Hello, from Alfredo Daglerion. This is part 2 of my grandfather„s story.
Inside the tent, there was a stage, not like in circuses, but smaller, it had some stand in semicircle, a small stage, draped behind in dark velvet. There were some lights on, but the place still felt dark, like something lurking. In the audience there were, mostly, middle class people, but also poor looking people. Suddenly, the lights went out and the place was engulfed in almost complete darkness. Something was heard towards the stage, then the lights went on.
On stage, there were two figures. One was clearly Gordon Jameson, in his dark Victorian suit, with lavalliere, gloves and topper. He had a small beard and looked like a charming middle age British gentleman that he was, for sure. He seemed passively dominating us, with a faint smile.
The other figure was, of course, Helena, who Jameson held from behind, as the gentleman holds the back of a lady in dance or preparing to dance. Helena was like she was described to me, a doll-like woman or a woman-like doll, wearing a long, black, belle epoque like velvet dress. She had black hair, wiry hair, a weird like pallor that seemed like wood (She was supposed to be made of wood.) or corpse like. Pale, sometimes with a taint of brown or faint green. Over that, she had what appeared to be clown makeup or face paint, but mostly black. The lips were black but, beyond them, the clown grin was not large, only slight and a bit upwards. Under the grin, into the mandible, lines characteristics of ventriloquist dolls were visible, that allow for the jaw of the doll to move. The eye makeup or paint was heavy, mostly black, with some faint dark brown edges. It was rhomb shaped, like in many clowns and it continued down into the cheeks with some small spiral like model. The eyeballs themselves were white, similar to a person who is dead for some time.
Helena was looking at us, with a sharp, malicious smile, scrutinizing the crowd. Something in the back of my mind felt in clear danger, and a sense of running away was heard in my thoughts. I fought to dismiss it as silly. She looked like an aristocrat looking at commoner or like a mistress looking over her servants with authority. For a few seconds, her gaze stopped on me, fixing me. Was this a dummy or a living person? She appeared to be alive and looking at me, her sharp smile becoming more pronounced and more creepy, like she wanted something from me and she was calling me to give it to her. I had to fight really hard not to get out of this place, that smelled like a trap, like a lair of some otherworldly… things. Her head became slightly tilted, then she moved her gaze from me to the right.
Suddenly, Jameson clapped his hands and an unseen orchestra started playing. Waltz music. I recognized it. It was Tchaikovsky, the Nutcracker. But it was off, the ranges, the tonality of the music was changed. It was darker and felt like menacing. The pair waltzed, it was very unconventional, especially when one of the dancer is a dummy or pretends to be. Jameson kept his hand almost all the time into her back, like controlling the puppet. She moved mechanic, but very complexly, felt autonomous. There were moments where the crowd was amazed, like when Jameson let go of Helena for a few seconds, while she still moved, she even performed some sort of pirouette on her own. I was speechless, amazed and scared in the same time. I felt a power at work in here. Hard to describe what I felt. I wish my memory was better, so to describe you every moment of the waltz. I wish it was recorded on camera.
The music stopped and the pair stopped their dance in the same position as they started, then Jameson slowly hide behind Helena, still keeping his hand on her back, like controlling her. It was like he wanted to hide his face and let Helena in the spotlight. She looked at a chubby gentleman in the front row and started to speak on non-human, hissed, cold, cruel and amused tone:
”My, my, my… Who is here with us tonight… Mr. (I forgot his name), prefect of (I forgot the county.)… So many important people start to come to see us lately, I see. ” The man looked a little embarrassed, said something we could not hear, like a blabber. Helena put her hands on her hips, tilted her head and looked at him amused for a few seconds, then she continued: ”Indeed, we should feel grateful that such a great man, with such a great and vital public function is with us. That he sacrificed an evening from his time to be with us. Especially after how much the nation owes to him.” The man gave a forced, a bit scared, a bit disgusted smile, we didn„t heard what he said.
