Page 73 of An Immaculate Deception

“Leandro,” he says. “Is something the matter?”

“She’s still not seeing me.”

“It’s only been a few hours. Have you been drinking?”

“She didn’t even remember the little box of lies.”

“The what?”

“Did you pay her off?”

A crease appears between his brows. Then, when he realizes I am not talking about Mother, his jaw squares. I see the glint of disapproval in his eyes.

“I’m not saying her name. I’m not even thinking about her…How did you persuade her to leave?”

A shadow crosses his face. “Come smoke with me for a moment.”

We lean against the railing on the veranda, facing the woodlands beyond the gates. Night makes its ascent, and the crisp moon is a pale silver above us. I imagine that Mother watches us from inside the house, wondering, appraising. Mother’s gaze is relentless. I see the hazy outline of her figure against the window, peeking from the lace curtains. But through the eyes of Strange Madalena, she will make sense of nothing.

“I know you cared for the girl,” he says, after taking the first drag. “She was lively, young, beautiful. I know you probably even miss her now. That’s natural. But you must not forget how much she tormented you. How miserable you were after your relationship became intimate. How desperate you were to be rid of her.”

Light rain starts to fall. Just sporadic drops on my arms, but possibly a signal of angrier skies to come later.

“You were an unhappy man if I ever saw one. You were embroiled in sin and despair and could not get out of it. You wrote to me begging for my help.”

“Yes…Yes, you are right.”

He gives me a look that makes me ashamed of myself.

“I’m not going to visit her or anything,” I say.

“Don’t you see the real reason you are missing her now is simply because you are distraught and lonely? Your mother isn’t quite herself yet, so you are upset. If Joaquina were here, she would likely take advantage of your sorrow.”

I rub my face. “That night…” I start, tentative, “I heard terrible noises. I know it was the purging of the spirits, but at times, it almost sounded like—”

“This voice in your head that makes you miss her, do you think that is coming from God or Satan?” He pauses to let the words sink in.

I sigh. I often feel that no matter what I do, I will end up in Hell. That sin is so difficult to avoid, and perhaps I am not strong enough to do it.

“It’s time to let go of her now. Do you think you can do that?”

44

Dinner passes in a haze. I am now too inebriated to follow the conversation, and even if I weren’t I would be in no mood for idle chatter. But it is good that I cannot think anymore, so I am spared my own thoughts.

Strange Madalena sits beside me looking vaguely distraught, and once again she and the doctor carry most of the conversation between the two of them.

Suddenly and without warning, Mother seizes my wrist. I recognize the look on her face even before she starts speaking in a threatening tone. She recites an Inferno passage about the souls in Hell stewing in a shore of boiling vermilion.

It’s Mother now. The Inferno passage is a telltale sign of Mother’s presence. Even as a young woman, Mother was always fascinated with Dante’s Inferno and its vivid renderings of the nine rings of Hell. When I was little, she frequently reminded me of possible punishments I could suffer for different sins. She spoke often about the nature of divine justice, wherein the punishment mirrors the sin. Over the years, she infused her rhetoric with teachings from the Old Testament as well.

I am caught between vague terror and a pleasing familiarity of Mother’s presence. I don’t know if she’s seeing me or not. I think maybe she is seeing me, at least somewhat. She wouldn’t talk to my father that way, would she?

Unwisely, I say: “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

I mean it as a simple question and not as an affront, but the words leave my mouth ripe for misunderstanding.

Mother lets go of my wrist and looks away, fading back to the soft expression of Strange Madalena.