Well In Time Part 14

I feared that I would find the church doors closed and bolted, but when I arrived there, this was not the case. The doors were still thrown wide open and within the sanctuary votive lamps were flickering. I entered warily, expecting momentarily to be accosted by some night watchman or vigilant priest. As I moved further into the church, however, I could see plainly that I had the place completely to myself.

Now, I wondered how I might find my way into the crypt, but this question, too, was soon answered. For here was a very unusual construction, with the altar raised above the floor of the rest of the church and, right below it, a low stone arch through which steps led downward into the earth. From the semicircle of the arch, a glow, as of internal fires burning, was coloring the stones a dull red. With wonder as to what I was about to discover, I stooped under the arch and set my foot upon the stairs.

I had been before in the crypts of many churches, during my days investigating Constantinople, and they were invariably dark, cool places, dank, and smelling of mold. What amazement did I feel, then, as with each step into the crypt of Saint Sarah, I felt heat rising to meet me and the light intensifying!

Descending but a few steps, I reached the crypt itself, which was a simple curving vault of stone, so low that at its edges I could not stand upright. Keeping to the center where the ceiling almost grazed my scalp, I advanced, struck with wonder. For there in the right hand corner stood the Saint, robed in a crimson gown of silk, and surrounded by a veritable bonfire of half-burned tapers.

How long I stood, gazing awestruck, I cannot say. I stared into the sweet, solemn face of the Saint, and she stared back. She had a tiny nose, high cheekbones, and a pointed chin. The light of the tapers played across her painted eyes, making them flicker and dance.

The heat of the place was almost unbearable and seemed too much to be accounted for by the flames of the candles. The entire room seemed to pulsate and throb, as if I were within a living heart. The air fairly crackled with an energy I was past attempting to define. For suddenly, I was moved to throw myself on the floor at her feet and wors.h.i.+p there, and as I did so, my heart broke open and all the pent-up grief and rage came pouring out in a molten tide.

Never will I know how long I lay there sobbing. But when I came back to myself, a pale daylight was seeping down the stairs from the church above, the candles had all burned out, and my face, embedded with grit from the floor, lay in a puddle of my own tears.

The footsteps of the first pilgrims of the day echoed across the floor above me and I arose hastily, wiping my cheeks on my sleeves. Saint Sarah still stood in her corner, looking stern now and forbidding, without the light of the candles playing across her. Yet the chamber still pulsed with heat and energy, although I knew the dawn above must be a chilly one.

I groped along the wall until I found the little table where the candles were displayed for purchase, dropped some coins into the iron box and took my taper. As I advanced toward the Saint, I realized that there were no flames left from which to light my candle, and I felt my heart would break at the prospect of leaving this place without having lighted a candle there.

Drawn by an invisible magnetism, I stepped to within three feet of Sarah, holding my candle before me. Suddenly with a small sound like a blown out breath, the wick of my candle burst into flame! I nearly dropped it in my astonishment!

The first pilgrim came down the stairs behind me, his feet scratching on the grit. I stood transfixed but a moment longer, staring into the face, so still and inscrutable, of The Egyptian. Then I inserted my taper into its holder, turned and fled the crypt.

I made my way through the awakening streets, not thinking of a destination, only attempting to put as much distance as possible between myself and the crypt of l'Eglise-Les-Saintes-Maries. At length I found myself on the sh.o.r.e of the sea and, unable to proceed further, I perched on a big rock. There I sat for many hours, mindlessly watching the tepid waves roll up the beach and flow ever back again.

I could not think on what had befallen me in the night, for it was too strange and too affecting. I can tell to you, now, what I could not admit to myself that morning: that in that last instant before I fell to wors.h.i.+p at the feet of the Saint, her dark and placid face was trans.m.u.ted. For in that moment, so delicate that my heart ceased beating for fear of rupturing it, I saw the face of my beloved wife hovering like a vaporous mask over the Saint's, there in the candlelight, and she smiled at me sweetly and with infinite love. This it was that punctured the blister of my grief and released those long-held toxins.

