Part 11 (2/2)

Chapter Nine.

Tuesday 20th - Friday 23rd October: High Crag House, Cornwall High Crag seemed so empty. Aninka wondered how many people were living there. It was so different from how she remembered it as a place of bustle and activity. She'd been an insider, then, of course. Perhaps its inner workings were concealed from her now, and children played in rooms away from earshot, and women-folk laughed together, sampling the gin bottle in the afternoons.

Enniel had been out all day Monday, which had given Aninka time alone. This was a welcome break, during which she could gather her thoughts. Although she was eager to finish telling the depressing tale of her last couple of months in Cresterfield, she was also dreading reaching its climax. It was not the kind of experience a person wanted to live through twice. Since coming to Cornwall, she had started dreaming about some of her old friends. The dream was recurring and always began the same way, with herself getting out of her car outside Wendy Marks' house on a summer evening. Above her the sky was a deep, livid purple, and the air thick with sweet, floral scent. She paused for a moment before walking up the driveway and, every time, she experienced the most poignant stab of joy, melancholy, serenity and sadness: an impossible melange of feeling. Then, she'd gone into the house, and they were all there in the drawing room, waiting for her, dressed in their ceremonial robes. They seemed friendly, pleased to see her, yet she'd sensed an undercurrent of wistful disappointment, as if they suspected she could have warned them of what would happen. She tried to explain to them, but they couldn't understand her words. She was speaking in a tongue they could not possibly know; it had not been used for thousands of years.

On Tuesday, Enniel returned, and sent a dependant to look for Aninka after lunch.

How much do you want to know?' Aninka asked him, settling onto the sofa in Enniel's office. All the little details, or just the main events?'

Enniel turned on the tape recorder. Everything. Everything you can remember.'

What are you going to do with those tapes?' Aninka said. Who's going to listen to them?'

Enniel inspected her gravely. You need not fear about your private business being made public within the family. Any information you give us will be treated with the utmost discretion.'

Something's going on,' Aninka said, Isn't it?'

Enniel steepled his fingers against his lips, smiled. Please, I'd like you to begin. Omit no detail.'

Aninka's Story: Cresterfield July - September After the initial meetings with Othman and his group of friends, it now seemed to Aninka as if a year's worth of living had been crammed into a mere couple of months. After the night when Peverel Othman had introduced her to the Marks' and their friends, Aninka had begun to see him on a regular basis, at least two nights a week, often as many as four. Still, despite this frequent interaction, she spent the entire time aching with longing to see him, touch him. Minutes spent apart were an eternity. She squandered hours gazing out of the window in her studio, blindly staring at the city-scape below, thinking only of him. In a box in her desk drawer, she kept the strands of pale hair her lover had left in her hair-brush one morning. Sometimes, she would open the drawer, take out the box and remove its lid to smell the contents, breathing deeply to conjure a ghost of his presence in the room. She dared not tell him about this, for she guessed he wouldn't appreciate her hanging onto bits of him, in which a shred of influence and power might remain. He was a mystery to her. She loved him.

Othman never invited Aninka to where he was living. Repeated questioning elicited the vague information that he was staying in a boarding house on the outskirts of the city. Eventually he gave her a phone number where he could be contacted, but on the occasions she tried to contact him, the phone was always answered by a machine with a robotic voice. Othman was maddeningly opaque about what he did when he wasn't in Aninka's company. Occasionally, Aninka became overwhelmed with jealousy and paranoia: there must be another woman, perhaps several. He might even be living with someone, or married. Once she asked him coolly about this. She didn't want to make a scene, but explained she needed to know.

There is no-one else,' he answered simply, his expression slightly surprised, as if he couldn't imagine why she'd suspect such a thing. I live alone.'

Who was your last lover?' she asked, pus.h.i.+ng and prodding to sc.r.a.pe out the information she hungered to examine.

He looked her directly in the eye. A Grigori,' he answered. It was abroad, in Europe.'

