The knock on the door startled me and I accidentally tipped over the inkwell.

With a soft curse I quickly set it upright. But half the ink had spilled and was soaking into the piece of paper I had so recently hunched over. Black wet ink spreading like oil, or a malignant growth. Like blood filling a bandage. Filling in the empty spaces between letters. (Between bones)

(I am afraid of ink the way some people are afraid of blood. Or storms.)

The words on the page were gone. Swallowed.

I was afraid of the knock at the door. The spilled ink feathering out in the pulpy texture of the paper made me think there might be black spidery fingers tapping on the lintel. Something scratching to get in. To fill this empty space.

I waited for my anxiety to pass.

But the knock came again, more insistent. I jumped out of my chair and steadied myself with one hand on the desk. (I was careful not to touch the paper, now). Who could it be? I had sent everyone away. Even Solange. I wanted to be alone in my illness. The last time Margot and Miette had tried to visit I refused to let them in. I spoke softly through the door, begging them to go. I was sick and I did not want them to catch anything. (Or suffer with sympathy). There was no telling what strange infection my corrupted blood might carry.

Finally, they had left. I assured them I would send for them If I needed anything. I sent my love to Solange.

I glanced over at the window with the crazed thought that someone might be trying to get in that way. Was it the wind knocking, there? Or Jack Frost come to further decorate the panes of glass with obscene designs? That lecherous elf! If I would have been well I could have written him a message with my fingers. Blown warm air on the glass and--

Another knock. More tentative. I swallowed and pulled my cotton nightshirt more tightly around me. My hand was like a claw, caught in the old yellowed cloth at my throat.

(From time to time I suffer strange aliments. I think it is something in my blood. I think it is the angel wrestling with the devil, forever, in my corpse. Like dogs still fighting over the bones. Sometimes my body is too fragile for this endless battle. This tiresome moral war.)

I crept to the door. My hand rested on the latch. How pleasantly cool it felt! I opened the door and stepped back.

"You...!" I croaked.

(Be careful of angels appearing at your door. Invite a stranger in for dinner and he might swallow you whole. Suck the marrow from your bones lick his lips and ask for more.)

His blue velvet coat was neat and bright. His purple eyes terrible in their lucidity. Dark red hair moved loosely about his shoulders, moved by the rustling of his wings. Wings! A multitude of them, all shimmering and flexing, all of them here/now/here, rippling with easy power. With natural grace.

I threw up an arm and stepped back. His presence, his wings were too vivid for me.

"{jxwxl}, I have come to thank you. And help you," cooed Rimi.

"Get out," I mumbled, shuffling back from him. An angel, at the threshold! Had I smeared the doorjamb with blood? I could not remember.

His expression was pained. My rejection hurt him. My illness distressed him. My pain made him frown.

(So thin, I heard him thinking, like flesh wrapped to bone! She would hardly make a mouthful. Her eyeballs have turned yellow and her gums are far too red. If she will let me touch those spaces, those empty places, I can help her, I can soothe the beast in her carcass--)

"Here," he said, stepping forward and reaching for me, "let me help you. You have done so much for me--"

"Get. Out." I snarled and snapped at his hand, which he speedily withdrew. A low growl rattled in my throat, growing louder, then softer, then loud again. It was as if the sound had ahold of me. As if the noise itself had me in its teeth and was shaking me.

The door closed and we were alone in my cold, dirty room.

The growl in my throat began to hitch. Become a strange popping sound. I recognized the odd huffs and exhalations as laughter. Rimi's face was grave and sad. He was more beautiful and radiant that I had ever remembered.

The harsh laughter tired me, and I sat back down on the chair near my desk. (I was careful not to touch the paper). "You have come to help me?" I wheezed out.

"Yes," he replied seriously.

My lips curled back to reveal bloody gums. I spat into a corner. "I see you threw your bone to the dogs at the gate. How does it feel to be one of the elite, again? Have all your needs been met? Has the adoration of the other angels soothed and satisfied you? Do you now have the luxury of helping poor unfortunates such as myself?"

Rimi's eyes closed for a moment, and then opened glistening with moisture. His irises were like bruises. His soft red mouth reminded me of a wound.

"I can stop the pain. I can mend this. Will you let me help you?"

"No." I grinned.

"Can you fix this?" I continued, gesturing to the ruined paper. "No? Well, you can't fix me, either. I am broken beyond repair. Beyond cure and beyond redemption. Don't waste your breath."

(There is a darkness in me like a subtle storm. It runs through my blood and has soaked in all my bones)

His beautiful wings rustled with dismay. I instinctively flinched. My face twisted and I felt my gums split again.

"I deny you. Get out," I slurred.

"At least take this," he said and held something out to me. I took it carefully, not letting my crooked fingers touch his. It was a feather, beautifully carved from

A slender, white bone-feather. Etched and cool. I marveled at it. I had lost so many parts of myself on this strange journey--who would imagine that a piece could come back to me! Even one that had been gnawed with angelic teeth, smoothed with saliva like vitriol.

(my bones long and hollow and empty / waiting to be filled / waiting to fill the porous page / with ink / or blood)

My sore lips trembled and I resisted the urge to put it in my mouth. Precious bone!

Rimi's hands moved over my head, my shoulders and arms. They lingered over my chest, hovered near my thighs. Just above my feverish skin. As close to an embrace as I would allow. He would never touch me again.

"Rimi," I asked like a child, the wonder of his presence suddenly dawning on me. "Why did you come? If they catch you..."

His smile was instantaneous, and his laughter was wicked and strong. He fixed me in his clear purple eyes (trapped in his pupil I was) and said:

"Because I love you. Because I can. Because I dare."

I returned his smile with a feral grin. I remembered why I loved him.

Then I rested my elbows on the desk and leaned forward. I pressed the feather-bone lightly to my forehead. My eyes closed.

Behind me, Rimi whispered in my burning ear: "Goodbye."

"Goodbye," I murmured.

I did not turn or open my eyes to watch him go. My rib rested on the hot, tight skin of my brow. I heard his measured steps recede and the glorious sounds of wings, moving: emeralds clinking with rubies, coal scraping on lead, canvas rustling next to leaves, brick dragging on iron, silk whispering across wood. The music of Rimi's unfettered wings. He was gone.

End: Rimi

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copyright 1996 by Julieann M. Brown-Micko

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