Water and Stone (20 page)

As the girl's story came to a close the dim lights in the room faded out all together and though the Count desired to speak with the teller of the tale he couldn't see to do so. Finally after much fumbling around in the dark he managed to find his room and fell into a deep and dreamless slumber.

The next morning the Count woke with a headache and lying in an alley behind a brothel. At first he thought that he must have overstayed his welcome at the inn but upon finding his pockets empty he decided he'd been the victim of hucksters... the landlady and her cohorts had gotten him drunk and allowed him to fall asleep before robbing and depositing him in the alley.

Although he was in dire straits the Count could only think of the fetching girl from the night before who told such a dark and gloomy tale and who had kept him enthralled for what seemed like hours just watching and listening to her. He decided he had to find her again, if only to thank her.

Her beauty had been beyond compare with shadowy and luminescent eyes that flashed fire as she talked and a delicately exquisite face framed by long black hair that shone like silk. She wore a black dress that accentuated her dark features and which was tight in all the right places.

Inquiring around the tiny village did no good... everyone he asked looked at him strangely before crossing themselves and hurrying away. Finally as a last desperate measure he went to the small chapel in the center of the hamlet where he asked the padre if he could help him find the girl.

After describing her and the house where he had spent the night to the man, the padre shook his head as he told the Count that there was no such girl living in the hamlet now nor was there a dwelling like the Count told of stopping at... but in the past a girl just as he portrayed had been the daughter of a business man who lived in just such an abode. At one time the man had been the wealthiest merchant in the state and grew as fat as a hog off the work of others but then he made a fatal error.

He had purchased an old castle. Rumor had it that as long as the castle walls stood the owner and his family would live long and happy lives, but should the walls fall they would all perish within one year.

Discounting the rumor as nonsense the merchant had the castle razed so as to build a new and splendid store. By the time the final stone fell from the walls both his daughters had taken ill. Tilde the older one had exhausted her resources in caring for her younger sister Juliana. When the merchant visited their room one horrible morning he found them both dead while huddling in bed as if in mortal terror of something unseen.

The merchant in his grief had killed his wife by strangling her with his own hands and then he doused himself in lamp oil and burned himself alive while simultaneously setting fire to the house though because the walls were made of adobe and set into the ground the only part that burned was the wooden beams that held up the steel roof as well as the furniture inside.

The padre examined the Count closely as he commented on how much he looked like the two dead girls. Perhaps he was a long lost relative. He beseeched the man to go to the spot where the castle once stood and say a prayer that he too would not be taken by the curse.

Thinking that a grand joke was being played upon him and yet nevertheless wholly disconcerted by everything he'd seen and heard the Count had saddled up and ridden out of the tiny hamlet as quickly as his horse could carry him.

As his journey took him west he stayed on the main road. Less than an hour passed before he came to a wild and overgrown cemetery surrounded by high stone walls. Something he knew not what compelled him to stop. The tombstones had been badly neglected but the Count thought he could espy a name upon one that sat in a distant corner.

It was his family's name.

Dismounting from his steed the Count passed through the rusted iron cemetery gate picking his way through the dismal fallen stones until he stood before the grave he had seen from afar. The names of his sisters Tilde and Juliana were carved upon it and side by side were the graves of his mother and his father who he had heretofore thought were still home in Spain, safe and sound.

A high wind sprang up at that moment as the cemetery trees rattled like old skeleton bones and a far off owl hooted in an especially mournful way reminding the Count of the old steam locomotive that used to blow its whistle each time it passed by his home in Andalusia. He'd always thought what a sad and a lonely sound it was.

Lightning danced across the sky as day turned to night and raindrops as big as puddles began falling out of the sullenly gray clouds overhead. With the flash another tombstone caught his eyes... it sat far back of the others as if purposely placed there, set apart from the family to which the body that lay moldering in the ground had once belonged.

Etched upon the stone was the Count's name.