Many times that day by the sea I laid my head upon my knees and wept for all that I had lost. But in these tears was balm. No longer did I rave and rage under the delusion of my birth, for I had been told since childhood that I was king, and all things must obey my will. There by the sea I grieved as a simple man grieves his losses, and in so doing began to heal.

I stayed upon the rock until the setting of the sun. As the waters of the Mediterranean lay gilded at my feet, I felt the pangs of hunger and came back into my body at last. So I arose and made my way back to the town, aware as I walked that for the first time in many, many months, my heart, if not completely at peace, at least did not gnaw with anguish in my breast. Rather, my limbs felt loose and strong and my head clear and open to receive something new.

In this state I arrived on the Place de l'Eglise, seeking a tavern I had noticed the day before, from whence the smells of cooking food were particularly inviting. The pace of the gypsy festivities seemed to have accelerated, a fact which the tavern keeper confirmed. More and more of this odd race were arriving each day, and there was excitement in the renewal of old acquaintances and the forging of new bonds. Several weddings, he said, had occurred that day, and the dancing and singing and feasting would go on until all hours of the night.

After my supper, I roamed the streets, stopping to listen to the music of various groups gathered there and to watch the dancing of their women, which was sensual and haunting. As I stood in the background, leaning against the wall of a building and robed in shadows, I felt invisible in my blackness. For the first time since the death of my family, loneliness stabbed my heart. For so long my rage had armored me, but now I was as one stripped of all defenses, and these poignant celebrations of the gypsies but accentuated my isolation in the world.

As if this feeling were a beacon that called to itself its antidote; however, I was suddenly aware that a man had come quietly to stand by my side. In the shadows and dancing firelight, his face was obscure, but what I could see of it gave me quite a shock. Here was a wild and dangerous-looking character, indeed!

He was a small man, dark as a chestnut, and his right eye was sealed shut by a terrible scar that ran from the angle of his jaw to the center of his forehead. His hair was cut at jaw length and stuck out in all directions, like the mane of a lion, and was of the blackest black. He wore a rumpled s.h.i.+rt under a shabby vest and baggy pants stuffed into boots scuffed and worn almost past serviceability.

I felt sure that he had come close to me only to cut my throat and rob me. I drew back from him in fear, for all that I was half again his height and might have broken him over my knee like limb wood, if such were my desire. Still, he alarmed me, for his one good eye was inscrutable in its blackness, and he had about him a wild and fierce energy. If I were to awaken in the deep watches of the night with such a one bending over me, I would be sure the hour of my judgment had arrived!

He smiled at me in such a way that every blackened tooth in his head was revealed, but it was a smile without mirth. "I frightened you," he said, and it was a statement, not a question.

"You startled me," I replied gruffly, for I did not want to show weakness to this man.

"You are alone here," he said, again as a statement. "I saw you at the tavern. Come with me to my camp and join my family. We are celebrating the wedding of my nephew tonight, and there is a feast laid out."

I immediately refused him, for I suspected that his intention was to lure me out by the lagoon and there a.s.sault and rob me.

He c.o.c.ked his head and smiled again, nodding in a knowing way, and fixed me with his good eye, in the same manner as the parrots that were kept in my court in Nubia. This mannerism had always endeared these wise birds to me, so I was predisposed to hear what next he said to me.

"The solitude of a king is his safety," he said softly, "but the solitude of a common man is loneliness." So saying, he turned from me and began to slip away through the crowd.

Suddenly, I was as desperate to go with him as I formerly had been eager to avoid him. My heart, in a quick flaring, told me that this was the clue I sought in the swamps of the Camargue. Hastily, I shouldered my way into the crowd, which was closing behind him like the sea around a fish.

