By K.A. Schure

The Commendatore's voice still echoed in Don Giovanni's ears, sentencing him to the torments of hell for refusing to repent for his sins. Don Giovanni gazed in terror as fire-lashed devils burst from the floor, clawing into him with their razor talons. They pulled him downward into the depths of hell. Don Giovanni grasped madly at the cool floor before the devils seized him with supernatural strength, dragging him by the legs, ankles and waist. Don Giovanni cried as he plummeted with the devils into the seething, flaming tunnel.

His entrails felt as if they were being torn, ripped apart, his soul twisted and mangled by the cruel laughing devils. They beat their jagged, spiked wings against him. Don Giovanni instinctively shielded his face and eyes as their wings hit him again and again, drawing blood. He grimaced in pain, but he cried out no more. He was too proud, a nobleman of the finest house, to cry out in fear and pain, like a base peasant. He was not ashamed at his life. He felt he had done nothing wrong to merit the torments of hell, but he would endure them if he must.

A burning wind swept over Don Giovanni. The devils swooped to the left, steering away from the shrieking wind and the licking fire-tongues of the tunnel. They hung the nobleman upside-down, hovering in the air, their sharp, gleaming black nails drawing final drops of blood from his ankles before they dropped him.

Don Giovanni glared at the devils as fear flooded him. He wanted to either scream or curse them, but he bit it back. He would not give the hellish creatures that satisfaction. In his dizziness and confusion he tensed himself as he plummeted toward the glowing red and yellow pool of bubbling lava. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, determined not to scream, determined not to show his pain.

Splash!

A cold and very wet liquid drenched his gold gilded coat, soaking through rich red velvet and his silken trousers. Don Giovanni opened his eyes in shock and saw he had fallen into a white marble fountain. Droplets of water pattered on his head from the bubbling conch shell of a marble cupid.

Surrounding the fountain was an expansive courtyard filled with lush green manicured shrubs. Two conical shrubs stood beside the gothic-arched marble door. Gleaming black tile led up to an elaborate mosaic glinting with lapis-lazuli, onyx, rose and white marble. Don Giovanni recognized the mosaic immediately. It was a picture of Bacchus and Don Giovanni was in the courtyard of his Venice palace.

A young woman's bright, tinkling laughter broke the monotony of the gurgling, dripping fountain.

"Oh, Giovanni! Just look at you!"

Don Giovanni stared in surprise at who he saw. Right before him was Donna Elvira looking exactly the same way as when he first met her. She wore a royal blue satin dress flourished with a broad-hip bustle and an iridescent purple mantle. The sleeves, ending at her delicate, white elbows, draped her forearms with intricate lace. Her rich brown hair was not powdered or hidden with a wig on this occasion. It perched high on her head, accentuating her enchanting green eyes, her enticing blushing cheeks, those red, welcoming lips and that long, graceful neck leading downward to her full-blossomed breast.

"Donna Elvira! How did you? Why did you come here after--"

Don Giovanni stood up and his sopping clothes dripped noisily as it hung heavily upon him.

"Oh! What a mess! How silly of you! How did you ever fall into the fountain? Please don't tell me you were doing this to impress me, because it doesn't. Now I have to help you get cleaned up!"

Don Giovanni looked slyly at Donna Elvira and reached out to touch her smooth, white shoulder.

"I have something better than cleaning up, Elvira."

His fingertips touched her skin, but a searing burn scorched them. He drew them back, cursing, and plunged the reddened fingers into the pool. The water didn't seem as cold as before and painful blisters began to form.

Donna Elvira looked at Don Giovanni as he sloshed around in the fountain, holding his hand in the deepest point he could find. She shook her head and without changing her sweet and beautiful tone said:

"Oh, Giovanni, don't you realize? You're in hell. You cannot enjoy yourself in hell."

"I know I'm in hell," Don Giovanni growled. "My fingers burn like hell, thanks to you!"

Donna Elvira turned to leave.

"No! Don't leave!"

Don Giovanni forgot his burnt fingers instantly and left the fountain.

"Donna Elvira, why are you here? You're not dead, are you?"

Donna Elvira smiled slightly, shaking her head. Her red lips looked more enticing than ever. Don Giovanni felt feverish, desperately wanting to kiss those lips. His burnt fingers throbbed in pain again.

"Donna Elvira is not dead," said the woman. "She is with the others, gazing at your dead body and considering what is to be done next."

Don Giovanni felt a surge to rage. He lunged, wanting to grab her arm viciously, but checked the action.

"What are you then!" Don Giovanni shrieked.

She smiled the same, sweet, sly little smile. Her red lips gleaming, cherry-red, deliciously full and sensual.

"I am your hell. Don't you know that, my darling love?"

