No one knew the
whole story of the caged woman. She appeared to be a living receptacle for the
shipment of evil in today’s society. Keep her caged and everyone could be safe.
Let her escape and everyone would be doomed. This seemed true even though most people
in the world never knew she or her son existed. Blind and maimed, she was
displayed in the center of town for anyone to see, understand and experience
how close she had come to being extinguished.
Her empty eye
sockets were permanently stained with the blood that once seeped from them as
tears had before, and sat amongst welts that inched outward from the vacant
pockets. More apparent were her arms, one which had a twisted hand with gnarled
protrusions in the place of some of her knuckles. The other lacked a hand at
all, being void from midway down her forearm. Her lower extremities tapered to
scarred, knobby ends just above her knees.
People almost
laughed at her. Some of the children, not bold enough to get too close, while
posturing in their ignorance, actually did. Those in charge, who somehow blamed
her for the traumas in the last few days, were thankful for her survival and
could not develop even a glint of humor.
At the moment,
some art students were drawing her, creating sketches in charcoal and ink, and
masterpieces in watercolors and oils. Her beauty was most visible through their
creations, as they could see beyond the empty, stained orbs and imagine the
fullness of her whole body, even if they had never seen it as it once was.
As it started to
rain, the artists packed away their gear. The health care workers covered her
display cage with a tarpaulin and placed a heater just outside of her reach,
enabling her to use it only for its warmth. The old grandparents and caregivers
sheltered themselves under the awnings of the nearby structures. The salt water
of their tears mixed with the rain that dripped down their cheeks. It was hard
for them to watch a woman suffering in her existence and do nothing to comfort
her; even she, who had caused so much turmoil. Life was difficult for the
ignorant and the wise, the beloved and the evil, and especially for those torn
between what was good and evil to the extent that the conflict became alive on
their bodies.
Eventually all
turned away and left her in the center of Gabriel and to her own memories,
hoping that she would deliberate on how her actions brought her to this point.
Inside her cage,
she clasped onto a woolen mantle as best she could, savoring the scratches its
coarse fibers caused on her skin, already raw from the violence she had
undergone. The stinging kept her thoughts at bay, gathering and undulating as
though they were waves at the shores of her consciousness. The waves would
ultimately grow, forcing their way through the barriers of her mind. For now,
the thrashing of her thoughts, as with the scrapes of the blanket on what was
left of her once supple skin, was comforting. She reached for the heater,
longing for the sear of its touch, but it was just close enough to allow the
warmth to flow to her.
The heat did touch
her and entered her through her nostrils and mouth as she breathed and gasped.
Her head tensed back as she strained to keep the calming sensation away.
Instead, her thoughts bombarded through the walls of her brain as the warming
heater tempered her fight, and she lay still while the accounts of her life
flooded and overpowered her.
~ ~ ~
Chances were there
was no one who could understand how clean things had to get. Not only the
floors needed to be scrubbed, then oiled and polished so as not to leave
scratches, but all of the counters, including the hutch and the porcelain and
crystal figurines inside of it needed to be and remain dust free. The walls,
too, needed washing, the clothes laundered.
This led Alezea to
getting herself cleansed. Cleansed, not just washed, first using the luffa
sponge with oatmeal soap, which in itself could take up to twenty minutes to
get everywhere, every curve and fold and unseen place. Then the brush was used
to get as much of the loose and dead skin cells as possible, with extra
attention paid to heels and elbows. Next came washing the hair with prescribed
antidandruff shampoo, although she had not suffered from dandruff since she was
a teenager living in the humidity of the Bayou. It still had to be done. The
conditioner, infused with an extra moisturizing formula, had to be used as
well. Then another wash of her body with moisturizing soap.
No matter how hot
or cold it was, Alezea dried in front of the heater, sans a towel. There could be no towel lint anywhere. By the
time she dressed, with clothes preselected, it was close to ten o'clock, just enough time to go over her hair and
outfit to ensure all was in place.
Then the hollow
knock on the door, which would be inaudible if there was the slightest of
sounds, be it the hum of the TV or radio, or the clangs of pots and pans during
their wash.
Alezea had to go
toward the door, ready to open it, even though it was always opened before she
could raise her hand to the knob. As the door opened, she could see him there,
appearing to get larger and grander as the door swung wider. His eyes were the
first things noticed. They were blazingly crimson, fierce with bloodshot anger,
and eager to focus accusations and disparagement.
As always, she
wondered why she had to go through such a stringent cleansing ritual, when
before he stepped through the door, he slid his large, scabbed, nearly scaly
hands under her blouse to her waist, leaving smears of mud and whatever else
was raised up with him. It seemed that bugs and, God forbid, worms transferred
to her skin as he continued to slide the length of his arm around her torso.
Although Alezea
was not a light woman, he lifted her with no noticeable effort, and carried her
to the newly washed, starched and ironed sheets in the bedroom, while tracking
clumps of mud and other sediment with every step. He laid her on the bed, where
he took her, seemingly with no pleasure, other than that gleaned by those who
reach their peak of excitement only by delivering the pain inherent with sadism
and torture. For Alezea, the pain felt to be slightly intermixed with pleasure.
When it was done, there was only pain, her body covered with mud and grime from
his body.
He then left,
without having said a word, until right before he closed the front door. His
instructions then sounded more like the grumble of a traveling earthquake,
which she was sure everyone would swear they heard, although no one else could
comprehend the message left within it:
"The next one will be a little girl; angelic…smart, but
doomed. Let Thomas bury her at the Sarmeno's tonight, behind the shed. After
the burial, but before you send Thomas home, tell him you will quickly finish
your work and will get home early. I want a show tonight."
Alezea would
likely be at her workplace slightly before Thomas, who would have the innocent
in hand. Now, she had to put out of her mind this innocent one, and the
countless other victims, as well as the burials and disposals of the guiltless.
For Alezea had to prepare for her next penance.
