Sunday, January 29, 2012

SAECULUM ( A Novel: Part 19) – INTEMPESTIUM V & VI

SOL OCCAXUS (Sunset) Monday, 19 September, 2011

CREPUSCULUM (Evening Twilight)

I. Friday, 23 September, 2011
II. Thursday, 29 September, 2011
III. Thursday, 29 September, 2011
IV. Sunday, 16 October, 2011

VESPER (Evening Dusk)

I. Sunday, 23 October, 2011
II. Sunday, 30 October, 2011
III. Wednesday, 9 November, 2011
IV. Monday, 14 November, 2011
V. Monday, 14 November, 2011

CONCUBIUM (First Sleep – Coitus – Rest)

I. Thursday, 17 November 2011
II. Sunday, 20 November, 2011
III. Friday, 25 November, 2011
IV. Thursday, 1 December, 2011
V. Thursday, 1 December, 2011
VI. Thursday, 8 December, 2011
VII. Sunday, 11 December, 2011

INTEMPESTIUM (Midnight)

I. Sunday, 1 January, 2012
II. Thursday, 5 January, 2012
III. Saturday, 7 January, 2012
IV. Monday, 16 January, 2012
V. Sunday, 29 January, 2012
VI. Sunday, 29 January, 2012
VII.
VIII.

GALLICINIUM (Cock Crow)
I.
II.
III.

MATUTINUM (Dawn Goddess)
I.
II.
III.
IV.
V.
VI.
VII.
VIII.
IX.
X.
XI.
XII.
XIII.
XIV.

DILUCULUM (Dawn Twilight)
I.
II.
III.
IV.

SOLI ORTUS (Sunrise)



INTEMPESTIUM

MIDNIGHT


V

When Caroline Mara reached her room, she showered for a very long time. After stepping out of the cubicle she draped herself in a huge bathrobe and moved into the bedroom. She lay down on the bed and, exhausted from the earlier hard tennis match with Rios, closed her eyes and was quickly asleep. It was nearly an hour later when she woke and immediately looked at her watch. She calculated that it must be nearly five in the morning in Spain but decided to telephone Michael anyway as she needed to talk to him. Their last conversation had left a pall of confusion hovering over her feelings. What the fuck did he mean by saying he had been doing some thinking? she wondered. “Thinking about what?” she said aloud as her hand probed around the floor for her electronic organizer. After locating Michael’s number she lifted the receiver and dialled. Caroline looked at her watch again.
A sleepy voice came on the line. “Halo. Hotel Palacio.
“I am looking for Doctor Mara.” Caroline spoke in Spanish.
“Hold on.” There was a repeating dial sound that rang unanswered for two minutes. “I am sorry Señora. There is no answer from his room.”
“Would you please check again? It is important,” she pleaded. “I’m telephoning from Mexico.”
“Señora, it is nearly five in the morning here. He must be in a deep sleep.”
“Please try again. I’m his wife and I need to talk to him. I will wait.”
It was nearly ten minutes later when the receiver was picked up again. “I am very sorry, Señora. Doctor Mara is not there.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. I went to his room. The bed has not been slept in. Perhaps he has friends in Granada or is travelling in the mountains. He told me yesterday that he likes mountains. We have beautiful mountains here,” the hotel voice said with awkward confidence.
Mountains my backside, Caroline thought as she struggled to restrain her annoyance. “Maybe. I don’t know. Thank you for your help. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
“It’s not a problem. Will I leave a message that you telephoned?”
“Don’t bother . . . No, please do. Thank you. Write in the message that I called and will be at home, 4 p.m., Los Angeles time.”
“ 4 p.m. Los Angeles time. That’s done.”
“Thank you again. Good night.”
“Good night, Señora Mara.”

The connection terminated.
“Fuck you, Michael!” She shouted at the phone as she next tried calling Rod Mallory’s number in Los Angelus. It was answered by a male voice with a strong South American accent.
“Hello.”
“I’m looking for Rod. Is he there?”
“And who is looking, may I enquire?”
“It’s Caroline Mara. Who are you? I want to speak to Rod.” Caroline shouted angrily down the line.
“Oh, Señora Mara. Rod said you might ring. My name is Roberto. I am a friend of Rod’s from Belize.”
“Where is Rod?” she asked impatiently.
“He said to tell you that he has gone to Europe for a few days. Something to do with a Swiss deal. He said to say he was sorry to miss the tennis tournament but that you would understand. He will be back on Sunday.”
“Blast it. Thanks Roberto. I’ll probably get a chance to meet you in LA with Rod sometime and I’m sorry that I shouted down the phone.”
“It’s no problem, Señora Mara. I will look forward to meeting you. Rod has told me a lot about you. You’re like a sister to him, he said.”
“Good night, Roberto.”
“Good night, Señora Mara.”
The bedside radio-clock showed her that it was nearly a quarter to nine. “What shall I do? What shall I doooo?” Caroline muttered as she got off the bed and paced across the room. She moved to the wardrobe and pulled the slide-door a little way along its track. Hesitating, she peered into the darkness for a moment, before shaking her head and fully sliding back the door. The automatic wardrobe light flickered on. Her hand moved to one of the hangers, and she gently rocked it back and forth. Suddenly the rail attachment mechanism accidentally released itself and a black cocktail dress, it had supported, fell in a heap to the floor. As Caroline stooped to pick up the crumpled dress she caught her reflection in the full-length corridor mirror. She looked at her half-crouched image for a long time before rising to her full height. She unravelled the dress from the hanger and held it against her chest. “Come on old girl. Snap out of it. Go for it! If Michael can be sneaking about so can you. Where the hell is he, anyway?” She looked once more at her reflection before she crossed the room to lay the dress out on the bed. She let the towelling-robe, she had been wearing, fall to the ground and humming to herself entered the shower cubicle again. It was quickly taken, this time, and as she dried off the beside telephone rang. It was exactly nine p.m. and she tried to contain a mounting excitement. Perhaps it was Michael, she thought and she walked into the bedroom and lifted the receiver. “Hello.”
“Caroline.”
“Yes, Diego,” she said as she recognised the deep voice.
“Are you still available for dinner?”
“I’m really not sure, Diego. I’m very tired and I might not be very good company.” Caroline smiled at herself in the mirror.
“Please, Caroline. You would do me a great honour.”
“Well if you put it like that Diego, how could I refuse? I am hungry.”
Magnifico! That’s great! I will meet you at the restaurant bar in say, ten minutes. Would that be okay? I know how you ladies like to take time getting prepared.”
“Do you now? I’m so glad to be in the hands of such an expert. I will be down in five. I’m not planning to go to much trouble.”
Caroline put the phone down. After dressing she attached a simple pair of black pearl pendant-earrings and complimented these with three simple gold bands on her right wrist. She then removed her watch and rings and placed them in her slim shoulder strap Chanel bag. As a final flourish she liberally dabbed perfume to her neck and wrists and to the cleavage of her breasts and was just about to lock the door of the room behind her when she stopped and rushed back to the bedside telephone. Picking it up, she dialled Michael’s hotel number again. The connection to Spain was quick.
“Halo. Hotel Palacio.” It was the same voice. Awake this time.
“It’s Señora Mara again. Has my husband returned yet?”
“No. I am sorry, Señora Mara.”
“Fine. Please tell him I called. Good night.” Caroline looked at the phone for a long time before she slowly replaced the receiver.

