Chapter N.XVII

Vitaly Ivolginsky

Always Visible (Another Prayer for the Dying Horror Genre)

Zero Act — Que Difícil é Ser Escravo de Deus!

Chapter N.XVII

Baby girl couldn’t help but feel an appetite, looking at how intently daddy chewed the meat, but the words he said before plunged her into sadness again. She turned her gaze to her mother, but she, without uttering a single word, just shook her head mournfully, working diligently with her fork. Inside, the girl was burned with a feeling of shame for her behavior – after all, for good reason, she shouldn’t have worried so much about some person who isn’t even her relative. But Delia could not bring himself – she was too much impressed by her new neighbour, and now that her father had announced that Jordan was dead, she found it very difficult to take this words seriously.

“Died? In what sense?”, she said blankly.

She secretly wished that daddy was just joking, and in fact ajussi Jo was just late at work and would not return home until tomorrow. Delia tensely waited for an answer, but her father was in no hurry with him – instead, he continued to devour pasta, thickly sprinkled with mushroom sauce, on both cheeks. Finally, having finished his portion, he wiped his greasy lips with a napkin and cleared his throat.

“There is such a disease, called cancer”, father began from afar.

“I don’t see how this is…”, she wanted to intervene, but her father raised his palm imperiously, and daughter had to be silent.

“When a person smokes and drinks a lot”, continued the old man, “then his body gradually withers like a plant, which no one watering”.

Delia could not help but note to herself that this analogy was completely out of place in this situation, but what can you do – her father was just a medicine salesman, so it would be very reckless to expect beautiful metaphors and comparisons from him. Delia measured her father with a cold gaze, but he did not seem to notice the reproach in her eyes and poured himself another cup of tea. But her mother finally decided to intervene in their conversation – she threw her head back and, looking somewhere at the ceiling, began to stir with a spoon in her cup.

“A good child’s a docile child”, she said detachedly.

“It’s a very correct observation”, her husband nodded his head.

Their daughter was suddenly overcome with a feeling of righteous anger, as if her mother’s moralizing remark had humiliated her, putting her on par with those pompous, mindless child models she had seen on television screen or on advertising boards. Delia could hardly contain herself, and all she could do was get up from the table and loudly stomp her foot.

“You’ll be telling me”, she exclaimed throughout the dining room, “that the parents has no need of genius or thinkers, they need witless implementers!”

The next second, she immediately ran out of the dining room, without having tried the delicious dishes that her mother had been tirelessly preparing for almost an hour before. After watching her daughter, the mother turned to her spouse – it was clear from her face that the girl’s words made a strong impression on her.

“Santo Deus!”, in Portuguese she said quietly but very expressively. “Do you know what she did?”

The head of the family shrugged his shoulders and looked again at the doorway in which his little girl had disappeared. He thought to himself that Delia no slouch, she was kind of a chip off the old block – gives vent to anger as he had been in his time, and the look in her eyes just as piercing and merciless… But his wife called him away from his pleasant thoughts.

“Delia was quoting Robespierre before our eyes!”, with these words the woman grabbed her head.

“Well, what’s so wrong about that?”, her husband asked indifferently, making himself more comfortable in his chair.

“Moreover, she did have the presence of mind to paraphrase his words!”, his wife continued excitedly.

“Well, think of the trouble! Daughter is already eight years old, we should be happy that she is developing!”, the head of the family answered phlegmatically.

“It’s this violator, this infamous…”

Delia’s mother stopped mid-sentence, as if she was very unpleasant to say the name of the person who, in her opinion, taught her daughter some bad things. The father realized who she meant and stopped smiling.

“You can rest easy, honey”, he said seriously, looking away to the side. “We taught this varmint a lesson, and he will never dare to even get near our daughter again, though he might wish he could”.

The sincere malice with which he uttered these words was instantly transmitted to his wife, causing her anemic face to become covered with red spots. She raised her head high and said proudly:

“Sim, querido! We took revenge for the insulted honour of our family! From now on, no one will dare to look askance at our girl!”

The father’s face softened, but the expression of deep concern remained in his eyes.He thought for a moment, which could not have escaped the attention of his better half, who, noticing the change in his mood, stopped her ranting and looked at her husband with sympathy.

“What are you thinking about, my joy?”, she cooed. “You didn’t like my tetrazzini?”

She was referring to the pasta she served to her entire family.

“No, air that I breathe”, he answered. “The dinner was beyond all praise, and I’m sure you were very tired when you prepared it for me and our baby”.

His spouse sighed with relief and leaned back in her chair.

“And therefore”, continued the old man, “I thought that you, blood in my veins, should take another person as your assistant, so that he would take care of our…”

He didn’t have time to finish his flattering speech – his wife, who had previously been quietly dozing at the table, in the blink of an eye woke up from her sleep and, in a frenzy, swung at him a porcelain sugar bowl, which she grabbed from the table.

“Take it easy, heavenly bliss”, said the father of the family, who reacted in time to the sudden thrust of his other half.

“I am not “heavenly bliss”!”, the woman shouted in rage and hit her husband on the head with a saucer from a coffee cup.

“But listen, pleasures I’ve missed!”, the old man begged, rubbing his bump. “What’s wrong with hiring a nanny to look after our daughter?”

“I will not tolerate some hoity-toity ninny with the wind in her head deciding for me, how to educate my Delia, my sacrosanct little one!”, the mother of the family said.

