Santi: The Devil's Pioneer

Chapter 33 - The Dreamy Forest

"Well now, I don't know exactly."

"Neither do I. I can never decide. But it doesn't make much real difference for it I'll ever be either. Certainly, I'll never be angelically good. Emily says-oh, Peter! Oh, Peter!! Oh, Peter!!!"

Emily had not stated that, nor had the child fallen out of the buggy, nor had Lucifer done anything extraordinary. They had barely turned a bend in the road and arrived at the "Avenue." The "Avenue," as it was known among the Newbridge residents, was a four- or five-hundred-yard length of road fully arched over with massive, wide-spreading apple trees planted years before by an eccentric old farmer. A vast canopy of white, fragrant blossom hung from the sky. Below the boughs, in the purple dusk, a glimpse of painted sunset sky shined like a large rose window at the end of a cathedral aisle, while far ahead, a glimpse of painted sunset sky gleamed like a huge rose window at the end of a cathedral aisle. Its splendor appeared to render the toddler speechless. Her tiny hands clasped in front of her, her face rose rapturously to the white glory above her as she reclined back in the buggy. Even when they had passed out and were driving down the long slope to Newbridge, she never moved or spoke. Still, with a rapt face, she gazed afar into the sunset west, with eyes that saw visions trooping splendidly across that glowing background. Through Newbridge, a bustling little village where dogs barked at them and small boys hooted and curious faces peered from the windows, they drove, still in silence.

"I assume you're weary and hungry," Lucifer finally said, explaining her extended spell of insanity with the only explanation he could think of. "But we're just a mile away now," she said, stepping out of her trance with a heavy sigh and looking at him with the dreamy gaze of a soul wandering afar, star-led.

"Oh, Peter," she whispered, "that place we came through-that white place what was it?"

"Well now, you must mean the Avenue," said Lucifer after a few moments' profound reflections. It is a kind of pretty place."

"Pretty? Oh, pretty doesn't seem the right word to use. Nor beautiful, either. They don't go far enough. Oh, it was wonderful-wonderful. It's the first thing I ever saw that couldn't be improved upon by imagination. It just satisfies me here-she put one hand on her chest-it made a queer funny ache and yet it was a pleasant ache. Did you ever have an ache like that, Peter?"

"Well now, I just can't recollect that I ever had."

"I have it all the time whenever I perceive things royally beautiful, but they shouldn't call that lovely place the Avenue. It has no meaning in a name like that. They should call it-let me call it the Dreamy Forest. Isn't that a nice imaginative name? When I don't like the name of a place or a pen on, I always imagine a new one and always think of them as of that kind. There was a girl at the asylum whose name was Fiona Johnson, but I always imagined her as Mrs. Snowman. Other people may call that place the Avenue, but I shall always call it the White Way of Delight. Have we really only another mile to go before we get home? I'm glad and I'm sorry. Firm sorry because this drive has been so pleasant and I'm always sorry when pleasant things end. Something still pleasanter may come after, but you can never be sure. And it's so often the case that it isn't pleasanter. That has been my experience anyhow. But I'm glad to think of getting home. You see, I've never had a real home since I can remember. It gives me that pleasant ache again just to think of clothing to a really truly home. Oh, isn't that pretty!"

They had driven over a hill's top. Below them was a pond that, because of its length and twisting nature, seemed almost like a river. The water was a splendor of many shifting colors, the most spiritual shadings of crocus pink and ethereal green, with another illusive coloring for which no name has ever been discovered, from there to its lower end, when an amber-hued belt of sand-hills walled it in from the dark blue gulf beyond. The pond went up into bordering groves of fir and maple trees above the bridge, all darkly transparent in their shifting shadows. A wild plum leaned out from the bank every now and again, like a white-clad girl tiptoeing to her own reflection. The frogs' clear, mournfully lovely song came from the marsh near the pond's head. There was a little grey house peering around a white apple orchard on a slope beyond and, although it was not yet quite dark, a light was shining from one of its windows. "That's China’s pond," said Lucifer.

"Oh, I don't like that name, either. I shall call it-let me see-the Lake of Golden Adventure. Yes, that is the night name for it. I know because of the thrill. When I hit on a name that suits me exactly it gives me a thrill. Do things ever give you a thrill?" Lucifer ruminated.

"All right, all right, all right, all right, all right, all right. Seeing those hideous white grubs that shovel up in the cucumber beds has always given me a pleasure. I despise the way they appear." "Oh, I don't think it can be the same type of joy." Do you believe it is possible? Doesn't seem like there's much of a link between grubs and sparkling lakes, does there? But why is it referred to be China's pond by others? "

"I reckon because Miss China Hill lives up there in that house. Orchard Slope's the name of his place. If it wasn't for that big bush behind it, you could see Brighton Beach from here. But we have to go over the bridge and round by the road, so it's near half a mile further."

