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Back Black Ambrosia Save as PDF
Chapters (46)
  1. CoverImage
  2. Introduction by Grady Hendrix
  3. Acknowledgments
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. About the Author
  46. About the Cover

Sometime during the middle of that night, I awoke with the sound of my bedroom door opening. I wasn’t afraid, because already the night was my friend—it was the daytime that held the horrors of society. I lay very still and wrapped the familiar cloak of the darkness about my shoulders and watched the bedroom door open very slowly. I knew it was Rolf; he’d been downstairs drinking. I assumed he would be drunk, and that meant he was in my room for one of two things: to rape me or to cry. I was old enough to understand either one of those.

He came to my bedside, and though I could smell the liquor on his breath, I don’t believe he was drunk. I could barely see his glistening eyes in the dimness of the room as I looked up at him towering over me. He stood there for a long time before he spoke.

“You’re awake,” he said.

“Yes.”

He fell to his knees next to my bed. “Angelina—Angelina—will you . . .” He choked a bit. “Will you pray with me?”

While it was not what I had been expecting, I wasn’t taken totally by surprise. His grief was far more enormous than I would ever have imagined.

“Of course, Rolf,” I said.

He knelt next to my bed, wearing his striped pajamas, and he steepled his hands just as children do when they pray, and he began. He prayed for Mother and me and himself and for the forgiveness of all our sins. Then he started on the world, praying for peace and an end to disease, and I began to fidget with the more maudlin of his recitations. So I inched over in my twin bed and held the covers up and he choked out a premature “amen” and got in. He turned his back to me and his sobbing shook the bed.

I placed my hand gently on his side, my cool cheek against his warm back. Even in the farthest nether regions of my experience, I could imagine nothing that would cause me to behave as Rolf was now behaving, and that made me feel quite odd. I knew nothing of this grief, this devastation, these feelings he owned.

I pondered this for a while as exhaustion tem­pered his sobbing. Surrounded by an aura of peaceful­ness and finality, soon we were both asleep.