There was something sadistic in Helena„s voice, even toned town. As something inside me was shaking due to her presence and talk, I could still sense an even fainter goofiness, that contributed to the sadism. Some people laughed. The prefect babbled something unintelligible, it sounded a little like an animal grunt, as he was fidgeting on his seat.
That was really funny albeit in a twisted way. No, that was not a lifeless puppet, nor the work of a puppeteer, I decided this must be a real woman, pretending to be a doll. She turned back her arms on her hips and her look on the prefect. That man looked like under the influence of something, as Helena pierced him with her gaze. I felt there was a power coming from her to the prefect, doing something twisted to him, although I was not ready to admit it to myself. And this power terrified the man, but also made him angry, having a tone in his blabber and expression I never thought possible. I could sense the fear on all the other people in the audience but, at lest some of them felt satisfied and smiled on what happened to the prefect. Fear and amusement fused into one attitude. Yes, Helena was a real artist, albeit unlike any other I met before.
Helena continued on a dark parody of a maternal tone: ”You know, since you granted us the honor of your presence, I feel compelled to give something back. So, tonight, for you sir, I have one of my personalized recipes.” A few laughs and incentives to proceed came from some of the public, as they knew what was coming. ”Since autumn is present perhaps something with a British touch would do. But also with a Balkanic one of our own. I think, sir, I shall roast you in the oven. So, after I remove your entrails, I shall wash them, and place the heart, liver and pancreas back. I shall fill your chest and abdomen with fried eggplant, tomatoes and pepper.
Olive oil shall get into this, some apple vinegar and mujdei (Romanian Garlic Source). For spices, perhaps some turmeric? Cloves and chili? I think I shall go with thyme, oregano, sumac. A little bit of lemon juice. I would be tempted to use some mushrooms but, since it is a meat dish, I do not know if they are too appropriate. You know, I am open to suggestions, from the audience, especially you, sir, since you shall be the star of the feast.”
She had a nasty smile on her face, maybe a little rascality in this? ”Of course, dry wine is a must. I do not know if some vinegar as well will work, some say wine and vinegar are a no match. Tastes differ and, as you say, I can not judge someone„s taste. And some gasket. Alongside yourself, I shall place the potatoes, with dill and vinegar, perhaps some other herbs as well? Hmm, perhaps some onion? No, garlic. And sumac. How does it sound?”
The crowd felt mostly frightened, some felt like being put off, some cheered. Helena waved at them and said: ”You know, I am glad some can really enjoy my genius. Therefore, I invite the prefect to offer himself and I promise that what will come out would be enjoyed by the citizens who will be deeply grateful to him. So a shame he will be not be able to taste himself. But perhaps I could make a appetizer of himself, before he goes into the oven, when he is still alive, so that he may enjoy as well. Rest assured, you screams of fear and pain, when you will be sliced alive will be deeply appreciated, since they sound progressively appetizing to me.”
There were people laughing, including Marietta. I had a feeling of unreal, of disconnection. A coldness, something was engulfing us, I tried to keep Marietta at my chest, out of a protection instinct. But I admit I laughed too. I managed to partially convince myself this is just a clown with a dark sense of humor, in order to keep my mind from slipping into something. I was not terrified, do not get me wrong, but all this feeling of unreal and weird energy, so to speak, was creeping me out.
After she finished with the prefect, she moved her gaze around the public again and on me. Something cold took me in, as I felt it coming from Helena to me. She started on a creepy-polite tone: ”Tonight, we have a gentleman from Argentina with us. I do not know if you heard him singing, but I advise you to, since we do not get too many in our distant country. And this is fortunate, since we are about to dance the tango, the dance of his fatherland. My hope is that he will appreciate our vision of the tango. Do not worry, although I am confident your flesh and your blood are really tasty, if you are, let„s say, nice, I shall not come for you and cook you.” Then, after saying this in Romanian, she repeated it in Spanish. That was both scary and pleasant in the same time. Helena returned to the prefect and the rest, and added: ”So, tonight, we have the tango. And remember, ladies and gentlemen: Politicians are tasty. And if they are properly cooked, they are delicious.” Then she clapped her hands and said: ”Maestro, musica!”
