12
The Ghost
If only, like me, Believ could fly! Crossing this hilly region seems to be an ordeal for her, especially as she’s lacking sleep and food. Away from the town, there”s nothing to pilfer, so she must content herself with finishing the crumbs in her bag.
Constantly on the alert, she struggles to rest for more than a few minutes at a time. Her complexion has become so waxy and the dark circles below her eyes so pronounced that they contrast with her moon-like hair, giving the impression that, of the two of us, she’s the one who has passed away.
If anyone should happen to catch a glimpse of her in the glow of their headlights, she would have no trouble passing herself off as a ghastly white lady, minus the dress from another time.
The melodious song of a stream unfurls beneath dancing trees.
“Believ?”
She emits a guttural growl from between her chapped lips.
“A river,” I insist. “You”ll be able to quench your thirst and maybe even eat.”
“Eat?” she asks with a sigh so deep it betrays her desire.
At last, her eyes leave the ground and gaze into mine, a gleam of greed glinting in the depths of her prunes. They”re very pretty, even if I don”t know what color they really are. Anyway, I give them a light shade, oscillating between glacier blue and sky blue. I could ask about their true hue, but I”m afraid I would look like a clown. It”s just a question of cheering her up by finding her something to eat, not of wooing her... Although the idea of combining the two isn”t one I”m unhappy about. But Believ isn’t a woman of my time for whom dining and being courted is the norm. She lives in a world where the codes between men and women are governed differently, almost at opposite ends of the spectrum.
“Come...”
I guide her toward the lapping water. In the half-light of the night, she stumbles and scratches her cheek on some brambles.
“Fucking useless thorns!”
I stare at her, stunned by this unexpectedly sharp reaction. Since they”ve succeeded in hurting her, they have their purpose, however unpleasant it may be. Is that so difficult to grasp?
She vigorously rubs her scratched arms, then calms down as she perceives the shimmering moonlight in the crystal-clear water bubbling before us. She dips her cupped hands into the icy current and brings them to her mouth, swallowing long gulps greedily. She runs her palms over her face, diluting the scarlet droplets that have begun to bead.
I gaze at her swollen lips, hypnotized. The innocence of her gestures verges on the indecent, yet I can”t tear myself away from the spectacle she”s offering me. I begin to wonder about my pre-coma state—since I refuse to accept my death. Did I live in such isolation from female company that I become aroused by it, or is it only this woman who is causing me to feel the excitement of a prepubescent teenager?
I don”t know how old I am, but I”m convinced I”ve had a long life, full of encounters of all kinds. Instinct tells me so, anyway. But I can”t say for sure. And now this pint-sized young woman is carrying me away more than she should. I try to pull myself together, to look at her with fresh eyes. Her outfit leaves something to be desired, but I”m responsible for her condition. Her hair, always tied in a loose braid, gives her that unmistakable, fierce air that I like so much.
Her body, which I”ve had time to take in at length, is fine and loose, all supple... Unconventional ideas have sometimes crossed my mind—what”s left of it, at least—imagining her in all kinds of…
That”s enough of that! I shake my head. Quite obviously, this kind of reasoning will get me nowhere.
Quenched and clean, she plunges her empty bottle into the current.
“It feels great! The fish, on the other hand, I’ll take a pass!”
What does she really mean by, “I’ll take a pass”? When? Why doesn”t she want to fish now?
“It”s freezing. If I go in there, I”ll end up freezing to death and starving,” she grumbles, taking off her shoes. “Besides, you can”t see a thing!”
She”s losing me. Why is she doing precisely what she doesn”t intend to do?
“Just a moment.”
“What”s up? Do you have a taser from beyond?”
What”s she talking about?
She removes her pants, revealing her spindly yet muscular legs according to the sway of the branches. They”re just as I imagined them. Perfect. To my dismay.
When the shadows part, I discover the mysterious tattoos running across her diaphanous skin, right down to the curve of her buttocks, barely concealed by her underwear.
Does she do it on purpose? Just when I decide to think about something other than lust, she baits me? Considering her innocent, unfeigned air, I have to accept that Believ is no teaser, acting as spontaneously as if I were transparent. Which, in a way, I am. Alas, my body, as it currently stands, seems determined to prove otherwise.
Indeed, the tingling that constitutes me becomes more palpable, and I feel the pulsations right down to my extremities. The heat rises in my belly, fanned by this divine vision facing me.
An unforgettable sensation returns to me. Cravings by the hundreds. How can such a phenomenon occur, when my condition should forbid it? However, I”m not dreaming... If I were to lower my gaze to my member, I”m afraid I would discover that it is, despite its vaporous state, in top form. Fortunately, the suit I”m wearing gives me the impression of not being plastered to my body... I spare myself the shame of reacting to the slightest sight of her exposed skin.
“So, do you like looking at hungry chicks?” she asks, dropping her tank top onto the pile of her clothes.
She leaves me speechless. I had thought she was completely virtuous, but I”m afraid I was totally wrong about her. I”ve been completely fooled! I stifle a laugh, my heart lighter. The lady has a sense of humor and isn’t a white goose. Now I”m on familiar ground. I stare at her with a teasing eye.
