Laura Schlitz - Splendors and Glooms

No! Clara screamed silently, and Parsefall shouted the word at the same time. He darted past Madama. “You leave ’er alone! Don’t touch ’er!”

“Do you hear him, Gaspare?” Madama came forward, spreading her fiery skirts to make a barrier between Parsefall and Grisini. “I forbid you to touch Clara. As for your enchantments, you shall cast no more of them. Give me the automaton watch.”

Grisini threw out his hands. They were shaking. “ Madama, I have it not. I have lost it.”

“It’s in the right-hand pocket of your frock coat,” Cassandra said sharply. “Give it to me or I will make you bleed to death here and now. Give it back.”

She held out her hand for the watch. From her high perch, Clara could see the old woman’s palm; it was seared and bloodstained. Grisini slapped the watch into it so savagely that Cassandra flinched. Then, as if the glittering timepiece were trash, she flung it into the fire. A strangled sound came from Grisini’s throat.

“And now,” said Cassandra, “tell me, Gaspare. Do you bleed?”

Grisini grimaced. He touched the back of his head and looked at his fingers. They shone crimson. He smiled a sickly grin. “Sì, Madama.”

“And shall go on bleeding until I choose to stop it.” Cassandra looked from Lizzie Rose to Parsefall. “You see how I avenge you, my children? You see how great my power is? This man will never harm you again. He is my puppet.” She raised her arms, spreading her fingers as if manipulating strings. “See? I can make him bleed, and I can make him dance.”

Grisini’s body twitched. He held up his hands, palms out, as if he were about to play a clapping game. He bent his knees and cocked his foot, tapping the heel against the floor. Then he capered, his head flopping from side to side. Beads of blood sprouted from the scratches on his cheeks; blood darkened his shirt collar and glistened against the dull black of his frock coat. The witch lifted her hands, and he leaped straight up in the air. Cassandra snapped her fingers, and he fell to his knees with a cracking sound. Instantly he was up again, striking his heels against the floor and spinning like a top. He was short of breath, wheezing and whimpering with pain.

“Stop it!” Lizzie Rose seized the witch’s arm. “Stop it! It’s horrid!”

“Are you mad?” Cassandra shook off Lizzie Rose. “Think of what he has done to your brother! Shall I not punish him? Shall I not have my revenge?”

“Not like that!” Lizzie Rose averted her eyes from the dancing man. “Stop it — oh, please, stop him dancing!”

Cassandra shrugged and let her hands drop. Grisini tumbled down onto his hands and knees. He cringed like a whipped dog.

“If I stop punishing him, will you agree to do as I ask?”

Lizzie Rose jerked her head so that her tears caught the light. Clara couldn’t tell if she was shaking her head or nodding.

“The thing I will ask is no evil thing, and you will come to no harm. Will you promise? Or shall I go on tormenting Sior Grisini?”

Grisini moaned. Lizzie Rose gulped. “I promise.”

Cassandra cleared her throat. “Gaspare. The young lady has seen fit to have mercy on you. Get up and get out of my sight.”

Grisini struggled to his feet. He tottered to the double doors and went out. Clara could hear him on the great staircase, his footsteps growing softer as he descended.

Cassandra held out her hands to Parsefall and Lizzie Rose. “Come here.” Her voice was weaker than before; the last spell had diluted her strength. She guided them to the sofa and fell onto it with a sigh of relief. “Now I will tell you what to do.” She turned to Lizzie Rose. “Marguerite?”

Lizzie Rose stared at her. “Ma’am?”

Cassandra shook herself. “Forgive me. I meant Lizzie Rose, of course! Listen, my child, I want to speak to your brother alone. You must take the dog and go to your room and climb into bed. Will you do that?”

Lizzie Rose leaned past the witch, looking into Parsefall’s face.

“I shan’t keep him long, and I shan’t harm him,” Cassandra assured her. “Five minutes. You promised to obey me.”

“Parsefall ought to be in bed, too.”

“He shall be. But first I want a word with him. If you disobey me, I shall have to recall Gaspare and make him dance again. Will you do as I ask?”

“Yes,” Lizzie Rose said reluctantly, “but you mustn’t say anything bad to Parsefall.”

“Run along, now, and take the dog with you. I shall send Parsefall after you in five minutes.”

Lizzie Rose snapped her fingers to Ruby. She stopped by the door to look back, but Parsefall didn’t meet her eyes. As the double doors shut, Cassandra bent forward and spoke softly. “Tell me, Parsefall. Did you like seeing your master dance?”

Parsefall didn’t answer. His eyes were bleak. After a moment, he bared his teeth in a joyless smile.

“One can develop an appetite for such things. Would you like to have that power over Grisini?” Cassandra pried open the filigree locket. “You hate him, don’t you? After what he did to you —”

“I don’t remember,” Parsefall interrupted loudly. “I don’t remember! It were something bad, but I dunno wot it was.”

“Don’t you? Even now? Your sister understood; that’s why she was weeping. Do you remember nothing?”

“No. There’s a black place — inside my mind.”

“Then I bid you remember.” Cassandra lowered her voice to a whisper. “That is your task. Change into your nightshirt and climb into bed and dream — at once, at once.” She touched the fire opal to his cheek; it was the most delicate of caresses. “When you dream, you will remember.”

He doesn’t want to remember, Clara wanted to scream. Leave him alone! She watched as Parsefall walked to the door. He moved like a clockwork figure.

“I had to,” Cassandra said aloud after the boy left the room. She wasn’t talking to Clara but to herself. “I had to.” Wearily she returned the stone to its cage and shut the locket with a small sharp click.

Outside the witch’s bedchamber, Parsefall headed for the Tower Room. A figure at the far end of the hall beckoned to him, and for a moment, his heart stood still, because he thought it was Grisini. Then he recognized Lizzie Rose. She beckoned again, holding her finger to her lips.

Parsefall hesitated. His orders from Madama were clear. He was to put on his nightshirt, to dream, to remember — but she had not told him where to sleep. At the back of his mind was a shadowy conviction that he would be better off close to Lizzie Rose. He tiptoed down the hall toward her.

Lizzie Rose led him into her bedroom and shut the door. The White Room, with its pale wool hangings and rose-colored curtains, looked safe and inviting. The bed had been turned down, and there was a good fire on the hearth. Parsefall began to undress. As if from a great distance, he heard Lizzie Rose questioning him, asking if he was quite well. He answered her curtly, without knowing what he said.

The witch had told him to put on his nightshirt; she hadn’t known that he was wearing it next to his skin. He kicked off his boots and removed his outer clothes. When he had finished undressing, he saw that Lizzie Rose had stripped the blankets off her bed, so that he could have his usual nest beside the fire. She was watching him through tears. A wave of fatigue washed over him, and he turned away and crawled between the blankets.

He fell asleep, not by stages but immediately, as if he were falling off a cliff. His body had no time to relax, and his muscles knotted and twitched. The dream claimed him at once. The floor beneath him tilted, like the board of a seesaw. Then he heard a creaking sound, the sound of the rocking chair.