A series of tangos started to be played by the unseen orchestra, with the same dark twist of the waltz before. Yet, the pair managed to get the moves right and they looked lifelike, and skilled. Now that I was convinced that Helena was a living woman, I could appreciate her as a dancer. She moved kind of stiff, like she was a doll, but I guess this was part of the act. I admit their moves were somewhat old fashioned, like the tango was before World War I, but they are mastering them greatly and also brought them their own touch. Yes, that was something frightful in all the dance, as in the waltz, but I really appreciated it, and I could feel that Helena was not just mechanic in it, there was some real passion, although in a bizarre way. At the end, as the pair returned once a again to their pose we first saw them, people arose and applauded the act. And we meant it. The lights went out, as applause went on. They went on, and Jameson and Helena were gone.
As we went out of the tent, Marietta was cheerful, as usual: ”I told you it would be really fine to see her. Nothing too scary… You have not seen anything like it, isn„t it?” I took a deep breath, as I gave a twisted smile of my own: ”Indeed, I have not. I haven„t seen anything like it not just in my own country, nor else. And I have not heard about anything similar anywhere. I think this is not a puppet, I think this is a living woman, a skilled dancer with an unconventional sense of humor. She gave me the strangest compliment I ever received…” Marietta laughed: ”I totally understand her. You look very yummy!” She gave me a fierce kiss, as we were walking.
Then, something I never expected came. I heard a gun and a bullet came very close to my ear. Startled, we looked behind, in the crowd that left the fair. It was Tudor, the husband of Marietta. Some ladies screaming got the people into a panic, as I grabbed Marietta„s left arm. I whispered to her ear: ”Run!” She went as fast as the high heels allowed her, as I turned towards where Tudor was. He shot another time, I managed to get down in time. At least he was not focused on me, not on her.
I started to run in another sense then Marietta took. I needed to act fast, so I decided to get behind a shack. I turned left, and waited for Tudor to come. I kicked him into the jaw as fast as I could and, before he could do anything, I kicked again, under the chin. It was a good move, as Tudor was, as I suspected, a little drunk.
I was able then to hit his hand with the gun and make him drop it. I went for it and, as I touched it, he grabbed my throat with his arm. There were a few tough seconds, as he tried to choke me. I do not remember exactly, I managed to kick him in the stomach. This made him drop the grip. After escaping, I kicked him in the stomach again, he fell to the ground. I took the gun, emptied it, then dropped it on the ground. As Tudor crawled, I shouted to someone to call the police, in French, not sure how fast people understood me. Finally, a policeman appeared, he did not seemed to know any other language then Romanian, he grabbed both of us and took us to the station.
It was a long night. A superior officer who knew French finally came and he took my statement. Marietta was called as well. I was released in the morning and, as I reached the restaurant, I waited for the boyar to appear and tell him the whole deal.
He looked grim at start, then thoughtful, and said: ”A public scandal will start. We shall see both outrage, and gossip. Did you pressed charges?” ”No. I like as little hustle as possible. I do not think he shall try anything similar.”
”Indeed. Things may get spicy, so to say. Even our king lives with his mistress, something well known to the public eye, even if deeply disgusted. It depends on Marietta, for her sake, a divorce would probably the best option. As for myself, I am telling you, I do not agree with the fact that you got involved with a married woman. I shall never do such a thing myself, I do not agree with this. I admit, at least on short term, things will probably be profitable for me, as more people will come to see your performing. On the long term, it is your decision if you still want to go on or leave the country. Perhaps the best thing is to wait for a few days and see how things go. Do you think you can sing today?” ”I think so.”
I realized he did not liked my behavior at all, but he already invested in me and so on. His business relation with Tudor and Marietta would crumble, most likely. Years later I regretted the affair with her, as I grew older and my heart became different. I do not know what could have been if refused Marietta, but I know what came next. And it was far more scarier and life changing then what had happened until I arrived in this country to that moment.
