Love Is Strange (A Paranormal Romance) (54 page)

Farfalla rolled the thin golden band through her fingertips. It had been a solid band, once upon a time, but it had been worn thin by years of wifely anguish. Worn thin, like a steel butcher knife slashing through too many carcasses. “So, for how many long, suffering years did your cousin wear this dire symbol of her bondage?”

“Nine years. No, I mean nineteen.”

“So, that was a rather brief marriage. Any devoted wife can suffer much longer than just nineteen years.”

“They looked seventy when they died! Her suffering was so awful that he withered just by sleeping next to her.”

Farfalla looked at her Nana’s busy hands. Hepsiba wore no ring. “So, Nana,” she said, “suppose that I don’t marry this useless robot guy. It’s not too late for me to turn him down. Who do you think I should marry? Truly?”

Nana Hepsiba looked up, flinching. “Why do you ask me that question now? Don’t you want to go through this spiritual ritual, to see if your machine-boy is your One? Look, how hard I am working here. I work my bare old fingers to the bone for you.”

“Nana, enough of that. Enough with the old wives’ tales, Nana. Spit it out — you think that I should lead a different life, with some different man.”

“Well,” said Hepsiba, “you are a nice, fancy girl from Italy, and a smart, pretty girl like you... what should you ever care what I think?”

“Nana, knock it off with the sneaky voodoo attacks on my soul, all right? We are two adult women, talking together! I’m not a small girl who believes every fairy story that you tell me! I’m all grown up now.”

“My precious, I say these things only for your sake! I have nothing against your big, handsome robot there. The secular world would be fine for a machine like him, but you are supernatural! I know of another young man. Somewhat like him, but Brazilian, and therefore so much better for you! That boy would be quite the catch for a clever girl like you. He’d give you a much better ring than that sorry worn-out ring, too. He’d give you a casket full of fine golden rings. Give me that ring back.”

Farfalla clenched the ring inside her fist. “I’ll just cling on to this golden symbol of worthless and utter feminine misery you don’t mind.”

“For a witch as powerful and stubborn as yourself, I happen to know of a highly available single man,” said Hepsiba. “He is never quite the marrying kind, but for a bright, footloose, headstrong girl like you, he would be perfect! He’s a local slumlord who launders drug money and builds skyscrapers. Yes, he does that. So he’s evil, but that’s a minor drawback.”

Farfalla drew a breath. “Yes. I see. Now you’re talking straight to me. That makes sense.”

“To speak frankly, he is demonic. But, he’s also very lonely. He’s exactly as lonely as your boyfriend there. Given that you don’t want to marry a human being, with a demon lover like him, you’d become terrific. I’m not lying to you. This happens to women like you every day. You would become the chic mistress of a major Brazilian drug lord. Just imagine the benefits. You would tower over this favela like the butterfly from hell. Men and women would die at your whim. You would never cry or suffer, or ever doubt your dark, awesome abilities. You would never know one moment’s doubt about yourself, and where you stood in this life. You would have every fatal power that a witch ever finds in the darkness. All you’d have to do is kiss his ass.”

“So, you know this gentleman pretty well, do you?”

“Oh,” said Hepsiba, “we all know each other in the high-rise business.”

“That is amazing. That was some great matchmaker advice. I’m touched that you would rank me that highly.”

“My sweet one, he’s never like people say he is. He is a gentleman. I can promise you this: our world would never function without him. Your boyfriend there is merely some robot, but this other man is a
spiritual necessity.
”

Farfalla took two steps to Gavin’s side. Gavin had casually fetched the Cosmic Cupid down from its mahogany shelf. He was juggling the metal statue, examining it from every angle.

“I’ve got this knicknack right here in my own hands,” Gavin mused, “this goofy idol. That some dead artist created. For his dead wife, the dead novelist.”

“Yes,” said Farfalla. “Yes, they are both very dead now. This is a temple of the dead.”

“They were nutcase people, too. Pathetic. Long-forgotten. Objects of ridicule now, for a thousand good reasons, but... Love. That was it. Their love was
the one true love
. He was a bisexual manic-depressive Russian, and she had syphilis and a morphine addiction, but their love was way beyond those details. This statue is the
divinity
of their love. It represents the
holiness
and the
sanctity
of their love. And now, I can see that. It is obvious to me, blunt and strong, like a tire iron.”

