Sohna and Vivian - My Brother's Keeper

Servants were such a lax lot, she thought. One always had to keep one’s eye on them at all times. But, she reflected with a satisfied sigh, it did feel good to have them again! Virginia had sent three from her fiancé’s household over to help her pack. Her late husband Jamieson, though a fine man and the catch of the season at her debut, had unfortunately been a bit of a gambler. She had been, well, distressed to discover upon his demise that he was so far in debt. Fortunately, her own father had insisted she maintain her personal fortune privately, so that although she was still required to settle Jamieson’s accounts, enough remained to keep her from starving. Her standard of living, however, was so far below that to which she had always been accustomed that she felt quite poor. Several friends, with whom she’d always been quite close, had grown distant, which had hurt her though she understood why they’d felt it necessary. Fortunately there were a few to whom her sudden drop in status had made no difference. These were the ones to whom she would have introduced Virginia.

She sighed. Not that it was necessary now. Virginia had managed to find someone suitable on her own, even if she had used what her grandmother considered a dirty trick to get him. While getting yourself pregnant might work with some men, it was by no means an infallible method of inducing marriage. Still, she reflected, these days the consequences of failure in that area were minimal, especially in Virginia’s case with the wedding being so soon. Even if her beau backed out at the last minute, she would still have plenty of time to abort the little mistake and start over again fresh - this time with an eligible New Yorker. Grandma frowned. There was just something she didn’t quite trust about this Simon Wolf.

She’d tried to tell herself it was simply the leftover effect of their disastrous first meeting. Heaven knew she couldn’t possibly think of a worse first impression he could have made. But he had explained it reasonably enough - she believed she’d heard of that sort of thing happening to malaria victims before - and she had to admit her granddaughter was right about one thing: There was nothing about him now of the wild psychotic who had so terrified her. However, she thought wryly, neither was there anything of a gentleman of culture and refinement. Oh, his money was real enough - she could easily see that - but if they thought she believed that story they’d fed her about his royal connections, they had another think coming. Really!

No, Grandma suspected he was just one of the nouveau rich whose daddy had made the money and who had done absolutely zilch himself except travel about ‘doing the tour’ as was once said. No doubt that was when he’d picked up malaria, not on any campaign. Not only was he obviously not a member of society, he was certainly no military man, either. In fact, if it hadn’t been for his undeniable wealth - and Virginia’s complete lack of it - she’d have pegged him as a fortune hunter. At least, from her apparent complicity in this string of white lies, Virginia seemed to know what he was really about. Grandma hoped she did. But then, she reflected, it was perfectly possible he had somehow convinced Virginia of the truth of what he’d told her and concocted some ostensibly plausible reason why her grandmother couldn’t be told. Grandma just wondered how he - or they - were going to explain their little prevarications when the truth finally came out. It was going to be quite painful to watch them digress when that finally happened, but she’d try to make it as easy as possible for them - especially if it turned out that Virginia had been completely fooled, poor thing, and after getting herself pregnant, too.

Her thoughts were interrupted for a moment when Justine - was that her name? - asked her which trunk she’d like packed next. Grandma surveyed the three remaining steamer trunks (they’d packed six already) and selected one at random. It didn’t really matter, but it was best not to let the help know there was anything one didn’t care about. It only encouraged them toward carelessness.

She heaved another sigh as she sat back on the divan and sipped her champagne. Could there be anything as tiring as packing? she wondered. The trunks had been gathering dust in the basement for absolutely years, and yet she’d had only two days in which to air them out. That wasn’t at all sufficient, and she was absolutely certain her things would arrive full of some godawfully stale smell, but there was no hope for it. Virginia simply hadn’t given her proper notice, and it wasn’t as if she hadn’t had the time. She’d said the baby was due at the beginning of June, which meant she’d had to have known about it for a couple of weeks now, if not more.

Grandma frowned. Her glass was empty. Quickly, she refilled it.

