Read Online American Ghosts & Old World Wonders by Angela Carter - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Angela Carter
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flutter.
Johnny stands behind her, showing her where to put her hands. His long, white hands cover her little, brown paws with the bitten fingernails.
She turns to him. They kiss. She's eager, willing; he's surprised by her enthusiasm, almost taken aback. Despises her. It's going to be almost too easy!
But where is the seduction to be accomplished? Not in Teresa's bedroom, with her mother dozing in the rocking-chair. Not in Johnny's room at the brothel, either, under Aunt Roxana's watchful eye.
"In church, Johnny; nobody will look for lovers there."
A huge, cavernous, almost cathedral, built in expectation of mass conversions among the Indians, now almost in ruins, on a kind of bluff, brooding over the half-ruined village. Empty. And they make love on the floor of the church, the savage child, the vengeance-seeker. Afterwards, triumphant, she buries her face in his breast, shrieking for glee; he is detached, rejoicing in his own coldness, his own wickedness.
Naked, Teresa wanders down the aisle of the church towards the altar, stands looking up vaguely at the rococo Christ. She pokes out her tongue at her saviour.
"I'll be here again, soon. I'm going to be married."
"Married?"
"To a fine bandit gentleman." Makes a face. "Because I have no brothers, I am the heiress. My son will inherit everything, but first I must be married."
"Oh, no," says Johnny, lost, gone into his vengeance. "You won't be married. I won't let you be married."
Suspicious, at first. Then. . . "Do you love me?" Exultant, shouting. "So you love me! You must love me! You'll take me away!"
The Count rummages through a trunk in his and Roxana's bedroom, he gets out old books and curious instruments. The room is full of mysterious shadows. Roxana tries the door, finds that it is locked; she rattles the handle agitatedly. "What are you up to? What secrets do you have from me? Is it the old secret? Is it --"
The Count lets her in, takes her into his arms. "He'll take the burden from me, Roxana. He wants to, he's willing, he knows. . ."
"Your. . . son has come to set you free?"
"Not my son, Roxana."
She is so relieved that she almost forgets the dark import of what he's saying. Yet she must ask him: "And what's the price?"
"High, Roxana. Do you love a poor old man, do you love him more than you love your kin?"
Wide-eyed, she stares at him.
"Yes, old man, I do believe I do. It's been so long, now, since we've been together. . ."
"We'll be together forever, Roxana."
So he goes on assembling his occult materials and now she helps him. She has only one reservation. "The little Teresa, nothing must happen to her. . ."
"No. Not Teresa. What harm has she ever done to anyone? Not Teresa."
An eclipse of the moon. In the church, in darkness, at the altar, the Count and Johnny summon the appropriate demon -- the Archer of the Dark Abyss. Such a storm! Out of nowhere, a great wind, whirling the dust into a sandstorm. Roxana, alone in her bedroom full of curious shadows, draws the shutters close and mutters prayers, incantations.
The great wind blows open the doors of the church, sets them creaking on their hinges. Out of the sandstorms, hallucinatory figures emerge and merge, figures of demons or gods not necessarily those of Europe. The unknown continent, the new world, issues forth its banned daemonology.
The Count has summoned up more than he bargained for. He and Johnny crouch in
Johnny stands behind her, showing her where to put her hands. His long, white hands cover her little, brown paws with the bitten fingernails.
She turns to him. They kiss. She's eager, willing; he's surprised by her enthusiasm, almost taken aback. Despises her. It's going to be almost too easy!
But where is the seduction to be accomplished? Not in Teresa's bedroom, with her mother dozing in the rocking-chair. Not in Johnny's room at the brothel, either, under Aunt Roxana's watchful eye.
"In church, Johnny; nobody will look for lovers there."
A huge, cavernous, almost cathedral, built in expectation of mass conversions among the Indians, now almost in ruins, on a kind of bluff, brooding over the half-ruined village. Empty. And they make love on the floor of the church, the savage child, the vengeance-seeker. Afterwards, triumphant, she buries her face in his breast, shrieking for glee; he is detached, rejoicing in his own coldness, his own wickedness.
Naked, Teresa wanders down the aisle of the church towards the altar, stands looking up vaguely at the rococo Christ. She pokes out her tongue at her saviour.
"I'll be here again, soon. I'm going to be married."
"Married?"
"To a fine bandit gentleman." Makes a face. "Because I have no brothers, I am the heiress. My son will inherit everything, but first I must be married."
"Oh, no," says Johnny, lost, gone into his vengeance. "You won't be married. I won't let you be married."
Suspicious, at first. Then. . . "Do you love me?" Exultant, shouting. "So you love me! You must love me! You'll take me away!"
The Count rummages through a trunk in his and Roxana's bedroom, he gets out old books and curious instruments. The room is full of mysterious shadows. Roxana tries the door, finds that it is locked; she rattles the handle agitatedly. "What are you up to? What secrets do you have from me? Is it the old secret? Is it --"
The Count lets her in, takes her into his arms. "He'll take the burden from me, Roxana. He wants to, he's willing, he knows. . ."
"Your. . . son has come to set you free?"
"Not my son, Roxana."
She is so relieved that she almost forgets the dark import of what he's saying. Yet she must ask him: "And what's the price?"
"High, Roxana. Do you love a poor old man, do you love him more than you love your kin?"
Wide-eyed, she stares at him.
"Yes, old man, I do believe I do. It's been so long, now, since we've been together. . ."
"We'll be together forever, Roxana."
So he goes on assembling his occult materials and now she helps him. She has only one reservation. "The little Teresa, nothing must happen to her. . ."
"No. Not Teresa. What harm has she ever done to anyone? Not Teresa."
An eclipse of the moon. In the church, in darkness, at the altar, the Count and Johnny summon the appropriate demon -- the Archer of the Dark Abyss. Such a storm! Out of nowhere, a great wind, whirling the dust into a sandstorm. Roxana, alone in her bedroom full of curious shadows, draws the shutters close and mutters prayers, incantations.
The great wind blows open the doors of the church, sets them creaking on their hinges. Out of the sandstorms, hallucinatory figures emerge and merge, figures of demons or gods not necessarily those of Europe. The unknown continent, the new world, issues forth its banned daemonology.
The Count has summoned up more than he bargained for. He and Johnny crouch in
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