The Devil's Concubine Read online

  “Guided by some unknown instinct, I reached the alley where Shallem knelt embracing the inert body of Jean Pierre. Blood, as thick and dark as the night and as his own hair, was pouring from his head. Omar lay dead next to him.

  “I fell to the ground next to them, screaming hysterically. Shallem, in complete silence, continued pressing the little body against his chest. His eyes were empty and his gaze introspective. It was impossible to read his expression. Desperate and sobbing, I turned to him and pleaded over and over again: ‘Please, please, save him! You can save him, you can!’

  “ ‘He’s already gone. I can’t do anything,’ Shallem whispered.

  “ ‘Just try to!’ I stubbornly persisted, unable to believe he could accept Jean Pierre’s death so easily. The lightening from the dry storm illuminated the alley. We were pathetic creatures sobbing from impotence at death’s invincibility.

  “ ‘Maybe he hasn’t gone far away,’ I foolishly persisted, unable to accept the injustice of his death. ‘Can’t you trap him somehow, block his way?’ I wasn’t even worried about the humiliation that my foolish and vain pleas should have been causing me. The pain was too great. ‘Please, do it! Do it!’

  “Again the sky flashed and I looked at the dismal, dead end alley. For the first time I noticed we weren’t alone. Three small boys, no older than Jean Pierre, were watching us, intimidated and quivering, from the wall at the end of the alley. They were trapped. One of them brandished a metal fire poker and another had a large kitchen knife in his hand. They held their weapons as if they were trapped beasts trying to intimidate an enemy. There was fear, but also courage and resolution in their faces. They were wild animals trying to survive in a stone and glass jungle. The most pure essence of undomesticated man. Steal, kill... whatever it took to survive.

  “I barely paid them more attention than the duration of the flash of lightening. Stubbornly, I kept squeezing my beloved Jean’s small mortal hand while urging Shallem.

  “ ‘You can’t do anything?’ I said.

  “Lightening illuminated his eyes which were fixed on me. My heart skipped. His eyes were ferocious, they were eyes I didn’t recognize. Then, almost immediately, the heavens seemed to burst open in agony and the alley boomed under its fatal omen.

  “ ‘You can’t do anything?’ I asked him again and I received my answer.

  “ ‘Yes,’ A short syllable full of intentions which filled me with terror, ‘I can.’ And then turning his eyes toward the children, he adding blinded with fury. ‘And I’ll do it!’

  “He stood and let Jean Pierre’s body fall to the ground with the same disregard as if he were a bundle of dirty clothes. For him, it was no longer something that deserved to be treated with care. I also stood, terrified by what I was sure was about to happen.

  “ ‘You can’t!’ I screamed. ‘Think of Jean. He would never agree. He’s watching you from where he is and he’s suffering more now than he did for his own death. For God, don’t do this! Don’t dishonor yourself!’

  “He turned toward me, and with a beastly expression on his face and a tremendous scream, he made me move back. ‘Get out of here, Juliette! Go and don’t look back!’

  “I think, for an instant, I was even afraid for my own life. I saw the children’s terrified faces and heard their cries as they grabbed each other searching for protection. I didn’t dare say another word. I took a few steps and turned the corner of the alley. I pressed myself against the wall as I listened to the children’s screams, which were continuously drowned out by the rumbling of the sky.

  “I wanted to look but I remembered the story about Lot’s wife and I was scared I would turn into a statue of salt. ‘Don’t look back.’ Shallem had warned, just like the angel warned Lot.

  “I squeezed my eyes shut and covered my ears. I didn’t want to see or hear.

  “In a couple of minutes I felt his eyes on me. He didn’t say anything. He just held out his hand for me to take but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to leave until I knew what he had done. Was it morbid curiosity? Maybe. Did I want to know the extent of his powers? Probably.

  “Slowly, very slowly, in case in his anger he tried to stop me, I turned the corner that had kept me from seeing the alley. Shallem didn’t move. The storm had blown over but it was still very difficult to see.

