Sundays with Scheherazade

Pearls & Swine

3 Pearls & Swine

1 pm, 12 Sundays in, New York Luxury Apartment

Mel again found herself at the oblong Ashford table, engrossed in the finery and architectural finesse around her. The curtains were floor-to-ceiling but covered two full stories instead of the typical one. The cylindrical light sconces swung overhead with the slightest movement from far below, and she could hear tiny, rippling echoes of her footsteps, each time her foot hit the impeccably dark Siberian oak flooring.

She recalled Maggie having exclaimed once, some time ago in frustration, that she had what she deemed was a "Savior Complex"—the acute, aching, unrelenting desire to rescue the most irredeemable dregs of modern society. Stirring the glass of seltzer and orange juice together, Mel sipped, contemplating those words, which had of late gotten under her skin, and permeated both her subconscious and her awakened cognitive ability.

Mel twisted her Costa Rican blue butterfly ring, which she wore on her slender right ring finger, a nervous habit. The Peleides blue morpho. Genus: Morpho. Species: M. peleides. Binomially known as Morpho peleides Kollar, discovery dated to 1850. She often turned to reciting facts and figures, as if she were reciting meditative mantras—they provided order and organization in a universe of utter complexity and chaos.

She once recalled reading from a placard in the local natural history museum that the blue butterfly represented a spirit communicating through transformation and change. In some cultures, spotting one meant that sudden good luck was sure to follow. Blue butterflies were also, if she remembered correctly, considered wish-granters. But was this a good spirit? And what kind of wish would be granted?

Having finished her drink, Mel proceeded to the dark languorously-lengthened corridor, and braced herself for yet another heady project, courtesy of Abigael.

1:30 pm, New York City Luxury Apartment, Safe

Mel stepped through and closed the ebony wood door behind her. Instead of finding herself at the wrong end of a sparking blowtorch (from the previous toy pony incident), she found herself instead facing the safe's furthest left corner wall. She stepped closer, noticing that Abigael stood by next to this area silently, with an assignment in order.

"Meet my pearls."

1:35 pm, New York City Luxury Apartment, Safe

Mel blinked in confusion. Her pearls? Abigael, of all people, had a jewelry collection? Mel really did not fancy her the type that directed herself toward ostentatious jewelry. She did notice a peculiarly gem-like glow emerging from the left corner wall, so she stepped forward curiously, ignoring her wiser instincts to flee in the opposite direction.

The first thing Mel noticed, peering into this corner drawer of jewelry, was that these were extremely long, seemingly never-ending strings-upon-strings, ropes-upon-ropes, of tiny beaded string pearls, the type she recalled seeing in fancy storefronts as a child that looked as if they were the masticated, half-chewed, somewhat devoured step-child of its pearly predecessor. She glanced downward toward her own shining, polished cerulean blue butterfly ring, noting how different the two seemed. The seed pearls, though glistening, appeared to have seen things, if such a thing were even remotely within the realm of possibility.

Mel reached out, after a few long seconds of staring at the endless tiny semiprecious sea stones, touching the rope closest to her. It shook, causing Mel to jump back. However, Mel quickly regained her composure and bravely continued her examination of the rope. She noticed that one particular facet was grey and slightly smudged with something dark maroon—she looked closer, startled. Was that...blood? Her heart began to pound, and she felt a sudden surge of adrenaline that flowed through her brainstem, to her spine, coursing through her veins, and onto her extremities.

She recalled the legend of Black Beard...or was that Blue Beard? Mel could never get her folklore straight when she needed it the most. All she remembered was that a young woman was married off to a murderous pirate and was told to never open an upstairs room. She disobeyed, opened the room with a key, and found a gruesome discovery, causing her to drop her ill-gotten key in a puddle of red whose color permanently stained the key. Did the woman survive? Mel thought she did, but wasn't 100% sure...

2 pm, New York City Luxury Apartment, Safe

Mel muttered a cleaning charm that she had used months earlier, and the grey and red stains disappeared from the seed pearl rope. She then looked toward the bottom of the jewelry case, noticing miniature cabinets stashed to the left and right sides. Mel tenuously opened one on the right and removed what appeared to be a petite razor clam shell with a hole bored within it, with a metal hook woven through. Earrings. Which could easily double as...weapons. The seed pearl ropes? Elegant nun chucks or escape ropes.

She stepped back, having had a sudden, bone-chilling realization. Abigael had just introduced her to the deadliest weapons in her arsenal.

Mel turned toward Abigael, walked over until she was but several centimeters away, and beckoned for Abigael's hands. Abigael shot her a skeptical look before rolling her eyes and showing Mel her outstretched palms, as if to say, no touching, remember? Ignoring this, Mel honed in on her left ring finger, noticing a thin hairline wound that matched the seed pearl's imprint. She whispered a few words, and the injury vanished without a single trace.

In this dance with the devil, who was being corrupted? But continuing her silent ruminations, surveying the precious jewelry from a foot or two away, the tiniest part of her remarked offhandedly, did it even matter?