by Dinesh Pulandram
Jacques Chevalier-Vicare leaned over the prone form of his daughter to tell her she was going to die.
Evangeline lay quietly, a drip attached to her arm. An ECG machine towered behind her, its blinking pulse graph an ominous countdown. She was thin, her face a bruised purple. She wore a gown patterned with rainbows and stars. Soft toys lay at the foot of her bed: a large Pegasus with widespread wings that sheltered a griffin, a gargoyle, and a phoenix.
“Vangey?” Jacques smoothed the soft down of his daughter’s hair. The nurses had been shocked it didn’t fall out after the radiation. He willed himself to memorize the steep curvature of her cheeks, the faint scar on her chin.
Jacques kissed her cheek, got a towel, and patted her sweat-drenched face.
“Papa? Juice please,” she said.
Jacques tilted the cup. Evangeline paused four times before she could swallow. He wiped a copper-colored drop as it slid past her mouth. Her mother had suggested she drink her favorite, Tangelo Tang, instead of water. Who are you to begrudge her the small joys? Zantufaile had argued. Jacques insisted water was healthiest, but the next day the Tangelo Tang was beside Evangeline’s bed. Each time he went to replace it with a bottle of water, Evangeline snuggled up to the Tangelo Tang, her black hair draped across the bottle.
He sighed. He was consistently trying to do the right thing by Evangeline, but Zantufaile always got the upper hand.
Jacques took a deep breath. The hospital air tasted like eucalyptus. He tested the words in his mind: Vangey you’re going to die, but they wouldn’t come. He had to tell her. She deserved to know.
He reached for her. Evangeline clasped his index finger. She had unusually long fingers for a six-year-old.
“Vangey,” Jacques said and started to cry. “I wish . . . darling, you have been the bestest daughter a father could ever have. Thank you so much.”
Evangeline fingered the tiny medallion around her neck, a gift from Zantufaile. She closed her eyes, clasped her hands above her chest, wrinkled her forehead. “Where is Mummy? Did I do something bad?”
Jacques’s mouth sagged.
“Never think that, sweetie. Mummy loves you. She is sick. Remember, we talked about this? She is in a big house staying with people like her. She misses you.”
“When is she coming?”
He traced the scar on her chin. “Mummy can’t come here,” Jacques said. “She hurt you. She’s a baddy.”
Evangeline wriggled away from him to the side of the bed.
“You’re safe with me. You understand that, Vangey?”
His daughter began to whisper. Her voice was so soft that he had to leave the chair, bend, and put an ear over her mouth. He heard: “Pa, it pains all over. Mummy needs to touch me so it goes away.”
He sat back down. He was quiet for a very long time.
As Evangeline slept, his mind drifted back to a perfect summer day. The sky was a crayon blue and the wind warmed his face. Evangeline was in remission. She wore her Dora the Explorer dress, a smile on her face as they toured the zoo. It was indescribable, this gift he’d been granted, how much love could be vested in such a tiny vessel. He’d found love with Zantufaile, but when Evangeline came it was another level of love—a step higher.
Mother and daughter held hands and skipped in front of Jacques. They looked so perfect together, Zantufaile with her elegant tall form and Evangeline swaying to the rhythms of her mother’s steps, laughing at some joke Zantufaile had cracked.
Zantufaile led them towards the lions. Two golden cats lay prone in the sand, enjoying ample shade from the trees behind them. Scattered bones—probably breakfast—lay at their sides.
“Oh, they’re asleep,” Evangeline said. Her lower lip turned out, and her brows scrimmaged.
“Not for long,” Zantufaile said. Before Jacques could stop her, his wife looked sideways and then threw some food directly at the lion. The lion stood, shook itself, and roared. Jacques was about to berate Zantufaile, but then Evangeline laughed. Zantufaile tickled her, making her laugh even more.
These last few years, it was always like that with his wife—teetering on a ledge of vapid impulse. She told him she felt constrained. The counseling sessions just went in circles. Jacques had made inquiries for a serious long-term solution, but he hadn’t been sure if he should go down that path, with Evangeline so sick. There was enough trauma in the family.
