Asher: Mediums & Necromancers.
âIf a person turns to mediums and necromancers, whoring after them, I will set my face against that person and will cut him off from among his people. A man or a woman who is a medium or a necromancer shall surely be put to death. They shall be stoned with stones; their blood shall be upon them.â -- Leviticus 20:6, 27
There are too many inconsistencies in this world for that God to be the One. Â So Iâve told myself again and again over the years, since the first time I saw my father work magic and felt something inside myself stir in response. Â Zduhac blood, father told me, and my mother stole me away to envelop me with the holiness of the Church, to see me sanctified and baptised, to make me a child of her God. Â I believe there is one God. Â I believe He is both loving and wrathful. Â I do not believe He is described in the Bible. Â I do not believe Catholicism holds all the truths of spirituality -- only some.
My skin is reddened, aching, sensitive to the water beating hot upon it. Â He asked to join me. Â I told him no. Â I told him to leave. Â I told him to wait for me. Â He said he has waited for me, and he always will, and when the door closed I pressed my forehead to the tiles, praying for strength. Â
If the God I know is the true God, then there is no salvation for me. Â There is no Heaven. Â I do not have time for the sacrament of confession before I must leave, and even if I did, Iâm not repentant. Â I am greedy. Â I wish this weekend were one of hundreds. Â I hunger for more time so that we might fall into each other once again.
In steam so thick it holds my body like a lover, I dress. Â Fabric clings to me. Â I canât step out there before him nude, not again, not when my body will betray me. Â And when I emerge, he does an admirable job of hiding how his expression falls. Â I pray I do the same. Â âI have to leave,â I tell him. Â Our mother tongue suits me well, and when I step out of here Iâm certain Iâll forget to speak English again, that clunky language I still stumble over speaking. Â âYou can stay here as long as you like.â
He doesnât want to ask me to stay. Â I see him struggle with holding back the words. Â He doesnât want to hear me say no again. Â But he asks, and I answer, and the earth between us cracks.
There is one more demand I have to make of him. Â âWhen I die, you must leave my spirit in peace. Â Donât try to contact me. Â Donât disturb my rest. Â Swear it.â
âYou wonât die,â he says.
âSome day, I will.â Â For all the strength I have, I canât tell him I know my end is coming. Â I know what waits for me in Spain, and what business I have left undone. Â I told him only that I had a mess to clean up, and that is the truth -- a fraction of it, at least.
And he says, âI will swear to leave your spirit in peace if you swear you will return to me.â
I swear it.Â
Iâm lying.
He swears it.
I pray he speaks truth.
And when I kiss him once more, one last time, nothing has ever tasted so sweet, but nothing has ever felt so final.