Several times I thought I had lost him, for the light was poor and the press of the crowd was great. Because he was a small man, he slipped easily through the throng, while I must bull my way through clumsily. But each time, I would espy him again, moving like a minnow through water gra.s.s, and my rudeness was great as I pushed all in my path aside to follow him.

When at last I came to the path that led down to the encampment by the lagoon, I could see him hurrying ahead, for the moon was gibbous and gave a little light. I relinquished my pride and called out to him, saying, "Wait, my friend! I have changed my mind!"

He did not stop but slowed his step, and I hurried to catch up to him. Without turning to me, he continued on and I followed as we entered the encampment. He knew his way through cl.u.s.ters of wagons and past campfires that looked all the same to me. Music was coming from all sides, children were running and playing hide-and-seek among the carts, and the whole was lit by both blue moonlight and the flickering red light of the fires, lending the scene a wild and unearthly appearance.

Suddenly, he darted to the right between two wagons. I squeezed myself through this s.p.a.ce behind him and found myself within a circle of carts whose center was a blazing fire. Around it, men were dancing with their hands on one another's shoulders, while the musicians sat back in the shadows on rough stools. Women were in the process of laying out food on plank tables, as mobs of children ran squalling and shrieking and jumping, round and round.

It was a scene not unlike many in which I had partaken myself, when I had a family. Often I would go out on hunting expeditions with my court, with children, wives, and servants in tow, and we would camp in the hills with just this sort of exuberance.

In the moment that I stopped to take in the scene, my guide had disappeared. So I simply found a place on the ground, leaning against the wheel of one of the wagons, and settled myself to watch.

To my right, old women were tending cooking fires over which, on iron cranes, big pots bubbled with marvelous smells. Beyond them, a knot of young men was gathered and I a.s.sumed that the bridegroom must be among them, for they were drinking and there were shouts of hilarity and good natured jostling among them. To my left were the musicians and, beyond them, a bevy of young women turned in to face one another, like mares in a defensive circle. They were giggling, and occasionally one would look over her shoulder toward the young men's group and then turn back with excited whispers.

How it made my heart ache! Many times I had witnessed similar things in my own country. It proves, I suppose, that we truly are all the children of one G.o.d, for no matter what our country or our race, so many of our behaviors are the same.

People began to collect at the tables now, for the smell of hot food was compelling. I had been invited to the feast, but my guide was nowhere in sight. I felt awkward intruding on this family's party, but one of the old women found me in the shadows, thrust a wooden bowl in my hands without a word and threw out her hand toward the tables, commanding me silently to take my place.

Room was made for me on a bench without surprise or comment. Soon steaming kettles were ladled out into my dish. When everyone was served, there was a clapping of hands and all fell silent, turning to the head of the table where, to my surprise, I now beheld my guide, but much transformed.

He had changed his clothes and now wore a soft white s.h.i.+rt with full sleeves, under a vest embroidered in green and red. Loose black pants were tucked into boots of red leather. For all his wild hair and ugly scar, he looked lordly, and I knew he must be the head of his clan.

He spoke a blessing over the food in a language I did not understand and took to be the Romany of his race. Then the feasting commenced and, along with the eating, there was much laughter and joking and wine was pa.s.sed, again and again.

When finally all the food was eaten and we all were a little tipsy from the wine, the musicians again took their stools and began to play. Now, my host revealed himself to be a singer, and he began the wailing chant of his people, that some say is an amalgam of the cry of the Muslim muezzin and the mournful song of the Jewish cantor, compounded during the gypsies' wanderings in Spain.

Whatever their origins, the songs were deeply moving, and the crowd began to shout its enthusiastic response to the singer as he sang. Women began to dance, especially the old women, who moved into the circle with their bent shoulders suddenly straightened, and their stiff, padded hips swaying like those of young girls.

Again, I settled myself against a wagon wheel, content to be even an observer of this family festival. But soon I felt a movement to my right, and a woman stood there who quickly took her seat beside me.

"Welcome to our camp," she said quietly. "My name is Allia."