Commander Diego Rios was waiting at the bar. Seeing Caroline approach he shot out of his stool and rushed to meet her. “You look sensational. I will be the envy of every man here,” he gushed.
“Thank you, Diego,” she said as the Mexican kissed her on both cheeks.
“I hope you don’t mind, but the maître d’hôtel is a good friend and he has kindly arranged a table for us in one of the private balcony dining rooms. It has a spectacular view and the music filters up without intrusion. Would that be acceptable?” the policeman asked as he signalled to the manager who hovered near-by.
“Yes. Perfect,” she said with a little too much emphasis that made Rios smile. In that moment, Caroline realised, she had made her decision and he knew it and was relieved to see that there was no obvious sign of any of the others from the American delegation. They must have headed for the nearby town as planned, she thought as she followed Diego and the maître d’ along a side passage to a small door near the end of the room. They then climbed a short set of marble stairs to step out onto to a balcony that had been decorated with overflowing vases of different coloured roses. Petals were scattered across the floor as if they had been windblown. The dining table looked out over the bay and Caroline could hear the waves crashing onto the rocks nearby.
Rios, for his part, immediately moved towards the table and after removing a already opened magnum of champagne from a nearby ice bucket, began to fill two crystal flutes he held in his left hand. “Dom Perignon Brut Rose. 1982. I hope you like it.” He smiled as he proffered the half-filled flute.
Caroline accepted the glass and moving to the balcony looked out over the sea. The fragrant nose of the champagne wafted upwards. She sipped the pale crimson liquid and let it bubble across her tongue. The Mexican policeman was watching her closely. “They must pay the commanders of the Federal Police very well to afford all this, Diego,” she observed.
“I’m owed many favours, and have a very creative accountant. This . . .” He waved his hand across the room like a frontier farmer. “This I will hide deep in my expense account, although no man in his right mind would want to hide you, Caroline.”
Despite herself, she blushed. In the background, music of blended Arabic voice and Spanish guitar was haunting the night air. Accepting the chair that a waiter held out for her, she sat looking at the rising moon. “The music is lovely. What is it?” she asked.
“Listen to the words,” he whispered as he looked directly at her and translated the song:
Vivire para besarte. . . I live to kiss you
vivire para besarte. . . I live to kiss you
acariciar tu cuerpo. . . to caress your body
para poder amarte. . . so that I can love you
tu eres primito. . . you are the fountain
la fuente donde yo bebo. . . I drink from . . .”

“Very romantic Diego. Very over the top though! More of your arrangements?”
“Of course,” he said laughing. “It is from the combined talents of Rocio Alcala and Juan Martin on his album El Alquimista. I could not trust the hotel trio to replicate it and, as I wanted to express my sentiments, I arranged for the CD to be played.”
“Are you an alchemist then, Diego?”
“The only mystery about me, Caroline is a complete inability to dance. I say that in case you get carried away.”
She laughed as well, and remembering her earlier annoyance at the lack of choice in shoe selection, she now decided to slip them off to savour the coolness of the marble flooring against her feet. “I’m famished. What will we have to eat, Diego?”
“If you do not mind taking the risk, will you allow me choose for both of us?”
“In for a penny, in for a pound!”
“What did you say, Caroline?”
“Oh . . .nothing. It’s just an expression. Please go ahead and choose for both of us. I am now in your capable hands.”

