Andrew Davidson - The Gargoyle

There was a moment in which we just held each other, and then she stood up and began walking towards the ocean. She peeled off her clothing as she went and the moonlight made her skin seem all the whiter. By the time she reached the water she was entirely nude, ghostly in her pale brilliance. There she turned and faced me for a moment, under stars that sparkled like frost through the bitter cold; she stood as if trying to memorize what I looked like, looking back at her.

“See?” Marianne said. “You do have God.”

She turned away from me and waded calmly into the ocean. The water climbed up her legs and back, and soon it shrouded the tattooed wings inked into the alabaster of her skin. She leaned forward and began to stroke out into the vastness of the ocean, her black mess of hair trailing behind.

I didn’t do anything but watch her move away from me until, at last, the waves swallowed the whiteness of her shoulders.

After a quarter hour Bougatsa began to howl terribly and turned in agitated circles, imploring me to do something. But I just sat there. So he ran into the tide, ready to swim, until I called him back. I knew the water was too cold and it was already too late. He trusted me enough to do as I said, but he whimpered as he lay at my feet. Still, his eyes remained hopeful. It was as though he believed that if only he waited long enough, eventually you would come wading back to us, out of the ocean.

Everyone agreed that Sayuri was exceptionally beautiful in her gown. Her mother, Ayako, cried happily in the front row and her father, Toshiaki, kept raising his hand to cover his happily trembling upper lip. When Gregor slipped the ring onto her finger, Sayuri’s smile had never been more radiant.

It was an August wedding, in a garden under a cloudless blue sky. Luckily there was a gentle breeze; my tuxedo didn’t allow my skin to breathe properly. Special arrangements had been made to ensure that the groomsmen, of whom I was one, would stand under a large elm tree during the ceremony; it was one of the many kindnesses shown to me by the bridal couple. I was surprised that they had invited me into the wedding party at all, despite the closeness we’d grown into, but neither Gregor nor Sayuri seemed to mind that there would be a monster in their wedding pictures.

Technically, my date was the bridesmaid opposite me, but really, my escort was Jack Meredith. She managed mostly not to embarrass me, despite the massive amount of Scotch she consumed later during the reception. Clearly there was nothing romantic about her accompanying me, but we’d been spending a fair amount of time together in the preceding months. At some point, she had discovered that she could actually stand me. Our new understanding was almost a friendship, although I won’t go quite that far.

For their wedding gift, I gave Sayuri and Gregor the Morgengabe angel. They looked at it strangely, not knowing what to make of this strange little statue, and asked if Marianne Engel had carved it. I didn’t try to explain that, apparently, I had; nor did I attempt to explain that, despite its age and weathering, it was the finest gift I could give them.

At the reception Sayuri would not allow herself any champagne, because her pregnancy was just starting to show. There had been some debate about whether the wedding should occur before or after the birth, but Gregor is an old-fashioned sort of man. He wanted the child to be “legitimate,” so he and Sayuri flew to Japan, where he hired a translator to convey his honorable intentions to Toshiaki. Sayuri could have done this herself but Gregor did not want her to translate, to her own father, his request to marry her. When Toshiaki granted permission, Ayako cried and bowed many times while apologizing-although for what, Gregor was not quite sure. After Ayako wiped dry her eyes, they all drank tea in the garden behind the house.

Sayuri’s parents did not seem bothered in the least that she was living abroad or marrying a foreigner, nor that she was well past the age of fresh Christmas cake. (In fact, Ayako pointed out that, as greater numbers of Japanese women were getting married later in life, the cutoff age for spinsterhood was no longer twenty-five. Single women who reached the age of thirty-one were now being called New Year’s Eve noodles.) The only thing about the marriage that troubled Sayuri’s parents, just slightly, was that she had decided to take her husband’s family name. They privately lamented that “Sayuri Hnatiuk” lacked any sense of poetry and, despite their best efforts, they could not learn how to pronounce it correctly.

Towards the end of the day I had the opportunity to chat with Mrs. Mizumoto for a few minutes, with Sayuri acting as translator. Sayuri had already told her mother about Marianne Engel’s passing in the spring, and Ayako offered her most sincere condolences. When I thanked her for this, I could see that she found the growl of my voice shocking but was too polite to mention it. Instead she only increased the width of her smile and, in an instant, I understood where Sayuri had learned her mannerisms. We spoke pleasantly for a few minutes and I assured Ayako that I thought her daughter was destined for a happy married life despite the fact that Gregor, even in a tuxedo, looked an awful lot like a chipmunk. Sayuri hit me on the arm for saying this but apparently translated it accurately anyway. Her mother nodded her head enthusiastically, agreeing: “So, so, so, so, so, so, so!” All the while she held her hand in front of her mouth, as if trying to prevent her laughs from escaping.

As our conversation was coming to a close, Mrs. Mizumoto offered a final deep bow of condolence. When she came back up, she gave me a hopeful smile, put her hand upon Sayuri’s stomach, and said, “Rinne tensh .”

The translation was not easy for Sayuri, who suggested the closest approximation was either “Everything comes back” or “Life is repeated.” Sayuri added that this was the type of thing old Japanese ladies sometimes say when they think that they’re more Buddhist than they really are. It appeared to me, from the dirty look she shot her daughter, that Ayako understood more English than she let on.

But as they walked away, they hugged each other tightly. Ayako seemed to be quick to forget her daughter’s comment about old Japanese ladies, and Sayuri was just as quick to forgive her mother for laughing at the image of Gregor as a chipmunk.

After Marianne Engel disappeared the authorities searched along the shoreline for three days but did not find a body. Nothing was found but long, lonely expanses of water. The problem with the ocean is that you cannot drag the entire thing, and it was as if the water had removed all evidence of her life but refused to offer any confirmation of her de-th.

Marianne Engel had no life insurance, but suspicion was directed towards me nevertheless. Rightfully so: less than six months before her disappearance, she had changed her will to name me as the primary beneficiary. This situation did not sit well with the police, especially since I was with her when she went missing. They questioned me at length but the investigation showed that I had no knowledge of the will, and the teenagers who drank beer on the beach testified that it was not uncommon for “the burnt guy” and “the tattooed chick with weird hair” to come late at night. She often went swimming, they confirmed, regardless of the weather. On that particular night, I had done nothing but sit on the beach while the dog ran around in circles.

Jack also spoke on my behalf. Her words carried special weight because she was not only Marianne Engel’s conservator but also the person whom I had replaced in the will. Despite this, Jack spoke highly of my character and told the police that she had no doubt of the love between Marianne Engel and me. While she did confirm that I didn’t know about the changes to the will, she also added, “I thought I would have plenty of time to talk Marianne out of it later. I didn’t expect her de-th to come so soon.”