The fat man telling the story suddenly stopped talking as he put a hand to his ear like he was listening to something unheard. It was obviously the music coming from the sack at Church's feet but only he and the fat man seemed to hear it. Suddenly he pointed a thick stubby finger that ended in a black fingernail right at Church saying something in Spanish that the boy couldn't understand. Moments later the room had cleared as if all the people were frightened away by what the fat man had said.

That night Church had strange dreams in which he kept thinking he was awake. Though he had never actually known Lorraine Ford before her untimely death the woman appeared to him like a trusted friend, sweet and young and without guile. Though she was naked it seemed so natural that he hardly noticed at all.

"You may not know me, Church, but I know you."

"You're Billy's mom... you're Mrs. Ford."

"That's right... but please call me Lorraine."

"What are you doing here, Lorraine?"

"I always watched you from afar, Church... I'm here on account of the guilt I carry. It's in knowing I could have done more to make your life better yet I did nothing. Were I alive I could never forgive myself but now nothing matters any longer."

"You never did me any harm, Lorraine. There's no need for you to feel guilty."

"I may not have harmed you but I could've been more of a help... regardless, there is nothing I can do to make amends now other than to offer some advice."

"Thank you, Lorraine. I'm worried about Billy. He's in a bad way."

"I know... and you should know something else too, Church. The one who killed me has your brother in her grasp. He is powerless to resist that witch... her power grows greater each day as Billy's wanes. Soon he will be too far gone to rescue."

"What can I do, Lorraine? Tell me and I'll do it."

"I don't wish for you to put yourself in danger, Church, but I can help you if you allow me to do so. I know it'll never make up for the neglect I piled upon you but maybe we can both rest easier knowing we did all we could."

"Does this have something to do with what my mother gave to me?"

"Everything you are and all you know of your world is directly related to what you carry, Church."

"I don't understand..."

"Few people do... that which you carry is both water and stone yet it is neither. It has the ability to grant any desire yet in the end will ensnare whoever is foolish enough to dabble in its charms."

"Is that what Billy was searching for?"

"If it is, then Evalena has poisoned his mind."

"He asked me if I had ever seen a strange stone."

"And have you, Church?"

"Yes, Lorraine... I had to look."

"What you carry will slowly drive you mad, Church. The longer you keep it, the less likely it is that you will ever let it go. Not even death will separate you from it."

"How do you know all this, Lorraine?"

"I was touched by water and stone, Church... or rather by a wraith summoned through it. Now I'm part of it too."

"What can I do to save Billy?'

"In the mountains east of this village are many caves. The ore inside the rocks will act as a shield against the stone you carry. Plant it deep inside a mountain but take care you're not followed. The people here are so poor they'll stop at nothing to earn a few pesos while a gringo like you setting off into the mountains alone is an easy target."

"I'll be careful, Lorraine... but what do I do once I get there?"

"Bury it... dig a deep hole inside one of those caves. By shielding your world from that stone, the witch's power will wane. It is Billy's only hope. Say nothing to anyone, Church. Leave at once. I will visit you again soon."

When Church woke early the next morning with the dream fresh in his mind the entire village seemed to be in golden slumbers from the excessive parties of the night before. Picking up the one thing that mattered to him—the cloth sack containing the stone—he slipped out of his room and taking the old pickup truck out of gear he pushed it down the road far enough that he judged no one would hear it start.

The dew was still heavy upon the deep grass waving under the cool dawn breezes and the air was filled with the fluttering of a billion wings as monarch butterflies descended out of the heavens and alighted upon every limb in the forest. Though his mother often spoke of it Church had never dreamed such a place actually existed... he always loved watching the way the orange and black butterflies danced through the sky and often wondered what became of them when the winds of winter began to blow... now, he knew.

