Africa

He thought about knocking but there wouldn’t be much point; the door was always open. Even when they were making love Diana never locked the door; she had no need to, the sultry smell of the darkness within kept even the landlord away. He turned the handle and entered the room. It was large and lavishly furnished, with a bay window that overlooked the bustling Covent Garden Market. Diana hadn’t been sparing with the frills and lace, she liked trinkets and toys; old ones that had been preserved in this sterile cage like they belonged to a different era altogether. It made him cringe every time.



Diana was where she usually was, sitting on the sill looking out of the window at the busy streets. “Where have you been today, Kinglsey?” She said.



“The theatre” He replied setting his bag down on the floor and opening it. She looked no more than eleven years old; button nose set into a round face beneath sky blue eyes on pale skin. She wore pastel dresses under white pinafores and her long golden hair was always swept away from her face and secured on top with a ribbon that allowed elegant ringlets to cascade down her back. Today she wore the same blue as her eyes.



“Oh Kingsley, you do amuse me so” She let out a light chuckle “Was it The Globe again? Taming of the Shrew again?”  He ignored her taunting. He was rummaging in his bag past the change of clothes, past the toothbrush and wallet, for something that must have fallen to the bottom. “Then again, who am I to laugh at the mindless frivolity on which you spend you money” She continued watching him with eagerness. He could sense her anticipation; it hung in the unnatural air like tenderizing meat. At length he produced a small draw-string pouch, he heard Diana catch her breath.



She jumped down from the window sill and padded across the room to snatch it from his hands as he stood up; at his full height she barley reached waist. She shook the bag, the familiar chink of the contents made her grin wickedly. She turned her back on him and carefully opened the bag; he knew she was still smiling as she pressed the opening to her nose and inhaled deeply.



Satisfied he had delivered correctly she turned back to him and bade him kneel in front of her. She threw her thin arms around him and planted her rosy lips upon his ebony ones.  No amount of Muti could disguise her experienced lips or the way in which she held him to her breast. They had lain together before, naked and entwined in each other’s arms; the white of her skin against the blackness of his like Yin and Yang.

He broke away and she gave him his payment.



Kingsley stood now in the kitchen spreading butter on a scone; there were no separating walls in the apartment so he could still see Diana sat by the window. The draw-string bag was still in her tiny hands which she had clasped to her heart. The fading light of the day was illuminating her lazy smile and half-open eyes as she watched the merchants pack away their stalls. Sometimes they would see her and wave cheerfully.



As far as Kingsley was aware Diana had not left the apartment for a long time, several years perhaps, she was perfectly content where she was. To sit and watch the world unfold at her feet and gaze dreamily at herself in the mirror, that was what she did all day; alternating aimlessly between the two. And she was happy.



         Kingsley finished buttering the scones, arranged them on a tiered cake stand and brought them to her. Then he sat on a footstool opposite and watched her. Without turning or thanking him she brought one to her lips. “Tell me about Africa” She said.



         She always wanted to know about Africa; she asked him every time with the same wistful enthusiasm as the first. She would absorb his words as if they were a paintbrush, painting the landscape beneath the very fabric of her being. He told her of the beauty, the wildlife, the magic and the endless summers but never of the brutality he had to commit every time he returned.



“Why don’t you go and see for yourself? I will take you” He said unexpectedly. Diana looked at him now, his enormous frame upon that dainty stool, and began to laugh. She had a crisp sing-song laugh.



“Why would I want to do that when I am so content here?” She said.



Sometimes she disgusted him. Diana knew exactly what Muti involved and probably relished it from the safety of her little fortress. She knew that innocents had to be slain and harvested so that she could keep her youth. But they never talked about it. It was an understanding they had; like not talking shop at the dinner table.



Diana asked him to tell her about Africa again but Kingsley refused and they sat in silence for a long time. Then he rose, picked his bag from the floor and slung it over his back.



“Wait” called Diana as he made his way to the door. “I haven’t dismissed you yet!” Kingsley turned back to her; she had got up from the window sill and was standing rigidly a few feet away. “When will you bring me some more?”



“When will I bring you some more bones from the fingers of children?” he said “next Thursday at the latest.”



“Good” She sighed, deeply relieved. Kingsley watched her walk to her dressing table and sit down. It was a woman’s dressing table and the mirror had to be tilted at an angle so she could see herself fully. She placed the pouch on the table and took out the bones; they were small finger bones this time which she arranged in a neat row in front of her. Then she picked up the brush and swishing her locks across her shoulder began stroking the ends. Kingsley came up behind her; there wasn’t a hair out of place or an imperfection on her body. She let him run his hand across her neck and he thought about breaking it as he had done to children looking half her age.



“Isn’t it wonderful” She said as she admired herself “That such small objects can produce such a powerful result, it’s funny I don’t think of them as human, it’s easier that way I suppose.”



Kingsley took a step back. “Yes, it is. Because the magic only works if they are human bones” He said.



“Yes, it’s funny that isn’t it?” Diana let out a small laugh; turning to him as she did so. Kingsley looked deadly serious.



“But these are not human bones” He said slowly gauging her reaction “They are chick bones from the market.”



Diana stared at him unbelieving for a moment and then began to laugh, not her sing-song laugh but a deep chesty laugh. She caught her throat and raised her large eyes to meet his fixed gaze.  It was happening.



“What?” she breathed turning to face the mirror again.



“They are not human bones; they are chick bones from the market.”



She watched in horror as years of age began to cloud her pristine visage. Wrinkles gauged themselves across her skin as it became not so much white as sallow. Her body began to stretch and fill out as the middle ages of life took their hold only to disintegrate into that of the elderly. Her eyes reddened and sank and her lips curled in as the teeth began to fall from her rotting gums. She was rotting.



She screamed until her voice was horse, she stared until her eyes could see no more, she heard the cracking of her skin until her ears were no longer of any use. She fell onto her knees to find that they shattered under the force and she fell backwards; her hair that had been so luscious was thin and grey.



Finally her soul left that wretched body, twisted and withered beyond recognition. It occurred to him then that her final expression was set as a perfect merger of the Grecian Theatre masks. Half of her hollow mouth curved horribly upwards in an unspoken ecstasy; the other side was down like a cry of anguish. And what a thespian she had been. He stepped over her and scooped up the bones; he would have to destroy these carefully. London would never be ready for the controversy of Medicine Murder and the police would be all over human bones like stink on a donkey. He was lucky really; nobody would be all that suspicious. Eventually someone would notice that the old lady had stopped watching from the window, raise the alarm and that would be that.



He was at the door before he chanced a look around, the room seemed different somehow, or was that because Diana seemed different? He pulled the door open; she was ugly and she would be found like this, unlike those who gave their lives for her. But where would he go now? Back to Africa probably, but not before he had seen Romeo and Juliet at the Globe.