Caroline relaxed and let the charged atmosphere between them determine its own course and she could feel the champagne, and the potent red wine that Diego had chosen, washing away any of her remaining inhibitions and caution. As the dinner plates were being cleared she found herself looking out over the balcony again. The moon was much higher in the sky and much brighter. If Michael is prepared to throw caution to the wind then there was no damn reason why she couldn’t, she reasoned. No damn reason at all! At that moment her foot suddenly touched Diego’s and felt a shiver of excitement in the pit of her stomach before she quickly moved her leg out from beneath the table and pretended to rub away an imaginary itch. She waited and then watched as the policeman shuffled his chair closer and bent down to gently lift her leg.
“You have beautiful ankles, Caroline,” he whispered as he pulled a rose petal out from the space between two of her toes and showed it to her. He used this to gently brush the dust from the skin of the sole. He then rested her foot on his chair between his legs.
Caroline did not withdraw her foot and instead, arched the toes forward to move slowly and rhythmically against his crotch. She felt his penis bulging beneath the linen cloth of his suit and she used her toes to delve below the underside of its hardness. Diego took her hand again and began kissing the tips of her fingers and was about to say something when the young waiter suddenly entered and immediately interrupted the mood and the opportunity. She quickly withdrew her leg from its nest between his legs and gave a slight cough as the waiter began to hoover the crumbs off the tablecloth. Rios’s face flared at the unwelcome disturbance and in a torrent of abusive language began to berate the cowering boy.
Wow!” Caroline spoke in a louder than necessary fashion to stop him. “That wine was very powerful, Diego. My head is spinning. What was it?”
“A 1991 Caymus Cabernet. I’ll order some more,” he said, expansively.
“Oh no! I have had more than enough.”
Rios’ anger dissipated as quickly as it had risen and he waved away the relieved waiter with an instruction to bring their deserts. “Once again I must apologise for my behaviour. It is my Latin temperament! I get too passionate at times. I just wanted everything to be perfect tonight.”
“I would not see that as a fault. You are quite a connoisseur?” Caroline touched his hand.
“You mean the champagne and the wine?”
“Yes.”
“I have a small confession to make.” He held his hands up and a boyish grin softened his features.
“What is it?”
“I hope you won’t think me ignorant, but I did cheat a little. I love wine but can never remember one vineyard or vintage from another. I either like it or I don’t and I asked my friend, the maître d’hôtel, to choose.”
“Does that apply to women as well?”
“No! Never! With women I remember everything. Their clothes, their scent, their private noises, and the way they move and like to be moved. Everything!” He pushed out his chair and half-crouched, pulled it closer to hers.
“It sounds like there have been many.”
“Few as special as you, Caroline,” he deflected as he took her hand in his and massaged the fingertips.

The young waiter returned with deserts and this time Rios ignored him as he made a point of obviously releasing Caroline’s hand and letting his own slowly drift downwards beneath the table. He watched for her reaction as he found and then began to stroke the inner side of her thigh. For a moment she returned his look but then closing her eyes allowed her leg to swivel out from beneath the table, and lift to rest on his chair again. Once more she arched her foot forward to find his crotch. Her breathing quickened and she began to inhale in rapid short bursts. The young waiter couldn’t hide his embarrassment and Caroline opened her eyes just as he fumbled placing the plate in front of her. She smiled up at him and he nodded nervously before he turned quickly and rushed to leave the balcony. Looking down, she thought that the deserts were more like a cocktail than a desert. In each crystal bowl, a small scoop of crème-fresh ice cream floated on a generous pool of blue Curacao liqueur. Diego pulled his chair tight to hers. Content with their proximity, his fingers then searched for and found her ankle before they travelled, tantalisingly, back up her leg to glide around her thigh and move higher and higher towards the moist warmth of her groin. Caroline pressed her pelvis forward to allow him enter, her thigh pushed out against his. She felt his fingers slipping beneath the loose folds of the silk pants, she had chosen to wear and then his darting tongue, as he bent down kiss the skin of her knee. She dipped a finger in the pool of liqueur and tasted it. “Wow! More alcohol, Diego?” she groaned.
“These are very special deserts, Caroline,” he said as he looked up from her knee The liqueur will wash away any lingering taste of cayenne from the meal and allow the tongue to...”
Caroline hardly heard his words as she felt his fingers suddenly delve deep to finally find and begin to move rhythmically within her. She could feel the spasms beginning and fought for air. With a sudden and loud exhalation Caroline she pulled her legs together and pushed back her chair. “Phew! It’s very hot, Diego. Excuse me for a moment please. I need to use the powder room.”
“I understand.” He smiled. He stood up and coming around behind Caroline, held out her chair. “It’s over there,’ he said as he pointed to a small doorway at the far end of the balcony.
Caroline Mara shakily got to her feet and managed to compose herself a little before she walked barefoot towards the door. She pushed heavily against it and as it swung open, was relieved to find that the toilet cubicle was directly ahead. She entered quickly and locking the door behind her, sat down. “What are you doing, girl?” she asked aloud at the vague reflection in the green gloss paint of the cubicle door. What I want to! She thought. I want to feel desired, ravished. What harm would it do? She rationalised. There was red-blooded Mexican waiting to take her and she wanted to be taken. Her hands rested between her legs as she leant back against the cistern, breathing slowly. She could suddenly feel the warmth. Her toes arched against the cold tiled-floor. The spasms began again and this time she didn’t stop them, couldn’t stop them. “Oh God! Oh Godddddd!” she cried, as their intensity doubled her forward. She collapsed across her knees and it was some time before she could safely stand up.

Caroline left the cubicle and moved to the washbasin. After cleaning herself down, she checked and rechecked her appearance in the mirror before she applied a liberal sprinkling of perfume and returned to join Diego at their table. He looked concerned as he stood up and came forward to meet her. “Are you ok, Caroline? You were a long time and I was worried. You look flushed!” He held out his hand.
“I’m fine, Diego. Much better now, in fact.” She took his hand and allowed him to guide her back to her chair. He waited until she sat down before returning to his own chair, which during her absence she noticed, he had moved back to its original position. The ice cream desert had all but melted yet the taste was still superb and with renewed relish, she finished it all. She felt very relaxed and taking the initiative, started rubbing her leg against his.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“I feeeeel great, Diego. What a woo…wonderful night.” Caroline felt pleasantly drunk again and slurred some of the words.
“Tell me about your husband, Caroline?” He asked.
“Must we talk about him? Michael is probably out sha . . . shagging a frustrated Spanish lab-rat with big tits, as we speak. Bunsen burners instead of candlelight! No, that’s unfair of me. He’s . . . he has probably talked himself out of the opportunity. Poor man!”
“You don’t sound happy?”
“No, that’s not true. We are happy, in a way. I love Michael but he doesn’t do it for me anymore. Sexually I mean. Isn’t . . . isn’t that really sad.”
“I cannot understand why, Caroline. You really are so beautiful.”
“Thank you, Diego, you . . .” She suddenly pushed back her chair and stood up to lean across the table and kiss the Mexican on the lips. Immediately her tongue slipped into his mouth and began to explore. He responded and she could feel his hands on her breasts before, to his very obvious surprise, she withdrew and flopped back into her seat. “God. I feel so dizzy . . . randy but dizzy.”
“Come, Caroline. I think you have had enough to drink. I’ll bring you back to your room.” He stood up.
Caroline waited for Diego to walk around. As she stood up, she leant heavily on his arm. Turning towards him she placed her free hand on his still bulging trousers and whispered into his ear, “No, my Mexican lover. Take me to yours.”
“Are you sure?”
“Very.”

