Sub Rosa, page 30
That night I dreamed of falling. Even my dream self understood that a falling dream was not normal for Sub Rosa sleep. I fell toward the brown-shingled roof of a house I thought I should know. Each shingle flapped as I got closer, saying my name in a hundred different voices. This time I heard it clearly. I believed the name was mine. And I answered back.
I woke up with sweat on my brow and First’s hands nowhere near me.
XXIX
On Saturday morning Sub Rosa gathered outside the House of Diamond. The Dowager marched to the end of her garden path, dragging Isabella by the ruffled collar behind her. I was grateful that Diamond opted for a cruel goodbye; it didn’t earn her any sympathy from the crowd. No one disputed Isabella’s choice to leave, though onlookers had other reasons for protest. Likka and Myra wore T-shirts with bring back our sister hand-painted on the front. A sandwich-board sign of the same design was hung over Treasure Anne’s shoulders; in glitter paint, the back of the sign read we love you, Portia. Except Treasure Anne wasn’t giving Portia any love. She just shuffled around awkwardly with her signage while the triplets and Ling hugged goodbye.
Second Man and Fauxnique clung to Dearest as they never had before.
Arsen did his bit by showing up with a farewell kiss for each of us. “Come back,” he breathed in my ear. He had already exhausted all my promises. When he kissed Isabella’s forehead, he froze, seizing her suddenly by the shoulders. “It is you,” he cried loud enough to get the entire crowd’s attention. “Do you remember tobogganing in Sugar Bowl Park? You lost a blue mitten.” Sweet lies, I thought, rolling my eyes. He had starting taking bets the night before.
Isabella crinkled her nose. “Maybe,” she said, excusing herself from his stare by lowering her head. Arsen held her a second or two longer, waiting for her to play along, to please the onlookers in some way.
“I’ve kept that mitten all these years,” he loudly declared and took out of his jacket pocket a girl’s baby blue wool mitten. The Glories whooped in dazed wonder. Normally, a ratty old mitten from the city would be tossed immediately in the trash, but as Arsen put this mitten— this proof of the past—on Isabella’s hand, everyone gathered closer to see it. The thumb was frayed and Isabella’s pale pink thumbnail poked through. Isabella put her mittened hand to her own cheek and a chorus of “ahs” simultaneously slipped from the Glories’ lips. The Dowager kept her arms firmly folded behind her back and her lips pressed into an unwavering frown.
“Lost lamb!” First squealed and rushed to scoop Isabella off her feet. First, unlike Arsen, was sincere; she couldn’t be anything but sincere. “If I’d a-known, I would never have let you fail your Dark Days,” she told Isabella. The crowd was moved by her sincerity. More “ahs” punctuated the perfect morning air.
“Well, now we know we can correct the past,” said Arsen. “But ... !” His voice deepened, embellished. “It will be dangerous. We’re taking many risks to reunite our family.”
“I’d do the same if it was you girls,” I heard Ling tell the triplets.
“I’d do it for you, Second Man,” said Fauxnique.
“Then do it,” the Dowager shouted over our scene. “Enough of these lip-service sentiments. Go to the Dark.” And with that she called her orphan children from her shaded veranda. Diamond ordered us to surrender any money, light sources or comfort items, then set the orphans on us. Like a nest of black rabbits, they dug through our purses and pockets. Dearest’s sweets were confiscated; a couple pieces of Sweet Georgia Browns fell out of her purse as it was handed over to the Dowager.
“But it’s not my dowry,” Dearest protested. “I’m going to the Dark voluntarily. Why can’t I bring them?”
“How do I know you won’t sell them to help pay Isabella’s dowry?”
“Sell them to who?” First asked. “To zombies?”
Behind me the triplets began to debate whether zombie men eat or not. “They can have sex, so they can probably eat too,” Myra said.
“They can vomit,” I said, joining their debate. “If they can vomit, they must have something in their stomachs.”
