Carnem Levare (6 page)

He still pursued on, although it would be in vain.
And as he became unsettled in this fruitless pursuit, the crowds
exasperated him. They were everywhere, all at once. Everyone was a
bother. Their colors were distractions. Their very presence was
speedily causing him to become unsettled. Frustration rode him as
death now kept him from mortality. Circumstances . . . anger . . .
flesh . . . blood.

His head swayed. Refusing to give up the pursuit, he
pressed on. The many variations of carnival, the brightest of
colors and deepest of darkness stifled. And just when even the
slightest of hope had completely disappeared from sight, Stefano
cursed into the air.

“
Blast it!”

*****

Annabelle Soranzo could see heartache when heartache
was the furthest thing from her mind. The entire family knew this.
Her parents were not at all pleased that she had been born with a
veil. It allowed her to communicate with some of the darkest
spirits imaginable. The more she rejected this “gift”, the stronger
her ties with the spirit world. She thought that in fleeing the
beauty and comfort of Venezia, she would somehow be free of what
she believed to be a curse. Annabelle had temporarily found peace
in some of the South American countries, amongst the Amazon’s
inhabitants. She’d even found solace in the deepest regions on the
African continent.

Then family called on her. Annabelle’s cousin
Anastasia, who was two years younger, had found a way to
potentially break the curse.

“
I never wanted this. People say
I’m clairvoyant. It sounds good, no? Do you understand what it
means for me?” Annabelle had shouted at Anastasia. “Twenty eight
years of this nightmare. More than fifty countries. I even speak
several languages fluently.”

“
That all makes you special . . .
at least to me.” Anastasia knew how the family felt. They called on
Annabelle for those touchy subjects, yet in all actuality, they
were nervous in her presence. Outsiders, on the other hand,
worshiped all that her elder cousin was capable of. “I asked you to
return home, in hopes of ridding you of this burden.”

“
Anything that has worked has been
a temporary fix. I need
this
lifted entirely.” Her
cinnamon-shaded irises glassed over.

“
Like you, Belle, I’ve been part of
this torture. Our distant cousin, from who knows when, has been
plaguing my dreams. I have somehow taken on her life at night.
Since I turned nineteen, I’ve dreamt about being drowned by some
kind of madman. In the dream, I was never able to completely die.
My soul remained in my body, only to experience what this hateful
man was doing.”

“
Ana, why haven’t you told me of
this before now?”

“
I didn’t want them to send me
away.” Anastasia lowered her head and tossed it from one side to
the other. Several strands of golden spirals rocked about her face.
“It wasn’t until Bastiano woke me one night as I pled with my
torturer. My husband was beside himself. He wanted to know who this
Stefano was. I’d been begging Stefano for mercy.” At the memory of
the scene, her body quaked. Annabelle, who had been seated on a
cream chaise, rushed over to rest at the edge of the love seat next
to her mother’s youngest niece.

“
What made you reach out to me
now?” Annabelle asked, capturing her younger cousin’s
palms.

“
I’m sorry Belle . . .” she mouthed
through pursed pink lips.

“
For what, Ana?”

“
I could relate to your
condition
. I saw what you saw.”

Annabelle immediately released Anastasia’s hands,
feeling the sting of deception.

“
And yet you allowed me to face it
alone? Those who embraced me did so of their own selfish desires.
Those who rejected me . . . out of disdain.”

“
I didn’t want to be
shunned.”

“
So you joined the others in
shunning me?”

“
I’m sorry, Annabelle.”

“
I’m sure you are,
Anastasia.”

Neither moved from this less than comfortable seat
and position. The enlightened one turned to gaze over the balcony,
trying desperately not to present a defeated façade. While the
desperate one freely sobbed in shame.

*****

Stefano’s emotions were conflicted. He found solace
in hope, fury in pain, and emptiness in rejection. He was taken
back to that first awakening, when the annual torture thrust him
out of the dark world. Anastasia was ever present: a reminder of
how he’d lived and how he’d died.