By the time they had stepped into the elevator Caroline could feel the warmth in her pelvis rising again. Once the doors closed she watched his reflection in the polished mirrors and followed his eyes as his hand moved between her buttocks. Separating her legs slightly to allow him probe, she smiled mischievously as she watched his face change when he suddenly realised that she had discarded her silk pants. The spasms came quickly as the doors opened. Reluctantly she moved forward onto the corridor while he kept his hand where it was, toying with her. Reaching the door of his room, Caroline struggled to insert the key card he had handed to her. On the third try, she succeeded and once inside the room, turned and began to fumble at the buckle of his trousers belt. She couldn’t understand how uncoordinated she felt her movements were. Her head spun.
Diego Rios suddenly grabbed at her hands and holding the wrists pushed her away from him. “Not so fast, Caroline. I want to savour these moments for a while. Stand over there against the bed with your back to me,” he ordered as he closed the door behind them.
She glared at him in mock defiance before she turned and staggered towards the bed. She leant forward slightly to lean on the end board and looked back over one shoulder to watch him watching her. “Like this, lover?” she teased.
“Yeah. Now take off your clothes for me. Slowly,” he demanded
With a shaking hand she pulled the thin straps of her dress over her shoulders until she could lift out her arms. Swaying from side to side she then used one hand to tug at the hem of the dress until it just began to slide over her skin. Her breasts were suddenly free. She kept her back to him and placed her hands on her head. She enjoyed performing for him. With alternating rising and dropping movements of her hips she was able to make the dress slither down her body and legs until it finally lay in a discarded heap on the ground. Her hands then came to rest on her buttocks, and she gently prised them apart so that he could see all of her. “Did you like that, Diego?” She smiled back at him as he began to remove his trousers.
“Very professional.”
“You have only seen a glimpse of my hidden skills.”
“Show me more,” he demanded.
Caroline turned slowly and walked towards him. Stopping about a hairsbreadth away she leant forward and began tracing the line of his mouth with her tongue. He pushed forward sucking at her lips, biting at her tongue. Her hands had dropped and were moving slowly up the inside of his thighs. She felt his erection as it tried to burst itself free. His hands struggled with his belt. She gabbed his wrists and suddenly jerked them away. “I’ll do that lover. Its my turn!” She undid the belt and slowly pulled down the zip of his trousers. After releasing the top clasp, she inserted her hands between the skin and the material of his shorts and clumsily began tugging at them. His erection sprang free as she quickly pulled the shorts downwards towards the ground. His trousers followed suit to fall about his ankles. Looking up at him from her crouched position her tongue darted out to lick the underside of his penis. She straightened up, pausing to squeeze his testicles as his throbbing cock pushed against her skin.
Diego Rios was in a desperate hurry to pull his shirt off. Buttons popped and flew like bullets across the room. He pulled at her hair forcing her head back down to take him in her mouth. Caroline obliged and tried watched him with upturned eyes as she teased and licked the pink exposed tip before opening her mouth to draw in the shaft. Her hands massaged the lifted testicles, running back and forth to the rim of his anus. His back arched, his breath came in short bursts. She kept it going until he seemed about to ejaculate.
“Sancta Maria!” he cried.
“Not yet Diego. Not yet,” she instructed as she squeezed the back of his erection to cut off the blood flow. After a minute or so she pulled away and turned back towards the bed. “Did you like that, Diego?”
“If you fuck as good as you suck woman, then I am a lucky man,” he said coarsely.
She glanced back at him. The coarseness excited her even more. She increased the rhythm of the movements of her hips so that her firm buttocks began to rise and fall in time with her breathing. Rios moved in closer. His hands began at her neck and tightened and squeezed in a downward descent. He found her again and began to tease the skin apart. Her legs separated as she felt the building orgasm. It came quickly, wet, and then built again. He was pulling at her labia. Her knees buckled. “Quick, Diego. Quick. Take me! Fuck me now!” she pleaded.
“Good things come to those who wait, bitch!” he grunted as he stepped back and retrieved the thick leather belt from his trousers on the floor. He hung it around his neck as he slowly stood up and began running his hands along the inside of her thighs. He watched her quiver to his touch. Suddenly his hands moved to her breasts, crushing the soft tissue back against her ribs. He plunged violently into her from behind, his weight grinding her down against the bed.
Caroline felt the spasms cascade over her in one wave after another. She put her hand back and pulled at his hair. “Deeper. Go deeper!”
“Like this, you gringo slut?” He pulled away her hand.
“Yes! Oh God, Diego. Yessssssssssss!” she cried.
“You like it like that, don’t you, whore! Bark for me like the bitch in heat you are.” Rios suddenly withdrew and pulled the belt from around his neck. Swinging it in a wide arc he slashed her hard with the buckle end across the skin of her bottom. The mark of the metal instantly imprinted with a bleeding weal.
Caroline felt the sensations of pleasure suddenly evaporate. She was left with just the pain. She cried out as she turned to look at him. “Jesus, Diego, that hurt. What the fuck did you do that for.”
“Shut up, whore!” he shouted as pushed into her again.
Rios' movements became more and more brutal. Her breasts seared with the vice hold he had across her chest with. He was deliberately hurting her, she realised as she felt another searing pain scorch across her back. She managed to pull his hand off her breasts but suddenly found her head snapping back. With his now free hand he tugged at her hair. One of her earrings tore through the skin of her ear lobe as she shook her head trying to free herself. He bit into her neck. Caroline screamed, “Diego! Stop it! You’re hurt –
“Shut up, you slut. Take your fucking like the bruja you are.”
His hand came around to suddenly cover her mouth and nose. She was very frightened. She could not breathe and tried to pull away from him. He was still in her, driving her down, not letting her free. She felt him come. He went deeper and deeper. Her skin tore. She tried hitting back with her elbow. She bit at his hand. There was suddenly a noose around her neck. It tightened. She needed to breathe. Her head was spinning. She wanted to vomit.

