Oct. 14, 1915 - Friend, please don’t take your life away from me

“I apologize Miss; I did the best I could,” the man’s pale hands shook in hers.
“I’m not angry,” she tightened gloved fingers around his, “I’m sorry I abandoned you.” Each tear that escaped his hollow eyes sent a crack through her heart. “Everything is fine,” she stepped forward and wrapped the skeletal man in an embrace. She could not bear his unnecessary shame and knew what she needed to do. It has been too much for him, he was lost. The powers, she knew not how, Elpheim bestowed on her were unique to her others – they did not require the touching of skin. “I don’t blame you,” she rubbed the back of his dark jacket, “You did what you could.” His sobs subsided as he rested his head on her shoulder. “It’ll all be okay,” she whispered as his bony pale cheek brushed against hers. She closed her eyes and held him tighter.

The villa had been hazy for days. All color began to drain as soon as Signor and Signora Ratavoloira had left. The “itch” started the day after. They were the only ones that could help him and the others. Just a quick embrace, a few moments of pain and all would be better again. That “itch” would go away. It started with the lanterns – they became brighter and stung his eyes; the stars in the night sky struck through the darkness of the garden, the entire galaxy could be seen clearer than ever. The drab brown stucco of the loggia brightened to a vibrant yellow. He had never smelled roses as lovely as the ones by the fountain… meters away beyond hedgerows and stone paths. Then he felt it, he didn’t know how long it had been there, something small and soft clasping his hand. Miss Ratavolira was next to him, a glow about her olive skin as the most heavenly face beamed up at him. The girl’s hair shined like the skin of a fresh chestnut bound with a bow and matching gown, pale blue as a spring afternoon sky. One hand was in his, a nursery book in the other. She was the cause of all this – he saw the world as it was, how he hadn’t in years. She was the reason that “itch” had gone away. “Signore Durante, would you ever, please, tell me a story.” A cacophony of luggage banging echoed through the halls as he and Esmerelda hurried to the Miss’s chamber. The trunk lid slammed down as they entered. Miss Ratavoloira looked up at them; her hair tumbled about her shoulders, her deep eyes frantic. “Help me!” She began to try and pull and pry at her wedding gown. Esmerelda went to assist but was shoved away, “NO! Don’t touch me!” In her fashion Esmerelda began to shake like a leveret. “Leave us,” he said. “What happened, Miss?”
“I couldn’t do it.”
“Why?”
“He loves me.”
“I don’t understand, Miss.”
“Nether do I,” she wiped a tear away with a bare hand, “But I can’t stay here. They won’t let me now.”

She grabbed a satchel and threw her personal effects into it. “Will you come with me?”
“What?”
“Please! I can’t do this alone!”
“Me?”
“You’re my oldest friend!”
“Leave your parents?”
“Yes…” she walked up to him. “Please,” her lips trembled.
He saw in her eyes, she was terrified. BANG
“EMILIA JOSETTE!” the voice of Signora pierced the walls.
She gasped and grasped his hand. In that moment, he knew, from the fear she felt from the wrath of her own parents, he had to serve and protect her from all dangers; for as long as he was able. WAA-ooooOOOO-AAh The S.S. Pennsylvania blew its whistle as it waited for the last passengers to board. “Don’t be nervous, Miss,” he said, “Everything is fine.” Ever the picture of a fashion plate she stood before him in her tweed, “Is it? How do you know?”
“Your parents had enemies, you don’t.”
“Will America be safe, do you think?”
“Safer than here, at present.”
“True. Are you certain you wish to come with me?”
“Had I not left with you I’d be dead as well. I owe you a debt I’ll never be able to pay that back, Miss.”
“You do everyday,” She said. The docks were a bustle of loved ones waving to their families on board, men moving luggage as those boarded preparing for departure. The air was filled with the scent of brine from the Elbe. “Did you get a copy of my father’s will?”
“Yes, Miss.”
“And the deed?”
“Yes, Miss; all secure at Landolt & Cie with a copy of each in your luggage and one at the vineyard.”
“What ever would I do without you?” She smiled.
“Survive – we best be getting aboard Miss.” WAA-ooooOOOO-AAH The house had gone hazy these few days. They hadn’t seen Miss Ratavoloira. They did their best. They spoke to the authorities with no results. A shadow of that ‘itch’ was back. This place was not secure. They needed somewhere safe. The women would not stop speaking of their headaches. They all needed her. He had failed her. She needed protection! These drab grey wooden walls outside of town were not sufficient. Thud on the front porch and a fumbling at the knob. There she was – slumped against the frame in the grey gown of the Asylum, her skin pale and sallow, and her hair drab and dull. She looked up at him her breath labored. He knelt down and struggled to lift her. She wrapped her arms about him, doing so their brows touched. Her breath stopped the quiver and he found his strength. Her hair and skin now shone as they used to with life in them. That ‘shadow’ was gone. “Come on Miss.” The strains of Dvorak reverberated from the phonograph through the immaculate rooms of their new apartment in the Sativum building. Each room had earthy warmth from the mahogany library filled with the Miss’s extensive collection, the bright parlors and dining room with their pastoral murals and furnishing from the Continent, to her velvet chamber; even the servants rooms were beyond what he or Feodora and Colette were accustomed to. “Well, what do you think?” she beamed at him as he stepped into the golden entry hall. She had arranged along the walls, in gold frames, the posters of the L’Exposition Universelle, Esposizione Internazionale, and Prima Esposizione Internazionale d'Arte Decorativa Moderna among other events they had attended since they had left her parents’ estate. “I think it’ll do Miss,” he handed her a glass of sherry.
“You’re so good to me.”
“And I always will be, Miss. Do you think you can trust Herr Mull?”
“I’m not sure, but if this place is safe for my parents’ kind it should be for us as well. Have you seen the view?” She grinned. She went and opened the doors to one of the four balconies as he followed. This was the happiest he had ever seen his girl. The street lights far below them had just begun to turn on as the sun retreated behind the distant Blue Ridge. “So everything is fine then?” he asked.
“Yes I believe so.” She took a sip of her sherry, “They may not be the Alps, but they certainly are breathtaking.” “Durante… I’m going.”
“I don’t like this, Miss?”
“I know. I don’t either but I’ll be with Mr. Grey and Waya should be in the area… what could happen?”
“Any number of things.”
“I’ll only be a few days, I promise.”
“I’ll take care of things while you’re gone, Miss.”
Her bare hand held his, “You always do. Bye, my friend.” This time, though her touch calmed him, it could not shake the feeling that all was not well. The envelopes had begun to pile under the door; even some from Switzerland and Landolt and Cie. The apartment had grown hazy but the ‘itch’ had yet to come back… for him. “Where is she?” Feodora was in a frenzy. The fireplace was in full blast, not for their benefit but to maintain the appearance. They shouldn’t let the windows get too frosted over. The lights had been left on constantly. “You know what I need!”
“We can’t go out!” Colette pleaded, “You know what could happen!”
“She said she’d be back.” He tried to convince her.
“When?! Can’t you feel it? This whole place is a den! They must have some hidden around!” The scabs made by her teeth on her lips were telling. He and Colette both grabbed her.
“You think they’d share any with you?”
“She’ll take care of us when she gets back!” Colette cried.
“How long do we wait?” Click-fzzt they were plunged into darkness. They were silent for a moment. “She’s not coming back…” Feodora whispered. “I need to get out! Let me go!” She threw them off. Something shattered behind him as he hit the wall. “I’ll go out and find some myself!” She was gone when he noticed the Prima Esposizione Internazionale d'Arte Decorativa Moderna frame was on the ground. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t do it!” Colette rocked back and forth in the parlor floor.
“I know. I know!” The ‘itch’ was back.
“What-what-what are we going to do?”
“She’ll be back!”
“She left us!”
“No.”
“SHE LEFT US!”
“No!”
“CAN’T YOU HEAR THEM?”
“YES!”
Her head jerked to one side, “DO IT!” She stared into his eyes and clamped her hands to his face, her nails dug into his flesh, “We-we-we can’t! We. Need. Her.”
“I know…”
“End it! Get it!”
“Hush!”
“She left us,” Colette hissed.
He silenced her with a hand over her mouth. Boom-Boom-Boom “Miss Ratavolira?!” Maybe they’ll go away like the other times. BANG