There”s no resentment in the words she throws at me with a smirk. She”s provoking me without the slightest doubt, knowing that I”m harmless because I don”t have a solid body. And yet, I dream of pressing my lips against hers and discovering the curves of her body like a promised land that I might tread just once before disappearing. A last wish I”ll never get.
“I”m sorry, I didn”t mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” I say ironically, with a toothy grin.
I lose myself in her silver eyes, caught by her forbidden beauty, before realizing that she”s trembling like a leaf.
“Are you all right?”
“It”s freezing!” She grimaces, irresistibly, rubbing herself to give herself courage.
“Why did you take off your clothes?”
“I wasn”t going to jump into the water with my clothes on!”
“Because you think you can fish better by submerging yourself? You”d scare off any fish despite your undeniable qualities...”
Did I really say those words out loud?
She stares at me, amused, if a little bemused.
“So how should I go about it?”
“With your hands?”
“You”re delirious! Who could catch a fish with their bare hands?”
Is it that fanciful? Although I have no memory of it, the impression of having done it before comes to me. And even though I”m intangible, what happened in the morgue was enough to demonstrate my advantage over a mere fish.
“Don”t move. I”ll take care of it.”
“But...”
“That”s enough of that! If you turn into an ice cube, who”s going to get my body out of the abbey?
She mumbles a few incomprehensible words, a sort of perfunctory protest, without disobeying me. She just stands there, straight as an arrow, staring at me in anticipation of a feat that may never come to pass.
I levitate above the current and quickly locate a school of wriggling gudgeons. These fish are small, but they’ll suffice to fill Believ”s stomach for the time being. I move closer to the waves, keeping out of sight, and watch the coordinated movements of the little school of fish, obviously looking for food not far from the bank, where the rocks and seaweed are denser.
I”m so close, I”ll soon cross the current. I”m concentrating.
One.
I take a deep breath—as if that would make a difference.
Two.
The water continues its course, while the fish gorge themselves on invisible particles before spitting out the sand.
I”m ready.
Three!
Suddenly, as I lunge to grab one of the fish and throw it in the direction of Believ, who seems to be getting impatient, an eel pops out from under a rock and swallows my prey! In my momentum, I grab it instead. It gives me a terrifying jolt I never thought I would feel. Nevertheless, I keep my fingers tightened around my catch and, while tightening my embrace, send it a wave of electricity in turn. It tenses under the impulse, as stiff as a piece of wood, just before I manage to throw it into the greasy grass, where it wriggles for a moment more before coming to rest.
What a creature!
Believ”s face decomposes. She was obviously expecting something less repulsive and probably a little less slimy. If she”s hungry, she”ll have to make do!
“This thing is huge,” she manages to articulate, her eyes riveted on the inert eel.
“That”ll give you more to eat. Enough to build up your strength before...”
Before what? We don”t know what nightmare we”re about to get ourselves into, or even if the outcome will be favorable to me. In Believ’s words, it stinks.
She has donned her black suit and is now busy lighting a fire, no mean feat in a region as humid as Britain. After positioning rocks in a circle like a miniature Stonehenge, she gathers twigs and a little moss, which crackles under the flame of her lighter. She tries again and again but finally gets it right. A timid fire licks the wood, from which steam escapes. She feeds it for a moment to make sure it won”t sputter out, and then sets off in search of materials to make a makeshift skewer. With relative delicacy, she pushes it through the eel”s body with a giggle.
“Holy crap! Not only does it weigh a ton, but its skin stings!”
When she puts it over the fire, I see her hands reddened by the stings of the fish, whose skin she should have scraped off before picking it up.
I watch her, powerless and silent. This body covered in light bruises exerts a particular attraction on me and an uncontrollable need to protect her, when in fact it”s she who has come to my rescue. How I would love to nurse her back to health, to erase those painful scratches, to hold her close like a treasure, to admire her until my pupils burn, to make her mine and keep her by my side.
All sorts of images flash through my mind. Burning, exciting, even sweet. Then I come back to reality, hers and now mine, albeit incongruously: I”m dead and, in absolute terms, I”m going to stay that way.
Sitting on the grass, she loses herself in the contemplation of her meal, which she turns from time to time. What”s on her mind?
After a moment of eternity, she begins to tear away the shreds of flame-blackened skin to reach the white, translucent flesh. She takes small pieces and shyly stuffs them into her mouth.
“It”s delicious,” she enthuses, biting into the dripping fat.
It certainly is. Like the moment I savor, before returning to the uncertainty of my fate.
It”s my turn to forget what”s around us and, as I cling to her glossy, luscious lips nibbling away the fat, I find myself hoping, terrified that soon we”ll reach the end of this insane journey.
No sooner has she finished her meal than she smothers the fire and stands up.
“What are you doing?” I ask, displeased to be disturbed in my divine observation.
“It”s time to go. They won”t be long.”
“Who”s ‘they’?”
“No idea. Church henchmen, I suppose. The police... There”s no shortage of pursuers these days.”
“How would they find us here? Who would look for a fugitive in a place like this?”
“On the contrary, it”s exactly the kind of place you”d look for someone trying to hide. We have to go,” she insists.
Whatever the reasons… wherever she goes, I go.