Caroline Mara felt her urine running out as the darkness came.

VI

The video-telephone link was of poor quality. The man pulled the jeep over to the side of the road. Trucks heading for the border roared past.
“Ali baik salaam” The voice link cackled.
Akzabti.”
“Who wishes to use our shade?”
“Is it done?”
“Not yet. It is set up for tomorrow night.”
“And the hourglass.”
“Will be on its way by courier to Corsica the day after.”
“Good. We are very pleased.”
“It is our duty to the inheritor of Kaya Rudbari.”
“You will find great reward in heaven.”
“Allah will not begrudge an earthly reward as well.”
“Of course. It is already lodged.”
Shukran, Sahib al-Sa‘igh.”
Ahlan wa sahlan, Sahib al-Sirr.”

Monday, January 16, 2012

SAECULUM ( A Novel: Part 18) – INTEMPESTIUM IV

SOL OCCAXUS (Sunset) Monday, 19 September, 2011

CREPUSCULUM (Evening Twilight)

I. Friday, 23 September, 2011
II. Thursday, 29 September, 2011
III. Thursday, 29 September, 2011
IV. Sunday, 16 October, 2011

VESPER (Evening Dusk)

I. Sunday, 23 October, 2011
II. Sunday, 30 October, 2011
III. Wednesday, 9 November, 2011
IV. Monday, 14 November, 2011
V. Monday, 14 November, 2011

CONCUBIUM (First Sleep – Coitus – Rest)

I. Thursday, 17 November 2011
II. Sunday, 20 November, 2011
III. Friday, 25 November, 2011
IV. Thursday, 1 December, 2011
V. Thursday, 1 December, 2011
VI. Thursday, 8 December, 2011
VII. Sunday, 11 December, 2011

INTEMPESTIUM (Midnight)

I. Sunday, 1 January, 2012
II. Thursday, 5 January, 2012
III. Saturday, 7 January, 2012
IV. Monday, 16 January, 2012
V.
VI.
VII.
VIII.

GALLICINIUM (Cock Crow)
I.
II.
III.

MATUTINUM (Dawn Goddess)
I.
II.
III.
IV.
V.
VI.
VII.
VIII.
IX.
X.
XI.
XII.
XIII.
XIV.

DILUCULUM (Dawn Twilight)
I.
II.
III.
IV.

SOLI ORTUS (Sunrise)



INTEMPESTIUM

MIDNIGHT


IV

Once again Michael Mara’s call to General Arnold’s office was accompanied by a series of security checks.
“Hi buddy, where are you?” Arnold’s tone was brusque and agitated.
“Spain still.” Michael replied.
“Mikey, I need you to be more specific than that.”
“For what reason Bob?” Michael looked at his watch. It was nearly ten pm local time, and he’d arranged to see Isabella at eleven.
“A very good reason. Your life Mikey!”
“Come on Bob, don’t be melodramatic.”
“Michael. We’ve had further intel come in that confirms some of the concerns you expressed yesterday.”
“Which concerns, Bob? There were many,” he said sharply.
“We think that there is some sort of contract out on you and that there might be a kidnap attempt. I need to know exactly where you are. Don’t mess me around on this!”
“Jesus. OK, Bob. Take it easy!” As Michael gave Arnold the address of his hotel in Granada he walked into the bathroom of the large suite that he occupied. Its narrow-arched Moorish window with frosted-glass overlooked the plaza of the hotel entrance. Sitting on the toilet seat he released the catch and slowly pushed out the window a fraction to look down at the plaza below. All appeared quiet apart from the arrival of a taxicab but then if somebody were waiting for him they would hardly be making themselves known, he thought.
“Michael! Are you still there?”
“Yes, Bob.”
“I need your cell-phone number. Please leave the unit on from here on out.”
“Why, Bob?”
“Until a team gets to you we need it.”
“What team? What do you mean?”
“Langley is dispatching two teams from Lisbon and Madrid, ASAP, to protect you.”
“Is this really necessary, Bob?”
“Yes, buddy. Leave your phone on . . . Just in case.”
“Just in case of what?”
“In case something happens to you. We can use it for triangulation and thus track your location. When this call is over dial in *42** 783 and set the cell-phone for repeat call. This will then make it work like a transmitter. Do you follow, Mikey?”
“Yes, Bob, I mean General, Sir.” Michael deepened his voice in an attempt at a little levity.
“Michael, this is very serious man, you are in grave danger. Secure the room and wait for the teams. The first should be there in about three hours. I will – ”
“– This line is being terminated.” A metallic voice broke in and the line went dead.

Unsettled, both by the conversation and the sudden cessation of the telephone call to Arnold, Michael Mara waited for a few minutes before trying the number again only to become even more frustrated when encountering a continuously engaged signal. He kicked out at the bedside table causing the innocent alarm clock that had squatted on its surface, to bounce in the air and then tumble towards the floor where it wedged itself under the base of the bed. Retrieving it, he saw that the clock face protested the disturbance with a blurred red-flashing 10.45, which did not move on. Time was standing still, he thought. He then tried Isabella’s number, again without luck. After what Alonzo had told him about the Voices, he needed to talk to her, to have her confirm her involvement. More than that he needed to see her. Perhaps she would come to the hotel instead, he wondered. He looked at his watch and after waiting again for a few minutes, dialled her number again.

No answer.


The excitement Michael felt was a mixture of fear and desperation, an alchemical elixir that he had seldom experienced since he was a teenager. Bob Arnold’s warning was flashing into his consciousness but served only to prompt a memory of himself, as a lad of fifteen, sneaking out for love from the seaside house, a corrugated-tin-roofed shack that his mother used to rent for the summer. At that age, in his first truly physical relationship, Mary Delahunty was much older than him and also happened to be dating somebody else. He had recognized no fears save those of rejection and her boyfriend. Late night secret summer rendezvous, he remembered, and the danger added to by his stepfather’s warnings of dire consequences if he were to cause his mother any trouble in his frequent absences. Truth be told, he sometimes felt she too would have welcomed the chance to sneak out, sneak away, as well. She was less lucky in love, he thought.

