In the dream ballroom Jackie Kennedy had spoken kindly to her and gone away, and then all of them had been there, the whole coven, naked and singing in a circle around her. Had it been a real thing that had really happened? Roman in a black robe had drawn designs on her. Dr. Sapirstein had held a cup of red paint for him. Red paint? Blood?
“Oh hell now, Hayato,” Minnie said, “you’re just making fun of me! ‘Pulling my leg’ is what we say over here.”
Minnie? Back from Europe? And Roman too? But only yesterday there had been a card from Dubrovnik saying they were staying on!
Had they ever really been away?
She was at the archway now, could see the bookshelves and file cabinets and bridge tables laden with newspapers and stacked envelopes. The coven was at the other end, laughing, talking softly. Ice cubes clinked.
She bettered her grip on the knife and moved a step forward. She stopped, staring.
Across the room, in the one large window bay, stood a black bassinet. Black and only black it was; skirted with black taffeta, hooded and flounced with black organza. A silver ornament turned on a black ribbon pinned to its black hood.
Dead? But no, even as she feared it, the stiff organza trembled, the silver ornament quivered.
He was in there. In that monstrous perverted witches’ bassinet.
The silver ornament was a crucifix hanging upside down, with the black ribbon wound and knotted around Jesus’ ankles.
The thought of her baby lying helpless amid sacrilege and horror brought tears to Rosemary’s eyes, and suddenly a longing dragged at her to do nothing but collapse and weep, to surrender completely before such elaborate and unspeakable evil. She withstood it though; she shut her eyes tight to stop the tears, said a quick Hail Mary, and drew together all her resolve and all her hatred too; hatred of Minnie, Roman, Guy, Dr. Sapirstein-of all of them who had conspired to steal Andy away from her and make their loathsome uses of him. She wiped her hands on her housecoat, threw back her hair, found a fresh grip on the knife’s thick handle, and stepped out where they could every one of them see her and know she had come.
Insanely, they didn’t. They went right on talking, listening, sipping, pleasantly partying, as if she were a ghost, or back in her bed dreaming; Minnie, Roman, Guy (contracts!), Mr. Fountain, the Weeses, Laura-Louise, and a studious-looking young Japanese with eyeglasses-all gathered under an overthe-mantel portrait of Adrian Marcato. He alone saw her. He stood glaring at her, motionless, powerful; but powerless, a painting.
Then Roman saw her too; put down his drink and touched Minnie’s arm. Silence sprang up, and those who sat with their backs toward her turned around questioningly. Guy started to rise but sat down again. Laura-Louise clapped her hands to her mouth and began squealing. Helen Wees said, “Get back in bed, Rosemary; you know you aren’t supposed to be up and around.” Either mad or trying psychology.
“Is the mother?” the Japanese asked, and when Roman nodded, said “Ah, sssssssssssss,” and looked at Rosemary with interest.
“She killed Leah,” Mr. Fountain said, standing up. “She killed my Leah. Did you? Where is she? Did you kill my Leah?”
Rosemary stared at them, at Guy. He looked down, red-faced.
She gripped the knife tighter. “Yes,” she said, “I killed her. I stabbed her to death. And I cleaned my knife and I’ll stab to death whoever comes near me. Tell them how sharp it is, Guy!”
He said nothing. Mr. Fountain sat down, a hand to his heart. Laura-Louise squealed.
Watching them, she started across the room toward the bassinet.
“Rosemary,” Roman said.
“Shut up,” she said.
“Before you look at-“
“Shut up,” she said. “You’re in Dubrovnik. I don’t hear you.”
“Let her,” Minnie said.
She watched them until she was by the bassinet, which was angled in their direction. With her free hand she caught the black-covered handle at the foot of it and swung the bassinet slowly, gently, around to face her. Taffeta rustled; the back wheels squeaked.
Asleep and sweet, so small and rosy-faced, Andy lay wrapped in a snug black blanket with little black mitts ribbon-tied around his wrists. Orange-red hair he had, a surprising amount of it, silky-clean and brushed. Andyl Oh, Andy! She reached out to him, her knife turning away; his lips pouted and he opened his eyes and looked at her. His eyes were golden-yellow, all goldenyellow, with neither whites nor irises; all golden-yellow, with vertical black-slit pupils.
She looked at him.
He looked at her, golden-yellowly, and then at the swaying upside-down crucifix.
She looked at them watching her and knife-in-hand screamed at them,
“What have you done to his eyes?”
They stirred and looked to Roman.
“He has His Father’s eyes,” he said.
She looked at him, looked at Guy-whose eyes were hidden behind a hand -looked at Roman again. “What are you talking about?” she said. “Guy’s eyes are brown, they’re normal! What have you done to him, you maniacs?” She moved from the bassinet, ready to kill them.
“Satan is His Father, not Guy,” Roman said. “Satan is His Father, who came up from Hell and begat a Son of mortal woman! To avenge the iniquities visited by the God worshipers upon His never-doubting followers!”
“Hail Satan,” Mr. Wees said.
“Satan is His Father and His name is Adrian!” Roman cried, his voice growing louder and prouder, his bearing more strong and forceful. “He shall overthrow the mighty and lay waste their temples! He shall redeem the despised and wreak vengeance in the name of the burned and the tortured!”
“Hail Adrian,” they said. “Hail Adrian.” “Hail Adrian.” And “Hail Satan.” “Hail Satan.” “Hail Adrian.” “Hail Satan.”
She shook her head. “No,” she said.
Minnie said, “He chose you out of all the world, Rosemary. Out of all the women in the whole world, He chose you. He brought you and Guy to your apartment there, He made that foolish what’s-her-name, Terry, made her get all scared and silly so we had to change our plans, He arranged everything that had to be arranged, ‘cause He wanted you to be the mother of His only living Son.”
“His power is stronger than stronger,” Roman said.
“Hail Satan,” Helen Wees said.
“His might will last longer than longer.”
“Hair Satan,” the Japanese said.
Laura-Louise uncovered her mouth. Guy looked out at Rosemary from under his hand.
“No,” she said, “no,” the knife hanging at her side. “No. It can’t be. No.”
“Go look at His hands,” Minnie said. “And His feet.”
“And His tail,” Laura-Louise said.
“And the buds of His horns,” Minnie said.
“Oh God,” Rosemary said.
“God’s dead,” Roman said.
She turned to the bassinet, let fall the knife, turned back to the watching coven. “Oh God!” she said and covered her face. “Oh God!” And raised her fists and screamed to the ceiling: “Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!”
“God is DEAD!” Roman thundered. “God is dead and Satan lives! The year is One, the first year of our Lord! The year is One, God is done! The year is One, Adrian’s begun!”
“Hail Satan!” they cried. “Hail Adrian!” “Hail Adrian!” “Hail Satan!”
She backed away-“No, no”-backed farther and farther away until she was between two bridge tables. A chair was behind her; she sat down on it and stared at them. “No.”
Mr. Fountain hurried out and down the hallway. Guy and Mr. Wees hurried after him.
Minnie went over and, grunting as she stooped, picked up the knife. She took it out to the kitchen.
Laura-Louise went to the bassinet and rocked it possessively, making faces into it. The black taffeta rustled; the wheels squeaked.