“They vomit!” Dearest exclaimed. Her eyes moved from the Dark ahead of us to her discarded sweets. She shook her head at me. “I can’t go,” she said. She retreated back into Fauxnique and Second Man’s arms. Second Man seemed slightly disappointed, slackly draping an arm around her for consolation.
I expected Portia to quit then, too, but she took the first step. “Let’s do this,” she said. The crowd tagged along behind us until we got to the end of the Dowager’s property. They waved from the safety of her thirsty lawn. Cheers followed us to the twilight place.
As we approached the last lamppost I released phantom hand to fetch our envelope of money. As soon as we’re in, drag the envelope along the ground, I mentally ordered phantom hand, and tuck it in my boot. I was concentrating so hard my head began to ache. It didn’t make it any easier that Isabella and Portia were nervously chattering.
“How far in do I have to go before I start remembering things?” Portia asked. Isabella was chanting Jenny Lynn’s name, for luck. “Maybe we can retrieve my newspaper article?” she asked. “You know where to find it, don’t you, Little?”
Our collective hopes and fears were cumbersome. “How about I get hold of the damn dowry before we start asking a million questions,” I said through clenched teeth.
“There it is,” Portia shrieked. “Little, your magic touch has got it!” First and I shushed her to lower her voice. The manila envelope appeared from the Dark, dirty and crumpled. Phantom hand pushed it along the dusty road to meet us. I fidgeted as it tucked the money into my left boot. Isabella made happy little warbling noises, Portia joined her. I nearly joined them, my steps bouncing along, exhilarated. But nothing that’s been to the Dark ever returned exactly the same. My only hope at that moment was that the envelope was still full of money. I wanted to check. I scratched my thigh and First slapped my hand.
“The Dowager is trained on us, Little,” she hissed, looking over her shoulder. “Don’t jinx it. Just wait.”
First had us stand in a line; Portia beside me, then First, and Isabella on the end. We tied the reflective sashes of our custom-made dresses together. “I don’t have one,” Isabella complained. She was dressed in the Dowager’s dullest orphan wear. First reached for Isabella’s dress. The old threads snapping sounded abnormally loud as First tore off a yard of ribbon. She tied the frayed lace to her own dress and said, “There now. I fixed us together just fine.”
We linked arms and stepped forward, but the Dark, unpredictable as it was, only admitted Portia. First, Isabella, and I, still locked together, heard her screaming from the other side. I was half shadowed; I felt Portia scratching and jerking at the end of my darkened arm. Her glow-in-the-dark nails streaked fireflies that faded from view.
“Pull!” I shouted, and we began a hysterical tug-of-war. The Dark held on, letting Portia go in small increments as if purposely teasing us. A blackened arm was birthed from the dark. Then Portia’s screaming head. Her yelps set off our own alarmed voices. First’s face turned beet red before the Dark released Portia’s feet and we all collapsed backwards onto the hard pavement.
Portia was raked in black. Dark handprints streaked her entire body. Portia had a Dark slap mark across her crying face. “My hair, my eyes, my mouth, my throat—” she called the names of her body parts as she ran her hands over them.
“It’s okay,” First told her. “You’re in one piece.” Portia continued her manic checklist. Each of us took turns trying to calm her down, growing more anxious ourselves as we watched her poke and grab at herself, convinced parts of her were missing.
“I have the mark.” Portia stopped listing body parts only to parrot, “The mark! The mark! The mark!”
“It will wash off,” I told her.
“This black is a warning. It’s the mark of death, isn’t it? Isn’t it? Likka and Myra would know.” She narrowed her eyes at me, as if I were withholding the answer. I had had the mark, but I was never sure what it was. I felt a chill when I thought of it.
“You gonna survive the Dark mark all right,” First told Portia. “Little herself had it.”
“Maybe she’ll die, too, then,” Portia sobbed.
“No one is dyin’,” First shouted. The Dark thunderclapped in response.
“There is no way I’m going back in there,” Portia said, trembling as she stood up. With a hasty apology, she announced that she was going home. We watched in dismay as she limped back toward her house.
“If I don’t make it, I’ll have nowhere to drag myself back too,” said Isabella. “I’ll have to live in the Dark.”
