Bell, Book & Candle (Part Two)

Over the entrance to her front doorway was an ebony plaque, an heirloom, in which large gilt letters were rather elaborately carved into the antique wood with a calligraphic flourish. The words were written in Euskara, the official name and language of her mountain ancestors from deep in the Pyrenees.  It was her talisman, her touchstone and served as both a conversation piece and a true warning for the few who were "rewarded" with her hospitality.

When pressed for both the meaning of the inscription by those who were less than astute and the provenance of the unusual piece, Serena would feign ignorance and then embarrassment, waiting to be coaxed into the telling.

Like a frisky kitten with it's trapped prey, she would toy with her victims before enjoying her morsel of meat. She always did like playing with her food before consuming it, but eventually she would reveal the meaning...

Abandon hope, all ye who enter here -

By then, of course, it was too late for her guests to leave.

"Dear Dante", she would say cryptically, "never did learn to keep his goddamn mouth shut..."

But, of course, no one ever suspected the lovely Serena of being anything more than the Bohemian artist, the consummate performer who with dramatic flourish and the occasional impish grin managed to charm all those who swam into her ken...

And what a pool of knowledge she gave them to wade in.
When she intoned her enchantments in her ancestral language reciting the poetry of the famed Joseba Sarrionandia Uribelarrea:

"Sartaldeko oihanetan gatibaturik
erromara ekarri zinduten, esklabua,
erremintari ofizioa eman zizuten
eta kateak egiten dituzu.
Labetik ateratzen duzun burdin goria
nahieran molda zenezake,
ezpatak egin ditzakezu
zure herritarrek kateak hauts deitzaten,
baina zuk, esklabu horrek,
kateak egiten dituzu, kate gehiag"

Translating it into English after the initial recital in Euskara:
"The blacksmith slave
Captive in the rainforests of the West
they brought you to Rome, slave,
they gave you the blacksmith work
and you make chains.
The red iron that you carry out the oven
can be adapted as you want,
you can make swords
in order that your people could break the chains,
but you, this slave,
you make chains, more chains."


....the singsong lilt of her voice lulled her guests into a trance-like state. That coupled, of course, with plushness of her little eagle's nest perched high atop the zenith of the foggy city's residential universe while not technically living in the lap of luxury certainly was graciously appointed enough to make any personage extremely comfortable. 

Before she began the real crux of the evening's entertainment, she would ply her unwitting victims with the lush fermented juice of a few crushed grapes, convivially pouring rare vintages into the large crystal bowls of their wineglasses. Overriding their protestations with a pretty laugh & a wink, assuring them that they were indeed worthy of the '45 Petrus, never telling them of course what the real cost for the burgundy would be...

Serena's script never varied.
She had perfected each gesture, every word, every look...
There was no need for her to depart from it, after all, she would never see these people again.
No one would.

After serving the drinks, she would invite the poor soul to sit on the large semi-circular Ruhlmann sofa while she herself went to the Erard, sat on the bench & began to sing some popular nonsense that always appealed to these mortal creatures. It was the only bit variance for her nightly performance. Tonight she sang sweetly, "Don't let the sun go down on me. Although I search myself, it's always someone else I see. I'd just allow a fragment of your life to wander free ..." with an irony that no one but she could appreciate. Playing on the instrument that Franz Lizst himself taught her to appreciate a century and a half ago. In fact, she kept the death mask mold of his hands on the piano...

A little souvenir for a job well done. 

She was so excited when she saw them at auction in Christie's last year where incredibly she also saw the world's largest cut diamond known as the Fancy Black, containing small red diamond crystals which at 555.55 carats was sadly beyond her means at the present. 

But finding Liszt's hands was truly a bonanza after she had carelessly lost them some time ago in another incarnation and Serena was happy to have been reunited with them...

They became the equivalent of a rabbit's foot for her. making her feel that her San Francisco enterprise would be fruitful one, after all. Her last venture ended rather disappointingly where she was forced to flee Bristol and settle quickly in the new world...

Here, in this city by the bay with earth that quivered like a virgin's thighs.  Where the sun is something of a stranger  & the mist swirls ominously on most days of the year and the sun drowns spectacularly in the Pacific's frigid waters, sending frissons of pleasure coursing through her body every time Serena witnessed those last of rays grasping at passing clouds, begging for life. 

Serena enjoyed witnessing that daily murder, all those red streaked wispy clouds like bloody gashes in the sky...

Reminding her that the dark always won the daily struggle with the light and so would she, she kept reminding herself.... and so would she.... 

Blogophilia 47.2 Topic: "Living in the Lap of Luxury"

Bonus points:
(hard, 2 pts): incorporate a record from the Guinness Book of World Records
(easy, 1 pt): use a line from an Elton John song  

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