“I’ve come to grant Zantufaile a day of leave.”
“That’s not the best idea. Your wife is still mentally unstable.” The doctor creaked back a little farther in his chair. “The MRI scans show scarring in her brain matter. Possibly this might be the positive correlation we have been looking for that may explain her delusions.”
“Is it curable?”
“We have administered Neurontin. It should decrease the swelling in the brain. Unfortunately, there are side effects. We’ll have to reduce the dosage for your wife, and that will take at least a day. Can you wait? It will also delay treatment.”
Jacques stood up slowly. “Take me to my wife,” he said.
The doctor led him along a white-walled passageway. The linoleum floor faded to yellow in the dim light. Doors were recessed into the wall at three-meter intervals, each with a tiny grilled window looking out. A faint mustiness hung in the air.
He heard shouting, screaming. Down the hall two male nurses twisted a young woman’s arm around her back.
He was ushered into a box of a room with a lone light. An ashen-faced lady was strapped to the bed.
“Zantu?” He pulled the blanket away from her chin. Saliva oozed from her mouth. At first there was no recognition in her eyes when she saw him. Then her facial muscles tensed. He looked questioningly at the doctor.
“It is temporary. Only when the medication is in her body.”
“Why is she handcuffed to the bed?”
“She tried to jump out a window. Said she was going to fly away. Doncaster Health reserves the right to restrain patients if they pose a threat to themselves.”
“Remove them.”
“She—”
“I said remove them. Now.”
The doctor undid the handcuffs.
“I’d like to be alone with my wife, please.”
The door clicked behind him. Jacques piled a bunch of pillows behind Zantufaile and slowly lifted her. Her lips were cracked and dried. He fed her water, which she drank voraciously. He waited quietly a few minutes.
“Zantu, can you hear me?”
She whipped her head from side to side. The bed’s rusty hinges creaked.
“Vangey says she loves you,” he said. “She’s getting better.” The lie came easily. “Here’s a visitor’s pass that will get you out of here for the entire day tomorrow.” He held up the officious document with the logo of Doncaster Health stamped on the corner.
“Why?” she whispered. Her fingers curled around her face.
“Vangey wants you,” he said. “She misses you dearly. I’ve asked them to give you a leave day.”
Her eyes remained on the green pass. Slowly, her hands lowered from her face and she reached for it, but he pulled back.
“It needs to be validated with my signature.”
“You kept me from her for three months.”
He stamped his foot. Zantufaile startled as if were a gunshot. “When you come to visit you will behave like a good mother. Not. Like. The. Zoo. Get me?”
Zantufaile whimpered.
“Promise me,” he said.
“Promise,” she replied. His hands shook as he signed the pass and gave it to her.
Zantufaile sang and in between the words she kissed the pass: “Evangeline,” kiss, “Evangeline,” kiss, “Evangeline,” kiss. The lines of worry and stress melted from her face.
There was an uncomfortable silence. He sat heavily on the chair, his stomach protruding over his belt. He’d stacked on the weight in the last year. He scratched his grizzle and avoided looking at his wife.
“Look, I’ve got to go.”
As he walked down the corridor, he fingered a strand of his wife’s black hair. The sun shone through a skylight. He shaded his eyes against the brightness, and in that moment the strand looked like a feather.
That day at the zoo, they entered The Eyrie, where all the birds stayed. A giant bell-shaped cage attracted Zantufaile’s attention. As they neared it, Evangeline gripped Jacques’s hand tightly.
The cage was about the size of a hut, made from black bars and surrounded by a concrete fence edged with gorse bushes.
“Papa, I’m scared.” Evangeline pulled her hands out of his and stepped back.
The vulture stood on a bar, its six claws shifting. It opened its beak and screeched at them, a piercingly high sound that made Jacques cover his ears. Its wings flapped, sending a gust of wind that made Evangeline’s hair flay behind her.
“Mr. Vulture, it’s too small for you, isn’t it?” Zantufaile twisted her neck sideways, mimicking birdlike movement. Her torso arched precariously over the concrete fence. “Don’t worry, friend. We’ll get you out of there.”
“Zantu, get back!” he said.
