House Infernal by Edward Lee (20 page)

"So I went downstairs to get some ice water. I was sipping it and checking out the bookshelves in the atrium
when I heard a click."

She couldn't resist. "Don't tell me. The ghost."

"No. It was Betta coming in through the back door in
the kitchen. She's sort of sneaking in, you know? Trying
to be quiet and looking like she's in a hurry. So she slips
upstairs and into her room."

"So she'd been outside, I guess."

"Yeah, but didn't we see her sneaking doum the stairs
earlier, when we were rapping on the stair-hall?"

"Yes, we did. I figured she was going to the kitchen to
get some milk or something before bed. But she went outside instead. Kind of strange at that hour, but so what?
She decided to go fora walk in the moonlight, I suppose."

"Yeah, maybe, but it was a long walk."

"What do you mean?"

"When she came back in it was several hours after we
saw her go down the stairs. She didn't see me but I
thought I noticed leaves and stuff stuck to her blouse, and
the blouse was buttoned up one button off, like she'd been
rushing. Hair kind of tangled up, too."

They looked at each other.

"Sounds like Betta's got a secret boyfriend she meets
outside when everyone's asleep," Venetia ventured.

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking."

"All right, but, again, so what? Why shouldn't she have
a boyfriend? It's probably that guy John, the yard guy.
He's shy and so is she. Maybe they're attracted to each
other."

"I was thinking that too, and her mother's kind of a
stolid Bible-thumper, so it makes sense Betta would keep
a lover secret from her."

"Right. Simple human sexual attraction-what most of
the world is all about."

Dan chuckled. "Except for priests and seminarists ...
and girls contemplating the convent."

"So that's why you look bent out of shape? Betta's got a
boyfriend?"

"No, no, that's not it at all. It was later ... I woke up
about two, could hear someone walking on the stair-hall.
The floor creaks sometimes. I thought it was probably Betta or Mrs. Newlwyn coming back from the bathroom
or something. So I open my door a crack and look
out...."

"Was it her?"

"No. Someone else. It was someone else going down
the stairs very slowly. Someone in a dark cloak."

"Come on. The ghost then? That's what you're telling
me? I don't believe it and neither do you."

Dan kept looking out the window as he spoke, clearly
at odds with something. "The figure continued down the
stairs in total silence, but by the time it got to the bottom it
was gone."

"You're a good actor, Dan, but not that good."

"I'm not bullsh- I'm not making it up," he said and finally looked at her. The disconcertion drew lines in his
forehead. "I keep telling myself it was a dream but-"

"It felt real," Venetia said rather than asked. Same thing
with me ...

"Yeah. Anyway, I'm off to the attic coves. If I'm not back
by sundown, send a search party."

"'Bye," she said, and watched him shuffle off. Yeah, he's
really bothered by something.

Only a minute later, more footsteps echoed through the
atrium: Father Driscoll's. "Well done, Venetia," he said,
admiring the perfectly taped windows. "I thought we'd
be at it a few more hours before we could start painting."

"Hi, Father. I've been a busy bee, I guess."

"What's the old line? Idle hands?"

"Are the Devil's workshop," she finished.

"Exactly." A noise caught Driscoll's attention. He looked
up to the second-story stair-hall and saw Dan on a ladder.
Venetia did a double take when she noticed that Dan had
removed his collar and black clerical shirt. He's in ... really
good shape. The stray thought sifted in her head. It actually
annoyed Venetia the way her eyes kept flicking up at Dan's
muscled chest and abdomen. Stop staring at him-jeez!

Dan didn't look happy as he fiddled with a ceiling
panel.

"Don't have too much fun up there, Dan," Driscoll's
voice boomed. "And try not to get too hot."

Dan looked down from the ladder, started to say something, but thought better of it.

Driscoll half-smiled. "Oh, and keep an eye out for rats."

Dan grinned back. "Father Driscoll, sir? I will bag every
single rat in this attic and bring them all down just for you."

"Peace be with you, my son."

At last Venetia remembered something. Oh, I guess I better tell him. "Do we have any plaster or spackle?"

"Yes," Driscoll said, a cant in his voice. "Why?"