After performing, not very well, to an audience that was, surprisingly, large, as I stepped out, a little boy, dressed in petty clothes, yet clean, came to me. He looked at me a little shy, as he took off his beret and handled a note. It was from the mysterious admirer I told you before, the paper and all were similar to the previous one:
”Greetings, mr. Daglerion. It seems you have what it takes for a Don Juan. You are still very charming, I still would like to meet you. Especially now, since you are free. If you want, we can met tomorrow evening. At 9 pm, you can come at the gate of the Obor fair and Matei, the boy who brought the note, shall greet you and lead to my house. I let you think until tomorrow. Yours, E.C. ” A faint perfume was present, and an attraction to this stranger I never met. Inexplicable, indeed, I should have known better. I was too much a Don Juan, as E.C. put it, I wanted some relief from the situation I was in, so I decided to go on for it. I looked back at the boy, he was a little fearful of something, like a shadow was on him. I tried to cheer him up patting his shoulder, he gave a forced smile. He greeted me with his beret and left.
The next day, I waited for news from Marietta, no sign of her or her husband. The boyar knew nothing, I sang that afternoon, I told him I need to rest in the evening. I left after the show, bought a red rose, took the tram and went to Obor. So, when my pocket watch showed 9 pm, I was at the gate of the fair.
Matei came out silent, grim, and he greeted me. I had a feeling he shall bring me inside the fair, but that did not happen. He took me on Colentina highway, upwards, then to left. On the right there was the railway track and the Saint Demetrios church, that was visible from the Obor fair, almost cathedral proportions, that seemed to be a combination of romanesque and baroque. Around it, small houses. Some meek, semi-rural, some French-like. I was going into the unknown, virtually alone, at night.
Inside me, two forces fought, a cold and calm fear, and something alluring me. Night was mostly quiet, as people were indoors, mostly, just some dog barking from time to time, in the autumn mist. The star filled skies above me. October night started to get misty, slowly, as we crossed the railroad and a graveyard appeared on my right. A huge factory was on the left, a mill, it looked like a citadel on its own. It was dark, silent and imposing. The central part was a silage of bricks, that indeed had towers and battlements, like a fortress.
A train passed, as we reached the graveyard gates, that were in an arched gateway. I did my best to memorize the direction and sense, in order to get back to Obor, afterwards. In a way, I was getting a bit closer to Victoriei but, without knowing the city, I could get lost easily in the labyrinth of narrow streets. We crossed a street, the train was stopped, blocking the street ahead, where Matei took me. He managed to show me that we need to pass through the wagon of the train, to get to the other part of the street. It was empty, some leftovers of grains. We reached a small crossroad and went left. Small shops on the oriental-like street, where traditional houses stood. From time to time, some shop, similar to the ones in Italy, was visible.
We went to the right. Shortly after, another crossroad, the railway crossed this place as well. The train was not long to block this part as well, so we crossed to the other side. I kept in mind the landmarks, in order to return of my own. The grey mist was getting heavier, as something inside me felt build up. Anxiety and being drawn. The two feelings fought stronger and stronger with each step. Soon, we reached a gate of a small house. One level house, like the rest, a faint light was inside.
The boy knocked at the wooden gate, with the same grim face, greeted me silently with his beret, then left. I waited for one minute or two, no one appeared. Suddenly, the gate creaked out open. A cold breeze went from right to left. Something was calling me. Something heavy was on me, something cold, I should have turned back. But I was like under a spell. In fact, I think I was under a spell. But it probably also my adventurous side that brought me to this distant and foreign country.
I entered the yard and closed it, behind me. The house was more traditional than western, with rooms situated in a row and had an anteroom, like many of the old houses of Bucharest. I knocked at the door, it slid open. Again, nobody in sight. I dared to enter. The anteroom was empty. I whispered (I felt I could not speak out loud.): ”Hello? Anybody here?”