I nodded to her and then half turned away, for I did not know the ways of her people, and if she were being forward, I did not want to cause an incident. She seemed content simply to sit beside me without conversing, and as the evening progressed, clapped her hands to the music, and several times got up to dance. But always, she returned to my side.

While she was dancing, I watched her closely. She was an attractive woman, I saw, but not beautiful. She was neither young nor old and had the long nose and flas.h.i.+ng eyes of her race. Of medium height and frame, she was somewhat on the thin side. In all, she seemed completely unexceptional except for two things. One was her expression that was both sad and dignified and seemed to have deep thoughts and feelings dreaming beneath the surface, like schools of fish beneath dark water. The other was that she had chosen, when others had not, to sit by me.

Gradually, the pace of the evening began to slow, as mothers gathered their children and took them off to bed, and old women cleared the debris of the feast and then stumped off to their wagons on swollen ankles. The bride and her groom departed to the shouted jokes and well wishes of the crowd, and in the shadows of the wagons, a few of the young men and women met in shy flirtations.

At last, only a single instrument still strummed, sending its haunting melodies and cadences over a camp half sleeping. I rose, and nodding good night to the woman who still sat beside me, I turned to depart.

I had not gone ten paces beyond the circled wagons, however, when a gruff voice stopped me. "You are leaving," it said, and I knew by the declarative tone that it was my guide and host. I turned and bowed low to him, replying that I was, and I thanked him heartily for his generosity and hospitality.

"You are not going to stay with Allia?" This was a question, and the note of surprise, if not alarm, in his voice was new.

I drew closer to him, much disconcerted. "Forgive me, sir," I said, "because I do not know your customs. I had the understanding that the men of the Rom are very protective of their women."

"This is true"-he replied, coming closer still to me-"but Allia is a special case, you know."

"How would I know the smallest thing about Allia?" I asked in dismay. For now I was beginning to perceive that in trying not to give offense, I had given offense. "Out of respect for you, I have ignored the woman, all evening!" I said in frustration.

With this, he threw back his head and laughed. He was more than a little drunk and very much on fire from the pa.s.sion of the singing and dancing. His face flushed and his s.h.i.+rt untucked on one side, he reached his right hand to my shoulder and pulled me in conspiratorially.

"Allia is a special case," he whispered again, his breath rich with alcohol and garlic. "Allia has the second sight, you know. She has refused marriage since she was a child, when her mother first tried to arrange it. She announced then, when she was five, that she would have no children but would have many men.

"Of course, we all thought she was having a girl's delusions and was playing out her fantasies, heh? But no, in the next breath, she turns to our uncle and says, 'If you do not give back the bracelet, you will die within a week!' And then she flounces off into the night.

"Well, a week later, our uncle dies-and in his bedroll is found a precious bracelet that had been stolen from our mother. From that day onward, we have listened with respect to all that Allia says." He pushed his weight into my shoulder, rocking me gently, as if to awaken some sleeping faculty of reason in me.

"You...you are related to her?" I stammered.

He looked at me wild-eyed in surprise, his eyebrows almost buried in his mane. "Did I not tell you? Ha!" He threw his head back and uttered this cry of self-deprecation at the top of his voice. "Of course I am related to her-is she not my sister?"

The situation had become most peculiar. "Is Allia, then, accustomed to saying with whom she will spend the night?" I asked, to mark time and get my wits about me.

"She does not decide it, sir, she foresees it. It was she who sent me looking for you today. 'Go and find a huge black man with the sign of the Christ on his forehead,' she told me, 'and bring him here to our camp. He is a king, but lonely, and in need of our aid.' So I went and there you were and here we are and now, sir, I am going to bed before I fall down. Allia's wagon is that one there, with the yellow wheels. Good night to you!" And with a stagger to the right, he wheeled about and made off into the shadows.