It was their story of what had happened to Christine that bothered her the most. Oh, not the part about her being a bigamist - Grandma didn’t believe that for one minute, once she’d gotten over her initial shock. What really bothered her was the fact that, in all this time, her daughter had not contacted her. She’d convinced herself - despite what she’d always said to Virginia - that Christine must have died long ago, ending up as what the police call a ‘Jane Doe’ - an unidentifiable missing person. That was the only explanation that had made sense. But Virginia had claimed to have been at her funeral and seen her body, and this was something her grandmother did not believe the girl would lie about. Christine’s death was quite recent - this she had to believe. Yet there was no way to reconcile this information with her daughter’s silence. Surely she would at least have called, especially as she knew before she left that her mother was virtually penniless? (Since Grandma didn’t doubt Christine had married wealth, either. Why else would someone as wealthy as Simon come bearing news of her demise?) Or was there come other way to explain it?

The answer hit her suddenly and she was quite glad she was already sitting down or she would have swooned with the shock: Christine had been kidnaped by Arabs and held prisoner in a harem! It all made sense now; everything did! Of course, that would explain how she was married to ‘royalty’ - no doubt it was some minor sheik whose harem she had graced. And after he had passed away, his heir had very likely poisoned her (that was what they did, wasn’t it?)! And now Virginia was about to be ensnared as well! Simon Wolf! There was a made-up name if Grandma had ever heard one! He did look somewhat Arabic, she thought, with that straight black hair and that perpetual five-o’clock shadow. But he was too tall and too fair - olive skinned though he was - to be entirely of that blood. Unless, she thought, unless his mother had also been kidnaped from this country! Yes! That would also explain why his English is so fluent that he has no accent at all! No doubt he offered to come just so he could begin - or add to, she amended fearfully - his own harem. And now her granddaughter was pregnant by him! Oh my God! she thought, She told me he was more excited about the baby than she was! Now I know why! Oh this is terrible! I’ve got to save her! Everyone knew Arabs considered women to be nothing more than baby-making machines, she thought. If that child is a boy, that Simon will hold it over her head to keep her in line, and she’ll never get away from him - not without losing her baby. But how can I get her to understand what a terrible mistake she’s making?

A rapid knock at the door was quickly followed by the sound of the latch being turned.

“Grandma?” she heard Virginia’s voice call.

“In here, darling,” she called back, hoping the girl had managed to come by herself. But, as she had expected, Simon accompanied her (it was almost as if the two had grown together, she thought vulgarly. Didn’t they go anywhere separately?). He smiled at Grandma in a way that reminded her of some predatory animal, the points of his teeth showing.

Now, Helen, don’t be that uncharitable, she told herself. By his own standards he’s doing nothing wrong, and you’ll only lose Virginia entirely if you begin by hurling insults at him. Besides, you’d probably never think that if it hadn’t been for the way you’d met him - and that was certainly not his fault.

“Oh, you’re still packing,” her granddaughter observed.

“Yes,” she replied. “These things do take time. If you want them done properly, that is. Champagne?”

Virginia and Simon both declined.

“I guess Murray could start loading the ones you have packed already in the van ...”

“Well, if you insist,” Grandma told her. “But we still have a bit to go yet, and I’d probably feel better if my things weren’t sitting out on the street for that long. You never know what might happen. They could just disappear into thin air.”

“Okay,” replied Virginia congenially. She started to sit down.

“Virginia,” said her grandmother. “Could I speak to you a moment? Privately?”

They retreated to the kitchen and Grandma closed the door, after first satisfying herself that Simon was still safely in the drawing room.

“I wanted to talk to you about this marriage,” she began, though she almost immediately realized it had been the wrong way to open the conversation.

“Grandma ...” replied Virginia in a tone of voice that clearly announced she had no intention of listening. As if to emphasize this fact, she looked studiously away.

“I figured out what happened to your mother,” she said quickly, hoping for a reaction.

She got one.

“What do you mean?” her granddaughter inquired sharply.

“She was poisoned, wasn’t she?”

Virginia’s face went white, but she remained silent.

“I knew it!” cried Grandma. “I knew it! Virginia, you can’t mean you really want that kind of life for yourself! Your mother didn’t have any choice, but you still do! Call the wedding off before it’s too late!”

Though she remained pale, Virginia’s face assumed a look of confusion. After a moment, she said, “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about being in a harem!” her grandmother spat. Did she have to spell everything out, she wondered? “That Simon may not have any other wives yet, but that doesn’t mean you’ll be his one and only forever!”