The first room was short, old feel, somewhat shriveled, both the walls and the floor. Not much in there, there was a table, with several types of food, including some appetizers, sausages, other meat dishes and something that looked like desert. Black candles alight, something like an old, rugged sofa on a corner, and a table with records and a gramophone. The room felt like a room for the dead or where the dead were kept, also a fear that was getting sharper came into me, like I was going in the claws of a monster. Of immediate danger, that I need to get out as fast as possible. I actually wanted to do that, but the door to the other room opened and, as you probably guessed, Helena came in.
Seeing her from a distance was one thing. Seeing her from up close made me realize in a second this was neither a ventriloquist doll, neither a living person. This was something dead. Cold and cruel. Who preys on living people. The supposed clown makeup was part of real skin color on her face. Her dead white eyes looked at me and I stopped in awe. She were a black, old fashioned dress, elegant, and her black wiry hair had small jewelry in it, like on stage. This being fed on Humans, I knew it, she was the source of the anxieties I felt the nights and days before. The power that allured me here, the grey mist from outside, were her work. Yes, indeed, I knew now La Strega I feared as a child was real, and I was in her grasp. I dropped the rose on the floor and turned to the door. Helena made a sign with her right arm and the door locked before I could do too much, and the key flew to her hand. Then, smiling sadistically, she placed it a pocket of her dress.
I turned to her, as my heart started to beat fast, and a sense of imminent death was upon me. I started to hyperventilate, but I have not screamed. I was in a tomb, in the lair of La Strega. My childhood fear came true. And the fool of me went to this by my own.
Helena tilted her head and gave her cruel, condescending smile I knew from her show, but much clearer and unmasked. Something told me to get to my knees and beg for mercy, but backed out and settled on the door on my back. Finally, Helena started talking in her hissed voice, in Spanish, on a somewhat polite tone: ”Hello, mister Daglerion. Thank you for responding to my invite. I know some Spanish myself, but I think it is better to speak in French, as I assume both of us know it well.” I nodded my head and mumbled something like ”Ok, whatever…” still in panic. She came calmly to me, with her mechanic like walk, as I wanted to close my eyes, in hope that either the nightmare would be over, or either she will kill me and finish me off. I said a short prayer in my mind.
She came close to me, inches away, and said in a commanding voice that still tried to be a little gentle: ”You want to live, I suppose. You may live, if you do what I say. If the first thing on my mind would have been to kill or torture you, like I did with others, I would have done it already. So, listen to me, brace yourself and do as I say. Do what you do with ladies, with mortal human ladies. This is what you need to do, for starters. Got it?”
I opened my eyes to her own dead eyes ravaging me. But I forced myself to get as calm as I could in this situation, to be calm and rational in the middle of the nightmare. I started saying: ”Excuse me, senorita.” I picked up the rose from the floor, gave it to her and kissed her hand. Her hand felt heavy and cold, make me feel chills. But she smiled and replied: ”Thank you, senor. You seem to be a gentleman, at least in your manners. This is how I guessed you were. I hope we shall enjoy ourselves tonight, dancing the tango, the dance of your fatherland. I have prepared dinner almost completely on my own, for this occasion. Perhaps some appetizers shall put your mind in a mood proper for dancing.”
Reluctantly, I joined the table. I felt her discrete, old style perfume. Like when you open a closet from your deceased grandmother„s house and you discover her clothes from the times she was young and you can sense the perfume she wore.
As appetizer, there was zacusca, a type of spread, made from roasted eggplants, with some added tomatoes, onion and pepper. Sometimes, like in this case, it also had some mushroom mixture, alongside spices. Also, as appetizer, there was a somewhat soft, white traditional Romanian cheese named telemea. There was a large, full wheat bread, with seeds and herbs in it. We started eating, I had to admit zacusca was really good, the cheese was also interesting. So, in order to keep myself calm, I told her: ”This is delicious. Never tasted anything like it.” She smiled at this compliment (in her own twisted way, of course) and replied: ”I made it myself. In here, we do lots of things, including zacusca, in autumn, to store, until spring crops come out.”