What was her name?'

Othman smiled. His name, my Ninka, not her.'

That made Aninka feel better. She was more inclined to be jealous of her own s.e.x. But Othman wouldn't tell her the name.

He was a musician. You might have heard of him. So I'm not going to tell you.'

How could he want to keep such secrets from her? I want to know all about you. Is that so bad?'

He shook his head. No, I don't suppose so, but I'm not curious like that myself, so it's hard to empathise.' He kissed her. I live for the moment, Ninka. This is what is real.' He learned quickly how he could silence her questions with s.e.x.

As a lover, he was accomplished and skilled, yet often Aninka was made uneasy by the suspicion that he was somehow removed from their love-making, content to bring her pleasure and observe her response, rather than satisfy himself. A couple of times, when he stayed the night, Aninka woke up to find him sitting in the darkness on the other side of the room. He said he found it hard to sleep. Sometimes she dreamed of him watching her as she dreamed of him. Often she asked him, What do you want from me?' And he would smile, touch her face tenderly, and say, Just this.' Although she could not persuade him to confirm it, she gathered he was a lot older than herself, but certainly not as old as her guardian, Enniel, and other elders of her immediate family.

Often she would lie awake to watch him sleeping beside her. She hungered to prise his secrets from him, exorcise the sadness she felt he concealed. What was his tragedy? Why wouldn't he confide in her? Was it to do with the past lover in Europe? When she dared to ask him about his past, suggesting there might be things he'd like to share with her, he would only smile, and perhaps stroke a long finger across her jaw. Ah, my Ninka, you think there's more to me than there is.' She did not believe that for a minute.

On the only other occasion she mentioned his past affair, Othman had almost lost his temper. The quick flash of anger in his eyes had shocked her. Don't ask me about it!' he'd shouted. It's none of your business, and I want to forget it. Can't you get that into your head?'

I think you were hurt - badly - and that hurts me!' Aninka responded. Don't shout at me because I care about you. Doesn't it occur to you I ask you these questions because I'm concerned, not because I'm just curious?'

He extinguished his anger immediately, and took her in his arms. Forgive me. There's no need to be concerned. It's over. I just don't want to talk about it.' He kissed her. Perhaps, one day, but not yet.'

She allowed herself to be mollified by that.

Othman liked to go to night-clubs and pubs devoted to loud music, where members of alternative sub-cultures gathered. No smart boys or girls with perms in these establishments, but the reek of patchouli oil and bursts of brightly coloured hair. Aninka was happy to dress for the part and accompany Othman to these places. She felt they must appear predatory and sensual: secretive creatures of the night. Othman talked to many people, they were drawn to him. Aninka preferred to distance herself from these conversations, a silent presence in the background. She took pleasure, however, in watching the girls feast their eyes upon Othman. It amused her that many of the boys did the same, boys who would sigh and crumple beneath Othman's touch, should he deign to reach out for them, after which they'd swear vehemently to themselves they weren't queer', as they would term it.

Sometimes, they'd see Serafina among the crowds in the dark rooms they visited, but she never acknowledged them. Othman told Aninka he'd instructed Serafina to keep their friends.h.i.+p secret. That had been a glaring clue, perhaps, which Aninka had dismissed without examining.

One night, they had been sitting in a hot, noisy bar, with the usual group of adoring people hanging onto Othman's every word. One girl, with a typical mop of dyed black hair and heavy eye make-up, had become emboldened by alcohol. She said to Othman, You look like an angel, a fallen angel.'

Aninka, uncharacteristically, responded. But that is exactly what he is, my dear.'

The girl seemed surprised Aninka had spoken, and laughed uneasily, while Othman flicked a wry, slightly warning, glance in Aninka's direction.

He's got Nefilim blood in him,' Aninka continued doggedly. These people would have heard of the term Nefilim, if not of Grigori, because the old myths of the fallen angels - tragic, beautiful and doomed - had become popular in the Gothic sub-culture, as attractive to the darkly inspired young as the legends of vampires. Look at him. His height, his beauty. You should see his d.i.c.k.'

