By Eli Tillemann
The night was dark and Maria had somebody’s toes in her mouth.
Except she wasn’t sure they were toes. And she wasn’t sure it was her mouth. And she wasn’t sure if it was night and she didn’t know if it was dark and didn’t know all the things she wanted to know and she didn’t know why.
She knew she had wanted to know and she knew she had gone with Gabriel — her and Gabriel — to the bridge and to the thing under the bridge and the thing knew and she knew it knew and Gabriel knew it knew and she and Gabriel wanted to know and they knew that the thing could tell them.
Who was Gabriel?
No. That wasn’t the right question. Who was Maria?
“Gabriel, it’s me, Maria,” said the thing with things that might have been toes in Maria’s mouth. That didn’t sound quite right to Maria, but then again she wasn’t Maria, the other thing was Maria. It said it was Maria so who was the woman with things that may or may not be toes in her mouth? She knew she wasn’t Gabriel or the thing that was under the bridge. Was she Inez?
The woman who might have been Inez realized that they weren’t really toes. They were more like claws.
“Who’s Gabriel?” asked the man with the dark hair and handsome complexion. The woman who maybe was Inez envied his wife. For a moment she was distracted by him until she was reminded of the claws in her mouth as they pressed down on her face. She was surprised by how little weight there was, although the claws were painfully sharp against the inside of her cheek. The thing that said it was Maria couldn’t have been much heavier than a young ewe. Forcing the claws and foot out of her mouth, maybe-Inez sat up.
The thing who said it was Maria snarled, and its scales writhed in frustration. It scampered over to the handsome man called Gabriel and grabbed his shoulder.
“Kill it for me Gabriel. It betrayed its promise. It does not know how to save Inez, and now it seeks to kill us.”
The woman who might have been Inez and might have been Maria knew something was up. She knew that she didn’t need saving, although her daughter did. She had a daughter? Yes, she had a daughter and the daughter might be Inez and Inez was not long for this world and she — Maria she was Maria — and Gabriel, they had gone and they had made a deal, a pact, (it was a pact and a deal) with the thing that was under the bridge and it was going to save their daughter and it had given them its word and now it was telling her husband to kill her.
*****
Gabriel did not know what Gabriel was.
This wasn’t entirely true — Gabriel did have hunches — but there was no certainty of any fact or thing within his mind. He had an inkling that Gabriel loved Maria, but he was not sure that he was Gabriel, and while he was not certain the thing clinging to his shoulder was Maria, he knew that he did not love it.
The thing on the floor stood up and tackled the thing holding onto his shoulder. They went down in a flurry of fabric, fists, and claws. Gabriel was grateful for the thing on the floor for a second, but he soon became concerned as he realized he couldn’t tell apart the two things fighting.
When Gabriel had opened the door in his mind to the thing that was under the bridge, Gabriel had been certain that the thing would keep its word, because one’s word was sacred, especially to demons and devils and devilish things like the thing that was under the bridge. It was going to show them things, things to save Inez, things to fulfill its promise to Gabriel. But Gabriel’s mind was broken now and he did know that the thing that was under the bridge had done it.
The things that Gabriel could not tell apart fought, and his heart ached.
One of them Gabriel loved. He would kill and die for her. One of them had promised Gabriel that his wife would not have to bury their child. They had lied and Gabriel hated them.
One of them was winning. And Gabriel was scared, so very scared, that it was not his wife.
Gabriel did not know many things. Gabriel did not know how to save his infant daughter. Gabriel did not even know who he was. But Gabriel did know that there was a sash at his waist. And Gabriel knew of the weapon within it.
His navaja slid through the back of the neck of the thing that must have been the thing that was under the bridge. It quivered and bled for a moment, then dropped to the ground, rolling to the side of the thing it had tried so hard to kill.
The thing that must have been Maria, the woman he loved, the mother of his child, shakily climbed to her feet. She limped over and clung to him, as unsteady as a newborn lamb. He held her and she held him, cool and damp in the night air.
The thing that had been under the bridge had broken its promise, and Gabriel was filled with hate. He drew back his foot and kicked its corpse with all the rage and hatred he could muster. As his foot planted itself firmly in its face, his sandals provided little protection from that which was sharp, and he cut himself.
“Your wife won’t have to bury your daughter,” said the woman who must have been Maria.
Gabriel was tired, he was confused, and he still couldn’t remember what his wife’s face looked like, even though it was right in front of him. And so his foot stayed, for a moment, in the face of the thing, the thing he thought had been under the bridge, the thing that he had killed.
The night was dark and Maria had somebody’s toes in her mouth.