She took the giant red wine bottle and poured in the glasses for both of us. We got the first silent toast. The wine was sweet and flavored, it seems this terrifying lady had some interesting tastes. All this time, in splits of seconds, I was able to see several times that, behind her black lips, her canines were not Human canines, but fangs, pretty long and sharp.
After finishing the first part of the meal, as an awkward silence came from my behalf, Helena said: ”Do you feel like trying to dance now? I have Argentinian tango, Romanian tango, also other types of music. I would really like to see how you dance in Argentina, and teach me some of moves from there.” My fear, although still strong and present, was starting to leave the panic mode and this allowed me to think more clear. ”Alright, senorita, I shall let you choose.” She went to the record stack and said: ”I would to start with Milonga Sentimental. One of my favorite tangos.” At that point, I wanted to say something, but I felt afraid to say it. Helena stopped and looked at me sharply, yet calmly as she did: ”What is wrong? Tell me.” I felt that it had no point to lie and said:
”Excuse me, but Milonga is different from Tango. In a way, Milonga influenced Tango itself. I realize that not many outside Argentina know this and call it is labeled as Tango.” Helena looked at me interested and said: ”Go on. I would to know more about it.” So I made a little speech on the history of the dances, how they appeared, how they evolved. Helena finally said: ”Alright then. Show me how it is danced, as you do in Buenos Aires.”
She placed the record and we started to dance. I said another short prayer, promising to The Lord that, if get out alive of all this, I shall not commit adultery ever again. Panic tried to get over me, as I touched Helena„s back, getting into the position of the dance. We started dancing and I prayed a lot in my mind while it happened, in order to keep my mind from collapsing. I showed her, calmly and politely, the moves. She knew some of them, but performed them more like in tango style, I adjusted them. We did several times. Something was, very slowly, discretely, starting to change in me at this point. Helena was a skilled dancer and, if she were not what she were, if she were Human, it would have probably been, probably, a real pleasure to dance with her already.
Everybody who is an artist on stage knows something. You need to concentrate on the act you perform, either acting, singing or dancing. To keep your mind away from stage fright or just from becoming obsessed in ”pleasing” the public. Helena was a stage artist as well, she knew it pretty well. I think this is why she treated me like this, in order to ease my fright and make me more relaxed to what she wanted me to experience.
I picked up several Argentinian songs next, she allowed me to, and I showed her more moves. She tended to be somewhat restrained in movements, more like it was before World War I. I still shook when I felt her breath on my neck, but I was getting use to this, slowly. We eventually turned to Zaraza, the Argentinian Tango translated into Romanian that brought me to this country in the first place. First, with the original Argentinian version, then the cover sung by Cristian Vasile in Romanian. Helena became less stiffy, and I became more used to touching her body.
We took a break, and went to table again. Helena looked at me: ”I assure you this meat is not of Human origin, but sheep. I do eat Human flesh as meat and drink Human blood, but I do not plan on doing it tonight.” I started to shake again at her cruel smile again, then she added: ”You are really sweat, yet. But I want something else from you tonight, not that.” She looked with a little goof, keeping her head on her palms, as she looked at me. ”This is how Argentinian men are? That sweet?” I gave a restrained chuckle: ”Not all. Like not all men in here are the same. You know, you are not the first Romanian lady who told me something like this.” Indeed, I fell prey to the aura of latino lover, once again, but this time the lady in question was not human, unfortunately for me.
”Probably Mrs. Florescu told you something similar.” I forced myself to laugh a little: ”Is it already known in detail?” ”Oh yes, what did you think?” ”Well, although only with Marietta happened what happened, I have talked to some other ladies and they said similar things.” ”I guess I agree with them too well.” replied Helena, with feminine playfulness that would have been to others hard to guess through all that coldness and malice she emanated. ”Lets continue with the main dish.” she said and I agreed.