His gaze passed around the open streets. The
pavements were filled with celebrations. Everyone sated, thrilled,
sloshed and happily unaware of Stefano’s devastation. His eyes
roamed from one to another, and another still. Unsure of what he
was looking for, he finally settled on a couple. The woman wore one
of the brightest of gowns, trimmed with silver outlines. Her reins
had been pulled, so much so, that her waistline equated to a mere
plank. From his angle, a mere five footsteps away, the woman’s chin
bore through the lower part of her white mask. The object was meant
to shade her entirely, but the protrusion of her chin couldn’t be
easily covered. Moreover, she appeared to be in constant
communication with her companion. He was covered in similar
manner—white and silver. The major difference was his silver mask
fully covering his face.

Their happiness was apparent as Stefano now stood
directly in their presence. The man gently careened his fingers
along her, and even fluffed at her gown. He treasured, perhaps even
worshiped her.

“
Have I told you how beautiful you
are?”

Stefano cringed to hear the man’s profession.

The response she offered was a mere giggle.
Stefano’s pores steamed. The sounds from behind her mask infuriated
him. To him, there was little sincerity in exchange for this doting
man. Stefano could almost envision himself similarly.

“
Come with me,” the man encouraged
his woman.

“
Where to?” she asked, raising
gloved hands to pat her chest.

She’s teasing you!
Stefano shouted.

No one heard and no one cared to hear. After all, he
didn’t exist to any of them.

“
Up the path,” the man pleaded,
capturing her finger. He paused momentarily, allowing his hand to
rest against her slight peaks.

She contemplated, standing there as if it were the
biggest decision she’d make in life.

“
Come with me,” the stranger
encouraged.

You will only get hurt by this woman,
Stefano
warned. He marched amongst them, pacing in circles, not stopping
until the woman nodded.

They moved from their spot just off the Grand Canal,
up and around a dark, silent passageway. The lights were dimming
the further they drew away from the docks. The woman gazed back.
Stefano mournfully followed. The man prompted his lover.

“
We can have privacy,” the man’s
voice dipped. There was a wavy shyness to his tone and
words.

When they arrived at the edge of the waters, he
pulled the reins on a lone gondola.

“
Would you like to go out on the
water?”

“
In these clothes?” the female
responded, giggling as before.

“
We could always take them
off.”

“
I could never,” she
offered.

Releasing the vessel, he approached her. His legs
pressed inward. There was very little leverage, as her gown simply
wouldn’t accommodate.

Stefano observed, impatiently pacing. He would pause
from time to time, looking from the man to his woman.

The man then raised the woman’s mask, and golden
brown curls cascaded about her shoulders and high-necked dress. She
tossed about, drawing out deeper sounds; her behavior now marked of
ecstasy. A dusting of illumination extended from a distant
streetlamp. Its intrusion showed off a delicately freckled nose
that was nearly as pointed as her chin. And even with those slight
imperfections, Stefano became mesmerized. His anger subsided
momentarily.

“
I could love you forever.” Her
suitor had taken off his gloves. He was now rubbing bare palms
against her hair, fluffing and patting, revering and
worshiping.

He moved his lips to hers, initially brushing them
against hers. Their kiss deepened. In the distance, muffled melodic
sounds did very little to disturb the couple as their hands trailed
along heavy clothing. Her fingers rested at the nape of his
sandy-brown plastered hair. His felt through the heavy silk
material surrounding her breasts. They greedily exchanged moisture
through panting mouths. Sensually charged moans and grunts filled
their space.

Stefano stood very near, too near in fact. Jealously
and longing were his companions. He adored the way that the young
man’s affections reached the woman. After staring tirelessly at
them fondle and kiss for minutes on end, he began crying. Stefano
remembered the first day he made love to Anastasia. As young
adults, they had given themselves purely out of love. That changed
because of family and commitments. Though Anastasia had promised
herself to him forever, his forever was far different to hers. He
turned to relieve the couple.

