The Diary

Kelantha

The child was buried along the road, the earth overturned by strong gypsy hands. I watched them work by the moonlight, throwing shovelfuls of dirt into the frosted lane before taking up the burlap sack the body had been wrapped in and lowering it into the hole. Our son had been sent to bed, me bestowing a kiss upon his forehead as I parted. What concerned me was not that he had committed the crime so much as his lack of remorse. Mihail was sorry only for having not pleased me, not for the blood that stained his palms. I had no blood in me to turn cold, but repressed a shiver of sheer discontentment as I stood by the verandah doors, thrown wide to the elements. I was cold, so very cold, and disturbed by what I had witnessed that night, when the forces of evil were unleashed upon the wood. I wore a shawl draped around my shoulders, and one hand rubbed my arm in a movement of discontent.

If he were like us, like my husband, and I there would be no shame in his lack of remorse, but Mihail was human. For a child at such a young age to show so little regard for the life of another was more than troubling. I had sensed an impending darkness in our son for many months, in the little actions that he took in stride, cruel manipulations and a morbid curiosity with death. One of the gypsies had died from a fall. Our son had watched his body taken up from the ravine with such fascination that it disturbed me. Once, he had asked his governess where a person�s soul went after death. She had looked at him a moment, pale fingers clasping the crucifix worn around her neck, and then said quietly, �To Heaven, if they are good; and to Hell, if they are bad.�

His presence was in the room, flickering with the wavering candle stems in their worn stands, the wax melting and running down in molten lumps. Dracula�s hands fell on my shoulders and slid down so that he embraced me. I did not resist, but nor did I lean against him until I felt my defenses weaken, and then I submitted to a will much stronger than my own. His head rested beside mine, staring out into the darkness that would soon bleed into morning. It was a moment of mutual understanding, and I could feel him attempting to discern my thoughts. I guarded them from him, wanting to blot out the memory of that dreadful, demonic face beneath the waters, the voice that had spoken to me in a trance, warning me of what was to come, terrible things that could never be undone.

 �He knows,� I whispered in the silence.

Long, icy fingers traced up my arms in a lingering caress, unable to dispel the finality in his voice.

�He does not know.�

I turned to face him, my stature nearly the height of his, able to gaze into those penetrating eyes that had begun their seduction of me the moment I had stepped into this house. �Not everything,� I agreed, �but enough. He is becoming dangerous. She is becoming dangerous.�

He did not object and over the passing weeks, I took particular care in observation of my son and his governess. It was on one of the rare occasions when she made a trip into town, leaving her charge behind in the library. The afternoon was gloomy enough beneath tumultuous skies that I ventured in after him, finding him perched like a cat on the winding stairwell that lead to the catwalk. As I drew near, I saw that it was not one of our books that kept him enraptured, but a worn journal that I had never seen before. �Mihail,� I said, holding out my hand, �what have you there?�

Innocence was in his eyes as he handed it to me, but I sensed something lurking in their depths. It was her journal, the woman that presided so faithfully over him, despite her inability and natural fear of his worse nature. Mirielle�s writing spilled over the pages, drawing my scrutiny as the hours bled into evening. I learned much of her, of her pain and suffering abroad, of her deepest fears. Mostly I learned of my husband. She was fascinated with him; even childishly infatuated with him � it was foolish of her to have kept this diary with my son in the house. I wondered how much my son had read� and comprehended. I handed it back to him as darkness fell and said, �Return it where you found it.�

He looked at me with a cruel kind of understanding, and said, �Yes, Mama.�

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