Panic began to course through me. What were they going to do to me? Would I no longer be able to paint? Would Julien still want to lay with me? That was all that mattered to me, painting and Julien, my whole world.
I had to escape, but how? I turned around. The room felt smaller, and the two rabbis seemed to have grown in stature during my effort to leave. They both appeared taller, broader, more menacing.
Cousin Jacob took a bottle out of the pocket in his jacket. It was smaller than a wine bottle, made of ruby glass, with an elaborate silver overlay on it that glowed in the candlelight. A cork hung from its long neck on a silken cord and rested on its round belly.
The rabbis were still chanting, ceaselessly. My grandmother was standing against the wall, her hand up to her mouth, terror shining in her eyes.
“What are you going to do to me?”
“There is nothing to be afraid of,” Cousin Jacob said as he and Zeller approached. “We are not going to hurt you, but here, in this sacred space, the demon is susceptible. So we’re going to coax her out of you and trap her.” He held up the bottle. “We are going to free you from her.”
“There is no demon!” I looked from them back to my grandmother. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“To save you.” Her voice was hoarse but strong.
“There is nothing to be afraid of, Sandrine,” Cousin Jacob said. “This will all be easier if you go behind that curtain and take off your dress and put on the robe you will find. We want you to be able to go home in dry clothes.”
“I will do nothing to aid you in this mockery.”
“Sandrine, please,” my grandmother pleaded.
“No. This is absurd. A theatrical stunt. How much are you paying these men?”
“Nothing.”
“Sandrine,” Cousin Jacob said, “we are men of God trying to restore goodness to your soul.”
“Yes, I have changed since I’ve come to Paris,” I began begging my grandmother, but included Cousin Jacob in my glance. “But it’s been a wonderful change. I’ve found myself. I am stronger than I have ever been. I am painting, and I’m good at it. I have goals and desires. That’s a positive change. Not something to be afraid of.”
And, I thought to myself, after so long of thinking I was frozen, I’ve found Julien and discovered passion . . . scarlet-black feelings pulsing inside of me.
“I won’t give up who I am.” I crossed my arms on my chest. If they wanted me to go into that pool, they would have to undress me and take me themselves. And as if by some prearrangement they each stepped closer and took one of my arms in a tight grip.
I tried to fight, but there was nothing I could do. They jerked and yanked me toward the pool. I tried to kick, to hurt them so they would let me go, but if I was causing any pain, they ignored it.
“Put me down.”
“Sandrine, don’t fight them. Do what they suggest,” my grandmother cried.
But I kept fighting. For my paintings. For my lover. For myself. Leaning in, I bit Cousin Jacob on the ear. He flinched when my teeth sunk into his flesh. As he moaned, I kicked Rabbi Zeller in the groin. He shouted out as he doubled over. That was my moment. I wrested free only for a second before both of them recovered fast enough to grab me before I got away. Despite all my efforts and all my energy, I was no match for two strong men who, with their fingers squeezing my arms, dragged me into the pool. Within seconds, I found myself standing in icy water up to my thighs. My shoes, my dress, my petticoats soaking, I began to shiver.
Wasting no time, the two rabbis began to pray, a mesmerizing chanting that, despite my efforts to withstand its pull, lulled me with its rhythms.
I had read about mesmerism. Hypnotizing someone into a deep state of relaxation during which time they were susceptible to suggestions was popular as a medicinal treatment. I was certain that’s what the rabbis were doing to me, and I could not allow it. But no matter how hard I tried to block out the sound of their voices and concentrate on something else, I couldn’t. Their sacred lullaby was softening my resolve. I slipped into a state somewhere between sleep and restfulness and awareness all at the same time.
As the prayers continued, a shaking and tingling took over my body, and then I experienced a bizarre sensation I can only describe as a sexual release, akin to what I’d experienced with Julien, but this was painful, where that had been pleasurable. Like magnets they were drawing this release from me, from between my legs, from inside my womb. It was ragged and ripped. I looked down and saw I was dripping blood into the water.
Cousin Jacob had not lied. All this was happening without either of them touching me there. The power of their voices raised in prayer were doing it.
I felt lighter, as if I were becoming less. As if I were becoming weaker. My senses dulled, too. The room lost some of its shimmer. The blue and green tiles were less intense. The scents faded. A sense of loss and immediate longing took hold of me.
“I have her,” Cousin Jacob shouted in triumph, and fumbled, shoving the cork into the bottle.
Zeller lessened his grip and placed an arm around my shoulders.
My grandmother stood nervously at the edge of the pool. “She’s bleeding. What is going on? Is she all right? Sandrine, are you all right?”
But I wasn’t. I was crying, and I couldn’t respond.
“She is fine,” Rabbi Zeller answered for me.
But I wasn’t. I wanted the colors and the smells and the power and the feelings back.
“Something is wrong here,” Cousin Jacob complained as he struggled to fit the cork farther into the neck of the bottle.
Zeller left my side to see what the trouble was.
For the moment no one was focused on me. This was my chance. Despite my heavy, waterlogged dress, despite losing blood and feeling weak, I lunged forward, grabbed the cork, and wrenched it from Cousin Jacob’s hand. Instantly I felt a surge of energy. I knew the bleeding had stopped.
I laughed with delight. They could not change me. Even with all their prayers, they could not separate us.
“What’s happened?” my grandmother asked nervously.
“Zeller, I’ve lost it,” Cousin Jacob lamented.
“She pulled the cork,” Zeller said over and over.
They were all talking on top of one another in a panicked response. I didn’t care what they were saying. I was myself again.
Then . . . What was that? More chanting? I put my hands up to my ears to try and drown out the seductive sounds. As long as I didn’t listen, I would stay in control. I tried to climb up the steps, but both rabbis, anticipating my move, blocked me.
Zeller positioned himself at my back, took hold of both my arms, pulled them behind me, and held on while Cousin Jacob pushed the bottle close to my chest.
With one of them in front and the other behind me, the sound of their singsong prayer surrounded me, and despite all my efforts, for the second time, I fell victim to their ministrations, not strong enough to fight their devout entreaties. And once again, though this time with less elation and more trepidation, Cousin Jacob announced he had captured the spirit, and I was left feeling drained of my life force.
“Thank God,” my grandmother uttered as Cousin Jacob very cautiously and carefully corked the bottle.
Rabbi Zeller offered to help me out of the pool. I had so little energy left that I accepted his arm and emerged, my skirts dripping, my shoes squishing.
Holding the glass bottle tightly, Cousin Jacob followed. I watched him as he stepped out of the pool, and I noticed that his hand holding the vessel was trembling. At first it was slight, but it became more and more exaggerated.
“Help me, Zeller,” Cousin Jacob cried.
Rabbi Zeller ran to his side and tried to take the bottle and help Cousin Jacob at the same time.
“Arghh!” Zeller screamed.