Coming to a winding road beside one of the rivers leading into the mountains Church drove east until the gravel turned to dirt and then gave way to grass. Finally when he could drive no farther he parked in a secluded clump of boulders, climbed out of the pickup truck, picked up the sack and a shovel, and headed into the mountains.

He'd deliberately tried to bewilder himself as to where he was but it did no good. All his life Church had an inner compass that had always led him in the right direction no matter how lost he thought he was. If pressed he knew he could find the place again but hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

He'd buried the sack deep inside a cave but not without opening it first. Now though, he wondered if he should go back and make sure his treasure was properly secured. After all, he might've been followed.

He woke in the middle of a nightmare.

When he walked it felt like broken glass jabbed into the soles of his feet yet when he attempted to sit or to lie down to quell the pain the whole world spun so violently out of control that he became obscenely nauseous and had to leap to his beleaguered legs to make it stop.

They no longer made love the way they once did... or had all that been but a dream? A girl like Evalena would never have anything to do with a scarecrow like him... though they had no mirrors at the chabola he had once seen his reflection in the window before Evalena noticed him staring into it and took a board to cover it up. Still, he remembered how when he realized the image he had seen was actually him it had made quite an impression.

He looked like an old man... hell, he was an old man. When had that happened? He couldn't remember living more than a handful of years yet he felt beyond old, like his own grandfather... his joints were swollen and stiff with age, his eyes cloudy with cataracts, and his back crooked and bent as if he'd carried a great weight for a thousand years and still had nowhere to set it down.

Something lived in his stomach. He'd feel it moving about, especially at night when he desperately desired the forgetfulness that sleep would bring yet couldn’t seem to summon even one snore. The closer he was to Evalena the more excited the thing seemed to get—gnawing at his insides with teeth of steel as if it wanted out.

He found it odd that the older he became the younger Evalena seemed to grow. Wasn’t she supposed to be the older of the two? He thought he remembered her being a grown woman when he was just a boy but perhaps his memory played tricks upon him again.

A man on a horse rode up to the cabin one day—though he looked familiar Billy couldn't remember who he was as he absently wondered what the man wanted... was he asking for him?—claiming to be his father? It seemed odd to Billy that as old as he was his father would still be alive. He felt ninety and looked a hundred. The man must've been mistaken or even deranged.

He noticed the fellow staring at him... apparently Evalena did too. She seemed suddenly irritated not only at the visitor but at him though there seemed no reason for her anger. Was it because he desired to talk with the caller? He meant no disrespect to the girl... he wanted only to ask the man for his name, nothing more.

Evalena'd shoved Billy inside before he'd the opportunity to say even one word to their guest, if indeed that was what he was. She said the man was lying... that his father was dead... his mother too. She told him that the man who stopped by the chabola was actually his enemy... that he wanted to split him open to steal what was growing inside of him.

It was the first time in a long while Billy could remember being lucid enough to feel fear... he was terrified. Evalena knew something was inside of him trying to get out... had she put it there? What was in those potions that she insisted on him drinking? Though she told him it was a special herbal concoction passed down from her grandmother designed to cleanse him it tasted like sand and dirt and worms all mixed together and it smelled even worse.

Was Evalena actually his daughter? She kept calling him father. It seemed strange to think he could have a child that he'd forgotten all about. Had he been married too? When he thought about making love to Evalena was it really her mother that he dreamed of? He wished there was someone who he could talk to... someone to confide in... but everyone he used to know was a stranger.

Though the reek of the stale air inside the tiny shack made him ill he was no longer allowed to go outside, not even for a short walk around the perimeter of the yard. A memory tinged with happiness floated through his tortured mind of splashing in cold creek water amid other giggling and laughing children.

"The doctor gave me strict instructions to keep you out of the sunlight, father. Until you're better you aren't to leave our home. Now, open your mouth so I can give you your medicine."

He wanted to refuse but he knew what would happen if he did... she would tie him to a chair and force the concoction down his throat. He was too weak to resist any longer so he did as she said. What she called medicine tasted like charcoal and it was just as gritty.