The father couldn’t agree more with his wife – if only because his own childhood was spent in a house where, in the absence of a parent, the duties of a governess were performed either by his older sister Brianne or aunt Jodelle (who was then still in her prime), but never by a stranger hired on the side. True, it was precisely for this reason that he wanted to get the babysitter – for in his heart the father wanted his child to grow up in much better conditions than himself, but such was the nature of his wife, and he could not deny her her noble desire to raise Delia herself, without the help of outsiders, although he saw how difficult it was for her.

Their daughter herself at this time wrapped her head in a blanket and tried her best to sleep, but the screams of her parents’ quarrel coming from the dining room did not give her such an opportunity. Delia, although she was still too young, already understood what a heavy burden – to be a God’s slave, and therefore she did not particularly complain about her fate, sometimes only sneaking a glance out the window, still hoping that her dear ajussi Jo was about to return to his home and take her away – if not forever, then at least for a while.

But alas, no matter how much she wanted it, but it didn’t happen. Instead, Delia had a chance to witness how one fine day a truck drove up to a neighbour’s house, from which men in uniform got out, who, having unloaded all of Jordan’s property onto the street, tightly boarded up the windows and doors, after which they got into the car and sped off in an unknown direction. Delia was sad to watch this act of looting, but what could she do except clenching her fists, surrendering to sorrow and slough, hoping for God’s mercy?

Thinking about ajussi Jo, Delia herself did not notice how she fell asleep. This time she dreamed of something very enjoyable – she was in some kind of grotto, the darkness of which was illuminated by a resin torch hanging on a rocky wall. The muffled sounds of the surf reached the girl’s ears, which were sometimes interrupted by the rare cries of seagulls and the distant creaking of the masts of ships invisible to her eyes. Despite the fact that Delia was sitting on a rock in only a light frock made of thin white lace, it was unusually warm in the grotto – apparently, the rocky formations had not yet cooled down after the heat of the day.

Peering into the darkness, which was barely dissipated by the dim light of the torch, Delia suddenly noticed that a person was sitting next to her on a small stone ledge. He was dressed in a robe made of rough fabric, which strongly reminded her of a monastic cassock, only for some reason the hood was pulled so low that the girl could not see the face of her companion, but something told her that under the brown cloth was hiding someone very close and dear to her.

Baby girl stared at the human figure next to her. The stranger, sensing the girl’s gaze on him, raised his head, and for a moment it seemed to Delia that two eyes flashed in the blackness of his hood, the sight of which took her breath away with delight mixed with embarrassment.

“Ajussi Jo!”, she whispered with love in her voice. “Please tell me, is it really you?”

Man in robe did not answer right away – as the girl understood, he was hesitating whether to please his little friend with such news or leave her in the belief that she had imagined it all. However, soon stranger nodded his head, and Delia heard his quiet voice, cracking and full of deep melancholy.

“Yes, Delia, It’s me”, she heard a familiar voice.

Little girl barely suppressed the desire to throw herself on his neck. And he, too, probably did not feel very well – it seemed to her that he was noticeably stooped, and his shoulders trembled from time to time, as if he had a fever. Delia felt sorry for the man.

“Ajussi Jo, why are you hiding your face from me?”, Delia asked him, rising from the stone.

“Sadly”, her interlocutor sighed, continuing to sit motionless in one position. “Society has hidden me from you, and I am now never visible to your eyes”.

“Don’t talk to me in riddles”, little girl said, starting to slowly approach him. “Make this clear”, she asked Jordan.

“I mean those who separated us”, ajussi Jo answered sadly. “You hear them, don’t you?”, he suddenly turned to her.

Delia stopped halfway to ajussi Jo and froze, listening to the sounds coming from outside. And in fact, some distant voices were now mixed in with the soothing noise of the sea waves hitting the shore. The girl could not make out a single word, but she could determine from the voice that it was a crowd of men, which, as she could judge, was approaching their grotto. Soon the rude chatter of the people was joined by the shrill dogs barking. Apparently, the crowd let go ahead the Rottweilers – dogs that Delia hated with all her childhood heart.

“Ajussi Jo, I’m scared for all of us!”, she exclaimed, falling to her knees in front of the robed figure.

“They won’t hurt you”, Jordan said calmly, clearly trying to calm Delia down. “I’m the only one they want”.

“No! I will not allow you to be captured!”, she screamed, wringing her hands. “I’d rather die right here than hand you over to them!”

“You’ve got a strong heart”, ajussi Jo continued just as sadly. “But you shouldn’t risk yourself for me, I’m begging you…”

“That’s not fair!”, Delia objected to him.

“Please, leave me here”, Jordan said. “I am not in your world, your little eyes cannot see me…”

“Less nonsense, ajussi Jo!”, cried the little girl.

Then Delia ran up to robbed figure, to embrace Jordan in her arms, but he stretched his hands forward, trying to prevent her from doing this. During this defensive maneuver, his hood accidentally fell back, and Delia, uttering a bloodcurdling cry, staggered back. Her long silky hair spread over her shoulders, and the wide, frightened eyes reflected the shadows dancing on the ceiling from the dim light of the torch.

Under the brown cloth, which still retained the outline of the human figure, there was absolutely nothing – through the neck Delia saw only the inside of the cassock…