  “In the spot where Jean and Omar had died, there was nothing but scattered ashes. At the end of the alley next to a wall, where I had seen them, three figures stood motionless. They were sculpted in coal and hugged each other in their final embrace. It was as if lava from Mount Vesuvius itself had unexpectedly fallen over them, longing to immortalize their terror. My God! How my soul moved as I looked at their horrified expressions, their embrace, the desperate and useless way they looked for protection among themselves.

  “I touched them with my foot thinking they would vaporize into ash, just like Jean, erasing all signs of their existence. But that didn’t happen. I was surprised by the firmness of the statue as I lightly hit it with my foot. I started to kick more forcefully, it felt like I was striking blackened firestone. It seemed indestructible.

  “Just like the unfortunate people in Pompey had died carrying their treasures in their arms, the children were also petrified and held a small gold crucifix I had given Jean Pierre that very morning. It now hung on a black and rigid chain. Were there remains of a fire, a charred smell in the air, or a mushroom shaped cloud floating toward the sky? No. There was nothing. The city was absolutely silent. I turned and walked toward Shallem. He was waiting for me on the other side of the alley. His pupils had turned into smoldering embers and were blazing in his pained but satisfied face. He held out his again and this time I took it.”

  “But weren’t you afraid of him, the monster that he was, what he had done?’ the priest asked shocked.

  “Perhaps I was as evil as Shallem. It’s very probable that I myself would have tried to kill them if he hadn’t of done it. Maybe what I felt in those moments was gratitude because he had fulfilled a desire for vengeance I had not been able to express, or maybe I felt love because we had shared the same rage, or even admiration for witnessing one of his new powers.”

  “I can’t believe that.” The priest shook his head.

  “No? Maybe time has clouded my memories. It could be that, deep down, I was so absolutely terrified, I reacted by letting him drag me home like a rag doll. Is that better? Are you satisfied with that reaction?”

  Disconcerted, Father DiCaprio let his gaze drift and said nothing.

  “I’m condemned, right? For having stayed with him after witnessing those murders. Well, you’ll condemn me more because I didn’t care at all; I enjoyed seeing those horrid fossils. Full of rage, I kicked and insulted them full, trying in vain to break them into pieces as if they were an enormous porcelain statue until Shallem told me the truth: that they would never break; that their souls were trapped inside that indestructible casing, crying and begging for all eternity. It was then that my revenge was satisfied. Knowing they were in that infinite prison was my only consolation for Jean Pierre’s death. You think I’m detestable, don’t you?”

  “The desire for vengeance is a human emotion,” the priest mumbled, his eyes fixed vacantly on his hands, which nervously clutched a crucifix.

  He was horrified. The idea of incarcerating immortal souls within an indestructible prison made from their own bodies was more than he could handle.

  “Is having a love affair with an incubus also a human emotion? That’s what you’d call him, an incubus, right?” the woman pretended to wait for a response she knew wouldn’t come.

  “I suppose that... that this exceeds my limits... I’m not very open minded.” He managed to answer.

  “It never occurred to me to leave him. I adored him. I thought I was like him. He was the only being on Earth who I thought I was like, as pretentious as that may seem. I see you don’t approve. You think I’m arrogant, right? You think I look down on all humanity. It’s possible that I do, more
than possible. Humanity did nothing but hurt me, whereas he did nothing but love me. Why should I have given him up? Can you answer that?”

  The priest couldn’t bear how she waited in silence for a response. He wanted to end the silence in any which way.

  “No, I wouldn’t know how to answer.” He lied and could have given her many answers but he felt completely overwhelmed.

  “You’re lying!” she said in a low, angry voice as she struck the table with her fist. “You don’t understand how I could have lived even one day with what you, with your narrow and obtuse mind, keep calling a devil. Am I wrong? Have I not explained myself sufficiently? Have I been too brief?”

  “No, no...” The priest timidly interjected.

  “I don’t have time to keep rambling on. You must try to understand me. My time is short...”