"I damaged one of my bedroom walls last night. I
bumped the floor lamp and it fell over."

"Don't worry about it. It's hard to do any serious damage to these walls anyway."

"I know. Feels like they re all solid brick."

The priest nodded. "We'll take care of that later. Today I'd
rather get these windows painted since you've finished taping them all." An abrupt clattering sound made them both
look to the drapeless window, which was full of sunlight.

John, the yard boy, was pushing a large lawn mower
around a weedy path.

"On second thought," Driscoll said, "why don't you
start the painting in here. I'll go out and mow for a while.
That kid's working too hard-he needs a break."

"Oh, let me do it, Father." Venetia said without hesitation. "I haven't introduced myself to him yet, and I'd love
to get some real exercise."

"Venetia, it's very hot out--

"I'm a big girl. I won't faint," she assured him. "Okay?"

Driscoll picked up a bucket full of brushes and a can of
white enamel. "All right. But not more than an hour.
God's got better things to do than protect the righteous
from heatstroke."

Venetia laughed and rushed to the door.

But the heat was stifling. The instant she stepped outside, her skin began to mist with sweat. Her sneakers
took her briskly around the cement path to the back of the building. Most of the grass was pale-green, and the huge
area behind the house seemed paralyzed in heat and silence. "Hey, wait up!" she called out.

She jogged up. John froze in the middle of reaching for
the mower's pull cord. He was taller than she remembered,
and well-toned in spite of the overly thin physique. His
blackish hair in need of a trim stuck out every which way.

"Hi, John. My name's Venetia," she said and stuck out
her hand.

At once he seemed reserved, even shy. "Hi," he replied
almost inaudibly. He shook her hand quickly and with
barely any grip.

"It's nice to meet you. I only got here yesterday. Let me
mow for a while-"

"You don't have to," he muttered.

"Father Driscoll wants you to take a break."

Now he seemed defensive. "Well, ititit's my job."

"I know that, John." She almost laughed. "But you're
working really hard out here, so go take a break." She put
her hands on his shoulders and guided him away from
the mower. "You shouldn't have to do all the outside work
yourself-we'll all chip in, okay? Go inside and relax, get
a cool drink."

"Well, if you're sure..."

"I'm sure, John. See you in a little while."

He shuffled off, looking over his shoulder a few times.
"Buh-bye ..

'Bye-,,

Wow, he really is shy, she thought. Barely talks, and Betta
doesn't talk at all. Was Dan right about a secret romance going on between the two?

The mower started on the first pull and seemed loud as
a prop plane. It wasn't self-propelled but that was fine;
Venetia was enthused for the opportunity to get some exercise. If only it weren't so hot! she thought. The rear
grounds looked huge now but she wasn't thwarted. She
just turned the mower and pushed forward.

The loud machine plowed swath after swath. She used
the stout brick toolshed as her starting point. It stood in the center of the backyard. She worked her way outward,
mowing the grounds from the inside out. This is even sort
of fun. The heavier splotches of onion grass disintegrated
under the blade; dandelions exploded in endless white
tufts. Humidity compounded the heat; she hadn't even
mowed a quarter of the back before she stopped for a moment, rolled her short sleeves all the way up, then unbuttoned her blouse and knotted it at the midriff. Dandelion
seeds, pulverized grass, and sundry grit stuck to her exposed skin. Several times she had to stop and wait for a
toad to hop out of the cutting lane, and later she even saw
a bullfrog. Must be a pond around here, she reasoned.

An hour later, she was baking and drenched in sweat,
yet she felt invigorated. There were no leftover doldrums
from last night's inexplicable dream. Voices from Hell ...
She grinned behind the mower's handle. Now that's a
Catholic nightmare if there ever was one. And the writing beneath the plaster? Big deal.

When she approached the outer boundaries of the yard,
she turned off the mower and pushed it into a cove within
the front wood line. The sudden shade invigorated her.
Just before she would sit down to rest, she heard a chorus
of rrrrrribits, and then looked aside. There's the pond. Nestled right among the high trees and complete with lily
pads, the small pond shimmered like a dark mirror. Pairs
of round, gold-flake eyes from submerged bullfrogs made
her feel like a trespasser. Minute dots from water bugs appeared atop the water and radiated outward in radarlike
circles. At once, Venetia felt serene and lulled by the frog
songs. It was refreshing to see a slice of nature like this,
untouched by human meddling.

