Babayaga

Will lay in his apartment, listening as the front door creaked open. He was too exhausted to move from his bed. Fine, come in, monster, he thought, whoever you are, spy, soldier, policeman, priest, specter, come on in. He had a fairly good idea who it was.

He had arrived home late after wandering the streets, uncertain where he was supposed to be. He had called Oliver’s apartment from a pay phone and when there was no answer searched through the telephone booth’s beat-up directory until he found The Gargoyle Press’s number. No one picked up there, either. When he finally walked the long distance to his apartment, there was a note in his mailbox from his office asking him to call. It seemed they were worried, or perhaps they merely wanted to go through the final formality of firing him. But he didn’t want to call the agency now. He picked up the rest of the mail and newspapers and went inside, where he lit a cigarette, poured himself a whiskey, and collapsed on the couch.

The sun was setting and dusk washed the windowpanes with the pink hues of late autumn. In the last light of the day, he sipped his drink and glanced through the paper. There was no news of any gunfight at any barn. There was nothing that interested him. As the last of the sun slipped away, he kept the lights off and went to lie down. The darkness engulfed the room, drowning him in blackness as a deep sleep overwhelmed him.

He wasn’t sure what time it was when he heard the door latch turn, but it clicked his eyes wide open. A floorboard creaked, then stillness. Then he saw her shadowy figure slip into the room. She unzipped her skirt and pulled down her stockings. She crawled under the sheets and he took her warmly in his arms. She smelled like she had been sitting by a campfire.

He didn’t ask any questions. He kissed the nape of her neck, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, she shivered and grasped his head in her hands, her actions were fierce and hungry, kissing his neck and cheeks, until finally her lips fell on his lips. They kissed for a long time.

She never spoke. Eventually, they tumbled across the bed until she was lying beneath him. He pulled her close and took her breast in his mouth and she pressed her hips against him, opening her legs. He held her down on the bed and pushed himself inside her. As they moved together, he never stopped looking into her eyes; she tried to avoid his gaze but he held her steady and would not look away. Finally, her eyes spoke to him. Her eyes said, Words are too weak, too small, they are always too small, even the purest and most simple phrases fail. Her eyes said, Look at who you are, you were asleep when I met you, but now you’re awake, so stay awake. I did not need you and I did not want you and yet here you are, awake in my body and in my heart. Then her eyes said, This is the last time. Her eyes said, I am leaving you, don’t follow me. There is nothing but pain down my path. So kiss me goodbye. Kiss me. Please. Kiss me. And her eyes were crying.

He answered by turning her over so that he lay on top of her, pressing his lips hard on hers and then holding her face tight in his hands. Stay here, he said, without using words, stay with me, he said, pushing himself harder inside of her. Yes, I am awake now, he said. I am awake and I am yours. You have taken me on a journey I can never understand but now you own me, wholly. I was nothing, and now I am a man, and now I am yours.

She said nothing he could comprehend, she clung to his back and increased her passion, scraping him with her sharp nails until the blood seeped out from his flesh. She pulled him tighter still, so that the sweat of their chests smacked. She would not let him go, he would not release her, they thrashed and they thrust and they loudly strained the limits of the bed’s strength, until their bodies finally collapsed, intertwined, exhausted, breathing so hard it seemed their hearts might burst. He tried to look and see what her eyes said now, but they were closed.

He fell asleep again, he could not tell if he was dreaming or awake. He thought he heard the echo of women’s voices chattering in other rooms, but he could not tell if it was a dream or reality, maybe it was just the cooing of pigeons.