Virginia’s eyes widened incredulously and she burst out laughing.

“A harem?” she gasped.

Grandma was quite taken aback. Surely that was what had happened to Christine - it was the only explanation that made sense; that took everything into account. Did Virginia simply believe it could never happen to her?

“Just because your Simon is only half-Arab by blood doesn’t mean that he wasn’t raised with their value system,” she pontificated.

Virginia choked.

“Wolf ... Simon isn’t an Arab!” she declared. “No one is! No one that has anything to do with us, anyway.”

The glass doorknob turned and the door edged open just enough for someone to look through. Grandma stiffened.

“Virginia?” Simon’s voice called. Her granddaughter replied and he continued, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him.

He threw the door open wide. At the sight of Grandma, he smiled a bit sheepishly.

At least he has the grace to realize he’s interrupting a private conversation, she thought sarcastically.

But he didn’t even apologize, she noted. He just returned his attention to Virginia and asked, “What’s an Arab?”

Something inside Grandma snapped.

“You know perfectly well what an Arab is!” she declared. “Don’t play the innocent with me! You may have pulled the wool over my granddaughter’s eyes, but my vision is crystal clear! You may not be kidnaping her like Christine, but you can’t tell me you aren’t planning to make Virginia a member of your harem!”

She might have saved her breath, for her anger simply washed right over him. He stared at her brightly (for some reason the phrase ‘all bright eyed and bushy tailed’ came to her mind), smiled and asked, “What’s a harem?”

“I’ll explain it to you later,” Virginia told him.

Exasperated, Helen rounded on her granddaughter.

“Virginia. You can’t tell me Christine wasn’t poisoned to death. I saw your face when I suggested it.”

Virginia’s face paled again as it had the first time Helen had mentioned it. Simon put his arm around her, suddenly serious himself.

“You see?” said Grandma triumphantly.

He glanced furtively at her, then said something in a low voice to Virginia, who nodded, but still looked as if she were a bit ill. He nodded too, and Grandma thought, for just a moment, that she could see how Virginia could have been blinded by love for this man. He seemed to know exactly what to do in a difficult emotional situation, which was something that most men - in her experience - did not.

Then he looked up at her, and his eyes seemed to stare a hole through to the back of her skull. She didn’t remember what happened next very clearly, but she did recall thinking that she shouldn’t have drunk quite so much champagne - not because it made her dizzy, but because she became far too suggestible.

He had asked her what she thought had happened, and when she told him, he’d denied it all, saying that everything would be explained as soon as they got to his country (he didn’t use the words ‘my country’, saying instead ‘my land’ but it amounted to the same thing, she thought). And she had agreed to it! It was only now, as she watched the last of her trunks disappear on a hand truck into the depths of Central Park that she was beginning to regain her senses.

“Wait!” she cried. “What’s going on? Where are they taking my things?” She hadn’t at all recognized the men who had wheeled her things away so abruptly.

“It’s okay Grandma,” Virginia assured her. “Those are just King Wendell’s servants. He sent them here to help us with this.”

“Well they just took my trunks right into the park, Virginia!” she insisted. “Did you see that?”

“Yes,” her granddaughter replied. “Now come on!”

She felt her hand being taken, and her feet followed as Virginia propelled her further into the trees in the same direction her trunks had taken. She didn’t see the furtive look her granddaughter gave her fiancé, nor his answering shrug.

At least we might be able to recover one or two of them, her addled mind rationalized. But she was disappointed when they came to a halt near a thicket of trees with no one else in sight.

“This is it,” Virginia announced.

“What is?” she wanted to know.

“It’s the portal,” her granddaughter explained. “The entrance to Wolf’s ... to Simon’s world.”

Have they lost their minds? wondered Grandma. Or have I lost mine? Maybe this is a dream and I’ll wake up soon.

“I’ll go first,” Simon offered, and promptly disappeared.

Grandma looked around, surprised and confused, but not worried. Strange things always happened in dreams.

“Are you ready, Grandmother?” Virginia asked her.

“I suppose so.”

“Just step through there, then.”

Virginia pointed to a patch of what Grandma had to admit was rather blurry greenery. She’d thought it was her old eyes playing tricks on her, however.