She slid two fingers across Don Giovanni's cheek. Normally it would be a loving touch, but a searing pain burned into him. Don Giovanni cursed bitterly this demon in too fair a form and ran to the fountain, but it vanished before he could soothe the burns.

"Humph! Who are you?"

A woman with a black leather blouse and tight pants, black lipstick, white rouge and straight, raven-black dyed hair sat at the dim bar smoking a cigarette. A thin wire nose-ring glinted from her right nostril. Another ring also gleamed from her severe eyebrow. She took a sip of her hard drink, looking at Don Giovanni with contempt.

"I am his lordship, Don Giovanni."

He took a bow, trying to be gallant, despite his pain and frustration. After all, this strange looking woman might be a prospective conquest. If he only had Leporello and his "catalogue" book!

"Ah, we got a gentleman here! Get lost, gentleman. I've had enough of your mock chivalry and goofy costume."

The woman bit down on the cigarette between her sharp, nicotine stained teeth. She slipped out some more money and the bartender poured her another glass.

"You don't understand!" cried Don Giovanni. "I love you. Your beauty, a beauty surpassing all the light of the stars, all the--"

"Keep the stars, moon and what-not planets out of it, bub! I've had enough of that sticky-mush romantic talk! Get lost!"

The woman's black-polished fingernails clicked impatiently upon the polished wood. Don Giovanni, hoping the burn-punishment wouldn't extend to this bizarre woman, gently touched her hand. He smiled, he wasn't burned at all.

"Come with me, my love. I will make you so happy."

"No! This will make me happy!"

Before Don Giovanni could believe it, the woman viciously broke free of his hold and slammed her left fist into his nose. A burst of pain flooded him as he fell, bewildered and stunned. Blood began to gush from his nose.

Though you deserve it, I will not fight a woman. It is too far beneath me! Don Giovanni thought as he glared up at the woman standing before him, rubbing her reddened knuckles.

Others began to crowd around, but Don Giovanni batted them away, shouting:

"Away, lowly peasants! Don't you know who I am? I am Lord Don Giovanni and I order you away!"

A man in his mid-thirties with a Budweiser shirt and faded blue jeans snickered:

"Is this guy for real?"

"Nah! The idiot's just drunk. Leave him alone."

"I'm not drunk!" he thundered. "I am Lord Don Gio--"

But the crowd was already dispersing, many shaking their heads, a few laughing. Don Giovanni turned to the woman in a fury. Droplets of blood trickled from his throbbing nose.

"You! Damn you!"

"No, damn you, bub!"

The woman downed her last shot, but held it in her mouth a moment before spitting it in Don Giovanni's face. His burned cheek sizzled with the alcohol. He shrieked, feeling the rising blisters swelling from his face. His scream seemed to echo in his ears like the Commendatore's unearthly voice.

"Donna Elvira! Donna Elvira, where are you! Where am I? Where--"

Don Giovanni stopped suddenly. The night air blew harshly against him, biting and icy. He could see his breath rising on this bitter night. The long, broad streets in both directions were empty and very lonely; they gleamed with the cold light of white street lamps and the flickering winter stars. He turned around, his rich robes, still damp, flapped limply against his legs. He saw only a few lights glowing from the windows, but he couldn't see where he came from.

The scent of cheap perfume and the click of heels crept down the street. Don Giovanni smiled, imagining that perhaps this woman he would be able to add to his book. He turned his eyes in the direction of the approaching woman, flashing his sexiest smile.

The woman emerged from the long shadow cast by the lamp. Her long netted nylons had a few holes along her ankles and calves. She wore red patten leather shoes with a greasy red mini-skirt which accentuated her full buttocks. Her matching red bra with a zipper in the front didn't look better. The woman stopped as Don Giovanni tried to lure her in with his seductive eyes.

"And how are you my sweet, young, lovely one?"

"Nice compliments. How much will you pay for my sweet loveliness?"

Ah! Salvation from this dreary existence at last!

Don Giovanni fumbled for the few coins in his pocket. He held them out and the copper glinted in the light.

"Hah! Copper! A few funny looking forgery pennies. Is that all you can give me? Forget it! Find somebody else."

Her heels began to click away from him.

"No, I have more. Wait."

Don Giovanni fished deeper in his pocket for a few more coins. From the looks of her, she wasn't worth it, but it would at least alleviate the tedium and gnawing urge he felt.

"How about this? Will this do?"

Her heels clicked a little closer.

"A silver coin? One silver coin. Is that supposed to be a silver dollar, or something? I'm worth more than a dollar, you know."

"Do you realize how much this is worth!" he raged. "It's worth about ten of you! I could have ten of you for this coin."

"Then get your ten who'll do what you ask for a dollar, not me!"