"Has China had any little girls? Well, not so very little either-about my size." "He's got one about eleven. Her name is Fiona."

"Oh!" with a long indrawing of breath. "What a perfectly lovely name!" "Well now, I dunno. There's something dreadful heathenish about it, seems to me. I'd rather Emma or Catherine or some sensible name like that. But when Fiona was born there was a schoolmaster boarding there and they gave him the naming of her and he called her Fiona.

"I wish there had been a schoolmaster like that around when I was born, then. Oh, here we are at the bridge. I'm going to shut my eyes tight. I'm always afraid of going over bridges. I can't help imagining that perhaps, just as we get to the middle, they'll crumple up like a jackknife and nip us. So, I shut my eyes. But I always have to open them for all when I think we're getting near the middle. Because you see, if the bridge did crumple up, I'd want to see it crumble. What a jolly rumble it makes! I always like the rumble part of it. Isn't it splendid there are so many things to like in this world? There, we're over. Now I'll look back. Good night, dear Lake of Golden Adventures. I always say good-night to the things I love, just as I would to people. I think they like it. That water looks as if it was smiling at me."

When they had driven up the further hill and around a corner, Lucifer said: "We're pretty near home now. That's Brighton Beach over" "Oh, don't tell me," she interrupted breathlessly, catching at his partially raised arm and shutting her eyes that she might not see his gesture. "Let me guess. I'm sure I'll guess right." She opened her eyes and looked about her. They were on the crest of a hill. The sun had set some time since, but the landscape was still clear in the mellow afterlight. To the west, a dark church spire rose up against a marigold sky. Below was a little valley and beyond, a long, gently rising slope with snug farmsteads scattered along with it. From one to another the child's eyes darted, eager and wistful. At last, they lingered on one away to the left, far back from the road, dimly white with blossoming trees in the twilight of the surrounding woods. Over it, in the stainless southwest sky, a great crystal-white star was shining like a lamp of guidance and promise. "That's it, isn't it?" she said, pointing.

Lucifer slapped the reins on the sorrel's back delightedly *Well now, you've guessed it! But I reckon Emily described it so's you could tell."

"No, she didn't really she didn't. All she said might just as well have been about most of those other places. I hadn't any real idea what it looked like. But just as soon as I saw it I felt it was home. Oh, it seems as if I must be in a dream. Do you know, my arm must be black and blue from the elbow up, for I've pinched myself so many times today Every little while a horrible sickening feeling would come over me and I'd be so afraid it was all a dream. Then I'd pinch myself to see if it was real-until suddenly I remembered that even supposing it was only a dream, I'd better go on dreaming as long as I could; so, I stopped pinching. But it is real and we're nearly home." With a sigh of rapture, she relapsed into silence. Matthew stirred uneasily. He felt glad that it would be Lilith and not he who would have to tell this waif of the world that the home she longed for was not to be hers after all. They drove over Lynde's Hollow, where it was already quite dark, but not so dark that Hannah Towski could not see them from her window vantage, and up the hill and into the long lane of Brighton Beach. By the time they arrived at the house Lucifer was shrinking from the approaching revelation with an energy he did not understand. It was not of Hannah or himself he was thinking of the trouble this mistake was probably going. to make for them, but of the child's disappointment. When he thought of that rapt light being quenched in her eyes he had an uncomfortable feeling that he was going to assist at murdering something much the same feeling that came over him when he had to kill a lamb or calf or any other innocent little creature.

The yard was quite dark as they turned into it and the poplar leaves were rustling silkily all around it. *Listen to the trees talking in their sleep," she whispered, as he lifted me to the ground. "What nice dreams they must have!"

Then, holding tightly to the carpet bag which contained "all her worldly goods", she followed him into the house.

I slam the door behind me, not caring about Lola and Emily being downstairs waiting for my response.

I felt overwhelmed. Never in my life had I faced such great heartache. It felt as though I was breaking apart.

All of a sudden, I remember my life in Hell without a beating heart. It was cold but it was safe. It was painless.

Tears rush down my face. This wasn't what I had intended to happen.

I plop myself face-first to the bed, muffling my cries with the pillow.

The door cracks open, and I don't squeak.

"It's okay to cry, you know. It's alright to be upset, dear."

I hear Lola's soothing voice. I feel her seat herself beside me on the bed, feeling the sudden shift of weight.

I don't mumble, nor speak. I let her cool hands run through the locks of my hair.

"It's never easy. Your first heartbreak. It's painful, I should know." She pauses and I listen more intently to her. "You're gonna be okay, you know. This is nothing Santi Grahams cannot face."

I roll around to face her. My eyes were soaking wet. But my pride was somewhere lower than Hell.

I glimpse at Lola's caring eyes, feeling her envelop me in her arms even when we were inches apart.

"It sucks, Santi. I know. It feels as if the world has ended. As if you've lost all purpose in living."

She smiles and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ears.

