“Doctor, we shall arrive in Seville on schedule.”
The newborn’s plaintive cries could be heard: life has been renewed. The game renewed also.
Is it possible they’ll name the baby after me? I must wait and see.
Some gestures should be natural, gifts of gratitude.
Or memory.
The Bloodflower by Martin Meyers
I
He was waiting to cross the street to the subway.
The truck rounded the corner.
It was a glazier’s truck with slanted racks on the outside to carry glass. This one carried a mirror on the side facing him.
Rusty saw Hope and a man in the mirror. They were both naked and bloody. It was an obscene tableau framed on one side by a black wolf and on the other by a behemoth, three-headed silver dog.
Rusty thought he recognized the man writhing on the ground. The animals, eager to pounce on the dying man, lapped at the dark, wet ground. Hope knelt beside him, licking the blood that dripped from her lips.
The man’s blood.
In the mirror Rusty saw the head of a snake-haired crone floating in midair.
Medusa was smiling.
RUSTY Harper bolted up in his bed, gasping for breath. Next to him, Hope Brady slept peacefully, a half smile on her lips.
I absolutely light up for her, he thought as he relaxed and his breathing grew easier. His next thought was an immediate negation of the first. He didn’t love Hope; love was pure crap, and he had no time for it. He did like her a lot, though.
Regretting that he wasn’t up to the kind of go-round she would expect, he didn’t wake her. Tonight would be better. Food and a few drinks and he’d be in just the mood to take care of her.
She stirred.
He left the bed, feeling guilty about deserting her.
His mind pushed on to other things. Like how good coffee and a cigarette would taste. And what the new job held in store. The realization that Hope was important to him lay in the background. It didn’t advance, but it didn’t retreat. It simply stayed there, waiting for him to get back to it.
Rusty blew his nose. His sinuses were killing him. He filled the bathroom sink with cold water and lowered his face into the basin.
When he raised his head, drops of blood bounced on the water, dying it a pale pink. Rusty peered in the mirror. His nose was bleeding. Christ, that hadn’t happened since he was canned at the brokerage house and quit doing coke. “Damn.” He grabbed several tissues.
At last the bleeding stopped. He washed his face again and brushed his teeth. When he spat, the toothpaste foam was also pink. Now his gums were bleeding. “Rusty my boy, you are falling apart.”
He shaved while under the shower and pondered the brief time they’d been together. Less than two weeks. She was now such an integral part of his life that he felt he’d known her for a long time.
Yeah. Things were looking up. “Admit it, Rusty, you never had it so good.” Donna had done him a big favor locking him out. Now he had a new girl, a new place to stay, and a new job. Who could ask for more?
After he got the coffee started, he poured two orange juices, drank one in a gulp, and carried the other in to Hope. The clock radio went on as he entered the room. Hope turned it off and opened her eyes. She was smiling. “Let’s make love.”
Rusty handed her the juice. “Great idea, but won’t we be late?”
“Not if we make it a quickie.” She pulled him down on top of her. “Come on.”
This woman excited him more than anyone he’d ever known. She engulfed him. Within seconds he was ready.
No.
She wouldn’t be satisfied. And he couldn’t disappoint her. It had to be good for her. But he couldn’t hold off any longer.
Medusa’s fearful head appeared in his mind. Horrible as the vision was, he welcomed the distraction and concentrated on it.
Hope bit him on the shoulder. The charm she wore dug into his chest. She clawed at him, grunting again and again, each grunt going higher in tone. When she reached the top of her lust song, she whined the final note and pulled him closer. He was done, dispelling Medusa, fear, everything.
THIS strange escapade they were all on had started on that particular Friday only two weeks before, when Hope found a new apartment.
“PANDORA’S Jar. This is Pandora,” the husky Greek-accented voice said. Pandora was really Asterodeia Alexander, the proprietor of the herb and spice shop on Eleventh Street, where Greenwich Avenue and Seventh Avenue converged. She was also Hope’s new landlady.
The Greek woman owned a building across the street from the shop. She lived in the building and rented out apartments. Hope was in the process of moving into one of those apartments, a find if there ever was one.
Rent for her new place was so low Hope couldn’t believe her luck. She wouldn’t even have to scour the earth for a roommate. The apartment would be all hers, her very own. Well, it was about time. Her luck hadn’t been good since the day she was born.
Asterodeia spoke again. “Pandora here.”
“This is Hope Brady.”
“Yes.”
“Your new tenant. Third floor, front.”
“I know who you are, Hope.”
“Thanks, Pandora.” As she always did when she was flustered, Hope touched the scarlet birthmark that encircled her left eye.
No matter how much makeup she used, she couldn’t hide the port-wine stain.
She was also a pimply faced, fat girl with stringy brown hair, who worked in the mail room of U.B.S., a small cable company.
“My name is Asterodeia,” the woman said, pronouncing all the syllables. Slow and distinct. “Pandora is just for the shop. All my friends call me Aster; anyone who lives in my house is my friend.”
“Thanks, Aster.”
“You are welcome, Hope.”
There was a silence.
“Yes, Hope?”
“Oh,” the girl blurted. “I forgot. No, I didn’t. Did the telephone man come today?”
“Yes, he did. And the locksmith, to change the locks. If you stop by the store or my apartment, I will give you the keys.”
“I didn’t call a locksmith.”
“I did. I do that for every new tenant. Something extra. No charge. It is a shame to say, but nowadays, in the city of New York, one cannot be too careful.”
“Thank you, Aster.” Hope closed her eyes in embarrassment. Why was she constantly thanking the woman? She sounded like a half-wit. Grow up, she told herself. “I really appreciate it.”
“That’s quite all right. When are you moving in?”
“Tonight. I brought my suitcases to work this morning, so I only have a few more things at my old place, and I can put them in a couple of shopping bags.”
“Very well, then. Until tonight, good-bye.”
“Good-bye.” Hope cradled the phone.
“Who was that?”
Startled, Hope looked up. Her heart was pounding. She raised her hand to her birthmark. Mr. Kesselring was leaning over her, his face close to hers. So close she could see his contact lenses floating in his eyes. Plastic boats in dirty water.
“Who was that, Brady?” he asked in a quiet voice filled with menace. “Were you stealing phone calls again?”
“No,” was all she could manage as she looked about the room, wishing desperately for an interruption.
“Who was it, then?” he demanded, triumphant.
“Mr. Porge in Personnel,” she answered just as triumphantly. “He was wondering if a certain letter arrived.”
“Well, did it?” Kesselring squinted.
“Yes, it did.” She reached into the Personnel Department’s basket. After a few anxious moments, she found the envelope and thrust it at her boss. “Here.”
Kesselring was disappointed. He’d thought he had her. “Don’t just sit there, take it to him. If it was important enough for him to call, it shouldn’t wait until the next delivery.”