I looked toward where he had pointed and there was the wagon with the yellow wheels, and on its steps, Allia was sitting. Her petticoats were pulled up to her knees, and her bare legs and feet glowed like old ivory in the moonlight. I approached her cautiously, for I had no attraction to this woman and no intention of being her lover for the night.

When I was within range of her voice, she looked up at me and said softly, "Come," and patted the step beside her. I took a few more steps and stopped again, hesitating. "I won't bite you," she said, with a sly smile.

Two more paces and I stood at the foot of the three little steps that were the entrance to her cart. The door behind her was ajar, and the glow of a candle lantern lit a tableau of hanging copper pots, above a wall covered in religious icons.

She reached out her hand to me. "Come closer," she said, "and I will read your palm again."

"Again?" I said, as if in a trance.

"Yes, as I did that day in the village on the Rhone," she answered, taking my right hand in hers and running her left hand, cool and smooth, over my fevered wrist, to my elbow, and back.

"That is impossible," I said, confused. "That woman was old. Ancient."

"I know. She is my grandmother. But I was the one who sent her to meet you. And I who told her what to say. You are a man of destiny, King of Nubia. Even at a great distance you cannot be ignored, for the Power has news for you."

She turned my hand between her two hands and a warmth stirred in my palm. She ran her fingernails from the tips of my fingers down my palm to the heel of my hand, then back again. I was powerless to withdraw it from her.

She lowered her head, and I felt her tongue softly brush the cup of my hand. She raised her head and, looking me full in the eyes, said, "I taste loneliness here. It tastes like bra.s.s." And she commenced stroking my hand with her fingernails, again.

Who knows how long we might have stayed thus? If the decision were mine, we might be there yet, for my brain had turned to porridge.

Gently, she tugged me closer and then, leaning her weight on my shoulder, pushed herself up from the step. She pulled the little door open and put one bare foot inside the wagon. "Come," she said softly. "Come inside and you will not regret it."

I protested meekly, "But I am a pilgrim," meaning I had been chaste.

Allia only laughed softly, saying, "Then, pilgrim, you have reached your mecca!"

The night had grown cold. The camp, after so much revelry, had collapsed into exhausted slumber. Even the horses slept, white breath rising from their nostrils as from a den of dragons. I, too, was weary. My head ached for a bed; my body, to be horizontal.

Yet even more, my heart longed for the comfort of a woman's presence, to be pillowed against her bosom, to be held and kissed and murmured to. My quest had been arduous and my will adamantine. Now, in the presence of Allia, it all fell away. There was nothing for me to do but to surrender.

As Allia opened the door to her wagon, a rich and complex scent rolled out toward me as I stood behind her, her petticoats in my face, waiting like a child my turn to mount the three small steps. The smell was compounded of dried herbs, beeswax candles, patchouli, and that sweetest of perfumes, the bodily oils of the woman herself, steeped into clothing, cus.h.i.+ons, and implements. This essence was much like sandalwood, a perfume dear to me, as it was a favorite of my departed wife.

The wagon, which was gaily painted on the exterior, with yellow wheels and a red body banded by intricate designs and flowers, was equally lavish and colorful within. The walls were of polished wood and were hung with many small, but very finely painted icons in the Byzantine fas.h.i.+on. A tiny stove occupied one corner. Across the back was a bunk with a thick mattress, layered in rich blankets and colorful shawls and heaped with cus.h.i.+ons in fine brocades. Underneath were cupboards, two on a side, their fronts painted with flowers and birds.

To the right, a narrow table attached to the wall, supported by two carved legs at the front, with two stools beneath. On the left wall were hooks holding her possessions-dresses, shawls, baskets with jewelry and shoes. It was altogether a jewel box of a place, rich in reds, yellow ochres and deep blues, and twined with lovely designs.

I took it all in for a moment and breathed deeply the smell of a woman-a scent that I had so long denied myself as to believe I was immune to it. But now I understood I was immune only because I had not exposed myself. Or perhaps because I had not yet met Allia. She was a woman, while not beautiful in the cla.s.sical sense, whose own feminine essence was so complete that no man, once invited into its aura, would be able to resist.

