Hell, p.26
Hell, page 26
Tat, having never been to a real party before, felt uneasy. “So you’re going too?” She asked hopefully.
Her mother arched an eyebrow, “I didn’t receive an invitation. The meaning is clear. You’re the Seldeen now. You must go and represent the family.”
Tat didn’t like the sound of that, it was already enough pressure to be around a roomful of strangers, now she was expected to represent the state of Esion’s house? That was an impossible pair of shoes to fill. She pulled out the smaller scrap of paper and unfolded it. It was a single sentence; she did not read it aloud…
Please come, I promise to behave myself.
Tiphareth
Chapter Twelve:
Solstice
No matter how deeply she dreamed, the pleasure penetrated, saturated, giving the indistinct sensory impression that she cavorted in a sea of crushed, red velvet during her nightly sojourns into the astral. This was a welcome side-effect, perfectly counterbalanced against the fact that her dreams had become increasingly sinister of late. Vividly brutal nightmares from which she would awaken drenched in cold sweat; tonight was no exception.
She lay upon a hospital gurney, wheeled down a decrepit passageway by a cadre of shadowy figures sporting dirty hospital gowns and gruesome animal masks. Somehow she knew that they were all members of her old troupe. People she’d slain. The one in the wolf mask, her first love, the musician… his name wouldn’t come…
Through the warm folds of apathetic, drug-induced contentment blanketing her, she noted that her left arm was bloated and black. The swelling was such that the skin had split in several places, oozing a foul mixture of tainted blood and pus.
She was wheeled into a draconian operating theater, seats filled with masked degenerates languishing in a veritable orgy of decadence and immorality, none of which alarmed her in the least. A clear thought germinated in the primitive synapses which represented her dreaming mind.
Render unto Caesar…
The surgeon arrived, falcon mask framed by a curly cascade of crimson. Her appearance coincided with the descending of a formless cloud of reproach and vague doom, thoroughly permeating her dream consciousness. A feral nurse fitted her arm with a tourniquet, cranking it tight as the bone saw was readied…
She blessedly felt no pain as the blade bit into her necrotic flesh, swiftly making its way to bone. At the sight of blood there was renewed attention from the audience, a rowdy reveling in the unsavory violence of surgery. The blood which flowed forth however was not red, but a sickly, black treacle which floated upon the air, as if in open defiance of gravity.
As the last vestiges of ragged muscle parted and her arm came free, she remained unable to muster even the slightest bit of concern. Even as the truncated stump vomited forth a thousand leeches, their worm-like bodies stretching out, quivering, like questing tendrils searching out tender prey…
A shocking pain, like a wasp sting, dispersed the grisly episode in a sharp intake of breath, wrenching her from the arms of morpheus. The second thing that intruded on this serene scene of repose was her Mother, pounding on the door and shouting.
“Open this door, this instant young lady! Can you hear me?! Tatiana!”
She threw back her blanket, discovering the source of the pain which had so rudely awakened her. Such was the all-encompassing pleasure, such was the limitless depth of her abandon to it, that she’d nodded off before even removing the needle from her arm. Must’ve rolled over in her sleep, jabbing it into a nerve.
Suddenly, the gravity of the situation dispelled any lingering contentment. Her works were spread out all over the floor, her mother at the gates of her kingdom, demanding admittance. Looking to the door, where she’d knowingly wedged her desk chair under the knobs, effectively barring any ingress. She’d felt wickedly clever when the thought occurred to her; if she was to be shut away, it was going to be on her terms…
There was a fierce rattling as Maria sought to force the door, the chair holding firm. “Tatiana! Do I have to get your Father up here?”
The effect of her words was immediate and two-fold. It got her up and moving, and elicited a verbal response. “Just a moment Mother, I’m not decent!” She called, gathering up the incriminating evidence, wrapping it in her sheets, which she then stuffed under the bed.
“Oh, thank God!” Maria exclaimed, obviously relieved. “I thought for a moment you…” She trailed off, before her anger promptly resurfaced. “Why is this door barred?! This is unacceptable!”