Her heels clicked away into the darkness as he swore and viciously kicked rocks down the street. A freezing north wind burst from the raw sky and Don Giovanni gripped his damp shoulders, shivering.

"Donna Elvira! Where in hell are you?"

Don Giovanni still heard the faint click of the woman's heels. He suddenly ran after her, eager to vent his fury. What if he beat her, anyway? Local law-enforcement wouldn't care. They never cared about a few dirty, soiled women selling themselves on dark, lonely streets. He rounded the corner, following the sound, expecting to meet up with her any moment. The click grew louder, then, Slam!

"Hey, twerp! Want a piece of the action, huh?"

A teenage boy with sand colored hair, cruel grey eyes, broad shoulders and powerful arms threw his locker shut. The boy's friends, other teenage bullies, swarmed around him, egging their leader to fight.

"So, you think you can take me on, eh, twerp?"

"I don't understand what is going on," said Don Giovanni, disoriented by the narrow, sterile white corridors, rows of bent, rusted lockers and this pimply teen challenging him to a fight.

"Oh, don't ya, twerp? Well, this is the first and last time you'll try to talk to my girlfriend, ya hear!"

"Don't call me `twerp'! I am the Lord Don Giovanni--"

"Oooo! He's the `lord' now! Ya hear that? I'm really scared of Lord Twerp!"

It was against Don Giovanni's pride and the dignity of his station to take such insults from these lowly peasants. He would teach them a lesson. He reached for his sword and found--it wasn't there!

"Take that milord!"

The teenage boy rammed his heavy, muscular knuckles into Don Giovanni's jaw. He didn't even have time to feel the full extent of the pain before another blow, then another slammed into his face, his stomach, his kneecap. He fell heavily, groaning, trying to fend off the attack, but it was no use. Once he was on the floor, the underling bullies helped their leader with well aimed and devastating blows. From the bursts of agony screaming from his limbs, he felt as though his entire body was broken.

Stop! Please stop! Aaaaaaagh!

The blows kept coming again and again. Don Giovanni saw through the haze of pain, between the bursts of light exploding with each blow, the sand haired pimply teenager kicking at his face with his sneaker.

"So you like that, Milord Twerp! You like that, eh?"

Don Giovanni blacked out.

"You really are pathetic, aren't you, dear?"

Cold water splashed onto his unconscious face. He blinked the water away from his eyes and groggily stirred. Bruises and dried blood covered his face.

"Couldn't even stand up to a few teenage bullies."

"My sword was gone, they were all at me." Don Giovanni gazed through his swollen eyelids. "Donna Elvira."

"Yes, or a devil wearing her image. Take your pick."

"I prefer calling you Donna Elvira, for convenience sake. It hurts to talk."

"Very well. I am Donna Elvira to you."

Donna Elvira looked different now. Don Giovanni almost didn't recognize her, she was dressed so strangely. This time she wore a scarlet silk blouse with (shockingly) a pair of pants. Don Giovanni never knew women to wear pants, never--except that weird girl at the bar, of course.

"Do you know where you are, my dear, Giovanni?"

He didn't have time to answer. She strutted over to the west wall of the small room and pulled on a white silken cord. A heavy velvet curtain bunched as it drew up and back in neat folds. But Don Giovanni was not interested in the curtain or the thick pane of glass behind the curtain, it was what lay beyond it. His swollen eye opened wide, despite the pain.

"I hope you enjoy it, my love. I had you in mind when I saw it."

Don Giovanni was looking at a brothel. At first he enjoyed the sight, especially the women, but soon he grew irritable that he could not join them, that he hurt too badly, that those lucky men were taking pleasure in what he now could not have.

"That's not fair! No! I should be in there and--and I can't!"

He was on the verge of sobbing. He had never been denied his pleasure in this way before. He had never been too unfit to take his pleasure, but now, here he was. The memory of his past rejections by women, women who could never resist him before, now turning him away with blows and insults. Even a prostitute rejected him! And the insults, the humiliation, unheard of for the nobleman Don Giovanni, reduced to being beaten by the basest peasant-boys. He tried desperately to hold back his anger and the tears.

"Don Giovanni, we are not as cruel as you think. The Commendatore still wishes you to repent."

Don Giovanni turned to Donna Elvira, feeling both anger and hope. But no, he was not sorry for what he did. There was nothing to be sorry about! There was nothing wrong with what he did; there was no need to repent!

"Kneel to me, Donna Elvira, and sincerely apologize to me, who you loved then scorned like so many others."

Don Giovanni's eyes filled with tears, but they were tears of hatred.

"No!"

"I swear to you, you will suffer a worse fate than the tortures of hell! On behalf of the Commendatore, repent!"