Michael stared at the phone. He decided he had to go and see Isabella. If he hurried, he reckoned, he could get to her apartment and return to the hotel before Bob Arnold’s goons would arrive. He turned off the lights, firstly in the bathroom and then in the bedroom, and threw a quick glance down through the narrow opening in the bathroom window to the empty plaza below. He then crossed the carpeted floor of the suite to the balcony doors, and after opening them slowly inched forward to the alabaster-capped railing to scan the shadows of the hillside that sloped down from the hotel. Satisfied that there was no obvious danger, he returned to the room, stepped out onto the corridor and closed the bedroom door quietly behind him.

Avoiding the elevator Michael made for the hotel’s emergency stairs and nearly stumbled down the top steps as a sudden crashing noise, from a new batch of cubes being churned out by the ice-maker on the stairwell landing, caused his legs, and then his heart, to lose their rhythm. Composing himself, he took one of the ice-cubes to moisten a dry mouth and ran down the steps at speed to the basement garage level. There he pushed at the release mechanism of the fire exit door and found himself in the narrow laneway and cool night air at the back of the hotel. As the heavy metallic door closed behind him he thought he could hear the sound of voices on the stairwell. Alarmed, he ran blindly along the pitch-black laneway. The laneway passed around the side of the hotel and opened onto the steep hill that ran down towards the Campo del Principe. Stepping into the shadows when any car or taxi came from the direction of the hotel he finally flagged an empty cab about to ascend the hill. Grunting, the protesting driver executed a labour-intensive turnaround and fifteen minutes later deposited him outside the address that Isabella had given earlier. He kept a watch throughout the journey for signs of somebody following them but convinced himself there did not appear to be any evidence of danger.

The cab sped off and in the darkened doorway Michael eventually found the intercom button with the name Sanjil written above it. The identity label looked new. He pressed it and the reply was immediate.
“Hello.”
“Isabella, it’s Michael. I’m sorry I’m so late.” It was nearly 11.30pm.
“I am happy you could finally make it Michael. Come on up. Third floor.”
The buzzer went and he pushed through the unlocked door into a marble floored atrium. There was an old staircase to one side and an even older-looking grilled elevator set deep in a recess on the opposite wall. He took the stairs and soon reached the third floor landing and made for the one door he could see at the end of a short corridor. He was just about to knock when he heard the elevator mechanism engaging and quickly retreated back to the stairwell to wait in its shadow to see if the elevator stopped on the same floor. To Michael’s mounting panic, it did. After a protesting metallic opening-back of the grill doors he could hear creaking footsteps and, cautiously looking around the corner, he saw a young woman approach the door at the end of the corridor. She wore a baseball cap but, though her back was towards him, her movements seemed somewhat familiar. There was also a small defect in her left ear lobe. It was the red-headed nude hurdler, he thought with relief and coughed as he stepped out from the shadows.
The girl turned around to look back. She did not appear surprised by his sudden appearance and smiled warmly. “Ah! The man from the bathhouse. Are you breathless from the stairs?”
“Zoë, is it not? Athlete, Georgia Tech. Isabella’s cousin,” he said quickly.
“Well remembered, I’m impressed.”
She did not look like she was, he thought.
“And you are?” she asked.
“Michael Mara.” He held out his hand and she took it in a firm grip. “It is nice to meet you again,” he said.
“Are you here to see Isabella? She did not mention you were coming. I hope I don’t intrude . . .” Zoë the athlete winked as she released his hand and turned to the door. “A ‘wallflower’ or ‘gooseberry’ I think you say.”
He blushed. “No . . . of course not,” he blustered.