Tat untied the rubber surgical tubing, wincing at the feeling of pins and needles as blood once again flowed, “I am nearly a woman-grown, Mother, I am entitled to a little privacy!” She spoke haughtily, annoyed at what she saw as an infringement upon the already severely limited freedoms she was allowed.
“I will not argue with you through a door, young lady!” Came the muffled retort.
Scanning the room to make sure that all was in order, Tat threw on her old, comfortable traveling clothes and pulled away the chair.
As soon as the door opened Maria scoffed, “Oh no you don’t. Put on a nice dress, the blue one, and be quick about it,” she examined her pocket watch. “We are going to be late if you don’t hurry.”
“Late for what?” Tat asked, quite unenthusiastically.
“Late for what she asks,” Maria threw her hands up. “Have you forgotten that it’s your big day? The solstice is tonight, we have to get you fitted for your gown…”
The seamstress stretched her measuring tape taught across Tat’s slight breasts as she reddened in embarrassment. The plump, middle-aged woman scribbled down her measurements in chalk on a scrap of fabric as Maria reclined on a low couch nearby. The initial warm greeting between the two older women soon lapsed into tired, listless conversation, exacerbating the awkwardness of the situation, mainly concerning her plain figure and the best ways to enhance, accentuate or otherwise obscure it.
Tat shifted her weight impatiently, seeking to alleviate the true cause of her discomfort. Her bowels hadn’t moved in days, leaving her feeling bloated and disgusting. She reached up to scratch the persistent itch that was even now spreading across her body like wildfire…
“For God’s sake, be still, or this will take all day.” The seamstress chastised her as if she was a child.
Tat’s temper flared. For the first time in a long while, she had to bite her lip to remain silent. Who did this lowly servant woman think she was? She was an heiress. They were paying her to do a job, she could damn well shut up and do it…
Finally, her annoyance spilled over, “Mother, what is the nature of the present association between our family and the Tree of Life? Is this indicative of the types of businesses we extort our fortune from?” She paused, the word whorehouses already on her lips. “Brothels?”
Her mother sat up, seemingly pleased to see her daughter taking more of an interest in matters which concerned her. “I can tell by your tone that you don’t approve,” Maria smirked. “I heard what you did, called Tiphareth a whore to her face,” shaking her head in disbelief. “While I must admit you’re a braver woman than I, it’s obvious you aren’t appreciating the larger context here. Firstly, though the building was built and the organization chartered and founded by my father, he never collected as much as a single pound of profit from the proceeds. A tradition I’ve held to since his death.”
Tat was taken aback, “Truly?” She asked as the measuring tape snaked all the way up the inside of her leg, coaxing from her a slight gasp.
“Not a single, solitary shilling. It was created as a trust, with the women who practice there as its sole beneficiaries.”
“I, guess I don’t understand.”
“It’s quite simple. Every woman who has ever lived and worked within those walls, owns a part of the Tree. All the money goes into a special account that provides for the needs of not only the present residents, but all past residents as well. They practice under a ten-year agreement, from ages twenty to thirty, with part of their earnings set aside. When the ten years are up, property is purchased in their name, wherever they desire, they receive a generous monthly stipend, and are taken care of for the rest of their lives.”
This caught Tat off guard. She wondered if it was worth ten years as a whore for such a reward. “But to have to let strange men do that to you…”
“Wait, Tatiana, do you think they would let just anyone in there?” Maria seemed genuinely surprised at her ignorance.
“They don’t?” Tat asked, legitimately interested.
“Of course not.” She paused, switching gears. “Let me ask you a question, how many whores do you think can request an audience with the Queen at a moment’s notice?”
Tat was confused, “I don’t see what you mean.”
“I mean, if Tiphareth so wished, she could march up to the gates of Buckingham Palace, gain admittance, and be granted a meeting with the supreme ruler of the British empire with startlingly few questions asked. The Tree of Life is an officially recognized occult society and counts the royal family among its contracts.”
