Catholic Guilt and the Joy of Hating Men (15 page)

Diogo laughed. And then he kissed her again.

“What are you doing?” a voice called out, deep and loud and frightening.

Diogo pulled back.

Marguerite stood and watched as Diogo glanced around the bottom of the well, more nervous than she’d have expected.

“It’s not funny,” Diogo said. “Who are you?”

“Marguerite...” the voice said. “Where has your beloved gone, Marguerite?”

“What beloved?” Marguerite asked.

“Do you not love another? One of my humble men?”

“This is stupid,” Diogo said. “Who are you?”

Marguerite walked over toward the dark at the edge of the well, to where the stone met the rock.

The door was open, the tunnel before them.

“I am not going in there,” Diogo said.

“You are not welcome in here,” the voice said. “Leave us, Diogo. You are a fool.”

“We should go, Marguerite,” Diogo said. “This is not funny.”

Marguerite nodded. “I want to get out of here,” she said.

She felt the hands on her legs, far too low to be from Diogo. She started kicking out, but she felt more hands come.

But she couldn’t see the hands.

“They’ve got me,” Marguerite said. “Help me, Diogo!”

Diogo laughed. “You are joking.”

The invisible hands all pulled at once, and Marguerite dropped to the floor. The hands lifted her, and she felt her body being carried towards the blackness.

“Diogo!”

As she was pulled into the tunnel, Marguerite watched Diogo as he kept talking to her as if she was standing beside him. And then she saw Diogo’s slobbery tongue making out with thin air, his hands grabbing at an ass that wasn’t there.

“Diogo!”

He couldn’t hear her.

The invisible hands kept their grip. And they brought her deeper into the tunnel.

The light disappeared and everywhere was dark; she knew the door had been closed once again.

They laid her down on the soft bed she remembered.

And then the hands let her go.

Marguerite stayed where she’d been placed for several minutes, waiting for someone to come. She hadn’t recognized the deep voice; it wasn’t from her brown-hatted gnome or from his orange-hatted friend. The voice didn’t sound like a gnome, really, not that she had too many examples to draw from.

Marguerite stood up and felt her way around the tunnel, just as she had before. And just like before, she couldn’t find a way out. She tried not to panic, to tell herself that all she had to do was go to sleep, that she’d wake up in the glade of flowers and mushrooms and then she may or may not need to buy another set of underwear.

But it felt different that time.

Marguerite waited for a while, and eventually the boredom grew to the point where she was able to lay down on the bed and fall asleep.

Marguerite awoke in darkness. There was no sun, and she couldn’t see the moon.

And there was no breeze.

And she could still feel the soft bed beneath her.

She was still in the tunnel.

She was hungry and especially thirsty; she could tell that she’d been asleep for more than a few hours.

"I want to leave," she said.

The voice didn't answer.

"Let me out of here!"

Marguerite wanted to sob, but she knew that wouldn’t help. It wasn’t like whatever dark power had locked her there was going to be swayed by a few years.

She walked back to the beginning of the tunnel, to where the door had once been but no longer was; she’d begun to know the gentle meanders so well in the darkness that she didn’t even need to feel around for the walls.

If the door were ever to open again... that would be her only chance. So she waited.

And waited some more.

She couldn't tell how long she'd been there. At least a day... or maybe not. She'd never been so thirsty before, nor as hungry.

Was Bradley out looking for her? Did Diogo finally realize that he was making out with his imagination? Would Adelia know she was missing? Would Adelia even care?

Then the deep voice spoke, rumbling through the tunnels.

“Adelia...” the voice said. “
Para onde foi o teu amado
, Adelia?”

Light poured into the tunnel. The door was open.

She could see Adelia outside. Adelia... and Rafael.

Not Bradley or Diogo.

Marguerite tried to run to them, but the moment she took her first step she felt a hand on her ankle. And more invisible hands came, and she was unable to move.

“Help me!” she screamed.

Adelia looked over to her. “Marguerite!” she called. “What are you doing?”

“Where’s Marguerite?” Rafael asked.

“I can’t move,” Marguerite said.

Adelia took a step toward the tunnel.

“No,” Rafael said. “Wait here.”

He charged through the door.

And then he stopped, one foot locked in half of a step.

He was being pulled, Marguerite knew. The hands were trying to keep him away from her.

“Let him go,” Marguerite said. “Please.”

“Another fool,” the voice said. “You will die today, Rafael.”