“Little knows a nice vacant garage we can live in,” First laughed, terrified. She was not usually one to make jokes, and she swallowed hard to compose herself. “We go in as a family,” she said.
I suggested we run at it, full speed. “On the count of three.” As we ran, First’s cherry hair swept across my face, and for a moment all I saw was red, then nothing.
“We all here?” First gripped my arm so tightly my reply came out in a squeak. Isabella squawked; her voice echoed, more distressed each time it repeated in the distance. We were together. We had achieved that much.
“Where do we go?” Isabella asked.
“Can’t we stand right here?” asked First. “Just lettin’ a little time pass before going back.”
“We have to go left,” I said. “We’re in the Dark now. We might as well find memories for the Club.” We headed in the direction of the Night Watchman’s garage, and toward the last place I saw Jellyfish. “Let’s count our steps,” I suggested, just as I had done before. It should have been only fifty paces or so until we reached the square brick building. It was the one place in the Dark where nothing bad happened to me, and I was sure I could get us that far. We walked in unison, and for a few moments I was proud of how well we counted together. Our numbers ascended in order effortlessly. At twenty-seven, Isabella sounded the distress signal.
“Something’s pulling me,” she screamed. “Pulling my legs.”
“Don’t let go of me, child.” First spun around, sweeping me off my feet. I latched on to her, to her dress, her hair, anything I could hold. “I can’t feel her, Little, she gone.”
“How can she be gone?”
“Her arm was wrigglin’ on the ground for a second. Then gone,” First said. Her large body trembled beside me. “Her ribbon is still tied to me, but no Isabella.”
“What do we do?” I asked.
“You’re the one who comes here. You tell me what to do,” First said. She was right. If it was anyone’s job to lead us, it would have been mine. “Let’s stay calm and keep looking,” I said. Hand clutching hand, First and I lowered ourselves to the ground, feeling for Isabella like she was a dropped earring on a dance floor. I ran my hand over shards of glass and oily smears, but nothing human. Not even a shoe.
“I forgot how bad this place really is,” First said. Her hand was practically fused to mine by her palm sweat.
“We’ll find her.” I called Isabella’s name at the top of my voice. Her reply came from below us. I pressed my ear to the ground and heard her voice again. She was definitely underneath us. First and I scrambled along on our hands and knees, calling and calling again. Isabella called back from below.
“Oh my god, she’s buried alive!” cried First, and she scurried up ahead of me wailing Isabella’s name. The sash on my dress tugged suddenly, jerking me forward a few feet. I heard the sound of fabric ripping.
“First,” I said. “First, please still be here.”
“My leg! I lost my leg,” First replied. The tips of her fingers grazed my head. She got hold of my hair and yanked me over to her. “Find it!” she screamed. “Find my leg!” I traced my hands along her torso, her hips. Her right leg was twisted awkwardly behind her, her enormous stiletto heel still secured to her foot. But her left leg was cut off by the cold concrete as if the ground had swallowed it up. I imagined the Dark earth making a mean mouthful of First’s leg, digesting a bite before taking a second out of her. Suddenly, the miserable outcome of all this exploded in my mind. I would return without Isabella and First would be missing her beautiful leg. I wasn’t helping Sub Rosa; I was ruining it.
“Maybe it’s stuck down some hole,” First said, panting and struggling.
Around First’s trunk-like thigh I felt a metal rim with my finger, a perfect circle. “I think … you are stuck in a man hole,” I said, laughing a little, delirious. I hooked my arms around her waist and tried to pull her out. I had never borne First’s weight before. It was always the opposite, and I hadn’t half the strength she did. She had no choice but to heave herself up with her own arms while I guided her soft fleshy thigh so it might not be too badly cut or bruised on the way out.
When the manhole let her go, we heard Isabella again. “Get me out of here!” her voice rose up.
“I already proved I don’t fit,” First said. She held my legs and lowered me, head first, into the hole. Isabella jumped up toward me. Water splashed under her feet; a dank smell slapped my senses. Her voice reverberated, pleaded. “Lower,” I said to First. At least I could be sure she wouldn’t drop me. She let me sink deeper until Isabella held my hand.
