanks.”

He smiled. “Anything for you, Julia.”

He wanted to hold her hand. Or at least to squeeze it for an instant. But she was skittish, he could see, and so he gave her a wide berth as he led her into the hallway so that he could continue giving her a tour of the library.

“Uh, the Toronto Film Festival is on this weekend. I have a couple of tickets to some films on Saturday. Would you like to join me?” He tried to sound casual as he led her to the elevators.

“What films?”

“One is French and the other is German. I prefer European films.” He smiled half-heartedly. “I could trade the tickets for something more local…”

Julia shook her head. “I like European films too. As long as they’re subtitled. My French is almost non-existent, and I only know how to swear in German.”

Paul pressed the button for the elevator and turning, gave her a very long, very studious look. Then he grinned mischievously. “You can swear in German? How did you come by that?”

“I lived in the International House at Saint Joseph’s. One of the exchange students was from Frankfurt, and she really liked to swear—a lot. By the end of the semester, we were all swearing in German. It was kind of a res hall thing.” She turned a light shade of pink and shuffled her sneakers.

Julia knew that Paul was a doctoral student, which meant that he’d already taken language courses in French and in German, in all probability. No doubt he would make fun of her amateur linguistic skills, as Christa had after a seminar. She waited for a snide remark or a dismissive wave of the hand.

But he only smiled and held the elevator door open for her. “My German is terrible. Maybe you can teach me to swear in it—that would be an improvement.”

Julia turned to him and smiled back. Widely this time. “Maybe. And I’d like to go to the movies with you on Saturday. Thanks for inviting me.”

“No problem.”

He was pleased with himself. The lovely Julia was coming to the Film Festival with him, and afterward, there would be dinner. He had yet to introduce her to his favorite Indian restaurant. Or perhaps he should do that tonight and take her to Chinatown after the double feature. Then he would take her to Greg’s for homemade ice cream…and invite her to accompany him to the Art Gallery of Ontario to see Frank Gehry’s architectural addition next weekend.

As they continued their tour, Paul resolved in his heart to be patient. Very, very patient. And cautious, whenever he reached out a tentative hand to offer her a carrot or to gently stroke her soft fur with his fingers. Or else he knew he would frighten Rabbit away, and he wouldn’t have the opportunity to help her become Real.

***

The next morning Julia sat on her narrow bed with her old laptop, working on her thesis proposal and listening to Mozart. Professor Emerson’s choice of music surprised her. How could he go from listening to Nine Inch Nails to
this?
Was he only listening to it because of Grace? Or was there some other reason he was torturing himself by repeating the same depressing track over and over again?

Julia closed her eyes and concentrated on the words to
Lacrimosa
, sung loudly and hauntingly by the multi-voice choir in Latin…

Day of Weeping,
on which will rise from ashes guilty man for judgment.
So have mercy, O Lord, on this man.
Compassionate Lord Jesus, grant them rest.
Amen.

What is wrong with Gabriel that he listens to this over and over again? And what does it say about me that I can’t help but feel close to him when I listen to it? All I’ve done is replace his photograph with his cd—I’m just not sleeping with it under my pillow.

I am one sick puppy.

Julia shook her head and tried to concentrate on her thesis proposal, distracting herself from the sound of classical weeping with thoughts of Paul and the previous day’s activities.

He’d been very helpful. In addition to giving her a key to The Professor’s carrel, he’d offered advice about how best to structure her thesis proposal, and he’d made her laugh more than once—more than she had laughed in a very, very long time. He was a gentleman; he opened doors and carried her ugly, heavy knapsack. He was chivalrous, and Julia could not help but like him. It was nice to be around someone who was both handsome and sweet—an oft overlooked and frequently rare combination. She was grateful for his guidance, as well. For truly, who better than Virgil, who had shepherded Dante through the Inferno, to guide her through her thesis proposal?

She wanted her proposal to impress Professor Emerson, to make him realize that she was a capable student and somewhat intelligent. Even then she knew he would likely disagree with her on both points, no matter what Professor Greg Matthews of Harvard had said about her. And she’d be lying if she said that she wasn’t trying to subliminally jar Emerson into remembering her.

She wondered what was worse—that Gabriel had forgotten her? Or that Gabriel had become Professor Emerson? Julia was sickened by the second arm of the disjunction, and so she refused to even consider it—much. She would far rather Gabriel had forgotten her but remained the sweet and tender man she kissed in the old orchard, than for him to become Professor Emerson, with all of his vices, and still remember her.

Julia’s thesis proposal was straightforward. She was interested in a comparison between the courtly love manifested in the chaste relationship between Dante and Beatrice, and the passionate lust manifested in the adulterous relationship between Paolo and Francesca, two characters Dante placed in the circle of the lustful in
The Inferno
. Julia wanted to discuss the virtues and drawbacks of chastity, a subject she had more than a passing interest in, and compare it with the subliminal eroticism of
The Divine Comedy
.

As she worked on her proposal, she found herself staring back and forth between Holiday’s painting, which hung over her bed, and a postcard with the image of Rodin’s sculpture
The Kiss
. Rodin had sculpted Paolo and Francesca in such a way that their lips weren’t touching; nevertheless, the sculpture was sensual and erotic, and Julia had not purchased a replica of it when she visited
Musée Rodin
in Paris because she found it too arousing. And too heartbreaking.

She had settled for a postcard and taped it to her wall.

In addition to her
boulangerie
and
fromagerie
French, she knew enough of the language to realize that the title of Rodin’s sculpture,
Le Baiser
in French, was part of its subversion. For
baiser
in French could mean either the innocence of a kiss or the animalistic quality of a fuck. One could say
le baiser
and refer to a kiss, but if one said,
Baise-moi,
one was begging to be fucked. Both innocence and begging were wrapped up in the embrace of these two lovers whose lips never touched: frozen together, yet separated for all eternity. Julia wanted to free them from their frozen embrace, and she secretly hoped her thesis would allow her to do so.