There were some really interesting sausages, well spiced, with a strong flavor, also pretty hot. Another dish that I really enjoyed. She was also a skilled cook. I said to myself: ”She has some nice qualities. Too bad that she is a monster, not human.” I continued: ”It seems you have seen me singing before I saw you dancing. It is clear that you enjoyed my acts, I really appreciate this, really. the same for your dance as well. How do you started dancing?”
She replied: ”I did some ballet a long time ago, when I was a Human child. After that, for the act, Gordon taught me a lot. I practiced it with him. You can say many bad things about him, but you can not say that he is a bad dancer, or not a well read man, or a mannered man. He taught me a lot. He is the one who keeps me in his control, most of the times. Due to him I lost my Human, mortal life, but he compensated it a little. Like homeschooling me, allowing me to read many things. He also taught me some things you should not know about.”
”You always practice such humor on the stage? Helena replied: ”Not always. We do just dances, sometimes. But, that night, the prefect was there, I noticed you in the public, so we decided to do it. Indeed, I am sure you shall never meet a Clown like me. You know, people tend to despise clowns, thinking them to be shallow and cheap. I dare them to say those about me.” And winked with her malice. After a few seconds of break and another glass of wine (If this would have been a human lady, I would have been already worried of her drinking too much. But I did not dared to say anything.) She went on:
”You see, I have a lot of time on my hand. Not just to read. It is pointless to read, if you do not think of what you read. And I like to think a lot. And get a lot of ideas. Too bad I can not put into practice most of them.” After another sip of wine: ”You know, in order to get things well, not just with those, but also when I dance, I make sure I enjoy myself in what I do. First of all. If the public enjoys it as well, it is secondary. But, as I seen from my experience on stage, if you do that, at least a great part of the people in the public shall enjoy it naturally. You are a singer, I think you know what I am talking about.” ”Now, if I came to think about it, I guess you are right”.
She already felt somewhat more human, so to say. I felt less afraid then in the beginning, that was for sure. ”One more dance before dessert, shall we?” she proposed. I agreed.
It went another round of tangos. At one moment, a clumsy moment and I stepped on her foot. My heart went cold, panic returned and I fell to my knees. She looked at me with anger, like wanting to pierce me with a sword. I started to mumble, she grabbed my chin fiercely (It hurt pretty much.) and said with a harsh, but restrained voice: ”You are doing it to yourself! Brace yourself at once! What would you do if this happened with a normal lady, not with me?” I managed to brace myself and mumbled as calmly as I could: ”Excuse my clumsiness. I did not meant to.” Her tone returned to the one before and said: ”Apologies accept. Let„s go on.” Shaking yet, I continued, until i recovered my nerve from before. Finally, the dance finished and we went to dessert.
She unveiled a huge round coliva. I said: ”Is this coliva?” She looked at me with a less sharp smile: ”Indeed it is. I see you found out our favorite dessert and its purpose. Too bad I was never offered it as a offering, after I was turned, as people do with their dead. But I did it for myself often. Tonight, besides boiled wheat and honey, I have added some pomegranate, some vanilla. I hope you shall like it.” This was delicious as well. ”What a lady…” I thought to myself. I looked at her and tried to imagine how would she be if she were still human and alive. She would have looked very much like a Latin American woman, with her hair, her features, her style even. Her waist looked beautiful, her chest as well. Her corpse like face with all the clown patterns could not hide the features that she would have had. I touched her strong and cold hand as gently as I could. She smiled in a more human way.
All this time I sensed a strong power coming from her, alluring and forcing me. Like a creature of darkness. But now I started to feel something else. Something different. Faintly, at first. Then, I thought to myself: ”After all, why not? Perhaps this is what I need to do anyway, to escape alive. No warranty that it will work. But at least I shall experience something I never thought possible.” Yes, I started to see the woman in her, not just the monster. And I started to feel lustful. Not much, at first. Yet, as much as forced myself to cultivate that lust, something contrary came from inside, a combination of revulsion and fear. As the lust grew, they became stronger alongside it.