Thunderous footsteps in the halls, “WHERE IS SHE?!” There it was, the ‘itch’ and Signore and Signora Ratavolira with all their friends. Esmerelda and the others. Then fangs all over their bodies or the taste of Frangelico and lemon panna cotta that weakness that took the ‘itch’ away, but they knew it’d be back. There she was, the infant girl always kept away from the adults. Always quiet, always calm; he kept watch at her door as she slept. He had a daughter once… before this life with the ‘itch’. He couldn’t remember her face or her name. All there was, was the ‘itch’. The ‘itch’ was all he cared about now. All he wanted was those fangs in his body to make it go away and feel that feeling. The favorite wine of Signore and Signora would take the ‘itch’ away for a time. It was rare they had a chance to drink said wine. They wanted the fangs. All there was in this life was the ‘itch’ or the fangs or hating the ‘itch’ until one day… “Signore Durante, would you ever, please, tell me a story.” None of it was real; none of the visions of his old life, or his mistress returning to them, all being well again… none of it. There was one lantern, one hazy lantern left. Everything had been preserved; curtains drawn, furniture covered, that was all. He had found himself standing, sitting, lying frozen and waiting… It was inconceivable - his mistress was dead and would not return to them. There was nothing they could do but wait for the inevitable. “Colette?” He found her motionless in her old chamber sitting, eyes fixed on the door. “Colette?” She didn’t move. She was grey in the light of the hazy lantern. He reached out and touched her hand – that was it. She collapsed into a whiff of dusty cloud, the haziest of outlines where she had been just visible in the glow; her uniform still present, lying undisturbed on the chair. “Durante!” No… more visions “Durante!!”
Curtains were shifted. They had never done that before. “Durante?! Where are you?” No… impossible. His bony cheek touched her, so full of life and beauty. He no longer had a reason to weep – his mistress was back. The electric buzz began and the lights flickered once before the room was again bathed in light. Brightness. Linen no longer covered the furniture in the parlor. He thought he heard the phonograph in the library. He could smell Feodora’s apfelstruesel in the kitchen. Colette was humming in the corridor. City lights speckled the black window through the open curtains. The floor gleamed with fresh polish. He looked again at the most beautiful face he had ever beheld. Her olive skin and chestnut hair were glowing again as she beamed at him. She was back and everything was fine.

What daylight could get through the film over the window fell on her as she cradled a livery in her arms. The first tear to streak through the dust on her cheek was one of many.
She collapsed into a slump; a cloud stirred up as she pounded the floor letting out a dreadful wail.

There was little she could do - only two options were open to her - forge a new life or try to salvage anything that remained, now the last person from the old one was now gone.

For the first time in years Emilia Ratavoloira slept.