She was soaked with the foulest sewage when we pulled her up. First and I wrapped ourselves around her like a blanket. She sat down silently for a while, her teeth chattering, until finally she spoke. “I’d rather die than stay here any longer.”
“No need to speak of death,” First shushed her. “Little has your dowry, don’t you, Little?”
The envelope was in my boot. I didn’t want to let go of First’s hand to retrieve it. I truly didn’t want to reach inside the envelope, but instead stay in that split second where everything was going right First’s breath looped in my ear. She was too antsy to be kept waiting. Please, phantom hand, please, I said to myself as I slipped my hand inside and found a stack of paper bills. “Don’t jostle me,” I told First and Isabella. There were exactly twenty bills. My head whooshed with denominations. “Remind me, First, what kind of money did we put in here?”
“One five-hundred-dollar bill. Eleven one-hundred dollar bills. And eight fifty-dollar bills.” I loved her for her ability to memorize figures.
“Congratulations, ladies, we just bought ourselves a new House of Arsen member.”
“And they say you can’t choose your family,” First said, hugging us close.
“Who says that First?” I asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. City folks, I guess.”
A strange feeling came over me then, a nagging. Out of the corner of my eye I saw something flash. The Dark was charring in the distance, a cool white radiance hypnotized me. My name was being called. I smiled at how pretty it sounded, and how I knew it was mine. It was as simple as a bird chirp or a pebble dropping into quiet water. I barely noticed Isabella and First were leading me back. “Wait,” I said. “We’re so close to the Night Watchman’s garage. Don’t you want your newspaper article? Shouldn’t we try to bring more memories for our Club?” But Isabella couldn’t move quickly enough. She counted her steps as she marched us along.
“It’s not worth my life,” she said.
“It is your life,” I told her. This slowed First’s steps.
“Isabella, slow down or you’ll wind up in another hole,” First advised. She was trying to buy us time. “Slow and steady makes for safe passage.”
“There. Our safe passage is right there,” Isabella said firmly. She must have been pointing, but since we couldn’t see, she snapped her fingers in the air until we were all facing the right direction. A Sub Rosa street lamp shone up ahead. It was distant, but as we looked toward it, it kaleidoscoped into patterns and shades of glowing yellow and green, as only a Sub Rosa lamp could. First and Isabella cooed together. “We’re so close to home,” said Isabella.
Behind me a different kind of light toiled in the darkness. Jellyfish waved her shimmering thread of an arm at me.
“You go,” I told them and released First’s hand. “I have to stay.”
“The Cherished Memory Club isn’t everything, Little,” Isabella grumbled. “We’ve been remembering stuff just fine on our own.”
“There are things that Sub Rosa will keep forgotten forever,” I said. “There are things that the Rosa will never let us have. And I want those things.”
“Well, I’m not giving up my Glory for a bunch of daydreams. Who even knows if they are real or not? Who even knows if I was that girl the nuns prayed for? I have my dowry now. I’ll be truly famous.”
First drew me into her with both arms, letting Isabella go. “I’m not leaving you,” she said. Her lips knocked against my head until they found my ear. “I said I wouldn’t forget you, and I won’t,” she whispered.
But Isabella had other ideas. She unhooked from both of us. “The lamp is close. All I have to do is walk toward it, and I’ll be a real Glory, not an orphan anymore. I can almost hear the fanfare now.” We listened to her heavy steps leaving.
“See you on Sub Rosa,” First called to her, desperate.
“See you on Sub Rosa,” Isabella’s voice replied. First shook my arm with enthusiasm. The two continued calling and echoing until Isabella’s voice was too far to hear. First repeated the call to herself anyway. The words rumbled out from her mouth, tripping her as we walked. “I hate not knowing where it is I’m headin’.”
“You can go back,” I told her.
She responded the way I expected: “Not without you.” The Dark wheezed one of its haunting breaths; a chilly wind swirled around our feet. I heard First’s teeth clack.