  “I know, I know. And I understand. Believe me, please. Calm down.”

  “The woman relaxed and again her face turned pale and impassive.

  “That night our house became a funeral wake,” she continued. “Not having Jean with us was unbearable, the emptiness was suffocating. It was tormenting to think I would never see them playing chess again on the little table Shallem had bought for him. Or that Shallem would never again teach him how to read or write like a loving father. Or that they would never chase each other around the house, or that I would never feel his head on my chest as I read him a story before he went to sleep.

  “Our happy life as a family had ended.”

  PART THREE

  –I–

  “The next day, a bright sun and a tickling in my nose woke me up. Shallem was playing with a feather against my face. His eyes shone that brilliant blue-green color, as they did during happier days. He put aside the feather and kissed me with heavenly tenderness.

  “ ‘Buon Giorno,’ he whispered, smiling.

  “At first I didn’t understand. His face blocked my view and I couldn’t see where we were but when he moved, I saw an unfamiliar canopy that covered the bed, strange tapestries on the walls, and refined furnishings which I had never seen before.

  “ ‘Where are we?’ I asked.

  “ ‘Where do you think we are?’ he returned the question and rested his head on my chest.

  “ ‘We’re not in Paris?’ I inquired due to the surrounding strange decor.

  “ ‘Paris! What a hateful name! Forget Paris! Forget everything that happened there. We’re starting a new life, a new era. We’re in Florence, amore mio!’

  “Once again I had to see the world around me through the eyes of a newborn. I had never been to Florence, but I intuited, of course, that everything must be different. I had read the works of Dante, Boccaccio, and Petrarch. I had also heard comments about Italy made by noble Parisians. That was all. When I walked outside, I realized the differences were not merely due to a change in environment. I saw unimaginable wonders that I had heard no one speak of. The streets were clean, the buildings were lavish and the beggars were scarce...

  “Gentlemen stood straight as they walked. They were covered with luxurious multi-colored velvet and wore feathered hats, and, as an additional adornment, they wore swords attached to their belts. Their hair and beards were trim and neat and they wore rings on their fingers. It was manifestations of elegance. Although fashion hadn’t changed excessively, the Florentine’s elegant appearance displayed the exquisite refinement of their era. Italians are so beautiful!”

  The woman was silent for a few moments. As she watched her confessor, she remembered his last name and asked:

  “Where are you from, Father? Where were you born?”

  “I’m from Springfield, Missouri,” he answered.

  “Surely you’re of Italian descent. Where are your parents from?”

  “Both of them are from Rome.”

  “Fantastic. What’s your first name?”

  “Christian.”

  “Christian!” she exclaimed. “Have you ever been to Rome?”

  “No. I’ve never been to Italy.”

  “That should be considered a sin. Becoming a priest wasn’t your first choice, was it?”

  “No.” The priest seemed embarrassed and then laughed timidly. “I wanted to be an actor but there weren’t many opportunities in Missouri.”

  “Maybe you should have worked harder, pushed through the difficulties. They say success doesn’t come to those who don’t believe in themselves. Did you? Did you believe in yourself?”

  “I did. But I doubt others would have believed.”

  “Well then you didn’t believe enough.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Soon I was called by God.”

  “Did He call you when you still wanted to be an actor or when you had already given up?”

  “What does it matter?”

  “It would explain everything. Please answer me.”

  “This conversation isn’t relevant.”

  “You already gave up. You should have been more diligent, more persevering. You’re very handsome. I bet half of Springfield is full of broken hearts because of you. Your family didn’t have enough money to send you and you weren’t ready to go to Los Angeles with only two hundred dollars in your pocket. You weren’t ready to sell hamburgers or do any kind of unpleasant work just to share an apartment with six friends who were in the same situation. Now you feel sorry.”

  “It should be you who feels sorry, remember?”

  “Don’t get irritated, Father. I just wanted to make sure I was talking to a human rather than a puppet.”

  The woman watched him closely, with an enigmatic smile, until he looked away ashamed.

