I stood up, marched into the dining room, found the bottle of twenty five year old Macallan Scotch and the lead crystal glasses on the sideboard, and poured myself a good drink. I returned to her. Then I went back and got the bottle. I brought it with me, settled in the chair, and put it on the nightstand to my left.
The Scotch tasted wonderful. I didn't drink on the plane at all, wanting to be alert for my reunion, and it took the edge off my nerves beautifully.
She was still crying.
"All right, you're going to call up Honey, and you think for some reason Honey knows the name of the town or the village. "
"Honey liked those places," she said, unperturbed by my urgent voice. "Honey liked the name of the village from which we hiked to the cave. " She turned to me. "Don't you see, these names are like jewels embedded in her conscious; she's there with all she ever knew! She doesn't have to remember like a living being. The knowledge is in her and I have to make her give it to me. "
"All right, I see, I understand everything. I maintain that it's too dangerous, and besides, why hasn't the spirit of Honey gone on?"
"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.
&nbs
p; 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,