“Don’t hurt him. I’ll stay with my beloved. I won’t run away.”

“And Adelia? Where has her beloved gone?”

“My beloved?” Adelia asked.

“Your gnome,” Marguerite said.

“You are asking if I love the gnome?” she asked.

“Where has your beloved gone?” the voice asked again.

“I love him,” Adelia said. “Let us go.”

“No,” Rafael said, still straining against the hands. “I love Marguerite.
Eu te amo
, Marguerite.”

“She is pledged to another,” the voice said. “I must protect the hearts of my humble men.”

“These women cannot live their lives in love with gnomes and no one else. They will never be happy.”

“It’s true,” Marguerite said. “I need more than plastic.”

“But I’m willing to share,” Rafael said.

“A little presumptuous, Rafael.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Will you pledge to love my humble men?” the voice asked.

Marguerite nodded. “I will,” she said.

“I will love my
gnomo
,” Adelia said. “If I can see other people.”

I felt the hands release me. I saw Rafael drop his lifted foot.

“This is a solemn vow,” the voice said. “
Um voto solene
.”

Rafael grabbed Marguerite’s hand and led her out of the tunnel.

The door closed behind them.

The three climbed up the stairs of the Initiation Well without a single word spoken. Rafael was still gripping Marguerite’s hand.

They reached the top as the sun was starting to set.

“I hope I did not offend you, Marguerite,” Rafael said. “I was trying to keep you safe.”

“It’s okay,” Marguerite said. “You can let go of my hand now.”

Rafael took his hand back with a blush. “I think you girls should leave the town,” he said. “We don’t know how far this...
magia
can reach.”

Marguerite shook her head. “We promised.”

“We did,” Adelia said. “We cannot run away.”

They made their way down the path to the chapel as the sky grew darker.

Marguerite reached out for Rafael’s hand.

She wasn’t sure what she meant by it. She certainly hoped he wasn’t
really
in love with her or anything.

But maybe Rafael... maybe he was worth a chance.

Laura Daniels couldn’t keep herself from pacing the tastefully-plush waiting room, cracking her knuckles as she went. She wished she could’ve worn her skinny jeans; she felt like an old lady in her smart gray pantsuit, much older than her forty-five years.

Jack Kennedy had only been forty-four. Now
he
was a young president. And he hadn’t needed a brokered convention and a last-minute Kenyan birth certificate scandal to get there.

Kennedy doesn’t count. That mackerel-snapping Mick had the nerve to say he was allergic to cats.

Samuel and Salmon paced with her, holding their tails aloft like hairy little flagpoles. The other cats watched from their various napping-places on the ornate and once hairless furniture; she’d brought all eight for her very special day, having them crated in like curiosities from a menagerie. They say that John Adams brought his horse Cleopatra into the Congress Hall in Philadelphia, but that was before the rise of the all-powerful allergy-sufferer’s lobby.

Damned danderheads.

Stephen meowed loudly at her as she passed, craning his neck so she’d scratch the scruff.

“I’m too nervous,” she told him. “I can hardly breathe.”

Don’t be nervous
, her thoughts said to her. Something inside of her was calm and collected, some part of her knew what to do.

“I didn’t think we’d get this far,” she said.

We knew we’d get this far. We’ve been planning this for centuries.

Laura was starting to get confused; she hadn’t really planned any of it. She’d memorized most of her speech but now she was sure she’d forgotten it.

Would she screw up when it came time to read the teleprompter?

Would the assembled dignitaries realize that she still has trouble remembering the right way to pronounce words like “hegemony” and “vociferous”?

Would they realize that even with a three-year subscription to National Geographic she still has no idea who’s in charge of Uz-beki-beki-beki-stan?

You’ll do fine... remember that the people love you.

She felt the gentle rub of a warm body against her leg. She stopped and knelt down to see.

“Oh, Souter,” she said to her maine coon. “You’re so cuddly.”

Sure he’s cuddly
, a stray thought said.
But Souter’s also a whiny little baby
.

I’m not a baby!
another thought boomed.

Yes you are!

Am not!

Laura felt dizzy. She grabbed the side of a blue and gold couch and lowered herself down, almost landing on Sherman’s fluffy white tail.

“What’s going on?” she said, not sure who she was trying to ask.

Don’t worry about it.

“Who are you?”

Sandra the flame-point siamese climbed onto her lap and glared at her, flicking her tail and curling her nose.