  “As I was saying,” she continued. “Everything around us was so absolutely unfamiliar that I immediately knew we had travelled not only in space but also in time. Very carefully and with great urgency, I was able to find out the exact year we were in: 1520.”

  “1520!” the priest exclaimed. “Seventy-nine years had gone by?”

  “Exactly. Seventy-nine years after Jean Pierre’s death. Three hundred and twenty-three years from the day I was born. Of course, I, on the other hand, was at the peak of my youth. How old was I? Let me think... the truth is that by then I had already lost track of my age, but I must have been around... twenty-four years-old. And I was a very beautiful twenty-four year old! I dressed in luxurious Florentine clothes and wore my cascade of blond hair, which I always refused to pin up in complicated coils, covered with a hairnet adorned with pearls that spilled onto my black velvet hat and emphasized my porcelain complexion. My eyes sparkled when I saw how beautiful I was! We were such a beautiful couple! People, men and women, would turn to admire us! We were the living epitome of classic beauty. Apollo and Daphne. That’s who we were.”

  “Wow! You’re not very modest.” the priest commented.

  The woman smiled.

  “At times, modesty and lies go hand in hand. And I don’t lie...

  “Shallem was right. Once again, we had begun a new life. And the scenery was infinitely more pleasant than any in the past. We rented a house between the Duomo of Florence and the River Arno. Just like the Seine, the Arno became acquainted with our incessant and impassioned looks of love and our sensual kisses as we sailed beneath the beautiful arches of its bridges.

  “Sometimes, when we reluctantly ended our kisses to catch our breath or to look around, we’d realize we had drifted far from the city’s walled perimeter and were floating down the river in the country side. But at night, the isolation and the splendor of the black celestial dome spattered with resplendent silvery sequins did nothing but heighten our passion.

  “The Arno turned out to be even more romantic than the Seine. Its waters were much warmer and on countless occasions, we would swim nude by the light of the moon.

  “I was completely happy and thought that Shallem had stopped trying to be redeemed. However, he was determined to visit, either during the day or at night, all the churches in the city. And there were so many you could spend an entire day doing noth
ing else but entering and leaving them!

  “ ‘How can I be so stupid?’ Shallem whispered in his warm voice as the Duomo’s faint lights sparkled in his humid pupils. ‘It’s all over.’ He would insist time and again. ‘Why do I hold on to such crazy dreams! Why do I keep nurturing the same dream after begging in vain for over three thousand years! Why should God even look at us after what we did?’

  “As his speech grew more intense and deceptively convincing, it became clear that everything coming from his trembling, angry lips was immediately and painfully refuted by his soul. It was nothing more than a constant argument he had with himself, a perpetual dispute between God’s refusal to grant his wish and the apparent hate of the pain provoked by his scorn, which made him feel hopelessly doomed.

  “Thousands of times I insisted on asking the same persistent question:

  “ ‘What did you do Shallem, my angel, that our merciful Father can’t forgive?’ He would look away alarmed as if he were afraid his horrible memories of the past could be reflected in his eyes. When he did answer, all he would say was, ‘Terrible things. Didn’t you see enough in Paris?’

  “To distract me from that forced topic, he would tell me, very concisely, about the strange relationship he and his brother Cannat, who he seemed to adore, shared with all the other fallen angels. He referred to those angels using attenuating euphemisms such as: all the other angels on Earth, the banished or those He exiled, disowned, and even abandoned.

  “When we visited the cathedral, it was nice to hide within its thick walls when the heat of the day was most intense. We would admire the beauty of its frescos and marble statues, the perfection of the sculptures and the richness of its decorations. I would yawn uncontrollably and become obviously and extremely annoyed as I endured the long duration of our visits while Shallem left the terrestrial world. When he returned, he would apologize and explain that the cathedral was a good place to observe our surroundings. He said it was necessary to monitor the movements of the spirits Eonar had sent to attack us in Egypt. He said they were silently waiting for another opportunity to attack us and that we must make sure we weren’t being threatened.