Then she frowned-so much for being untouched. In
the trees, just off the rim of the pond, she spotted empty
beer cans and various other litter. I'll get a bag later and pick
it all up, she resolved. And-

What are those things?

She moved closer and noticed a number of long white
plastic tubes that she thought must be pens.

But she was wrong.

Squinting, she read: oKrxo-0Pnoxs. Applicators for contraceptive foam ... Venetia knew about all the various
birth control methods, but suddenly she felt naive for this
was the first time she'd ever seen such a thing for real. She
couldn't imagine anything less passionate. The woman has
to dispense this stuff into herself before intercourse.... It
seemed even less passionate than condoms, but then she
reminded herself, These days, passion rarely has anything to
do with it. It's just lust.

But did she really believe the Church's stance, that birth
control devices circumvented God's intent?

Venetia wasn't sure how she felt about that one. No
point arguing with the Pope....

She left the littered area and returned to the big ugly
mower. She'd noted about a dozen of the emptied dispensers, plus lots of beer cans. Yeah, they've got quite a
party going on out here. Of course, it wasn't her place to
judge. But it did remind her of the deception of appearances. An eighteen-year-old introvert and a thirty-yearold mute woman couldn't have seemed more unlikely
but then ... Love-and lust-will always find a way, she
thought.

She couldn't even remember the last time she'd had a
genuinely lustful thought herself. Her few extra glances
at Dan's shirtless body upstairs hardly counted.

Another thought crept up: If I decide to not become a nun,
what will my first sexual experience be like? And how grievous
or venal a sin will it be if it's out of wedlock?

She started the mower and pushed it back out into the
heat. The machine's racket and the scent of fresh-cut grass
cleared her head.

But another thought sideswiped her; more of an image
than a thought. She imagined cool shower water teeming
down on her nude body, then-

Oh, jeez ...

A man's hands sliding up her sides and around to her
breasts, a man standing behind her. She could also feel his
nude hips against her buttocks, and the hard, warm col umn pressing against her. Then one of the hands slipped
down slowly to caress her sex ...

Oh, come on! I don't need this! Suddenly she was tingling,
the sweat coming out of her only increasing the obvious
state of arousal. What had caused the brief fantasy? Finding used birth control applicators? Was the discovery of
these things and the beer cans a symbol of revelry and
abandon that her psyche was juxtaposing with hard-line
Catholic beliefs? Just because I'm a Catholic virgin doesn't
mean my sexual impulses are different from anyone else's. But
harmless as the fantasy was it annoyed her. It made her
feel out of control, at the mercy of primality.

Looks like I'm done, she thought a little later. She was at the
edge of the yard now, and could see nothing left to be
cut. She turned off the mower just as she noticed Danstill shirtless but now flecked with dust-striding across
the yard.

"Driscoll wants you inside, says you've been out here
too long. Come in and chug some water so you don't get
dehydrated."

Venetia shook her head, mildly nettled. "I'm perfectly
fine, Dan."

"Look, when a hundred and ten pound girl mows a half
acre in this heat, she's going to be dehydrated."

"I'm actually a one hundred and twenty pound woman."

"Sure. Sorry. But just come in now. Boss's orders."

For the smallest moment, she caught Dan's eyes scanning her bare belly and glistening cleavage showing at
the top of her blouse. Then he looked away.

"Where do I put the mower?" she asked.

Dan pointed to the brick shed in middle of the yard.
"Right there. That's where the yard kid keeps everything."

For a second she toyed with the idea of telling him
what she'd found near the pond. Too gossipy, she decided,
thinking again of the importance of not making judgments about others.

"Come on, hurry up," Dan said.

"What's the rush!"

"Just come upstairs when you're back in." His expression changed to something half perplexed and half excited.
"I found something pretty damn bizarre in the attic."

"What on earth is Dan so riled up about?" Mrs. Newlwyn
remarked. Her old summer dress splotched by paint,
she'd walked into the kitchen just as Venetia was getting a
drink of water.