Besides fear, the revulsion of the fact that I was about to do something with a dead, inhuman, creature, put me off. I rose from the table, took her hand and looked in her terrifying eyes. I saw something else, besides monstrosity. I closed my eyes and dared to kissed her lips. A death-like coldness came from the head to toes, and shook me. Then another kiss, a more passionate one this time. I felt her fangs. Coldness came once again, stronger, like I was naked, on a winter night, in the wind, or dead, in the coffin. I kept my eyes closed and kissed her on the neck. She gave a faint moan, a moan that I heard before in mortal women, I knew it very well and what it meant.
I got down my head to her chest, as my mortal body prepared for the first stages of death, and I heard her beating heart. She had a beating heart! Was she dead or alive? This made the revulsion get much weaker, but the terror remained. I looked into her eyes, as I touched the back of her dress and tried to open it, then to uncover her breasts.
Her gaze felt far more human now, she desired for it as well, I felt it. Yet, now she had a fear of her own, she was a little reluctant. Following my moves, she started to undress me as well and push me to the other room. In there, there was an old bed, covered in black velvet, surrounded by black candles lit. I took over from here, and she submitted. Like the ladies before her did. I kissed her once again on the lips. She had a fire in her heart, underneath all this coldness. Yet, I felt colder and colder and my mortal being started to sink in terror. I kissed and caresses her, she kissed and caressed me, as we were going to bed. I hoped I will be able to fulfill what both of us wanted. Coldness of death reached my bone marrow, Helena kissed my shoulder then, suddenly, she bite it with her sharp fangs. That was too much for me and it all went dark.
I woke up at the gate of the restaurant, in the morning. The boyar and the bartender were struggling to wake me up and raise me to my feet. The fog on my mind persisted for about a minute, feeling unreal, before realizing where was I and what happened. They helped me get in the restaurant and sit on a table. The boyar smiled at me and said: ”You know, the Ștefan cel Mare highway was in rumble last night, as Helena carried her in her arms, and dropping you here. Fortunately, there were not too many people awake, to realize it. It seems the ladies really have a thing on you and it is good idea to stick on here. Marietta and Tudor are back together. No charges against one another or yourself. They probably hate each other, but money needs to be made. They shall continue their business with me.”
In my mind I had the self-ironic half-silly thought that I can have Helena as a lover now, so no need to cling on to Marietta. I laughed out loud a bit, as the mist of the night was getting out of my mind the clear autumn sun caressed me. I looked at the blue sky and I felt happy to be alive. Upstairs, I have discovered a note in my pocket, like the first ones. It said:
”Thank you, my dear Sebastian, for accepting my invitation and for last night. You behaved pretty well, if we think of the circumstances, especially when others would have lost it easily. I really appreciate it all and it meant something to me, I assure you. Probably you consider that now impossible to continue what we started, I shall not force you. But it is probably it is for best that we shall give you a few days to settle and think about it. Who knows? You may decide, in the end, that you desire to meet me again. If you do, you can always come to my show and let me know on a note. Or perhaps you shall be brave enough to come backstage yourself, after you see me performing. Anyway, your music is still appreciated by me and I shall come to listen you, regardless if you shall see me or not. Yours dearly, E.C. .” Back in the day, notes from ladies could also have the lipstick print of her lips. There was something similar in here but, where the lipstick print would have been, there were two perforations in the paper, from her fangs.
I decided in a few days that it is best for me to leave this place. I do not know how much it was fear or else. I just missed living in the ”normal world”, and this city and this country felt to my mind like another planet, and I wanted to get back to the world where people just live their lives and where there are no Stregas, Elves and who knows what else. I managed to part with the boyar on at least somewhat friendly terms.
After all those years, I still think from time to time at Romania. At Bucharest. At Helena. As the memory grows distant and the memory of terror faded away, I remember her with some regret. Perhaps I should have had the power to stay and try. I never met a lady like her ever again, perhaps my life would have been different if I was strong enough to be able to embrace the shadows. Now, upon the end of my life, it makes no sense to let myself ruined by regret. But to remember everything that was beautiful in life, even if this beauty was not the beauty you would have expected or longed for.