Zantufaile cupped Evangeline’s chin and said, “You have nothing to be afraid of, Vangey. When our people die, the vultures eat their bodies. Our spirits go back into the sky.” Then she wrapped Evangeline in one hand and jumped onto the concrete fence.
She leapt on the cage and made her way to the hatchway. She was quick, like a spider, Evangeline pale in her arms. Jacques tried to follow, but it was impossible to get so high. He didn’t know how Zantufaile could do it with Evangeline in tow.
The vulture eyed Zantufaile. It opened its beak and screeched. His wife twisted open the padlock, stretched her long body inside the cage, and screeched back. Her nose nearly touched the vulture’s beak. This exchange continued for a few seconds, until the vulture moved towards the hatch.
Zantufaile placed her daughter on one of many horizontal bars inside the cage. The vulture’s beak slashed at Evangeline. Her head whipped back and blood dotted her chin.
“Get her away from there!” Jacques tried to scramble over the fence and fell. There was more screeching. His own screams followed.
Jacques spent two hours convincing the zookeepers not to call the police or press charges. He took Zantufaile home and crumbled a sleeping tablet in her nightcap. In the morning, he called the psychiatric hospital and admitted her. He would not allow his daughter’s life to be jeopardized by a crazy woman, not even one he loved.
The next night, Jacques awoke to the sound of laughter. He stared at the lady who stood over Evangeline’s bed, her poise so natural.
“You’re late, Zantufaile.”
Zantufaile Vicare turned. The laughter died on her lips. “It’s not easy getting out of an asylum.”
She bent over her daughter. “Come on, sweetie. Get out of that dreadful thing.”
In a sinuous movement, Zantufaile disconnected the drip, ECG connections, and lifted Evangeline out of the bed.
“What are you—” The happiness in his daughter’s face stopped him. It was like watching a corpse being brought to life. Zantufaile kissed her, kissed her again, and kept kissing her.
“Mummy, where did you go?”
Zantufaile pulled back. “I was in a ‘psychiatric’ hospital.” She glared at Jacques. “Your father put me there.”
“What is a psychiatric hospital? Is it like this one?”
Zantufaile did not answer. She rubbed her nose against Evangeline’s, touched her forehead against her daughter’s, and closed her eyes.
Jacques stood up from his chair. “You caused this. You made me do it.”
“What have I done except be myself? I am me and that’s what you can’t handle. You need a cute wife you can box in a house.”
“It wasn’t like this when we got married.”
“It’s always been like this. You were Mr. Vanilla who wanted color in his life.”
“Zantu, you’re endangering her. You’ve done that too many times. It’s time it stopped. Vangey is dying!” The words burst from his lips. He nearly collapsed from the pain of saying them.
Silence.
No one had told Evangeline. He asked the doctors to let him do it.
His daughter’s mouth opened in a big O, and saliva pooled out of her lips. She started to cry. So did her mother. Jacques stepped between them and hugged them both. The bed groaned under the sudden weight of three people.
Jacques held them tighter, yet some part of him felt they were slipping away.
“It’s your wings, darling. It’s not whatever they think it is. They’ve got it wrong.” Zantufaile adjusted Evangeline so that she rested on the crook of her arm. “I love you, Jacques.” Zantufaile kissed him on his forehead. “I’m taking Vangey.”
She strode towards the door.
Jacques panicked. Zantufaile sounded insane. She needed to be medicated as soon as possible. He rushed from the sofa and stood in front of the door. “Put her back on the bed.”
“Get out of my way,” Zantufaile said. Jacques shook his head and held out his hand, fingers spread. “Out of my way!” she screamed, her face twisted.
Jacques lunged for his daughter.
Zantufaile shifted Evangeline out of his reach, sidestepped forward, and palm-fisted Jacques in the solar plexus. He was lifted into the air and crashed against the wall.
Jacques’s throat sucked at the air. He couldn’t breathe, and then it was like somebody released a pressure valve—he gulped lungfuls.
How did she move that fast?
He got up, slipped, banged his hip against a table. The table wheeled into the drip-stand, causing it to fall on him. Cursing, he staggered back, took a second to collect himself, then dashed out to follow his crazed wife.
