The Feathered Serpent

Margaret yelled “Astro, don't kill that duckling!” Astro hesitated then released the squawking duck near a palm tree at the lake's edge. “Aren't alligators and snakes enough for a mother to fight? Come here, Terrorist!" she demanded.

Suddenly a flash of ruby light struck the bird feeder under the old oak nearby. Startled, she stared at the clear domed feeder, afraid to move. As the Florida sunset splashed scarlet into the lake under a slivered moon, she focused on the art museum across the lake at Langford College, where she and her husband worked, but weirdly Michelangelo's “Last Judgment” in the Sistine Chapel flashed into her mind. Stunned, she felt her racing heart.

But when a wind gust blew through her hair, like an invisible hand, she signaled Astro and ran toward the pool deck terrified. Looking back she saw a flock of cardinals attack the feeder. She was surprised when her cell phone on the table rang, but forced herself to breathe deeply several times.

"Oh, hi Honey. Still at your office?”

"Yes. Are you OK, Sweetheart? You sound upset.”

"Just some weird stuff around the lake, I'll be OK. You going to be home soon for our anniversary party?”

"Sorry, I'm running late, the president needs an updated faculty report today. Apologies.”

"Ah, the life of Langford's Provost. But a Kendall Jackson cabernet and I are waiting” she teased, trying to shake her fear. “Of course President Thompson needs you. But I want you!”

"And I love Langford's Art Museum Director.”

"Oh, don't grovel. I feel so lucky we'll celebrate our twentieth anniversary tonight! And let's plan where to make love on our twenty-first. So the wine and I will be waiting for you upstairs. I'll be the amorous one in the red nightgown. Bye, Lover” she whispered seductively.

The cardinals and ducks chattered nervously as she looked toward the lake, then up at the moon. The moon made her think of her psychic friend Pearl, who gave her the golden retriever Astro. Then suddenly, in another flash of ruby light, she saw a cardinal drop to the ground under the feeder, and the other red birds scatter.

She yelled, “Astro, get up here.” Astro froze then reacted dutifully to the edge in her voice. Starting slowly up the beach, he stopped, sniffed the cardinal then grabbed it. He dropped the bird at her feet.

"You didn't kill that bird?” she asked, her insides quivering.

As he nosed its limp head, she was afraid to touch it. When she looked at the feeder abandoned so suddenly, feeling eerily cold, she grabbed the wine and hurried toward the house.

She turned on the TV to distract herself from the dead bird. She heard Nick Rondinaro's voice filled with concern about Hurricane Diego poised in the Caribbean, ready to strike Florida. As his picture stabilized, she admired how even when delivering ominous news, her handsome friend looked calm. But as she tried to concentrate on Nick's voice, the dead bird, unusual light bursts and the image of Michelangelo's “Last Judgment” worried her. She kept looking toward the feeder under the oak and the dead bird on the deck.

Finally, she forced herself to focus on Raymond and their anniversary and wanting to shower for tonight's seduction.

Carrying the wine and two glasses, she put on a reading lamp in the living room near the brass rack holding her orchids. But as she walked upstairs, she remembered the alarm. Although they lived in a lovely neighborhood, she agreed with Raymond to set it when she was alone in bed.

Back upstairs, in the hallway, she stopped for a moment at Pearl's self-portrait. She loved the bold colors. It was filled with a talented young painter's promise, but the unfinished face still bothered her. Then eerily, she wondered where Pearl was at this moment, as if the bird and Pearl and the “Last Judgment” were somehow connected. But she blocked the bizarre thought with a courageous laugh.

Minutes later, in warm spray splashing over her in the shower she remembered making love with Raymond in Michelangelo's art filled Florence. She soaped her body slowly. She enjoyed the scented bubbles generated by slow circles she massaged onto her skin, and remembered making love with him on the black sand of a volcanic Maui beach. Gently rubbing the mound between her legs, she thought about being a woman. Mound of Venus was an apt title, she thought. Loving Raymond and her daughter Amanda connected her with this mysterious place of Eros and birth.

Finally, back in their bedroom, she perfumed the sheer red nightgown that so aroused Raymond, and smiled, anticipating his reaction tonight.

In bed, she opened the book about reading auras that Pearl gave her at one of their private sessions in the Crystal Pyramid Bookstore in Argo. She smiled, thinking she would read Raymond's aura tonight as a pretense to seduce him.

Auras seemed fanciful to her, and she knew that Pearl was skeptical, but it felt like harmless fun. She paged through it, sipping cabernet from the glass on the night table, enjoying fantasies about making love with Raymond next year on another secluded Maui beach or any place in the world. Although the dead bird lingered uneasily in her mind, she luxuriated in erotic feelings of Raymond pressed lovingly into her.

In the museum last week, Pearl insisted that their happiness was authentic because she connected spiritually with Raymond and Amanda. Pearl said her love for Raymond was open and intimate. Her love for Amanda completed her as a woman. Her career completed that third part of herself. Margaret was so happy that Pearl saw her life so clearly.

Suddenly Margaret heard a static buzz from the clock radio next to her bed. The block red numbers flashed twelve as the reading lamp went black. Confused by the sound, she looked first at the radio then terrified she looked around the room frantically.

"Raymond?” she screamed.