A Scent of Vanilla
I
met her at the fair, right after the sun went down behind the hill and twilight
turned to night. Her pale face shone under the white shroud of the harvest moon,
and even in the darkness, her tattered, black dress stood out in the crowd. She
faced me, but I could feel her eyes on the back of my head, no, she could see
right through me.
“I’m Selma,” she said, with a tone cold as
the chills she gave me every time my eyes met hers. It was exhilarating. I gave
her my name, and she gave me her hand, bright next to mine, and we explored the
fair together. There was a gallery of odd folk going about their performances;
a strongman lifted half a car with his bare hands, a pinhead pierced his skin
without a single flinch, a contortionist bent her body like water, yet none was
such a spectacle to me as the pale girl herself.
Her
vanilla fragrance permeated everything around us, and every breath I took drove
me ravenous. As a shark smelling blood, I was ready for a frenzy. She knew it;
I was but an open book to her, free to peruse as she desired, and all I could
do was wonder whether she was a lioness, stern but loving, or a mantis, ready
to devour me as soon as she was done. Whatever the case, I couldn’t resist her.
There was a pack of boys who were raised by
wolves. One of them caught her fragrance and approached us with curiosity, but
when he came close to us, he panicked and hid under the table, whimpering for
somebody to come save him. The rest of the cubs didn’t dare approach us after
seeing their brother’s confidence crumble, but they did pull him from under the
table. They had better self-control than I did.
“I want to know what your fortune is. Let’s
look for the gypsy, she’ll read your tea leaves,” Selma said.
“Oh, you can’t believe that. What do the
stars have to do with what goes on in our inconsequential lives?”
“Been there, done that, but I’m curious for
your sake. You never know what the heavens have in store for you, and I’m
hoping it’s good.”
“What about you? Ran out of destiny?”
“Go on in,” she said, not even acknowledging
my question, “I’ll wait for you out here.”
I
entered the purple tent, careful not to knock down any of the beady curtains,
and sat down in front of the gypsy. “I hail from faraway lands between the
Hindu and the Caucasus, and it is understanding the night sky that have let me
and my people survive, for the battle is already won if you know your destiny
beforehand.” She took water from a bucket and poured it in a bronze pot, then reached
next to the shrunken heads for leaves. “You smell nice, what is that, vanilla?”
“I
like -”
“Oolong
tea, I know. What I don’t know is what the leaves will say once you’re finished
drinking, so that’s where you’ll have to help me, boy. Even though the kettle’s
boiling, I feel nothing but cold tonight. Curious. Here, drink up, and do it
quickly, for the moon is large but the night is short.”
She
tipped the cup into my lips, which were burned by the scalding tea. Even with
the fragrant drink right under my nose, all I could smell, all I wanted to
smell, was her. Before I set the cup on the table, she snatched it and swirled
it around, letting the leaves set where they may. “This has been coming, though
I wasn’t sure when to expect it. Boy, you will see death tonight, and that’s
all I shall say. Now get out of my tent.”
“Wait, am I in danger?”
“Do you believe you are?”
“A sheep may believe he is safe next to a
wolf, but that won’t save him from a predator.”
“Wise boy, but this is not the issue
tonight. Go.”
Selma
and I sat down next to the food stands, facing the wheat fields beyond the fair
grounds. We held hands and ate cotton candy, enjoying the heavenly bodies that
revealed themselves to the naked eye.
“Where are you from?” I asked. I couldn’t believe
I went my whole life without knowing her; the only thing that would make sense
to me was that she came from out of town.
“I’m from around here,” she said, “I like
to spend my nights around the fields, though I’m not really a morning person. I
like to watch the crows sleep; they usually gather on the branches of those
willows over there.” She pointed to the hills behind the field. “We can head
over there right now, watch them rest if you want.”
We
walked all the way to her favorite resting spot, next to the Crying Caves,
under the Mother Willow. Its branches were adorned in black bark; the tree was
dead ever since I could remember. It never broke down.
“Lovely night to watch a murder,” she said,
and we sat on a patch of grass. The wind flowed uphill and caressed our skin as
it flew to the sky, and it rustled the Mother Willow’s crows, who were in their
deep slumber.
“I imagine you see a lot of stuff if you’re
around here every night. Are the stories true?”
She nodded. “On a
night, just like this night, many years ago, a girl lost her way, and by chance
ran into this cave, forced by circumstance, be it a stalker, a storm, a wolf, even
her own father, depending on who you ask, and of course, the poor little thing
couldn’t deal with the cold and died from exposure. Ironic, isn’t it? If she
was technically indoors. And it’s ridiculous, this is a small town, someone
would’ve come to look for her. Someone should’ve. I’ve never heard cries, out
here, at least, not my own.”
She
stood up, dusted herself off, and gave me her hand to hold, beckoning me to
explore the Crying Caves with her. There was eagerness in her dark eyes, though
her smile only involved her lips, but caves were dangerous even in the day, whether
they were haunted or not. And we knew better than to come around here.
“Nobody’s gone in there,” I said.
“Better yet, nobody can harm us.”
“What about wild animals? Even if the cries
are a pack of foxes, we’d be imposing.”
“We won’t,” she whispered, and she helped me
up.
Once
inside, light was but a distant memory, yet I couldn’t bring myself to let go.
Not even the wind flowed in here, my feet felt nothing but bare
rock and dust, and after a few minutes, not even the ground registered. We were
alone in the world and I felt nothing but her touch. I was overwhelmed by her
scent, her essence, it was as if vanilla grew off every wall, in every nook. I
had to have her.
“Kill
me if you must, but take me, Selma, cherub or harlot; if I’m certain of anything,
the last thing you are is human.”
I
had never been loved by a woman like that before, and I’ve yet to live it
again. By the time we were finished, my energies were drained, my body was
cold, and I shivered until I slept, without letting go of her.
I felt her hand on my chest and awoke with a whisper. “Thank you,” she said, and the first rays of light entered the cave. I was laying on a mound of vanilla pods, and next to me, a skeleton in a tattered black dress held me with its coarse face pressed into my ear.
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