"NO!"

Donna Elvira smiled and in that smile Don Giovanni could see this was not the loving and compassionate woman he wooed then abandoned. Her eyes became like stone, her smile fixed like cold granite. An expression of evil overshadowed her face and he could see the true terrors of hell flickering in the depths of her stony eyes.

"So be it, Don Giovanni."

Donna Elvira raised her arms and swiftly threw them downward. A crushing weight flattened him against the floor, as if a lead slab had fallen on him. He crawled a few inches toward Donna Elvira, gasping. She stood, coolly watching him, completely unmoved.

"If you will not kneel, you will grovel before me. If you will not apologize, then you will not have the breath to say anything. Such is the will of hell!"

Donna Elvira and the room faded before his eyes. The sharp gleam of a wrought iron fence pierced the night sky standing along a broad, green hill. Surrounding the place was a huge granite wall, its shadow stretching over weeds and jutting stones. Something hauntingly familiar struck Don Giovanni about this place. Yes, over there was where Leporello stood, waiting for him while he climbed up and jumped over that wall, laughing to himself.

Don Giovanni realized, as he was slumped over, his head was resting against another "hauntingly" familiar thing. He raised his eyes and saw the ominous bronze statue of the Commendatore gazing down upon him in the moonlight. Don Giovanni jumped up and reached for his sword. This time he found it dangling from his leather belt.

The Commendatore's statue gleamed in the eerie moonlight and shadow. It slowly nodded.

Don Giovanni stared in terror as the entire statue moved, breaking its feet from the mold of the pedestal and extending its long legs down to earth. Don Giovanni's sword blade began to tremble. The towering bronze image of the Commendatore stood before him, waiting. A huge, thick sword, nine feet long, flashed beside his, making Don Giovanni's look like a short and flimsy child's toy.

Don Giovanni took a step back, hesitant, terrified. The entire cemetery fell under a deep shadow. When the moonlight returned, it was not the cemetery Don Giovanni was in, but the Commendatore's palace, in the exact spot where he killed him.

"No! Not here! Please not here!"

The Commendatore's statue did not speak. It's silence was worse than all the words spoken to him before he was dragged down to hell. The titanic statue raised its powerful bronze arm and stuck against Don Giovanni's sword. The shock of the blow nearly threw him from his feet. He steadied himself and tried to return the blow, but the nightmare statue swept the blade at his head. Don Giovanni jumped away. The statue lunged, crushing him up against the wall. Don Giovanni desperately tried to block the blow, but the statue ground at his blade, driving it deeper, unstoppable, into his heart. He heard himself scream and felt the blade wedge between his ribs. Don Giovanni dropped to his knees and saw the statue watching him as he bled, as he was dying, just as Don Giovanni had done for the Commendatore. Numbly, he clutched the blade, not feeling the pain, only the shock and the terror of knowing he was dying.

Don Giovanni fell to the floor, a floor already stained by another's blood. The statue of the Commendatore watched as Don Giovanni's body stilled and his soul drifted away. The statue nodded once, in satisfaction.

Don Giovanni awoke to laughter and joyous voices. The place looked very familiar, though not a place he was used to frequenting. It was poor, peasant house built of crude wood and coarse, uncomfortable furniture. A woman held him in her arms, close to her warm, succulent breast. Her face was flushed, her hair disheveled, he could smell her sweat. Don Giovanni felt relieved that it was only a horrible nightmare and that he awoke to such wonderful circumstances. He was in the bed of a peasant woman with heavenly breasts. He reminded himself to get her name so he could add her to his book of conquests.

"Oh, how beautiful! How beautiful!" the peasant woman cried.

Yes, well, thank you. But "handsome" would be more like it.

"Well, what is it?"

The sound of a man's voice startled him. Who was it? Her husband, her brother? He must get ready to fight him! Don Giovanni tried to reach for his sword, but found his arms limp and useless.

"Congratulations," said the midwife, who was washing up in a corner of the room,"it's a girl!"

What?!

Don Giovanni looked at his nakedness in horror.

The husband shook his head.

"I was hoping for a son."

"Don't worry, I am young, dear," said the peasant wife. "We still have time for many sons."

"Four daughters and no sons. I shall have no money left! I can barely afford the dowry for one!"

This time Don Giovanni did cry, an infant cry.

"Sh-sh! It's all right. Now look, you frightened her! Our brand-new daughter and you frightened the poor thing."

"Well, what shall we call her," the husband grumbled.

"What about my aunty's name? She always wanted a name-sake, especially since she's barren, poor thing."

"Despina?"

"Yes, Despina!"

The husband nodded and walked out.

Don Giovanni was thankful when the forgetful oblivion of a newborn closed over his mind forever.