Zantufaile’s red jacket disappeared around the corner at the end of the hall, near the exit. He ran, almost slipped, went around the corner, banged open the doors to the courtyard, and saw his wife starting a car.
“Zantu!” Jacques shouted, sprinting towards her. He pounded on the window. “Open the door!”
Inside he could see Evangeline had started to cry. The car revved. Jacques moved to stand in front of it. Zantufaile regarded him. He thought she would run him over. The car reversed.
“I’m coming after you, Zantu!” Jacques contemplated calling the police but decided it would be a waste of time. He got into his car and sped after them.
They reached a stoplight. Their cars rested side-by-side. He thought of getting out and trying to smash through her windows. The light turned green and Jacques floored it. In a few seconds, his speedometer clicked to 100K, but Zantufaile sped ahead of him. She fishtailed dangerously. Jacques cried out. She managed to get her car under control.
Raindrops spattered against his windshield. He switched the wipers to fast, and their thuds echoed loudly. He couldn’t believe what was happening. They were ascending Mount Dandenong.
The road was winding, steep, and dark. The rain made things worse. Jacques cursed at his wife. This was one of the many reasons he had decided to put her away. You crazy woman, why are you driving to the top of the mountain? he thought.
They reached the summit. Tires screeched as he made a sharp turn.
Zantufaile had stopped the car in the middle of the parking zone.
“Oh no!” Jacques slammed on the brakes. The car skidded almost to a halt but slammed into Zantufaile’s. Glass erupted into the air.
He tottered out, wiped the glass from his cheeks. The air held the musky scent of rain against concrete. He searched Zantufaile’s car but nobody was in it. The ringing sound of feet on a stairwell made him look up.
“What are you doing!” Jacques screamed.
Zantufaile flitted up the lookout stairwell. Evangeline cried out. Zantufaile took the steps three at a time.
Jacques chased them. Zantufaile disappeared around the spiral stairs.
He arrived at the top completely winded. His throat burned, and his eyes watered. Where was she?
A triangular lookout platform gazed over the valley. Waist-high steel railings surrounded it. Beyond the railings, a bronze cornerstone looked down three thousand feet of craggy rock.
He ran to the edge and peered over the railing. The mountain fell away into pitch darkness. Farther away, moonlight illuminated a green sea of trees that stretched to the horizon. Jacques swallowed and pushed himself away. He wasn’t good with heights.
“Evangeline, say goodbye to Papa.” Zantufaile’s voice touched him like an electric shock.
His wife was a silhouette balanced on the bronze mound. Two small yellow eyes peered at him over her shoulder. Evangeline waved a tiny hand at him.
“Goodbye, Papa,” she said. She sounded sad.
“Vangey! Zantu, please!” He put a leg on the railing, heaved half his body over. His daughter was only an arm-span away.
“No closer.” Zantufaile raised one leg. The threat was clear.
“Zantu, what are you doing?! Come towards me!” He jumped over.
Zantufaile stepped out and plummeted into the night air.
Jacques took the bronze mound against his knees and almost fell after them. He trembled as he craned over. The forms of the two people he’d loved most dwindled until they became one with the dark. Jacques slapped his hands against the mound. “Vangey, Vangey, Vangey.” He was shaking and barely managed to throw himself back over the railing. He slumped against the concrete and stared at the sky. There was rain, but he ignored it. He splayed his fingers against his face and cried.
Memories passed behind his eyes. Evangeline taking her first steps. Blowing out the candle on her first birthday cake. Zantufaile and Evangeline sharing a secret smile. Her wet kiss against his cheek. Her tiny arms about his neck.
He looked up.
Something stirred among the stars, against the backdrop of the full moon. It was the strangest sight: a giant set of wings beside a smaller set of wings, connected by holding hands.
He didn’t know how long he looked. It seemed forever. They shrank gradually in the distance. Eventually, the wings became one with the moon.
© 2011 Dinesh Pulandram
Original fiction debuting at Residential Aliens.
Tags: Dinesh Pulandram, magic realism, short story, spiritual fantasy
Good fantasy story with a satisfying ending.