“You don’t mean… the Queen…” Tat stammered, momentarily scandalized.
Maria laughed, “Oh heavens no, the royal family provides ample subsidies in the name of the advancement of the occult sciences. My point is, they would never allow a stranger anywhere near the Tree. The foci are hand picked by each girl from a long waiting list of noble-born aspirants who are then trained in the higher arts. Each focus, once chosen, pays into this trust, kind of like a subscription fee, fifty pounds a month. Far more than the common man could ever hope to afford. Each sephirah has ten foci, each contributing six hundred pounds a year, well, you can see how that can add up…”
All this time, the seamstress had remained silent. Now she spoke up, her measuring completed, “Enough to buy me a bloody mansion in the West End, with enough left over to live like royalty for the rest of my days.”
In response to Tat’s astonishment, Maria chuckled. “Yes, my treasure, Meryl here is a past resident of the Tree. Maybe you should address your concerns to her… You were Malkuth, were you not?”
Meryl straightened up, cracking her back.
“Indeed I was, lady Maria, thank you for remembering. Sphere of Earth, representative of Assiah. Seventy five to eighty five, those were wonderful years…”
Tat quelled her surprise at this sudden development. “But what if they weren’t good years? What if you found you hated it? Would they let you leave?”
“Of course dearie, no one is kept against their will. There is always a large pool of suitable replacements, hoping against hope for such an eventuality.”
“What if someone did leave early, what would happen to the money they’d earned, their share of the Tree? Are they denied?” Tat was relentless, wishing to somehow cast a denigrating light on what, to these two women at least, was viewed as a universally wholesome and uplifting experience.
As Maria started to reply, Meryl held up a bethimbled finger, “I understand your misgivings. Let me tell you a little story that may put your concerns to rest.
“During my third year there, one of our sisters, Chesed was her sephiroth, though her real name was Sally Braun, desired to leave. A fact she kept well-hidden from the rest of us, for a time. You see, above all else, she feared poverty, having aging parents to care for. So she almost felt like it was her duty to remain, even as the extreme mental stress of Yetziratic construction took its toll on her worried mind.”
“It is admittedly a perilous life,” Maria interjected. “And of course it’s not for everybody. But the chance it offers is singular. An opportunity to expand Mankind’s knowledge of the Universe and to push the boundaries of human consciousness itself…”
Meryl continued as if Maria had never spoken, “It was her first year. She held on for seven months, growing wearier and more desperate by the day. Looking back it was a miracle she wasn’t occupied.”
Now it was Tat’s turn to interrupt, “Occupied?”
“Possessed. There is much out there that loves to prey on a weakened mind. But that is neither here nor there. The point is, she had a mental breakdown, crying and begging us to let her leave. As if we were keeping her. In truth, her own fears were all that kept her.
“In the end, she was compensated for the full year, six thousand pounds, and we all chipped in and provided her full pensioner’s benefits. Her parents lived in relative luxury til their dying days, then laid to rest in a modest crypt in Highgate...”
Here Maria broke in again, “My god! Noon already? I believe it’s high time we were back to business,” she rose and approached, armed with a bolt of verdant silk. “I was thinking maybe a nice forest green for the color, gathered in at the waist, with a low neckline to accentuate and complement the symbols on her neck and chest…”
Tat sat on the edge of her bed fidgeting, her anxiety inversely proportional to the fast sinking sun’s proximity to the horizon. In her trembling hand she impatiently held the spoon over a dancing candle flame, waiting for the contents to cook. Again and again, she’d told herself that she wouldn’t, she mustn’t, but deep down she knew she couldn’t face what she had to face without it.
Her attention wandered to the two syringes on the nightstand. Ready, waiting, filled with the promise of no more pain. She figured three should be enough to get her through the entire night in a state of numb ecstasy. She had no idea what to expect, though the invitation mentioned debauchery, and she felt that this kind of behavior fell squarely under that heading.
