They ended their stroll a few minutes later, with promises made on both sides. By now he knew he could trust her, but he also knew, deep down, that she was hedging her bets. If she had a chance, she might cut him out of her plans, or wait until the bitter end to betray him. Why, he couldn’t be sure…unless he reminded her too much of his Master. There were times she would smile at him, only to abruptly tense up, as if catching a stray odor from Hildigrim’s pipe (which was truly foul). Maybe he did take a little too much from his Master, much as she occasionally reminded him of her Mistress. Maybe in the end they were simply doomed to betray each other?
He spent the rest of the day in his apartment, watching the hours slide past, reading and reciting the verses. They almost made sense now, though he wouldn’t know anything until he ventured into the beer cellars tomorrow. Part of him toyed with going tonight, just to scout it out, but he knew it was reckless. He needed a plan and support; and more importantly, he needed Giacinta. Finding anything without her seemed like a betrayal, especially since his first impulse would be to tell her everything. No one else had been there since the beginning, no one else understood.
Nine and ten o’clock departed like garrulous dinner guests, helping themselves to seconds and telling the same anecdotes over and over. Finally, as the minute hand inched toward eleven, Turold hastily dressed and made the journey to Kastushiro’s apartment. There was almost no one on the moon-drenched streets, which made the night seem eerier than it already was. Everyone felt the heaviness that roamed the streets, looking for companions or converts. It seemed safer to stay inside.
He took the steps two at a time in his frantic impatience. When he reached his door, he rapped furiously, shouting for Kastushiro and Giacinta both.
As usual, no response. Didn’t he say eleven o’clock? Or twelve, but what’s an hour between friends? More knocks, kicks, shouts to open the damn door, Kastushiro!
He faintly heard footsteps approach the door.
“Who is it?”
“Are you kidding me? Open the door!”
“Turold?”
“Kastushiro!”
“I…can’t let you in. Come back in the morning.”
“Are you mad? Let me in!” he said, hammering the door.
“I need more time. Come back at six.”
“You said midnight. I’m here now. What happened?”
“Nothing happened, operation success. Except…” he trailed off.
“Open the door!”
“I can do better. Minor setback. By the morning I’ll have it all patched up.”
“All patched up? Let me speak to her!” Turold shouted, ready to burn the door off its hinges. “What did you do to her?”
“I did nothing more than you asked,” Kastushiro protested. “But I did warn you it would be difficult, and that a certain amount of time was required. Perhaps, in hindsight, I should have asked for more. If you could give me…say, a week—
“Open the door or I’ll force my way in!”
The lock unbolted and Kastushiro tentatively opened the door, his face peeking out, teeth clenched. Turold pushed him aside (he shielded his face, expecting to be throttled, as usual) and swept through the apartment in search of her. But she was nowhere to be seen.
“Giacinta? Are you in here? Hello?” Turold called.
“I believe she’s hiding…from my mistake.”
“What mistake? You said it was successful!”
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” he said, massaging his chin. “That’s to say, she does have a face. The skull is gone. So yes, you might call that an improvement.”
Turold had never hit Kastushiro in his life, despite the latter’s paranoia. But he was sorely tempted become violent unless he produced Giacinta at once. Kastushiro looked miserable and went into a technical explanation of the magic used, the techniques, the materials, none of which explained what went wrong or more importantly, what she looked like.
“Kastushiro, I don’t blame you; I asked you to do the impossible. If you failed to achieve it, then you’ve merely shown me the limitations of magic,” Turold said, trying a different tack. “Just show me where she is. Let me talk to her.”
“If you insist…but remember, I can fix it. I just need more time. If you give me a month, I can promise you—”
“Tonight!”
Kastushiro brought him into one of the back rooms, where a short candle flickered uneasily against the wall. There was still no sign of her. Kastushiro gestured toward the lone bed in the room, small and unkempt. As far as he could tell, it was empty. Then he heard it: a small sob, stifled, from beneath the bed. She was trying to hide from him! He almost laughed at the absurdity of it, knowing that whatever happened, whatever accident, large or small, it couldn’t be as bad as all that. Kastushiro was a master. Even if he failed completely, and her face remained a grim memento mori, it wouldn’t change who she was, how he felt. They would still be together.
He knelt beside the bed and said her name. The sobs grew louder.
“Please, Giacinta, come out. Let me talk to you. Let me see…”
“No, I can’t. You’ll think…I don’t know what you’ll think, but I know what he thinks. That I was monstrous. That’s what he said.”