Nana gently took the Cupid from his hands and replaced it reverently on the pantheon shelf. “He belongs here with his mother.”

“Is that one his mother?” said Farfalla.

“Yes, this spirit. She has many names. She is Erzulie, the goddess of love. She is Love’s mother, she is jealous of him. Because he is not her little boy. He married. His wife is called the Soul. See, this piece of glass, she is the Soul.”

“I’m not following this,” said Gavin. “That sounded like Greek mythology.”

“She says that the Cosmic Cupid has a wife, this piece of glass.”

“Sure, Cupid and Psyche. That’s Greek to me, but even I get that much. Piece of metal, piece of glass, great.”

“These spirits have a story,” Nana confided in a low voice. “A pretty woman doesn’t care to be a grandmother. But Love and the Soul had a child. This is the child. Pleasure.”

Pleasure was scarcely visible on the altar shelf. Pleasure looked like a lowly, humble dripping of candle-wax. Farfalla touched the puddle of wax with one wondering fingertip. Pleasure was a blob, polymorphous and gooey.

She wondered why Professor Milo had never mentioned the existence of Pleasure. Was pleasure something ladies did not speak of? Despite his cryptic, even secretive form, Pleasure had tremendous premonitory presence for Farfalla.

Pleasure was just a gushy puddle of candle wax, yet he looked a lot like his dad the Cosmic Cupid but even more soulful.

“I totally never heard of a story like that,” Gavin marvelled. “Cupid sired a demigod called ‘Pleasure?’ Really? Where are the ancient temples of Pleasure? You and I should go there right away, Farfalla. Hey, we should live there.”

“Pleasure will become the motif of our married life,” Farfalla prophesied. She reached our for him left-handed, still clutching the wedding-ring in her right. “I can’t foresee pleasure, because I’m too gloomy. And you can’t foresee pleasure, because you’re too methodical. But when we see pleasure together, as a married couple, both of us united, oh my God in heaven, wow! Pleasure is our sweet release, pleasure is youthful and ever-renewing!”

Gavin gripped her fingers. “I thought the magic in Capri was pretty heavy-duty, but Brazilian mysticism is colossal! It’s all out in the open around here, they’re very feel-good about it.”

“Why is this knowledge of pleasure so esoteric?” Farfalla said indignantly. “I can’t believe I had to leave Italy and go to Brazil to learn that mystic revelation.”

Nana spoke up. “Don’t tell the gods how to make you a wise woman, my dear.”

“But why did Professor Milo send me running all over ther world?” Farfalla demanded. “All she had to do was tell me, was ‘I’m the Goddess Venus! That statue is my son!’ I would have believed her!”

“Wait a minute,” Gavin objected. “What? Are you saying that Professor Milo, that romance writer from Virginia, is a goddess? She’s the mother of this piece of bronze here? That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Gavin, Venus is the mother of Cupid. Don’t be so stupid and literal-minded. We’re in Brazil, the home of syncretic religion. Narratives work in metaphor. Myths are powerful.”

Gavin thought this over. Then he took her arm and drew her away from the pantheon, where Nana was busying herself.

“Look,” he told Farfalla, “given what we’ve been through lately, I’ll suspend judgement. But that’s just for here and now, all right? When we’re married, and we get back to Seattle, we’re both going to have a little newlywed chat with my lesbian pastor.”

“Your pastor will tell us that a pagan god is just a piece of metal,” Farfalla predicted, with a shrug. “I have another piece of metal for us.” She opened her clenched fist.

“That’s a wedding ring,” nodded Gavin. “An old one.”

“I stole it from her,” said Farfalla, glancing over her shoulder. “Quick. While she’s not looking, jam this ring on me. Ram it on my finger! Don’t worry if it hurts, I can take it.”

“Cookie, you just stole that nice old lady’s wedding ring.”

“She’s a witch. She’s evil, like me, but much more evil, because she’s older. She was tempting me to become the mistress of Satan.”

“That’s awfully broad-minded of the old gal,” said Gavin, narrowing his eyes. “This syncretic thing has definitely got its downsides.”

Farfalla stuck her left hand out. “Gavin, let’s do it your way, for once, all right? I’m sick to death of all this romance mumbo-jumbo! I finally know why you can’t stand this stuff! Sure, I’ll live in silk with my One who is the Evil One, and with you, my Mr. Wrong, I’ll have to pick rags and bones, and I’ll drudge in a hot kitchen, and my hair will fall out in clumps and I’ll have tapeworms and radiation poisoning. So what! I need to know the worst -- but once I learn the worst, I’m
brave.
I am Cassandra, I’m brave! I’m brave enough to
deserve
you. For better or worse. Put the wedding ring on me, let’s just steal it, and let’s run away.”

