Lapvona(27)

But Villiam was too busy sniffing Lispeth like a dog. ‘Turn around, put your arse in my face,’ he said.

Lispeth did as she was told. Villiam leaned forward so that his face pressed against her backside. He inhaled deeply, then sat back and sighed.

‘You’re right, Marek. Cabbage, and something a bit worse than that. Shit, I guess.’

‘Now now,’ said the priest.

‘I’m sorry, Father. What ought I say instead of shit?’

‘Excrement, my lord.’

‘Excrement. Is that like sacrament?’

‘It is like sacrament, yes—for the Devil,’ Barnabas replied.

Villiam’s irreverence seemed to do nothing to displease Father Barnabas. When he was around, Villiam’s humor took on a more aggressive tone, more perverse and humiliating, as though the priest were in on the joke.

‘Lispeth, I think you’ve stepped in sacrament. Come, show us the bottoms of your shoes. Stand upside down if you must,’ Villiam teased.

Lispeth never seemed to mind Villiam’s humiliations. She understood that the lord had no shame, so she felt no shame around him. She assumed this was the reason Villiam picked on her so much. In truth, Villiam hated Lispeth because she reminded him of Jacob.

‘Throw this at Lispeth, son. See if she can catch it,’ Villiam said now, handing Marek a grape.

Lispeth stood up and readied herself for the game. Clod was busy burning the portraits he’d drawn in the fire in the hearth at the other end of the great room—Villiam didn’t like to hold on to his portraits. Pleasure and fun were not cumulative, he believed. Everything had to be done again and again for it to have any worth. All that mattered was the matter at hand.

‘Go on, Marek,’ Villiam said now. ‘Throw the grape. But wait, no. Lick it first.’

Marek licked the grape.

‘All right. Throw it.’

Marek lobbed the grape at Lispeth, who caught it in a quick fist.

‘Can she eat it?’ Marek asked Villiam. ‘Have you ever had a grape before?’ Marek had only tasted the wild grapes that grew on the vines along the path to Ina’s house.

‘Don’t eat it,’ Villiam said. ‘Come bring it back and Marek will throw it again.’

Lispeth did as Villiam said, placing the grape into Marek’s open palm with a curtsy. Marek could see that she had retreated from her spirit. She got an empty look in her eyes whenever Villiam abused her.

‘Now Marek, put the grape down your pants and give it a good rub.’

‘Down my pants?’

‘Do you need help with your buttons?’

‘No, sir.’

In fact, Marek did need help with his buttons. After several months, his fingers still fumbled.

‘Help the boy,’ Villiam said, and Lispeth knelt before him and unbuttoned his pants. Marek held the grape out, waiting for Villiam’s next instructions.

‘Put the grape in there. Get it under your sack and give it a good slap.’

Marek moved his hand toward his pubis, hesitant to defile the grape.

‘Oh no!’ Villiam cried. ‘Never mind. I have a better idea. Put it up your arse.’

‘Up?’

‘Not all the way. Just get it at the hole and rub it around a little.’

Marek moved his arm lower.

‘No, from behind. Here, let me do it. Stand up and bend over.’

Marek stood and turned. Nobody but his father, and maybe Ina, had ever touched him there, and then not since he was a small child.

‘Perfect,’ Villiam said, holding the grape under his nose. ‘Here.’ He handed it to Marek as he sat back down, impatient while Lispeth buttoned his pants closed. ‘Now throw it to Lispeth. But this time, Lispeth, try to catch it in your mouth.’

Marek hesitated.

‘Go on.’

Lispeth walked back to her spot and turned around, set her head back, bending at the knees and bringing her arms out by her sides. She had played this game before.

‘Throw it!’ Villiam cried.

Marek threw it.

Lispeth ducked her head, moving like a lizard on its hind legs. She caught the putrid grape in her mouth and swallowed it.

‘Well done!’ Villiam said, pleased. His smile faded as soon as Lispeth had returned to her chair in the corner, his ennui like an itch that was only relieved while it was being scratched.

‘What’ll we do next? Marek, tell me a story. A funny one. And make Lispeth the main character.’

Villiam was well aware that he was punishing the poor girl because she carried Jacob’s ghost. Any reminder of the dead boy brought such displeasure to his mind that it would go dark and blank, as though it had walked into a wall. Of course, Jacob’s spirit was everywhere. In his old clothes, which Marek wore—they were all too big and had to be tailored. Nothing had been removed from Jacob’s room after his death. He remained there, in his stuffed animals, the weird rocks and bones on his desk, his papers, his maps, his childhood drawings still pinned inside the walls of his armoire, drawings of horses mostly. Marek hadn’t felt anything eerie or vengeful in Jacob’s objects, but he did sometimes imagine he felt a presence in the room when he visited. Of course, it was actually Lispeth and her memories of Jacob. She projected him back into the room so she could watch him sit and write or talk at the window, or turn over in bed. She was his ghost, in fact.