“
I love you forever,” the man
professed. His words were mere mumblings, since his lips were still
rather close to hers.

“
And I love you for always,” was
her response. Her words were louder, more endearing and almost too
sincere.

Stefano, who had taken a handful of footsteps away,
immediately stopped. The young woman’s words taunted, ringing in
his ears, reminding him of when Anastasia had said the very same
thing. For a moment he was rigid, contemplating his next move,
although Stefano’s history foretold all. Once he decided, things
quickly moved into motion.

Stefano reached for the man, tossing him aside. His
head crashed against concrete walls. There was no further movement
from the victim. In the meantime, she screamed out. Terror shot
across her face. Rosy cheeks became blistering red. Streams of
tears rolled down her face. She rushed for her lover, cradling his
head against her midsection. His eyelids were shut. Her tears
drenched his face, smearing his painted mask. His body was stiff;
still.

“
Help!” she cried out. Unwilling to
seek out assistance, she rocked back and forth, surrounded by a
puddle of extensive cloth. She was mortified to find light speckles
of red on her glistening white dress. Her cries increased. Her woes
were inconsolable. Every few seconds her head rose, trailing about
the territory from left to right in search of salvation. No one
came. At least no one came to help her cause.

*****

The modern day Anastasia sat across from Annabelle.
Their palms rested one against the other. The room was cold, dusky
and remarkably eerie. The drapes hung low and wide. Be it night or
day, the pair transformed to another realm.

Annabelle chanted, flowing in and out of several
unfamiliar tongues. Anastasia remained silent; her fingers
trembled. As this impromptu ceremony progressed, her fear could not
be sustained. Her cousin was forced to wrap her fingers around. She
pressed lightly . . . firmer . . . deeper.

Annabelle’s neck extended, dyed jet-black tresses
flowed midway down her back.

Anastasia was unable to break their grip. She tried
keeping her lids lowered, but as the shaking increased she found it
difficult to concentrate.

Suddenly, the room silenced, matching the
shallowness that Anastasia had experienced for countless years. She
no longer felt any connection to her cousin; no longer saw her; no
longer heard her.

Anastasia found herself engulfed in a sea. Murky
waters thrust against her face. She fought to keep her eyes wide.
She choked, fighting desperately to keep the fluid out of her
mouth. This was a fruitless attempt because in shutting her mouth,
her nostrils naturally took in the threat.

She coughed, gagged.

No longer seated, she floated around in the
darkness, unable to fend for life. Death’s embrace drew near, and
then she was yanked up. Distant lights shone into her face, and
though it burned she welcomed the disturbance.

A man held onto her body, kissed her lips and spoke
swiftly.

“
My love? My love? I did not mean
to hurt you. Stay with me! Death be gone!”

Death
? She fought to move but couldn’t.

“
Anastasia, I won’t live alone.”
His tears mingled with her moisture.

It was then that Anastasia realized that she was no
longer Anastasia of the twentieth century.

*****

Stefano wandered into the square, gazing out upon
the waves. He wished to inhale the sweet breezes and feel the mists
against his face, but he was not real and could not ever again make
it so. Seeing Anastasia earlier in the night had done something to
his cause. His past of taking life after life in hopes of
interactions beyond the afterlife rode heavily. He had set out to
kill, prolonging his victim’s demise. As life faded, they were able
to see him. Only then—not before and never after. So Stefano would
dangle them at the edge and bring them back. This way, he felt
relevant.

The following night, as the excitement built,
Stefano returned to the streets. No matter how deep his disdain,
Stefano could not help but marvel at the various costumes. There
was no telling who was hidden beneath them. There were even rumors
that men were donning frocks and wigs in order to rob unsuspecting
women. Their true genders remained beneath large petticoats,
wearing the costumes of shameless thieves. But Stefano was not
interested in fighting crime. For tonight, he was hoping that
Anastasia would return to the masquerade, though he didn’t know how
she would stand out.