Turold shot him a look, but he only held up his hands defensively.
“No, not monstrous. Hideous, that’s what I said. Just hideous. I can fix hideous,” Kastushiro said.
“But what did you see? Did he even let you look?”
“I couldn’t…I was too afraid,” she said, voice cracking. “When he looked at me and cried out, I ran away, threw myself under the bed. It’s everything I always feared. That I could look even worse.”
“Don’t talk nonsense!” he said, shaking the bed. “Please come out. He preferred you as a skeleton—didn’t you see the mannequins? If he made you a monster he would be head over heels right now! Please, let me see you. I promise, you could never look monstrous to me.”
She gave a sob-laugh and said, “you’re sure about that?” He offered his hand and she took it, the palm wet from wiping off tears. Gently, he pulled her out of the bed, though she shielded her face, turned it away, just as she always had. As she sat up, he brushed her hair away, laid his fingers against the cheek—she had a cheek!—and turned her to face him. She resisted until he gave a grunt of impatience; she relented. Her head raised, turned, and looked him full in the face.
Turold gasped, his eyes full of wonder; then stifled a laugh. Her face crimsoned and eyes clouded with tears. Just as she thought—hideous, monstrous, disgusting! If even he could laugh at her, who knew her better than anyone, whom she secretly, foolishly felt could see her truest self…
“No, no, you don’t understand—it’s not at all—it’s miraculous!” he stammered, taking her hands that were fending him off. “I don’t have words…”
“Freakish, that’s another one I mentioned,” Kastushiro offered.
“Will you be quiet! Listen to me, Giacinta, you’re a vision! An angel! Quickly, a mirror—she needs to see it!”
Kastushiro reluctantly ran to fetch a mirror while Turold marveled at the vision before him. Truly, there was no mistake, no flaw. Well, there was a flaw, a very significant one, in fact; but it was the kind of flaw that set the beauty in greater relief. In fact, the more he looked at it, the more he actually preferred it.
The mirror was produced. Turold held it before her face. Terrified, she turned away, knowing that the truth would be a monster. Turold encouraged her, begged her to look. It took her several seconds to open her eyes and see for herself.
“Oh my…it worked!” she whispered, covering her mouth with both hands. “It can’t be…it’s a trick, an illusion. This isn’t a mirror.”
“Of course it is! And this is you. You’re beautiful, you can’t deny it. Or at least, I can’t.”
She couldn’t pull away, touching the mirror then touching her face to make sure. Yes, it was all there, there was no illusion. Even down to the nose, the lips, the ear lobes, the eyebrows, and…all the blue!
“Great gods, Turold! I just noticed! I’m completely blue! My face—every inch of it! He made me blue!”
She started laughing hysterically, wavering between amusement and horror. But when he laughed, too, the humor won out and they both howled together until the tears ran down her cheeks (but for joy, this time).
“I know, I saw it, but honestly, I barely noticed,” he said, coughing. “It was so hard to see behind all the rest. And it doesn’t matter.“
“I don’t know how it happened, there’s no excuse,” Kastushiro moaned, holding his head. “I had such an image of my mind—a vision of such ineffable beauty! To fall so short in the end!”
They laughed even harder at his lament, laughed to tears and gasping for air. Blue, green, what did it matter? She had a face. She could laugh and see her cheeks lift, her forehead wrinkle. Her lips could smile, could hide her teeth, could pucker together, could…
She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. Just once, and so quickly she surprised herself with the action. The laughter faded to broken chuckles. Kastushiro continued to complain and make promises; he even took up a mannequin and offered potential solutions, drastic measures that could easily, given time, be accomplished. But they were no longer listening. Turold was trying to memorize every inch of her face, trying to convince himself that the woman staring at him now, possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, was also the most beautiful woman he had ever known.
“So tell me the truth: is it an improvement? Or have you merely traded one monster for another?” she asked.
“Between the two of us, I think I was always the monster,” he said, with a laugh. “You’ve only confirmed my opinion.”
“Good: then we can be hideous together,” she said.
Kastushiro, who had been talking the entire time, suddenly realized what was happening and became flustered. Obviously, he had expected tears, shouts, recriminations. But kisses and embraces? Satisfaction?
“Wait a minute…you actually like it?”
“Excellent work, as usual,” Turold said.
“Hmm. No accounting for taste,” he muttered. “If you give me another day, I can at least make her green. What do you think? I’ll even do it for free.”
