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UNHOLY WATER |
| Written by DAVID TODD | |
| Monday, 14 January 2008 | |
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Share it:      Donella Fox checked her watch for the umpteenth time. It was an excuse to admire her first anniversary present but, also, her husband of nearly thirteen months was a fastidious time keeper. He’d never stood her up, ever, ever. In fact, he was the most reliable man she’d ever known. It was probably her paranoia, but it seemed as though the other diners in the outdoor restaurant were stealing glances at the twenty-one year old at the least opportunity. But she didn’t need their pity – if that was what it was – she was the happiest gal in the world, as far as she was concerned. But what if she had been looking at life through rose-tinted spectacles for the past two years? Mac was away on business a lot. But that was why he’d taken her away to Israel’s Dead Sea resort, wasn’t it, to show her how much he loved her? They’d been inseperable during this second honeymoon; was it really possible that he was late because he was making a long distance phone call to his girlfriend, determined to keep both the women in his life satisfied? ‘Are you all right, ma’am?’ The voice startled her from her reverie. To her chagrin, it was too poised to be that of Mac’s. ‘Oh, yes thank you,’ she smiled, trying to contain her composure. The owner of the hotel was a prolific figure amongst his guests, not least the Fox’s. ‘Mr Fox had to take a conference call with his company. He said it’s most unfortunate. However, the problem can hopefully be resolved over the telephone. So you won’t have to cut short your vacation.’ How considerate of them, she thought. To the hotelier, though, her response was more tactful: ‘He never said he was on call.’ ‘This is only my opinion, but he probably didn’t want to alarm you. And he secretly hoped he wouldn’t get bothered by the office for a few days. But thus is life.’ ‘I would’ve preferred it if he’d been a little more forthcoming. At least, then, I would’ve known where I stood,’ she ventured a look at rear of the ten-storey oblong building, and it wasn’t one of her most endearing. ‘Look. I wouldn’t want your evening ruined by some imbeciles back in England.’ Meeting the eyes of the hotelier again, Donella couldn’t help being captivated by his appearance. He was English – well, at least he sounded English – but he had the healthy glow of a young Israeli, the kind you would see playing paddle-ball on the beach at Tel Aviv with an athletic, bronzed young woman. In fact, he was the absolute antipathy of Mac: tall, ruggedly-handsome and very masculine. ‘What do you suggest?’ she said, stirring her Mai Tai with her finger, absently. ‘I consider myself more than just the boss of some big enterprise. I like to think I can equally be the court jester, if the need arises. What I really mean to say is…how about I give you some company until your husband is ready to join you?’ With a wry smile, she nodded to the vacant chair. The hotelier promptly drew it back and parked his rump, his immaculate black suit not relinquishing a single crease. Her replacement date, much to Donella’s relief, wasn’t short in the gab department: ‘I know this must be very uncomfortable for you. A lot of women find me most intimidating.’ ‘You’re very full of yourself, I’ll give you that.’ ‘You have to be in my line of work. But, let me make a suggestion. Let’s order something from the menu (on the house of course)…something light if you would prefer?’ ‘Go on,’ she nodded, humouring him. ‘It would be my deepest honour to give you a short history lesson about the Dead Sea. Some facts that you will undoubtedly never heard before.’ Elbows on the table cloth so her interlaced fingers supported her chin, she said, ‘I’m all ears.’ Donella permitted the hotelier to order for the two of them, and then the lesson began. It wasn’t long before Mac was no more than a distant memory. Although the subject matter was one she’d never given much thought to before – fallen angels with a penchant for strange flesh, accused of fornicating with animals – to say the least, the information held her attention. He explained how these demons were thrown from the walls of Jerusalem into a pit sparingly laden with firewood. The Valley of Hinnon, beginning at Jerusalem, stretches eastward at a rapidly declining rate, until it plunges into the northern edge of Lake Aspaltis, the Dead Sea. The valley is still known as the Wadi enNar, the streambed of fire. Also known as Gehenna in the bible, it runs for about fifteen miles. ‘And I thought you were trying to cheer me up,’ Donella interjected, half-heartedly. ‘I never said I was going to cheer you up, I think I said I was going to give you some company,’ he smiled, knowingly. ‘My mistake,’ she shrugged, returning the smile, although hers was tainted with sarcasm. ‘The Dead Sea is also known as the “lake of fire”. On occasions, you can still see smoke rising from its centre, as the subterranean fire has not yet been extinguished.’ ‘Well, you learn something everyday. I thought the Dead Sea was only famous because it has more salt in it than any other sea, and you can’t drown in it.’ ‘That’s the Absinthe, or wormwood, which causes the waters of the earth to become bitter.’ ‘You’re wasted as a hotel manager, you know that?’ ‘As I said, I have many more depths than you think.’ ‘That’s an understatement, if you don’t mind me saying? Anyway, what’s the relevance of this story?’ ‘Are you a religious woman?’ he said, pointedly. ‘Would you be offended if I said I wasn’t?’ ‘Not in the slightest.’ The way he said it, sent a chill right down her spine. If he wasn’t some religious nut, where was this lecture actually heading? Surely not into the satanic? ‘Hell is often referred to as “below”. Well, did you know that the Dead Sea is the lowest point on earth?’ ‘It doesn’t surprise me.’ Before the hotelier could continue, one of his waiters whispered something in his ear. Donella watched keenly as her replacement date processed the obviously important message. ‘I sincerely apologize Mrs Fox, but one of the chefs has burnt the soufflé or something to that effect. I’m afraid our little talk will have to end here. Excuse me.’ ‘But you didn’t finish your snails,’ she said, through almost gritted teeth. And then he was gone, seemingly as magically as he had appeared. Instead of adjourning to her suite though, Donella had a sudden hankering for a walk on the beach, clear her head. Now that it wasn’t overrun with tourists that longed to cake their entire bodies in grey mud, which came from bathing in the Dead Sea, it didn’t seem so yucky. Not that she had any wish to have her picture taken floating on the water, reading the almost obligatory Jerusalem Post. All of a sudden, she felt magnetically drawn to the saline water. The fact that nothing substantial lived or grew in it also inspired her to take the plunge. No predatory fish and no chance of drowning. Was she actually considering skinny dipping? She asked herself. Well, she was in no rush to see Mac. And she’d certainly done crazier things. Donella adorned a long, black negligee, but, instead of removing it, she kicked off her stilettos and hoisted it up past her knees. The water wasn’t as freezing as she’d feared and, before she knew it, the hem of her dress was soaked. What the hell, she thought, letting it drop. Like an oil slick, the silk garment surrounded her as she waded deeper. The seabed was occasionally prickly underfoot, so it came as a relief when, waist deep, the water’s extraordinary buoyancy flipped her onto her back. It was rather a surreal experience for her floating like a cork. The night was moonless, but the yellow glow from the hotel allowed her to view her milk-white thighs. She admired them for a while, and then contemplated future motherhood. She didn’t want to lose her svelte figure but, suddenly, she felt very, very broody. Where was Mac when she needed him? The Dead Sea was like a waterbed. Maybe they could conceive their first child… But, did she really need Mac, anyway? Was it so profound to conceive without a man? Unaware of where these strange thought were emanating from, something else was happening to her…she was becoming highly aroused. Closing her eyes, she tugged the waistband of her kinky knickers, letting the water fill them like a cup. Also, the water felt nice against her pubic mound. She longed for it inside her. Feverishly, with two of her fingers, she widened her welcoming passage. Unbeknown to the young wife, though, a mixture of blood and semen had materialized on the surface, between her parted legs. As the liquid penetrated her, with her own assistance, she hadn’t the faintest notion that she was sowing the seed of Lucifer. Lucifer, himself, ogled her from the comfort of his penthouse suite. Such a charming evening they had shared, he mused. It was gratifying to know that his little story had worked wonders. Copyright 2008 DAVID TODD |
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