"But your story's not over. You have so much more to go on. You're gonna meet so many more people. That heartbreak gonna happen again and again. And it'll break you every single time. But you're gonna get up anyway because you're Santi Grahams. You're strong. You are—"

"Did you really have to tell him the truth?!" Emily comes through the door, bursting with redness on her cheeks.

Her blonde bangs sway right and left, as she sneers at me.

"Emily? What's gotten you riled up? I don't think this is a good time. Santi's not having a good day." Lola tries to take her out of the room by grabbing her hands.

Days had passed after we broke up. I was starting to feel less crappy. I think today's the day I dare to escape the comfort of my bed.

I get up, lazily, and scramble my feet around to look for my slippers. I make my way down the hall of this humungous house.

It was eerily silent. Lola must've gone to work. Emily must be in school. I must be all alone in this big home.

Home.

It was comforting. To know that I now have something I can call home voluntarily. There were three of us here but it felt so much fuller to me than the countless demons roaming the halls of Hell.

This home was warm and cozy. I don't know how I could ever repay Lola for this. I owe her my whole life on Earth.

I reach the kitchen and head to the fridge. I could definitely see my whole body in the reflective doors of the fridge. This was ultimately the coolest appliance in this house.

"You knew and you didn't tell me?!" A loud voice echo through.

I recognized that voice. No one could match that raspy, smooth and low voice of his. Emman was here, at my home.

"Keep your voice shut, please. She's in her room. She might hear you." A female's voice shushes him down.

It was Emily's. But I didn't understand what they were talking about.

"I don't care. We already broke up, Em. I don't know what exactly you are trying to hide from her."

"She doesn't know, okay. And I just don't want her to know right now. She was so devastated when you broke up with her."

"What the fork are you playing here? You know she was lying to me, all this time, and you didn't even bother to tell your own brother? Is this some kind of sick joke to you, Emily?"

Brother?

I kept on eavesdropping by the kitchen aisle. They were probably in the hall talking. Their voices echoed loud and clear. But how clear was it that Emman was Emily's brother?

What the hell did this mean?

I get that he was always trying to play the older brother's card with Emily. She was the only girl in the group before I came. I thought they were only being protective of her.

But actual brothers? Two months and Emily didn't think it was important to tell me I was dating her brother.

Were humans really this crappy?

Where the fork is all those warm and cuddly attitudes? Were those forking veils all those times?

I felt my insides burning again. It had been weeks since I felt this feeling inside me. But it had returned. The darkness in my awoken.

"Emman, come on. Daddy kicked me out of the house. What was I supposed to do? Ruin my good chances of a comfortable life here with the Grahams by destroying your relationship?"

She sounded so vile. I never thought Emily would be the one to spew all those words. She was not who I thought she was.

"Fork, Emily, the screws in your head are so loose, you can't forking see what's right."

It grew silent for a few minutes. They must've left, but I didn't hear footsteps.

"The day at the park? The way you shrug it off or play it coy every time I'd call you or refer to you as my sister. She doesn't really have a forking clue we're brothers and sisters, does she?" Emman's voice was lower than normal. He was disappointed and close to just giving up and leaving the conversation. I could tell. He often gave up on me whenever he thinks I was acting childish.

For the record though, I was never childish. I simply lacked the experience of being a child and was projecting those emotions to him.

"Okay, she doesn't. I was hoping it would come up naturally at one of our conversations early on. But life had other plans." Emily answers.

Oh, this bench. The nerve of her to blame her evilness on life?

The fire inside me was roaring. I wanted to hurt Emily. I try to suppress it. This was my rage controlling me. But I've learned to be bigger than this feeling.

"Life? Life?! Emily, you broke both our forking hearts. Stop playing this stupid game and tell her the truth before I do. You know damn well what Bea—or Santi has been through. I don't which of those were lies and what was true. But I know she's had it rough. You don't deserve her as a friend."

Emman's voice soothed the flame inside me. It shrank down till I could feel the coldness of the room.

I hear his footsteps and the door slamming as he left the house. Emily's footsteps were making it up the stairs as well.

Yet here I was, kneeling in front of the kitchen aisle, more devastated than I had ever been.

Emily had played us both. I thought she was my friend. She had betrayed me.

She told me to keep my true nature from Emman. She said I was too complicated for him. He wouldn't want a murdering teen with a record on his passenger seat.

I was naive. I was forking human. And it ruined me.

I was the She-Devil but here I am crying my eyes out on the kitchen floor. Who knew humans were this scary? More terrifying than any demon I knew.

I was the She-Devil. But Emily was a devil.

The doors open and I hear a slight chatter.

I scramble to fix myself up, grabbing the box full of tissues to dab my face endlessly. I was halfway through dabbing when Lola enters the kitchen.

She was surprised to find me in such a weak state. She puts her bag on the aisle and helps me to stand up.

"Santi, this isn't you."

It was all she said. But I understood every word of it.