After completing innumerable petty chores she decided to hunker down to write. As she entered the office she noticed that the sketch was missing. She searched the floor around the computer table hoping that it had fallen. It was not there. Beverly sat on the hardwood floor and felt her tears sliding across her cheeks.
That night, in bed, Beverly lay naked upon her cotton sheet, the tan of her body emphasized by the white of the material. Her dark eyes penetrated the dimness of the moon-sprayed room. The ceiling fan whooshed the air above her head. Her mind settled on that sound for comfort as she closed her eyes. Whoosh… whoosh it lullabied amongst the hyacinth smell of night. Her limbs softened on the verge of sleep when suddenly her breath halted and she found herself panting for air. Her head turned toward the open French doors leading to the garden. She swallowed and choked, then with her hands she pushed her body up off the bed scrambling to the floor. Finally she was able to stand and move to the garden. The summer heat cooled by the moon’s full glow hugged her body. Her breasts, stimulated by the night chill, ached as she sucked in deep breaths of air. A dream, she said to herself, as her breath started to come in normal rhythms. A dream, a nightmare, she thought.
But sleep never came that night, and it seemed that over the next few days she dozed lightly only at the keyboard or while reading on the garden swing. Deep, dreamy, reviving sleep never came. Neither did Carl.
One morning after her shower Beverly stood in front of the full-length mirror behind the door to her bedroom. She had been skipping meals and when she did sit to eat, she barely touched her food. However, her body seemed to be swelling. There was a gnawing inside her gut, a steady nibbling at her intestines. She belched as she tried to push on her stomach. Then she noticed the nail on her right index finger was loose, not just a portion of it, but the entire nail was coming free of its bed. She swung the bedroom door open and rushed to the bathroom for a band-aid.
“Shit,” she audibly complained and wound the bandage tightly around the finger.
When she looked in the mirror she saw two reddish, bloated cheeks beneath the dark semicircles that undermined her big eyes.
She had been pondering the possibility of an allergy or asthma, but these new symptoms frightened her. Could her ailment be more severe? If Carl did not come today she would have to try to reach him. He had no telephone and no road led to his house, but she knew if she just kept walking upstream along the water’s edge she would reach his place. But she didn’t have to, because that evening, as the sun was leaving he arrived.
He looked refreshed and even smiled when he saw her. Beverly moved awkwardly toward him as he entered her house. Her body felt full, her skin was pigmented with splotches of dusky red tint. A stale eggish odor emanated from the folds of her flesh.
“Oh, Carl, I need you.”
Carl held her and swept his long fingers through her thinning hair.
“I don’t know what’s happening to me. It started the day you left. I’ve had trouble breathing and…”
Carl pressed his lips to her mouth and thanked her.
“What for?” she asked moving her head back slightly so she could see him.
“For what you’re doing.”
“Carl, I don’t understand.”
He moved her back through the hallway to her bedroom and sat her on the bed. He knelt before her and undid the buttons on the front of her dress. His hands caressed her shrunken breasts and his tongue circled the hardened tips. Beverly was embarrassed, amazed, and soothed. He pulled the dress completely open and let his lips slide down to kiss her distended stomach as if she were pregnant from his seed.
“Do you know what’s wrong with me?” she asked.
He nodded.
“You’ve taken my place in the grave, Beverly.”
“What are you talking about?” Her voice was louder than she meant it to be.
“I’m so afraid of dying, Beverly. I’m afraid of the brown earth encasing me, swallowing me into its bowels. Several years ago when I found out that I was terminally ill, I traveled the Amazon where I learned a trick from a small tribe that lived at the mouth of the river, a means to stay alive. To forestall death the tribal chief would carve out an exact replica of someone in an enemy village. Then he personally would bury the reproduction deep in the soil. The deeper he buried it the longer the spell would last. At times it’s lasted as long as five months for me.”
“My God! What are you talking about?”
“The sketch, Beverly, I buried it after I left here last time. I had to do it. I could feel the maggots starting to eat away at my innards. I would have bloated like you and…”
Beverly screamed and grabbed her stomach with her hands. Her shoulders hunched upward as her body tilted forward to release a hoarse cry. Carl held her tight and kissed the auburn hair already lying rootless on top of her head.
“I love you, Beverly. That’s why I almost gave you the sketch. But it was too late for me to find someone else. Neurological control had dissipated in my hands to the point that I couldn’t draw a straight line and it had to be created by my hands, a photograph wouldn’t do. The original sketch was made when we first slept together. Then I didn’t mind the idea of using you but later it preyed on my conscience. I thought of how I would miss you. But this is the greatest act of love you could give me, and I realize you’ve always been braver than I. Probably loved me more, too.”
“What about me, Carl? What about my life?”
“I’ll always think of you, Beverly. When the time comes to take your remains down the river I promise to pray for you. I built an elaborate casket for your image. It’s sturdy; should hold up for quite some time. It’ll make the decay take place more slowly. Give you time to settle any matters you think are important.”
“What if I go to the police?”
“And say what?”
Beverly swung her body down across the mattress and rolled over onto her right side while still clutching the churning life contained in her stomach.
“I lined the casket with the best white satin I could obtain and smoothed the sketch across the bottom among some rose petals. Before closing the lid I kissed your representation, and sang a hymn as I lowered the coffin into the grave. It was a moving ceremony, really. This is the first time I’ve ever buried someone I loved.”
Beverly was screaming. Was it inside her head or coming up through her body? She was too confused to know for sure. Carl rolled her over onto her back and she felt him trying to enter her. Her hands beat against his head. She pounded and kicked to release herself from this bringer of death.
From far away she heard him say that he was leaving, he couldn’t stand to see her like this.
“You did it! You did it!” she yelled and watched him walk out of the room.
She slid off the bed and stumbled into her office. She was alone in the house now. As she sat at her desk she remembered every detail of Carl’s face and form. She tried to duplicate it on paper but failed. If only her hands could mirror the image in her mind. All she could see were the pronounced cheekbones, the straight slender nose…
She wrung her hands together and as she did sheaths of skin dropped onto the desk blotter. Her howling reached as far as Carl, who was about to push his boat into the lake.
MIND GAMES
by Adam Meyer
The old woman opened her eyes. Shafts of sunlight peered from between the drapes, illuminating swirls of dust. The sheets were damp with her own sweat. A glance at the clock. 6:37 a.m. At least she’d had a few hours’ sleep. It was hard to sleep these days.