Othman bridled at that. She saw a frown form on his face, and took satisfaction from it. Are you drunk?' he enquired in an icy voice.

Aninka shrugged, took a sip of her gin and tonic. She wasn't sure why she was feeling so aggressive. All eyes were now upon her. She had the stage. He's a throw-back,' she said. Many people are. If the angels mated with women to create the Nefilim, it's got to be in all our genes.'

If you believe in the Bible,' one girl said with scorn. Personally, I think it's all bulls.h.i.+t. I don't believe in the Christian G.o.d, therefore I don't believe in all that angel garbage.'

Aninka directed a basilisk stare at her. She felt an urge to gather power within herself, forge it into a spear of light and hit the brat between the eyes with it. Really?' she said and laughed. My dear, you should know that those legends are not found only in the Bible, but in many other texts, from several different cultures. In fact, the Bible barely touches upon them. It would be wise of you, I think, to know what you're talking about before you open your mouth.'

The girl with black hair, who'd first spoken, was grinning. Aninka perceived a mutual dislike for the sceptic. That's true,' she said, nodding to Aninka. I've read some books on it all.' She smiled smugly at her antagonist. It's very likely a race existed thousands of years ago, who were more advanced than humanity. Some of them broke the law of their people by giving humans secret knowledge and having affairs with human women. That's where the legends of the Nefilim come from: they were half-breeds, monstrous...' She glanced at Othman. Well, monstrous only in the sense that they were very tall and strong. Giants.' She put her head on one side to study Othman, who looked like thunder incarnate. I think you're right,' she said to Aninka. He is a throwback. It's obvious.' She laughed delightedly, clearly glad of the opportunity to stare at Othman without being obvious. You're a Nefilim, Pev.'

If you believe that,' said the sceptic, you might as well believe that the G.o.ds were s.p.a.cemen.'

What do you believe?' the black-haired girl asked Othman.

He shrugged. If you want to think I'm a member of a superior race, I'm not going to argue with you!'

Everyone laughed. Othman had cut the subject dead. When conversation started up again, the matter under discussion was trivial. Aninka knew Othman had thrown out a psychic screen. He was right to. She chastised herself for contravening one of her own rules. How could she allude to the subject of the Fallen Ones, when it was something she wanted to deny in herself?

Later, back in the flat, as Othman took a shower in her bathroom, Aninka sat in her darkened living room and thought about the conversation. The children of the fallen ones, the rebel Anannage, that is what we are, she thought. They don't realise it, and we forget, but that is what we are. Grigori? No. We are not scholars and scientists. We are Nephilim and Anakim; the seducers, the liars, greedy and corrupt.

The weight of history pressed down upon her, bringing with it a depression. Aninka didn't want to be different, nor have to hide what she was. It meant nothing to her, she thought. It was irrelevant, now, in this modern world. Yet her family, and all the other families like them, held on to the past, wrapping themselves in secrecy. If we could just forget, Aninka thought, then it wouldn't matter. We could just be.

Othman came into the room, naked and gleaming, drying the long rags of his hair with a towel. She spoke her thoughts to him, seeking sympathy. He only laughed.

Don't lie to yourself. You want to be different. You say you love humans, yet you look down upon them. Those women tonight, they would have said to each other later, ”Who does she think she is?”, and if you'd heard them, you'd have answered, ”More than you, kids”. Get real, Aninka. You are Grigori, and you love it.' He came up behind the sofa and put his wet hands on her shoulders. There is no shame in it. We are what we are.'

Aninka pulled away from him, annoyed. We are not that different from them any more. We have lost most of what made us superior, if that's what you want to call it. We're just hanging on to a memory of something that has pa.s.sed. Genetically, we are half human anyway.' She got up and marched to the window, blinked furiously at the glittering night-scape outside.

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