"Where am I?"

His voice sounded as old as mud. Just a few seconds ago he was sure they were in the hacienda where his family lived but now everything seemed so strange. The walls were closing in... perhaps that was it. It made sense. If the room had become smaller then of course they were still at the hacienda... but where was his father?

It occurred to him that he was the father. He'd lived his life and now he'd grown so old that he could no longer remember the life lived. It seemed a special sort of hell to be aware of things around him and yet unable to fathom their purpose. The doctors had a name for his affliction but he was long past caring about such things.

The girl living with him must be his daughter or perhaps a granddaughter... he couldn’t be sure. She was as beautiful as a new spring sunrise and save for the patch she wore over one eye she was perfect. Looking at her he got the distinct feeling that he was looking back at himself through that one good eye and when he moved a hand her hand moved too.

"We're at home, father. You know that. I've come here to take care of you like all good daughters do. Do you love me, father?"

"I've always loved you, Evalena, but I don’t believe that I'm your father. Who am I, really?"

"Please, father... when you talk like that, I feel like everything I do for you is for naught... that you don’t care about me in the least. Am I merely wasting my time here with you?"

She seemed disgusted with him. Looking at the girl a wave of nostalgia washed over him. She wasn’t his daughter. They'd been lovers. He could still remember every line of her body, every marking. Or had that been her mother?

The pain in his midsection grew more intense each time she gave him the medicine. When he complained she told him it was to be expected... if he wanted to get better he had to first hurt.

"This doesn’t feel like home. Am I really your father?"

"Such foolish questions... would I be staying here and taking care of you so lovingly if you weren’t my father? Of course not... you'd be in a special place for people like you, old and decrepit and past their prime. Those places are so unpleasant that I gave up my own life to be here for you, and now you act as if you don’t appreciate me at all. Maybe I should leave."

"Please don’t go away, Evalena. I need you. I'm sorry for doubting you. I feel so confused that half the time I don’t even know what I'm saying. Will you forgive me?"

She seemed to enjoy first confounding him and then coddling him like a child while telling him everything would be all right... that she'd make sure he was as comfortable as possible.

Sometimes she looked at him and broke out into fits of laughter, as if she found humor in his situation. Or was it possible that her mirth served to cover up the darker feelings emanating from her one good eye like a witch standing over her boiling cauldron?

Her cackle was like broken glass. It set his nerves on edge as if it was phony... something managed—contrived—for his sake, to keep him enthralled and under her command.

Who was it that warned him about his daughter? The memory was as hazy as a dust storm blowing across the open prairie in summertime when the heat was up and the humidity so low that the sweat evaporated off his body without even wetting his skin and electricity crackled in the air.

It'd been Yani. Only she called the girl her sister... but if Yani and Evalena were sisters then that meant he was the father of both girls... how was that possible? An image of Church floated before his eyes nearly blind to the light now... his brother... not his grandson.

Evalena was lying.

He'd never been as sure of anything, at least not that he could remember. But why? What advantage was it to her to feign being his daughter instead of his lover? What had she done to him to cause him to age so prematurely?

He had to get out of the shack before it was too late... but he was so weak he doubted he could stand. He made up his mind that if need be he'd crawl. That medicine she'd been feeding him... it had something to do with how he felt. Instead of making him better it was drawing off his strength leaving him a shell of himself.

But where could he go that Evalena wouldn't find him? The first place she'd look would be the hacienda, his old home. In his present condition would Yani and Church believe he was who he said he was? Probably not... they'd think he was a vagrant looking for a handout and hurry him away, or call the police.

If he was locked up, Evalena couldn't get to him. As well as he could reckon he'd never seen the inside of a jail cell but from his present perspective it seemed a mighty fine place to be.

He'd wait until she fell asleep. Though the door was barred he thought he could muster the strength to stand and remove the lock. If not, he'd die trying.