“Go on,” her granddaughter encouraged her. “I’m right behind you.”

Grandma took a step forward, putting her hand out in front of her. It disappeared into nothingness. She tried to jerk it away, but couldn’t. It was as if something or someone had hold of her hand and was pulling her towards it. She started to scream just as she passed the threshold.

Helen stumbled out into a rather dark, cold place that smelled of mildew. It took her a moment to regain her balance, and she noticed then that Simon was holding her by the hand.

“It does make you dizzy,” he admitted. Then, seeing that she was fine (at least physically), he let her go.

She looked around, overwhelmed and more than a trifle dismayed by the sight of the oil lanterns hung against the damp dressed stone, and the iron bars separating the room she was in from the narrow corridor.

“Where are we?” she asked, feeling like a character in a gothic novel. Well, at least I didn’t say ‘Where am I?’ she reflected.

“This is the dungeon of Wendell’s - King Wendell’s - castle,” he explained.

“Dungeon?!”

“It’s the safest place to keep the mirrors,” he told her, pointing to the space behind her.

She turned around. There, secured in place by a sturdy rack, stood a full-length rectangular mirror with an ornate frame carved with scrolls and concentric circles. But at the moment it wasn’t the frame which caught her attention, but what was shown in the glass: instead of a reverse image of the room she was in, it depicted an ever-shifting view of New York, as seen from Central Park. Yet she barely had time for this to register before the image clouded over and her granddaughter emerged bodily into the room.

Virginia eyed her a bit sheepishly, then did something with the mirror’s frame. The image of New York vanished, replaced by what should have been there in the first place - a reflection of their present surroundings.

“It’s a magic mirror,” her granddaughter told her. “This is why we couldn’t tell you where the wedding was. You’d never have believed us.”

Helen had badly wanted to retort, ‘Well how do you know, you didn’t even try?’ but the words sounded ridiculous even to her. So for once she was silent.

But when they had gone upstairs and entered the main hall, her eyes lit up and she froze in wonder.

“This is where your mother ...” she managed to get out, then took a deep breath and began afresh, “I mean, this was Christine’s castle?”

“I guess you could say that,” acknowledged Simon, “It certainly was for awhile.”

She whirled around, staring up at the high, painted ceiling like a child. I always knew she was meant to be a princess, she thought, then amended that to: No, a queen!

They took her up to her chambers, and Simon at last left Virginia and her alone.

“Okay,” said her granddaughter. “I said I’d explain things when we got her so here goes ...”

And she launched into a mixed-up tale full of magic and adventure, the gist of what ended up being that the dog she’d found was actually the king, who had been turned into a dog by an evil spell, and that she (Virginia) and her father (that dolt!) had been brought here by accident, and had essentially had to help break the spell on the king in order to get back. This was sprinkled through with a lot of nonsense about Snow White and Cinderella so that Helen didn’t wonder that Virginia thought she’d never believe it in New York. She didn’t even believe it here!

She did, however, notice that nowhere in this twisted tale did her own daughter appear, and she said as much. Whereupon Virginia, after much hemming and hawing, declared that her mother had been kidnaped by Snow White’s stepmother! When pressed for clearer information, however, her granddaughter suddenly blew up.

“Never mind!” she said tersely. “You haven’t believed anything else I’ve told you, so you certainly aren’t going to believe that part either.” Tears formed in her eyes. “I can’t believe it - I mean, you came here through a magic mirror, why do you have to be so ... so ...”

The dam had burst then and she’d literally run from the room.

Helen sighed, glad to be rid of her. Not that she’d have wished the girl to be miserable, but she was sure she must be dreaming. The real Virginia was probably sound asleep, curled up next to her rich Arab in that penthouse of his. She looked at the bed turned back for her here: it was exactly what she would have expected to see in a fairy-tale castle: a dark four-poster with heavy bedcurtains embroidered with gilt thread.

It is getting late, she thought. And I know I’ll just wake up in that squalid apartment of mine in New York, probably alone, to discover that Virginia hasn’t come back at all. But one can’t live one’s life in a dream world.

She changed into her nightgown and blew out the candles.

