Love, or the Witches of Windward Circle. Carlos Allende
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better husband than I was ever a friend to your wife.”
“Me?” the drunkard asked. He was barefoot, wearing red flannel long johns. He looked groggy, annoyed by the unexpected visitor, but, as it happens with friends of wine and spirits, the urge to share his pain was bigger in him than his lack of trust in strangers.
“I never visited, did I?” the vampire asked. “I kept promising Antonia I would, but I never came. Anyhow,” he waved his hand, as if trying to dispel a bad thought, “about my cheeky goddaughter—”
My goddaughter, he said? The legs of the young girl softened as if made out of butter.
“What about her?” the man asked.
“Her future, of which”—the vampire rolled his eyes and giggled coyly—“I am doubtlessly responsible. I was hoping you would consider…”
He stopped talking. The young girl had pushed the door an inch further, making the hinges squeak.
“What’s going on in there?” the father asked.
The young girl closed the door. Her father was angry. And when he got angry, he got violent. And when he got violent… She had to hide! Where? As soon as the vampire left, the drunkard would grab a shoe and… But, no—her godfather had come to get her! She had just heard it! He was not going to let the man beat her. She felt a pain in her chest. Happiness hurts! she reckoned. She held to the stove to avoid collapsing. What should she do now? Wait? Step out and give him a thousand kisses? Wash his feet with her tears and promise to be ever grateful? She had waited for so long, but she couldn’t wait any longer! It would be better to start packing. She needed a sack, maybe her mother’s old suitcase. But—what to pack? She had nothing! The dress and the shoes she was wearing, a change of underwear she had inherited from Victoria, and a blue apron. She grabbed the latter from inside a drawer. Her second change of knickers was hanging from the line in the backyard. No need for luggage, she could wear both. She put on the apron, stepped out through the back door, pulled down the wet underpants and slipped her legs inside. They felt cold. But they would dry in a few hours. Now, maybe she could take one of her mother’s dresses as well; Daddy would have no use for them now… Maybe she could enter the room through the window, go through her stuff, step out and then get back in the kitchen… But how foolish of her—she wouldn’t need them! Not in her godfather’s mansion! Or did he live in a palace? Most probably he had a trunk full of freshly laundered clothes waiting for her. She needed stockings though, for the trip. She wouldn’t want the maids of her godfather’s palace to think she couldn’t afford good stockings, they would lose all respect for her and then she wouldn’t be able to give them orders…
The drunkard entered the kitchen.
“What the hell are you doing there?”
The young girl’s first reaction was to try to escape. She turned around to the alley.
“Your godfather wants to talk to you.”
He does? The young girl’s face brightened. She dashed into the living room.
The vampire waited for her with an ear to ear smile. “Sit down,” he patted the armrest of his chair. “How old are you, girl? Eleven?”
“The devil knows,” the drunkard responded in her place. “Fourteen—fifteen? I can’t remember.”
The young girl nodded.
“You look younger,” the vampire let go a silly laugh. “Fifteen, huh? That makes me—how old are her sisters now?”
“Rosa is seventeen now; Victoria will be nineteen in November.”
“Nineteen? My goodness!” The vampire made a brief pause. His expression turned glum, remembering events from another era. “How do twenty years pass by so fast?” He put a hand on his chest. “That’s how long ago I met your mother. She was expecting your oldest sister. Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked the girl.
Boyfriend? The girl started as if she had been asked if she had ever killed a man. She shook her head rapidly.
“She is not the marrying type, sir,” the drunkard intervened. “She comes back from work and takes care of her old Pa. That’s it. Her sisters—those are the pretty ones. Victoria looks like an angel and my Rosa, gee, she used to drive mad all the boys in Venice.”
“There’s a lid for every pot,” the vampire replied coldly. “Anyway,” he turned to the girl with a kittenish tone, “you know who I am, don’t you? I am your godfather.” His eyes had such an intense shine that the girl couldn’t look at them directly. “Your mother and I were close friends—so terribly close that she put a curse on me. I know that wherever she is, Heaven, Hell, or Purgatory, she worries about you and your sisters. She would have liked that you had a better life than she had. That you grew to be a successful woman.”
He paused, then turned to his right, as if interested to see the effect that his words caused in the drunkard, but the man seemed to be dozing off.
“I know that you’re working right now, that you’re an attraction at the House of Freaks and World Marvels on the boardwalk. That’s not the best place for a young girl, I think. Then again, there is nothing to be embarrassed about it. I grew up poor too, many, many years ago. Knock on wood—I don’t like poor people,” he stole a glance from the drunkard. “I’m so disgustingly rich now,” he chuckled, “I wouldn’t know what to do if I ever had to use a pitchfork again. Anyhow, it’s not that you’re selling yourself on the streets for a few dollars, is it? Being an attraction in a freak show may not be the best place to be, but it’s honest. What I mean to say is that I’ve been thinking about you. As your godfather, it is my responsibility to look after you. I came here to—how should I phrase it? I have a proposal…”
The young girl raised her head and looked at his eyes directly, about to explode in tears of gratitude.
“Are you happy doing what you do?”
The girl shook her head.
“How would you like to leave the show and start over? I got your letter—written on the back of a store receipt, how charming,” he smiled bitterly. “I was touched by your situation. I thought that I needed to do something for you. Anything, but to take you away from your poor, aging father. So I wrote you a letter of recommendation to a friend of mine, Mrs. Lydia Green.” He pulled an envelope out of his jacket and offered it to the young girl. “You’re going to start a career cleaning houses. Won’t that be fantastic?”
The young girl didn’t move.
“Lydia’s husband works at the accounting offices at the Kinney Pier,” the vampire continued. “She needs help—she’s very young, just a couple of years older than you, I think. They recently moved to Venice and she has absolutely zero experience of how to manage a house; nada de nada. She’s overwhelmed by the responsibilities of managing a house all by herself in a strange city. You would be a perfect fit for the couple. You keep this place very clean. I’m astonished. I thought Mexicans were all dirty—it would be just once or twice a week, but once there, it will be easy for you to find a second or a third job in other houses.”
The young girl remained still.
“You’re welcome,” the vampire said after a moment, attempting to hide his disappointment at the girl’s lack of enthusiasm.
The vampire exchanged a look with the father.
“It is very generous of you, sir,” the drunkard spoke, taking the envelope from the hands of the young girl.
“Don’t even mention it. What else can one do?” the vampire asked, staring at the young girl like one might stare at milk one suspects has gone rancid. “My recommendation will open the doors of all the best houses in Venice for your daughter—my, what time is it?” he interrupted himself. “It is late, isn’t it? Is it already midnight?”
“It’s not yet seven.”
“My goodness, already seven? Time flies when