Merrick - Anne Rice [88]
“She can’t until I tell her what she wants to know.”
This baffled me completely. What could Honey want to know?
Suddenly Merrick rose from the chair, rather like a slumbering cat instantly propelled into predatory action, and she closed the door to the hall. I heard her turn the key.
I was on my feet. But I stood back, uncertain of what she meant to do. Certainly she wasn’t drunk enough to be interfered with in any dramatic authoritarian fashion, and I wasn’t surprised when she abandoned her glass for the bottle of rum and took it with her into the center of the room.
Only then did I realize there was no carpet. Her naked feet were soundless on the polished floor, and, with the bottle clutched in her right hand to her breast, she began to turn in a circle, humming and throwing back her head.
I pressed myself against the wall.
Round and round she spun, the violet cotton skirt flaring and the bottle sloshing rum into the air. She paid no attention to the spilt liquor, and, slowing her turns only for a moment, she took another deep drink and then turned so fast that her garments slapped against her legs.
Stopping dead as she faced the altar, she spit the rum between her teeth into a fine spray at the waiting saints.
A high-pitched wail came out of her clenched teeth as she continued to issue the rum from her mouth.
Once again she began to dance, almost deliberately slapping her feet and murmuring. I couldn’t catch the language or the words. Her hair was tangled over her face. Again a swallow, again the rum flying, the candles sputtering and dancing as they caught the tiny droplets and ignited them.
Suddenly she hurled a stream of rum from the bottle all over the candles, and the flames went up before the saints in a dangerous flare. Mercifully the fire went out.
Head back, she screamed between her teeth in French:
“Honey, I did it! Honey, I did it. Honey, I did it!”
The room seemed to shake as she bent her knees and circled, pounding her feet in a loud dance.
“Honey, I put the curse on you and Cold Sandra!” she screamed. “Honey, I did it.”
Suddenly she lunged at the altar, never letting go of her bottle, and, grabbing the green jade perforator in her left hand, she slashed a long cut into her right arm.
I gasped. What could I do to stop her, I thought, what could I do that wouldn’t enrage her?
The blood streamed down her arm and she bowed her head, licked at it, drank the rum, and sprayed the offering on the patient saints once again.
I could see the blood flowing down her hand, over her knuckles. Her wound was superficial but the amount of blood was awful.
Again she lifted the knife.
“Honey, I did it to you and Cold Sandra. I killed you, I put the curse on you!” she screamed.
I resolved to grab hold of her as she went to cut herself again. But I couldn’t move.
As God is my witness, I couldn’t move. I was rooted to the spot. I tried with all my resources to overcome the paralysis, but it was useless. All I could do was cry to her,
“Stop it, Merrick!”
She slashed at her arm across the first cut, and again the blood flowed.
“Honey, come to me, Honey, give me your rage, give me your hatred, Honey, I killed you, Honey, I made the dolls of you and Cold Sandra, Honey, I drowned them in the ditch the night you left. Honey, I killed you. Honey, I sent you to the swamp water, Honey, I did it,” she was screaming.
“For the love of Heaven, Merrick, let go!” I cried. Then suddenly, unable to watch her slash her arm again, I began to pray frantically to Oxalá:
“Give me the power to stop her, give me the power to divert her before she harms herself, give me the power, I beg you, Oxalá, I’m your loyal David, give me the power.” I shut my eyes. The floor was trembling beneath me.
Suddenly the noise of her screams and her bare feet stopped.
I felt her against me. I opened my eyes. She stood in my embrace, both of us facing the doorway, which was indisputably open, and the shadowy figure