The Gilda Stories (30 page)

The neutrality of Anthony's voice was carefully modulated. But as he continued, Gilda sensed the tension behind his words. “It was some time after her loss that I was able to persuade Sorel that coming East was our best course. And I believe this has been a good choice. We don't encounter many from those days. And everything about this city is so different from the cities of our past that Sorel is totally absorbed in learning of this new life.”

“He hardly seems able to learn of this city with the world traveling he's done in the past years!” Gilda said, laughter in her voice. She repressed the giggles that the image of Sorel and Julius globe trotting stirred in her.

“Well, that's as it will be. Although he speaks of moving back to the West or exploring the north country, he truly loves it here. But I'm afraid that joy may not last long.”

Gilda heard the uncertainty in Anthony's voice and felt the anxiety gather around them.

“Samuel is here.”

The statement was made simply, with little inflection, yet its weight was unmistakable. The chill at the base of Gilda's spine returned.

“We've not seen him in quite some time. He was desperate after Eleanor's loss. No one, Samuel least of all, expected her to embrace the true death, ever.”

Gilda heard in his voice Anthony's effort to speak charitably of Eleanor. He went on with little indication of this difficulty. “She was linked to this world in many ways. Her appreciation of its beauties made her cherish her life in spite of the difficult attitude she frequently exhibited. She did what she could to explain to Samuel what direction would be best for him, but his own weaknesses took the upper hand; the behavior you witnessed was minor in light of his later excesses. Finally, he left the area.”

Gilda read into Anthony's words that Samuel had been forced to leave the city because his imprudent actions threatened the safety of the community. Remembering the childish cruelty she had seen in him, it was easy to imagine how difficult he had become.

“He's not presented himself here, as one should,” Anthony continued, “but he's been seen by others.”

“Yes,” Gilda said, understanding taking shape inside her head, “he's been following me.” She saw the alarm in Anthony's face as she continued. “Every time I went into the night I felt something just beyond my reach. And tonight, I was taking the blood… somehow. .. my mind was wiped blank. I was scarcely able to control the exchange. I didn't understand—it must have been Samuel. I recovered myself, but the danger of it left me shaking.”

Anthony gripped his cup with tense fingers. Gilda reached over to touch his hand. As always she marveled at the darkness of her flesh next to the whiteness of others. It seemed an extraordinary gift—this variety of textures and hues. She failed to understand how it instilled such fear and horror in others. Anthony's grip loosened, saving the life of the china.

But his eyes were dark with anxiety as he tried to control his voice. “I've asked Sorel not to delay their return any longer. But I implore you, please remain out of harm's way until then.

“Samuel has no real understanding of our world. That was the curse that Eleanor visited upon him—taking him without considering his suitability. Yet she spared his life by taking her own and still he doesn't understand. It was her one true act of unselfishness, though I wonder if it was not the wrong choice.”

“What can Samuel want with me? I parted company with Eleanor so long ago.”

“In his head it's all the same. Time has little meaning to us…to him. You were a turning point in her existence. Even Samuel recognized that. Before you left us you saw the subtle change in her.”

“But he meant nothing to her. I saw that in her eyes whenever he tried to approach her,” Gilda said, shuddering at the memory of the coldness in Eleanor's voice as she demanded that Gilda kill for her.

“The passion between you, even when you wouldn't be trapped by it, allowed her to take her own life instead of his,” Anthony added. “He can do nothing but blame you; that's no surprise.”

All was said in such even, low tones that Gilda felt mesmerized. The truth was there inside the sound rather than in the words themselves—things she'd already known. She shivered at the knowledge that she might again he held responsible for someone's death.

Gilda searched for images of Samuel. They emerged from the unfading incandescent memory of Eleanor, dim outlines of a stunted man, confused to the point of incoherency. These impressions of him were more vivid than his physical appearance.

“What is it he wants of me?”