Helen wasn’t sure exactly what it was that awakened her, but when she opened her eyes, she found that the candles had all been lit again. She sat up, curiously, and looked around, nearly crying out when she saw the apparition seated by the now-crackling fireplace. It was wearing a long, deep violet gown under a forest green velvet cloak that matched perfectly its glittering eyes. Its long, thick red hair - still free of gray, Helen noted - was piled loosely in a knot on top of its head. It looked regal, though it wore no crown.

“Hello, Mother,” it said.

“Christine?” she breathed incredulously, “But you ... you’re ...”

“Yes, I’m quite dead.”

“But how ... ?” she wanted to know. Oddly enough, Helen didn’t think she was dreaming now. The Christine sitting before her was a Christine she hadn’t known, fourteen years older and a bit heavier than the one in her memory, though it was unmistakably still her daughter. If it had been a dream, surely she would have appeared as the younger woman her mother remembered, she thought.

“No, you’re not dreaming,” her daughter assured her, as if reading her thoughts. “Nor were you dreaming earlier this evening when Virginia was trying to explain everything to you. You upset her terribly, by the way. This is extremely difficult for her.”

That was the last thing Helen wanted to hear. How dare her daughter march in here and begin lecturing her, she thought, after disappearing like that without a word herself! She said as much. To her horror, Christine threw back her head and laughed.

“Oh, dear,” her daughter exclaimed, still terribly amused, “I can see there are certain advantages to no longer being alive: None of that applies, you see. The filial relationship no longer exists. However, in the interest of clearing up a few things, I will explain some of it.

“Virginia was partially correct in stating that I had been kidnaped by an evil witch. The word ‘kidnaped,’ though, implies that I was dragged away against my will, kicking and screaming, when in fact I came quite willingly. It would, however, be entirely within the truth to say I was lured. Without going into the details of why I made the choices I did - which would take me too far from the reason I am here - suffice to say that I allowed the witch to usurp my will. She used the Lethe mirror - one of those now locked in the dungeon here - to remove all memory of my past life. That is why I never contacted you. I no longer remembered. I was entirely the witch’s pawn. She needed someone young who had the power, you see. And now that I am gone, she will be looking for another, as they well know.”

“They?”

“King Wendell, Virginia, Wolf ... and Tony.”

Helen frowned with distaste at the mention of her son-in-law’s name, but in death her daughter ignored her scorn as she had never managed to do in life.

“They are afraid she may try and strike through you,” Christine went on.

Me?

“But that is a groundless fear,” she continued. “This is, as Virginia tried to tell you, Snow White’s stepmother we are dealing with - the one who constantly asked her mirrors how fair she was. I was about to become too old for her myself - she would have discarded me at the first ready opportunity - so I’m afraid you’re too old for her purposes, though you do have the power, as I did.”

Helen looked suspiciously at her daughter.

“That’s sheer nonsense!” she declared in a tone that permitted no argument.

“No it isn’t,” argued Christine. “You remember what happened when you were little and you found the daddy long-legs ... and how no one else could see what he really was ... and what your father did to him?”

It hadn’t been a bug, she remembered. It had been a tiny being that glistened and sparkled with an inner light - delighted that someone could at last see him! Little Helen had taken him to show to her parents, and her mother had screamed. Her father had shouted something obscene - which her mother had later castigated him for - swatted him out of her hand and stepped on him.

She’d cried for days and days afterwards, and her father had finally come with the switch and given her a lashing. He’d told her that if she didn’t learn the difference between fantasy and reality that she’d get it again, too. The little man hadn’t existed. It was just a nasty bug.

“You do remember,” said her daughter. “Virginia has the ability too, though the witch knows better than to try and use her. With the wolf by her side, she is far too strong, and he is more powerful himself than she anticipated. Their child would be an easier prey.”

Helen looked up. She’d been reliving the little man’s death, and it took awhile for Christine’s words to finally sink in.

“They will have enough to think about in the next few months,” said Christine. “Something far older and stronger than she is awakening, though it will not hesitate to use her for its dark purposes. So it will be up to you to take care of this unfinished business. Her vanity is her weakness. You will know when the time comes.”

Helen lay back down in the bed, her eyes wet with tears. The next morning, the candles were all out but not guttered, and the fireplace was cold. It was as if Christine had not been there at all. Yet she knew without a doubt that it had not been a dream.