Gavin casually slipped the ring into his pocket.

Farfalla dropped her hand in despair. “You are not going to do it, are you? You could do it, and you won’t. You’re insisting on the mystic mumbo-jumbo, just to get back at me.” She lowered her voice. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s get out of here. Let’s go. I’m your woman, I know what you like! I’ll give you my special backrub. With hand-warmed coconut oil.”

“My darling, your sweet appeals to pleasure cannot move me. I’m far above that low carnality now.”

“Oh, why not, why not, for God’s sake! All men ever want is one thing and here I am offering it to you, and you’re all full of mystical crap!”

“We should build our future home on a foundation of the sacred,” Gavin intoned. “Because my love for you is
sacred.
Between you and me — that space is
sacramental
. The abyss between the sexes is the one true holy ground. I swear to you, I vow to you, that our love will always be a cosmic, holy gift. You are the priestess of the meaning of my life.”

“What?”

“I need a magic ceremony! I want the occult ritual! Can’t you see that, for God’s sake? Our love is holy to me, it’s our divine love! You can’t profane my deepest feelings for you! That is not even possible! Sorry, my phone is ringing.”

“Gavin, don’t answer that phone! Please talk to me. You were so close to saying it. Really, you were going to say it and be my One, and we would run away and love each other forever and everything would be perfect! Please, Gavin...”

“Sorry baby, we’re global people, we will always have to answer the phone...
Cosa? Non esiste! Cos’ha fatto? Perché! Non ne ho mai sentito parlare. Non pensavo nemmeno che fosse possibile!
”
²⁰

Farfalla took four steps back to Hepsiba. The old woman had left the altar and was silently laboring with her mortar and pestle.

“Nana.”

“What.”

“Nana, I forgive you for lying to me, and trying to make me the mistress of Satan. Because I know that you were only trying to help me. I’m really in big trouble, aren’t I? This is terrible. Can you put a curse on his phone and make him stop ignoring me?”

“Why would I curse phones, even if I could? I talk to all my clients with phones.” She glanced up at Gavin. “He is talking to your brother.”

“He’s talking to Rafael? Why? What do
they
have in common?”

“They have
you
in common, of course! How can you call yourself a fortune-teller? You are so blind, Farfalla! I can tell that without even speaking Italian. Anyone can see that he is speaking to a member of your own family! Open your eyes and ears! Then, the future will speak for itself!”

Farfalla trudged back to Gavin’s side. “You were speaking to Rafael, just now.”

“Yeah. How did you know that?”

Farfalla said nothing.

“Just because you can’t stand Rafael, that doesn’t mean I don’t like him,” Gavin said, sheepishly. “I enjoy creative European tech-artist types! Rafael is just a cool, Italian hipster kid, and that’s why he was filling me in behind the scenes about your former boyfriend, over there.”

“You mean Pancrazio.”

“Don’t say that name. I’m so jealous I can’t even speak his name, all right? That guy should go into that married-couple memory-hole of former boyfriends whose names are never spoken aloud. But, well, I stole his girlfriend. I did that. I injured him, that was an insult. And now, Pancho’s paying me back by screwing up my big Brazilian business deal. Pancho Pola is a very Italian guy. Pancho doesn’t get mad, he gets even.”

“And you’ve got a spy, who spies on Pancho?”

“Yeah, I do. Your little brother, he’s my favorite spy. To tell the truth, I’m Brazilian, American, and also rather Italian. I do great with Italians. They complete me somehow, I belong with them. Just look who I’m about to marry here. Italian life is full of weird intrigues, and that’s not their bug, that’s their feature. I love Italy. That’s the truth. I really wish I was in dear, old, sunny Italy right now, having a vintage Barolo, instead of twenty stories up in some rotting Brazilian skyscraper about to take voodoo drugs.”

Farfalla looked around the cobwebbed temple. “We live in a world where you can be connected in a moment to faraway people, to people you forgot, to people you remember, just like that...”

Gavin brandished his mobile handset. “This wondrous device is all about the collapse of space and time. To collapse space and time, that always feels just like magic.”