“He's probably not certain himself. To torment you with doubts as he's tormented, perhaps. You must be more selective when you share the blood, focus on very specific images, never let your mind stray. Clearly he's not ready for any type of confrontation or he would not be playing these childish games.”

Anthony's words were reassuring, but Gilda was still full of questions. He seemed to sense that and continued. “I believe it may even be Sorel, not you, Samuel truly seeks. Sorel is the progenitor, the father. He may need Sorel to force him into balance. It might even be a good thing that he's abandoned his self-exile and come to us. I suggest you simply be cautious. By using you now he's playing out his anger until he can do what he's come to do.”

Gilda felt her anxiety return. “But what can he want from Sorel?”

“Punishment, forgiveness, the true death? We can't know until he appears on our doorstep to tell us. And I'm certain this is exactly what he'll do once Sorel has returned.”

With Sorel would come Julius and news of Bird. Gilda relaxed into her seat and took a sip from her cup. The question of Effie seemed less urgent, less frightening now. She couldn't imagine how she would stay out of Samuel's way. The City was, in spite of its magnitude, a small one.

“Gilda, I speak as I believe Sorel would if he were here.” Anthony looked deeply into Gilda's eyes and continued to let her hold his hand. “You're trying to see Samuel's behavior through the light of reason, through mortal experience. Well, Samuel is neither a man of reason nor a man. You resist this understanding of him, and of all of us.”

He watched Gilda's features become set, almost frozen, as if to disguise her rejection of all he said. He continued talking but looked away into the shadows of the dimly lit room. “You've searched admirably for your humanity. Indeed, this is the key to the joy found in our lives, maintaining our link in the chain of living things. But we are no longer the same as they. We are no longer the same as we once were ourselves. You know this when you are with your friends. Don't ignore it. It's not wrong to look to them for their humanity, but your life is with us. We'll go through the ages with you, and you cannot take them all with you. A corner must be turned here, or you will remain as unfulfilled as Samuel.”

Anthony stopped, aware that the urgency of his words was gathering energy around them. Others were beginning to notice the intensity and making an effort not to take in what he said.

“I'm more aware of this separation than you can know,” Gilda responded. “When I look into the faces of women I trust, like Ayeesha or Savannah, I still see the gulf between us. I'm adrift without moorings in this world.”

“Then you must take hold, or you will always be as rootless as you fear you are.”

Gilda sat for a few moments, knowing there was little else to be said. “You'll be here for the welcome-home party?” Anthony asked as he saw Gilda preparing herself to leave.

“Of course.”

“Sometimes I think he goes away simply to give us a reason to hold celebrations!” Anthony said with a smile. Behind it Gilda could see his anxiousness.

“Not a bad reason, I'd say.” Gilda realized she'd been holding onto Anthony's hand during a good part of their conversation. She gripped it tightly for a moment before getting up from the booth.

Gilda listened all around her on the street while looking directly ahead as she walked toward home. She sensed nothing but knew that Samuel could be shielding his thoughts to prevent her from locating him. She didn't pick up any particular presence, however, and proceeded north quickly, sidestepping the pedestrians who crowded the West Village. As she crossed 14th Street the freneticism diminished sharply—fewer people on the street, less garish store windows.

She walked past the turn she would take to her own home and went to the river. The crumbling docks stood—just barely—a hollow testament to the city's decay. Men still moved along the river's edge, seeking out pleasure or simply enjoying the open air, but most of the warehouses were collapsed in upon themselves or barricaded. The men were less curious about her presence. Women seemed to have taken to the streets almost as much as men in the last decade. Gilda walked out to the end of the one pier that remained open and stood enveloped in darkness and the sound of the river. She let the uneasy pull of the water take hold and tried to imagine its cold fingers gripping her body. It had been salvation for some, a passage to freedom from the burden of life. Was she responsible for their deaths? Looking into the water she understood why this way might be chosen. And in seeing this she remembered more clearly those who had made this choice. They were not women to be led or misled. Their choices had been theirs alone.

