Christina's Plight

Dracula

�What were you and Cristina speaking of for so long in the garden?� Kelantha asked.  Night was rapidly waxing into morning, and she lay in my arms, warmly contented.  Her voice was low, contrasting with the enlivened expression in her eyes, the glow of her countenance. 

It was incredible, there was no other word for it.  For one moment I could blissfully pretend I had nothing more than to hold her, conscious only of the fragrance of her hair, a scent that would linger on the sheets and pillows long after she quit her chamber.  In the next, she had moved away, tossing her hair back and propping herself up on one arm.  Was it over now, the quiet enchantment of simply being together?  Yes, I thought with a small sigh.

�It is my prerogative to be inquisitive,� she insisted.  �Surely you will not deny me that.�

�Surely you will not deny my prerogative to mourn the end of our silent harmony.�

She laughed, her tones still low.  Laughter became her, it lit up her features.  I made no further attempt to reclaim her, for I knew she would only draw near when so inclined, but instead thought of the conversation in the garden, whose existence I would deny to the last, but whose contents I would not likely forget.  I relived it merely by reflecting on it, the confessions of one tainted soul to another�

�I knew you would come.�

�Perhaps you heard me approach,� I  answered lightly, eyes lowered, choosing a seat that afforded a little shade.

Cristina shook her head slightly.  �No, I simply knew. You will think it very odd, but there are times when I think I anticipate your thoughts, as though I can hear your voice before you even speak.�

�Very odd indeed,� I laughed softly, �Then you already know what I will ask you.�

�Yes,� she said calmly, glancing down at her hands.  �You came because I somehow knew about your wife.�

Perfect clarity.  It was one moment of truth with infinitely more doubts surrounding it.  �Who are you, se�ora,� I breathed, not truly asking who she was but why.

�Father Torquemada would call me a converso,� she admitted painfully.

Converso.  The word was familiar, yet I could not attach its meaning with the slight figure seated before me, not daring to meet my gaze.

�You are a Jew,� I said, understanding.

�My family is Jewish. I was never supposed to marry; I converted to the Christian faith and could not accept anyone of my father�s choosing. And I have many sisters for whom husbands must be found. I was to enter the convent.�

�What interfered?�

�Javier.�  She smiled.  �He intended to save me the very first day he met me. My family would have no more to do with me when I was accepted into his. But they have been very gracious�very caring. They will never expose my shame publicly.�

�It is your heritage, se�ora. Is that so very shameful?�

�It is my curse!� she cried, one hand striking the bench forcefully. �I attend confession twice as much as any true Christian. My rosary is worn with the countless prayers I constantly offer, and wonder if they ever reach God�s ear. I eat nothing but lentils every holiday. Do not think,� and here she looked at me,  �I will not notice another suffering for the good of her soul.�

Kelantha, I thought wordlessly, and she nodded.

�She eats none of the rich food prepared for her, but avoids it as I do. Oh yes, I have seen it,� she emphasized, as I quickly masked my incredulity.  �She hides it well. I once asked Javier why his sister was not eating, and do you know what he replied? She did eat, and moreover, he had seen her eating!�  Cristina smiled mirthlessly.  �He never notices, that darling man.�

�You followed us,� I stated, turning the conversation to my purpose, �out on the terrace where Kelantha was coughing. You exposed her shame publicly.�

�Yes,� she whispered, her bright eyes brimming with emotion, �But you must forgive me for it. I acted on impulse, out of ignorance.�

�Ignorance,� I echoed, �I hardly think anyone can accuse you of that, se�ora.�

�I knew that she suffered; I did not know for what purpose. I confess, I suspected she was very ill��

�Your predictions are astute,� I remarked, not attempting to hide my sharp tone.  �One wonders how you gained such knowledge.�

�I am dying,� she answered, her voice a broken whisper.

I leaned forward.

She saw the question in my eyes and nodded.  �You have noticed, I am sure, that I�do not walk with the same grace Marisol and Kelantha possess. The limp has been with me my life long, but only recently have I come to identify it for what it is�cancer of the bone. It will claim me eventually.�

�When?�  The solitary word sounded cold, unfeeling, yet those were not the sentiments with which I spoke.

�One year, perhaps two. This is my penance, my punishment for being the daughter of a Jewish moneylender, a converso. But what is Kelantha�s?�  She looked at me questioningly, covering her own pain with compassion for another�s.  �She never deserved this, the pure child.�

I sighed, leaning back into the shadows.  �I hardly think you need ask that.�

�Why?� she asked evenly, a touch of defiance in her voice.  �Because of what Father Torquemada would say? He sleeps on a wooden board, eats no meat, denies himself all food for days at a time, wears a hair shirt next to his skin, and yet what does he know of the suffering of others?�  She looked away and breathed deeply, as if to calm herself.  �I may be forever tainted, as he says, and perhaps it is true of yourself, but I will not be placed past the pale of redemption.�

�You speak in contradictions, my dear. One moment you accept your penance, the next you denounce it.�

�I have accepted my penance with the belief that it will procure something greater. I cannot imagine how Kelantha accepts her fate�God!�  One sob escaped her; she lifted her hand to her mouth in a single gesture, as if to snatch it back again.  �I have not spoken of this to anyone, not even my husband.�

�You have no intention of telling him.�

�No,� she said firmly, �He could not bear it. Let him marry again after I am gone, someone who will not taint his children with her blood.�  Cristina looked up suddenly, her air urgent.  �You must promise me you will not tell them�any of them.�

I gave her my word as I rose, for the small garden was rapidly becoming oppressive.  I needed to be away from it, away from its inhabitant, who had unwittingly given more of herself than she had intended.

Kelantha�s touch returned me to the present; she had been speaking but paused, gazing at me curiously.  �What are you thinking of, my immortal beloved?�

�Nothing of significance.�

She accepted it silently but averted her gaze, her playful air quickly replaced.  She leaned into me once more, resting her dark head against my shoulder, allowing me to encircle her again in my embrace.

�You keep things from me,� she observed quietly.

�Always,� I agreed affectionately.

Kelantha made no reply, but I could hear Cristina�s words in the stillness, the memory rising against me.  Pure child, she never deserved this.

And absently I began to wonder�the words were Cristina�s, but was it not the very phrase left unspoken by the entire household?

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