The apartment door opened and Isabella stood there. She kissed her cousin on both cheeks and threw Michael an apologetic glance over the girl’s shoulders. Zoë moved on in and Isabella waited for a moment before stepping forward and kiss him lightly on the lips. “I am sorry, Michael. I’m never sure when Zoë might call. You know what family are like? She will not stay long. I promise.”
“She said that you weren’t expect . . . It doesn’t matter. I’m just glad you’re here,” he mumbled. “I tried telephoning earlier with no success.”
Isabella smiled again as she took his hand and led him into the apartment. “Come in. You are most welcome. I’ve only just arrived myself. I was worried when you were late that you were not going to make it or that I had missed you.”
“Wild horses would not drag me away, I –”
“Zoë, make yourself useful!” Isabella interrupted to shout at her cousin. “There is some champagne in the fridge. Will that suit you, Michael?”
He looked around him. The living room of the apartment was long and narrow with scattered Persian carpets and silk-covered divan type couches placed against the wall. The windows were shuttered with latticed doors and what little light existed, was generated by two very tall flickering wax-candles set on ornate stands in the far corner. There was very little other decoration save a large antique smoking water pipe on a small cabinet in the corner nearest the entrance. The air was scented with jasmine and rose. It was a private room, feminine, he thought. “That would be fine. Thank you, Isabella.”
“Excuse me for a moment, Michael. I want to shower and change my clothes. As I said, I am not here that long before you.”
“Sure!”
As Isabella left the room Zoë returned with an uncorked bottle and three glasses. She smiled as she expertly poured the frothing wine. “Do not worry, Michael. When Isabella returns I will disappear into her room. I have some work to do on her computer.”
He blushed and smiled guiltily back. “When do you return to America for your studies?”
“Next week, and you Michael, when do you go home?”
“Home! Too soon unfortunately, as I will miss Granada.”
“It has that effect on some people. Once caught in its snare you never want to leave. Are you married?” she asked matter-of-factly.
“Yes.”
“Is your wife here?”
“No.”
“Has she ever been to Granada?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You should bring her next time. She should see the city that has charmed you.”
“Yes.” He gulped down the wine and accepted a refill. “Next time perhaps.” At that moment Isabella reappeared. Michael watched her intently. She was wearing a full-length cotton kaftan with silk borders and her hair, still wet, was wrapped in a turbaned towel. Around her neck was the gold chain and hanging from it . . . Nefradaleth. He couldn’t take his eyes off it.
Zoë noticed Michael's interest as she handed Isabella the bottle. She smiled back at him before winking at Isabella. “I will leave you two in peace. Michael and I were just talking about being seduced,” she said sweetly.
“What!” he protested.
“By Granada and its charms, of course.” Zoë gave another wink and after stretching out a hand to touch Isabella gently on her cheek disappeared from the room.
“She is always teasing. Do not mind her, Michael.”
He moved up on the divan as Isabella sat down beside him. He could feel her body heat and thought that the seal appeared to glow. He put out his hand to touch it. It was almost like, he thought, the strange need of people to touch the swelling abdomen of a pregnant woman; a primeval, unlearnt, instinctive reaction to something that was so basic to existence. He wanted to draw from that energy and Isabella seemed to understand and did not pull away. “She is right though about the seduction of the city,” he said quietly, earnestly, as he fondled the seal.
“Is that what you want, Michael. To be seduced,” she asked.
“I would be lying if I denied it.” Michael pulled back a fraction to watch her eyes but as he retreated she took his hand from the seal and placed it over her left breast. He could feel the nipple rise erect beneath the cloth.
Isabella then placed her hand over his and pressed it inwards gently. “Do you feel my heartbeat? Flesh and blood Michael. I am not some mystical creature. I am neither an ideal nor a phenomenon,” she said.
“I know but . . . you are different Isabella. The seal for example . . . Nefradaleth.”
At the mention of the Voice’s name she startled and jumped up from the chair to hover over him, leaving his hand grasping thin air. “You know its name! How do you know that?” she demanded.
“I know the names of all seven Voices Isabella. Alonzo told me.”
Even I do not know that, Michael. You must be marked out in some way for Alonzo to divulge the secret of the Voices. Somebody special.”
“I do not know about that. He is a fascinating man and I have learnt so much from him, even in such a short time. We are meeting tomorrow again.” Michael heard cackle-like noises coming from the corridor and tried looking in their direction.
Isabella refilled their glasses before she retook her place beside him again. “That’s Zoë. She is on an Internet voice and visual link to her American coach. The speakers are of poor quality. What else did Alonzo say about Nefradaleth, Michael? Quietly though! I do not want Zoë to overhear.”
“He is concerned that it might fall into the wrong hands. Something about a Swiss collector,” he explained.
“This is all very unexpected,” Isabella said with a hint of annoyance as she stood up again and began to pace the room.
“What is?” he asked, concerned.
“You Michael, knowing the story of the Voices and having a conversation about them with me, as if they were a normal subject for discussion. It is very strange.”
“It was you who put me in touch with Alonzo. You must have known this might happen.”
“Believe me, Michael when I say that I did not anticipate any such development.”
“Alonzo is very worried, Isabella. I think he hopes I might help prevent the gathering of Nefradaleth and the others.”
“That will never happen Michael. I am its guardian until I die. Nefradaleth not only brings with it the responsibility of care but also great peace and fulfillment. Can you understand that?” she said. Her eyes blazed with intensity.
“I understand responsibility Isabella, but despite all my academic and commercial success I have seldom been able to contemplate, or experience, true peace and fulfillment. Until now that is. I think,” he replied with unfamiliar uncertainty.
Isabella walked to the small cabinet where the antique water pipe stood. She opened a drawer. “Forget the Voices for a moment. Will you smoke a joint with me, Michael. It is pure Afghan gold,” she enquired.
“Sure,” he said.
Isabella brought two rolled and tapered cigarettes and after lighting one off the wax candle handed it to Michael. She then lit her own and sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of him. Both of them took two large inhalations, sucking in air like a back draft to aid the rush. The sweet-smelling smoke tingled in his nostrils. “Tell me something about your responsibilities, Isabella. Alonzo mentioned an organization called the Alumbrados,” he persisted.
Isabella looked at him for a moment before she relented. “The guardianship of Nefradaleth is a sacred duty. It demands an acknowledgement, and acceptance, of the principals of light and dark. The Voice is one of the Portals of Matter through which we can experience the true essence of God. The ancients held that God and matter were of equal importance and interdependent and that the limitations of matter such as evil, both moral and physical, were a positive force rather than a defect. Matter in its purest form, man’s soul, can only contemplate God by total absorption in the essence of his beneficence.”
“But what is your role?”
“I am a ‘Perfect’ and must be ‘quiet’ by example. This allows me approach a level of gnosis of God that few are able to penetrate. I am continually in His presence and the light courses through my veins. I can deny my needs, my wants, my desires, knowing that they have already been truly fulfilled. Yet also, I may indulge those needs without staining the soul. I can accept outside authority without distortion of my inner self. I am passive to God’s will and intuitive to God’s design. Nefradaleth is the key to that intuition.” Isabella’s eyes glazed over a little as she spoke, before focusing back on him, to wait for his reaction.
“Why was Alonzo so concerned about the possibility of Nefradaleth ending up in the wrong hands?”
“Alonzo has less faith than I in the intuition of men’s souls and their relationship with God. His real responsibility is not concerned with resolving the philosophical conflicts of monism or dualism but only with his guardianship of the journey of that discovery and its universal ferryman.”
“I don’t understand,” he said. “What do you mean by the ferryman.”
“Time Michael, time! Alonzo is the Timekeeper. He is convinced that once all the Voices are gathered together then time will lose its ability to govern the journey of men’s souls. Both the attraction and separation of God and matter, light and dark, will be lost. Chaos will reign. Again!”
“Is that possible?”
“You tell me, Michael. You are an intelligent man and a rational scientist pushing at the boundaries of knowledge. Have you enough faith in your ability to fully understand all of the ramifications and responsibilities of your work? By asking the question, if what I and more importantly, what Alonzo have already told you is possible then you have already accepted that it might be so. I do not concern myself unduly about the questions but accept whatever consequences will accrue.”
“Does that not worry you, Isabella?”
“No. Why should it? I have annihilated myself to God’s will. If it is to be, it will be.”
Michael suddenly felt the combination of hashish and champagne stripping away all of his reservations. Isabella was somebody he could talk to and he knew how desperate he was to open his soul, to be free, as she was. Tears welled up in his eyes. “I would so like to have found what you have, Isabella. In fact . . . Jesus, I hope I’m making some sense here. . .” He took and squeezed her hand tightly. “I would like to with you, body and soul, lust and love, passion and peace. All of you! I too would like to be annihilated, as you put it, by what you have: by what you are.”
“I think you are drunk, Michael,” she said gaily.
“No, I’m not! Well, perhaps a little. It’s great pot,” he said as he released her hand and leant forward to touch Nefradaleth again. “All of a sudden I feel a tremendous clarity of purpose. Nothing else matters.”
“Nothing?” Isabella asked as she stood up. Unravelling the towel she let her hair fall free and then stood between his knees. She rested her hands on his shoulders and slowly leaning forward let her wet-ended hair drape over him. In one movement, she lifted Nefradaleth’s chain over her head and let it slide down her hair to place it around his neck. “The truth, Michael!”
“Nothing! I really mean it, Isabella. This is so important.”
Isabella withdrew and stood watching him as he rotated the stone that rested on his chest. “What about your wife, your work Michael?” she asked.
“I love Caroline. That is her name…Caroline. Don’t get me wrong Isabella. We . . . we’ve a good relationship. She’s very strong and the best judge of people I know. I have leant on her far more than she ever has on me.”
“And yet you are here with me. Have you told her about me?”
“No,” as he inhaled again on the reefer.
“Why not? Remember what we spoke about yesterday. Surely if this being here with me is important to you, she would understand. Nothing has happened between us.”
“I don’t agree. I feel that something great has happened between us. I had hoped you felt the same.” He had difficulty keeping the sense of hurt from his voice.
Isabella placed her finger on his lips. “As it happens I do feel the same, Michael but I also want no part of a deceit. Be true to your heart. It will cause less pain in the end.”
“I was hoping to talk to Caroline this evening, before coming here, but she is in Mexico and I’ve had difficulty contacting her.”
“Why is she in Mexico?”
“Doing some work for the American Government.”
“Secret work?”
“Yes in a way. She’s a counterfeit expert . . . Anyway I was waiting for a phone call from her but it never came. I had intended to tell her about you, Isabella and how important my feelings for you and Alonzo had become. I think, in fact I now know, that I have spent far too long compartmentalizing my responses, my emotions and have never allowed myself to be completely open about anything, particularly my needs. I always assumed it would cause conflict with Caroline so I held back. Afraid! Maybe, as you have pointed out, Caroline would understand. I don’t really know. I have never asked. I have never wanted to put our . . . my concept of love to the real test.”
“Are you prepared to lose everything for your want of this freedom, for your want of me?” Isabella asked.
“Yes . . . I think I am and it’s not a fantasy.” He answered as coherently as he could and thought of his conversation with Bob Arnold. “After talking with Alonzo and now with you, I have suddenly realized how infinitesimal my time, our time is, and that it is better to grasp the moment. It is a duty almost.”
“I am not an idealist, Michael. The concept of a rigid unity of being or purpose has no attraction to me. There is good and there is evil, there is darkness and there is light, there is wisdom and there is ignorance, there is substance and there is chaos. What we make of these forces is for God to orchestrate both within and without us. I will not judge your desire to change only support its necessity. I will not have you covet me but will open your mind to the concept of a greater belonging. A greater love.”
At that point Michael Mara felt he was floating, in love and at peace with the world and himself. Bob Arnold’s goons could run and jump for themselves, he thought. “I am ready for that,” he giggled and inhaled again.
Isabella Sanjil smiled as she stroked his cheek with the rim of her champagne glass. She laughed an easy laugh, a compassionate laugh. “You must need sex very badly to give it all away so easily.” She took the reefer from his grasp and laid it in a nearby ashtray where her own was almost untouched.
“It’s not about sex, Isabella. Honestly. If . . . if that ever happens between us it will be a bonus. I just want the freedom of knowing you, truly knowing you.” His speech slurred.
“We will see,” she said.
“What do you mean?” he asked concerned by her tone.