Finally, all the bubbles had popped, leaving a smooth, even surface. She pulled the plunger on the remaining syringe, drawing the thin, brown liquid into the chamber, making doubly sure to leave no trace behind. Satisfied, she blew out the candle and sheathed the needles with small pieces of cork, scavenged from a discarded wine bottle.
Gathering up her precious treasures, she carefully, yet tightly, wrapped them in a bit of stiff cloth, tied it with string, and placed them in the exquisite, beaded handbag her mother had given her to mark the occasion. They rested beside her knife, a billfold containing ten pounds in small denominations, and her invitation. She didn’t know what normal women carried in their handbags, but she was sure she was well outside that demographic.
She took a shallow breath, feeling the constrictive grip of her corset. Her mother had made several concessions, sadly this was one point on which she would not budge. Replacing the spoon, and her rapidly dwindling supply, in its hiding place, she screwed the register back on. Once all was put to rights, she stood before her mirror one last time before leaving.
Maria had braided her hair. It hung loosely coiled in a bun on top of her head, interwoven with sprigs of holly and fragrant lavender which encircled her head like a crown, framing the exotic Ajna on her forehead. Mother had also wanted her to wear makeup, but with her illustrated skin anything more would seem garish, though even her markings couldn’t hide the dark circles under her eyes…
The dress was beautiful. Meryl had truly outdone herself, making Tat feel even worse about the nasty things she thought about her earlier. It certainly was unconventional, a vibrant green, with a plunging neckline that left a large portion of her chest bare. Showing off her markings, blazing with the matching green Anahata symbol, fading to royal blue Vishuddha at her throat. The hated corset pushed her breasts upwards and inwards, forcing them to cleave together in an admittedly desirable, yet frightfully uncomfortable way. This brought her to the main cause of her uneasiness.
There will be men there tonight.
She knew all too well what men wanted from women. Knew it was something she was patently unwilling to surrender. How could she, after the life she’d led? After what he had done to her...
Furthermore, these men would all know who she was, what family she was from, which was sure to make her the center of attention; a prize worth competing for. Like a piece of meat, about to be thrown to a pack of hungry dogs. She didn’t feel good about it. Taking a last look at a face she barely recognized anymore, she shouldered her handbag and blew out the candles, heading downstairs before being called.
Maria must have heard her descending, for she was waiting at the bottom of the stairs when she reached the landing.
“There she is. My treasure, my beautiful daughter,” her eyes were shining, like she was on the verge of tears. “You look absolutely perfect,” she dabbed at her eyes with the hem of her dress. “Damn, I told myself I wouldn’t cry.”
Tat looked away, trying to keep from tearing up herself. A painful lump forming in her throat as she saw the blatant adoration upon her mother’s face. When she reached the bottom of the stairs Maria embraced her tightly.
“I love you…” She whispered.
Tat was momentarily stunned, hearing those words for the first time was almost too much; she didn’t deserve this. Her already strained tear ducts finally overflowed.
“I… love you too…” The words came hard, forced out. Like she said them because she was expected too, rather than from a true, heartfelt desire to return her affections. The idea of love was proving too abstract a concept in her experience of the world to be able to discern if she meant it or not; but she could tell that she wished she meant it, and that would have to be enough… for now.
“Come, I wish to take a photograph so we can remember this moment forever.” Tat acquiesced, remaining silent, content to allow her mother this moment unspoiled. It seemed the least she could do.
She produced a small camera and tripod, the lettering on the box loudly proclaiming, The Blair Tourograph Co. Boston, Mass. Could this be the same camera that had taken her photograph so long ago?
Maria led her to the front door, sniffing away the last of her tears. “It will have to be on the porch, this flash powder produces quite a lot of smoke, I’m afraid.”
Her carriage was just arriving when they emerged from the house. Maria was mounting the camera on the tripod as their usual driver pulled up, spryly hopping from his seat. Tat was glad to see him, he had overcome her initial poor estimation, and she was slowly coming around to the small man’s obvious charms.