I closed the door behind me, half stooping, for the room was not high, although I soon realized I could stand erect without hitting my head. She stood with her back to me, allowing me, I imagined, a moment to look around and collect myself. But this I could not do, for the opulence of the perfumed air and sudden warmth after a night of chill, and the closeness of this mysterious woman, overwhelmed me. All my strength and high station left me and I stood, arms slack, mouth agape, like a b.u.mpkin.

Allia moved languidly to the stove, where a kettle of water was steaming. Taking up a copper basin, she poured hot water into it and finally turned toward me, her hair s.h.i.+ning in the candlelight like a black wave of the night sea.

"I will bathe you," she said.

She set the basin on the table and came to me, pressing her body close to my chest, and began to undo the b.u.t.tons of my coat. She pulled the heavy garment from me and hung it on a peg. Then she returned to do the same with my weskit and my s.h.i.+rt. The while, I stood as one transfixed, limp and unprotesting, too exhausted to protest, too hungry to resist.

She continued to strip me, pulling from me my boots, my pants, my under garments, until I stood naked before her. Then, using a soft cloth, with the tenderest care and most sensual strokes she laved my body with water. She washed every inch of me with equal attention, showing no fear or embarra.s.sment when she applied herself to my intimate parts. I was as one bewitched.

When I was clean, she led me to her bed. I trailed behind her, as resistless as wax in the sun. She sat me down, pulled pillows behind me to support me, all the while her eyes averted from me. Finally, when I was propped in my waxy state like a dressmaker's dummy, she turned the full, wild essence of her gaze upon me and began to dance.

Slowly, her hips moved from side to side as she hummed a strange, haunting melody in a minor key. Her shoulders undulated. Her arms were two snakes, mating in water; her hands and fingers like lambent flame. She turned her back to me, so all I saw was the night waterfall of her hair, the slow lifting of her slender hips, and the soft swaying of her long skirts that whispered, as they swished, of the hidden place to which she was leading me.

When she turned back to me, the top b.u.t.tons of her blouse were undone, and I saw that she wore no bodice beneath. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s shone in lamp light like heaps of coin. Before my riveted gaze, she slowly drew the halves of the blouse aside. Dropping it to the floor, she danced on, softly singing a bewitching melody, in the tongue of her people. One by one, her skirts and petticoats dropped to the floor, until she danced naked, like a G.o.ddess upon a frothy sea.

As I watched, my tired body came slowly to life. What had been benumbed, or denied, experienced resurgence. When finally, with a last twirl, she came to me, covering me in her black hair, I was ready. She straddled me and drove her hips into mine, and my mind reeled at the sheer, hot pleasure of her. At her scent. At the rhythm of the dance which she brought so palpably to my body. At the sweetness and fullness of the b.r.e.a.s.t.s she offered me, with a panther-like arching of her back.

What more transpired that night is beyond telling. I was as one near drowning upon a night sea, tossed by waves, supported on the broad back of the waters. Lost. Hallucinating. My peril became my ecstasy.

I did not know before that night-even with my beloved wife-the secret meaning of a man and a woman, coupled. After that night, the world was changed. What had been lost in deaths and long wanderings was restored. What was dying was resurrected. My tongue cannot convey the profound gifts given by Allia. But I sit beside you today because of her and I will never forget.

Perhaps I have gone on too long or said things that are not appropriate for the ears of one so young. I must tell you, my dear Mademoiselle de Muret, that I am old now, and recounting one's life story is a vice the elderly nourish with relish. And by your own tale of your friend Agnes, I know you have need to understand that the coupling of a man and woman may be a sweet-nay, even a sacred-thing.

All that has gone before is but a preamble to the answer you seek: Where are you and what manner of place is this? Well, my dear, you have been guided by fate to a most unique and secret place. Only one with Divine guidance might have found access to this place, as you have done.