Isabella Sanjil stood fully erect and in one whirling movement lifted the kaftan over her head. Fully naked underneath she had a slim body, small firm breasts and sculptured hips. There was little in the way of pubic hair. “Take off your clothes, Michael and lie back,” she instructed.
“What about Zoë?” he asked as he obeyed. Isabella came forward and lifted Nefradaleth from around his neck. He watched as she tilted the champagne glass and the bubbling liquid coursed down his chest and hastily indrawn stomach to cascade over the base of his engorging penis.
“I want you to do something for me, Michael.”
“Anything, Isabella,” he groaned.
“I am going to stand here and I want you to never take your eyes off me, no matter what happens or what you feel. Do you promise?”
He nodded. At the same instant he thought he could feel a gentle breeze on his leg as if somebody was blowing on it. Isabella began to move from side to side in a gentle rocking motion. As she continued to move, her hands circled up and down her body, and lightly brushed with long fingers her nipples, and then her neck, and ears. He watched as her hair flowed and back arched. His head spun, the room spun around him. Suddenly her warm body mounted him and with a gentle rocking motion, moist and warm, moved forward and back, forward and back.
“Do not look away, Michael! Watch me?” Isabella instructed as she moved faster and faster.
Michael’s heart pounded, suffused. It could have been an age or an instant, he was not sure. He groaned. Her movements became even quicker. A telephone rang somewhere beyond them. Then his explosion and implosion. The night closed in. “Isabella, Isabellllla,” he screamed.

The dancer disappeared.