Gilda turned back toward her own street leaving the uneasy attraction of the river behind her. As she came to the corner of her empty block she was relieved to be at home again. She strode over the two steps leading down to her door. Opening it, she heard a noise behind her and turned sharply.

“Gilda?” Effie stood above her on the step. Gilda was startled by her abrupt appearance. Her mind ran in confusion through the excuses she could use to send her away.

“Fve been waiting for you to return. I hope you don't mind.”

“No, I'm happy to see you.” Gilda's words rang with honesty.

“May I come in for a moment?”

Gilda noticed the slight trace of an accent she could not identify that somehow had escaped her attention. Effie looked tall standing on the steps, with the shadows hiding her youthful face. Gilda thought of the possible reasons she might say no before opening the door and standing aside to let Effie enter first. She turned on the lamp which glowed a dull red beside the overstuffed armchair. She felt awkward. No one outside the family had ever been inside before.

“May I offer you something to drink, a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you. I just wanted to talk with you for a moment.”

Effie removed her short jacket and sat in the chair. Gilda paced the room uncomfortably. She wanted to ask how Effie knew where she lived even more than she wanted to know why she wanted to talk to her.

Gilda excused herself to wash her hands in the bathroom, taking time to try and frame her questions. When Gilda finally sat down on the small trunk in front of the chair in which Effie sat, Effie spoke immediately.

“I know that you consider me a child.”

She spoke with a bit of a smile. “I think you know that…,” the girl faltered a moment, her words trailing off into the thick quiet. She glanced around the room before going on. “You know what I feel for you, I can tell this, but I had to speak directly. You must say that you do not care for me, then I will leave.”

Gilda sat stiffly on the trunk watching the dark skin of Effie's face shining under the glow of the lamp. Her lips were pressed firmly together holding back–what? Gilda met a blankness when she tried to probe. She played mindlessly with the studs that lined the edge of the trunk. Under its lid lay a few of the treasures that made up her inheritance: the clothes she'd worn when she ran away from the plantation, the knife in its leather casing that Bird had given her in exchange for her own wood-handled one; the tea cup and saucer Aurelia had so carefully wrapped for Gilda to take when she left Missouri; and from Savannah and Skip, a charm bracelet with its single tiny silver brush and comb. Beside them lay the rusted metal cross her mother had made for her and a brown-edged journal that had belonged to the woman in Louisiana who had found her. Spread across these treasures lay the dark cape woven for her by Bird. Its thickness was weighted by the protective earth lining the hem.

“Old memories are so empty when they cannot be shared,” Effie said softly, watching Gilda's surprise.

“What do you mean?” Gilda asked as she rose from the trunk and walked over to the piano as if seeking its protection.

Your coolness is a device to push me away. I know it's not what you want. You're scampering around inside of your own thoughts when you should be joining with mine.

Gilda remembered the first time she had heard the words that came without talking. It had been long ago, yet her sense of alarm returned quickly. Gilda turned to face Effie, looking directly into her eyes for the first time. The lamplight swirled hypnotically, drawing her inside. This girl, Effie, was a woman centuries older than she! In a brief moment Effie's history unfolded behind her eyes and Gilda saw a woman both young and old, who'd lived longer than any other Gilda had ever met. There was no reason for Gilda to run from her. That this woman was as she was, had lived the same way for so many more years, was miraculous and familiar. Gilda was stunned that she had not been able to see it; had not discerned the subtle shield Effie employed to protect her thoughts as those of their kind often did.

Effie took Gilda into her arms too quickly for her movement to be seen. They walked together from the living room to the small, dark sleeping room. Gilda locked the door behind them and watched as Effie ripped at the lining of her jacket. She removed a handful of rich, moist soil. She pulled back the comforter and pallet, sprinkling the earth into that already lining the platform. Together they slipped under the comforter. Gilda luxuriated in the weight of Effie's lean body on her own fuller one. The questions of only an hour before fled as she pulled Effie's mouth down hard upon her own. She left behind the shadowy dreams of desire and embraced the solid flesh that made dreams real.