Gabriel's Inferno

existent, and I only know how to swear in German.”

Paul pressed the button for the elevator and turning, gave her a very long, very studious look. Then he grinned mischievously. “You can swear in German? How did you come by that?”

“I lived in the International House at Saint Joseph’s. One of the exchange students was from Frankfurt, and she really liked to swear — a lot.

By the end of the semester, we were all swearing in German. It was kind of a res hall thing.” She turned a light shade of pink and shuffled her sneakers.

Julia knew that Paul was a doctoral student, which meant that he’d already taken language courses in French and in German, in all probability.

No doubt he would make fun of her amateur linguistic skills, as Christa had after a seminar. She waited for a snide remark or a dismissive wave of the hand.

But he only smiled and held the elevator door open for her. “My German is terrible. Maybe you can teach me to swear in it — that would be an improvement.”

Julia turned to him and smiled back. Widely this time. “Maybe. And I’d like to go to the movies with you on Saturday. Thanks for inviting me.”

“No problem.”

He was pleased with himself. The lovely Julia was coming to the Film Festival with him, and afterward, there would be dinner. He had yet to introduce her to his favorite Indian restaurant. Or perhaps he should do that tonight and take her to Chinatown after the double feature. Then he would take her to Greg’s for homemade ice cream… and invite her to accompany him to the Art Gallery of Ontario to see Frank Gehry’s architectural addition next weekend.

As they continued their tour, Paul resolved in his heart to be patient.

Very, very patient. And cautious, whenever he reached out a tentative hand to offer her a carrot or to gently stroke her soft fur with his fingers. Or else he knew he would frighten Rabbit away, and he wouldn’t have the opportunity to help her become Real.P

The next morning Julia sat on her narrow bed with her old laptop, working on her thesis proposal and listening to Mozart. Professor Emerson’s choice of music surprised her. How could he go from listening to Nine Inch Nails to this? Was he only listening to it because of Grace? Or was there some other reason he was torturing himself by repeating the same depressing track over and over again?

Julia closed her eyes and concentrated on the words to Lacrimosa, sung loudly and hauntingly by the multi-voice choir in Latin…

Day of Weeping,

on which will rise from ashes guilty man for judgment.

So have mercy, O Lord, on this man.

Compassionate Lord Jesus, grant them rest.

Amen.

What is wrong with Gabriel that he listens to this over and over again?

And what does it say about me that I can’t help but feel close to him when I listen to it? All I’ve done is replace his photograph with his cd — I’m just not sleeping with it under my pillow.

I am one sick puppy.

Julia shook her head and tried to concentrate on her thesis proposal, distracting herself from the sound of classical weeping with thoughts of Paul and the previous day’s activities.

He’d been very helpful. In addition to giving her a key to The Professor’s carrel, he’d offered advice about how best to structure her thesis proposal, and he’d made her laugh more than once — more than she had laughed in a very, very long time. He was a gentleman; he opened doors and carried her ugly, heavy knapsack. He was chivalrous, and Julia could not help but like him. It was nice to be around someone who was both handsome and sweet — an oft overlooked and frequently rare combination.

She was grateful for his guidance, as well. For truly, who better than Virgil, who had shepherded Dante through the Inferno, to guide her through her thesis proposal?

She wanted her proposal to impress Professor Emerson, to make him realize that she was a capable student and somewhat intelligent. Even then she knew he would likely disagree with her on both points, no matter what Professor Greg Matthews of Harvard had said about her. And she’d be lying if she said that she wasn’t trying to subliminally jar Emerson into remembering her.

She wondered what was worse — that Gabriel had forgotten her? Or that Gabriel had become Professor Emerson? Julia was sickened by the second arm of the disjunction, and so she refused to even consider it — much.

She would far rather Gabriel had forgotten her but remained the sweet and tender man she kissed in the old orchard, than for him to become Professor Emerson, with all of his vices, and still remember her.

Julia’s thesis proposal was straightforward. She was interested in a comparison between the courtly love manifested in the chaste relationship between Dante and Beatrice, and the passionate lust manifested in the adulterous relationship between Paolo and Francesca, two characters Dante placed in the circle of the lustful in The Inferno. Julia wanted to discuss the virtues and drawbacks of chastity, a subject she had more than a passing interest in, and compare it with the subliminal eroticism of The Divine Comedy.

As she worked on her proposal, she found herself staring back and forth between Holiday’s painting, which hung over her bed, and a postcard with the image of Rodin’s sculpture The Kiss. Rodin had sculpted Paolo and Francesca in such a way that their lips weren’t touching; nevertheless, the sculpture was sensual and erotic, and Julia had not purchased a replica of it when she visited Musee Rodin in Paris because she found it too arousing.

And too heartbreaking.

She had settled for a postcard and taped it to her wall.

In addition to her boulangerie and fromagerie French, she knew enough of the language to realize that the title of Rodin’s sculpture, Le Baiser in French, was part of its subversion. For baiser in French could mean either the innocence of a kiss or the animalistic quality of a fuck. One could say le baiser and refer to a kiss, but if one said, Baise-moi, one was begging to be fucked. Both innocence and begging were wrapped up in the embrace of these two lovers whose lips never touched: frozen together, yet separated for all eternity. Julia wanted to free them from their frozen embrace, and she secretly hoped her thesis would allow her to do so.

From time to time over the years, Julia had indulged herself in thinking about the old orchard behind the Clarks’ house, in reliving her first kiss with Gabriel and some of what came afterward, but mostly she did so in her dreams. She rarely, if ever, thought of the morning after and its tears and hysterics. It was far too painful a memory. It was a memory of betrayal she revisited only in her nightmares…and unfortunately for her, that was all too often. It was the reason she had never sought him out.

Just then, her cell phone rang, interrupting her homework.

“Hey, Julia. Do you have plans tonight?” It was Rachel. Julia could hear Gabriel talking gruffly in the background.

Immediately she hit the mute button on her computer so that he wouldn’t hear Mozart over the telephone. She waited with bated breath to see if he had heard…

“Julia? Are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m here.”

From the sounds of Gabriel’s muttering, Julia couldn’t tell if he was angry or simply complaining. Not that either behavior would have surprised her.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yes, fine. Um, no plans. No plans tonight.” Julia bit her lip as a wave of relief washed over her. He hadn’t heard the cd. Or so it seemed.

“Good. I want to go to a club.”