by Cecilia Tan
He spent the morning working with Mr. Trobber. They fixed the broken door. A sign they placed over the gouge marks was only a temporary fix just to get by tomorrow’s mass. His afternoon was occupied with ministering in town. There were the little every day things, like imploring a husband not to beat his wife, imploring that wife not to leave the man. Imploring another family not to abandon their children. And all along the way he tried to quell the witch hysteria wherever he could.
“There are no witches here!” He spat out in the tavern when he lost his patience. Yet he knew the words he just said could prove to be dangerous. Several youths watched from a table in the back. They whispered to each other. They were too far aback and it was too dark to recognize them but he felt sure one was the magistrate’s son. Father Francis mustered enough courage to go on, now he had the attention of the room. Perhaps as a priest, he was above recrimination—to a point. “Those are all old superstitions. All afflictions can be explained in medical terms, or as the will of God. Bad weather, maladies, loss of livestock, loss of your jobs, all these ills have all been blamed on witches recently. Yet, it may be God who is bringing his wrath down upon us. Do not stir up this madness. Rather reflect on the impurities within your own hearts, which may be what bring God’s vengeful eye upon us!” He stormed out. The tavern fell silent as he left.
He was bone tired by the time he marched back up the hill to the church. Spent, both physically and mentally. His sandals dug into his blistering feet. He was hungry, thirsty, and his nerves frayed. He had never seen such intense hysterics amongst the townsfolk. Then Mrs. Henkel met him at the door.
“Good afternoon, Father,” she opened the front door before he could reach for the handle. “How was your busy day?” This rosy welcome he did not expect from the grouchy old woman.
“Don’t ask,” he huffed as he dragged himself in. Perhaps his own mood would put her back into her usual grumpy outlook.
“There, there. I know just what you need.” Undeterred, she took his cloak. “I’ve got some hot chicken soup ready for you.”
“It’s not dinner time.”
“Never you mind—”
“What’s this?” He looked up and saw Mr. Trobber up on a ladder perched upon a makeshift scaffolding. Hammer in hand, he was making long overdue repairs. In fact he was well into his work. The roof was patched in several hard to reach places, plaster already set and drying. Broken panes of stained glass were replaced too. “What have you two been up to?”
“Ohhh, we’ve been at it alright!” Mr. Trobber laughed.
“Shush Manfred!” Mrs. Henkel pouted. “The father doesn’t want to know about that part!”
“You two hardly even talk to each other, since when are you speaking on first name terms? And what part don’t I want to know about? What’s gotten into you the two of you?”
“Only doing what’s been long overdue, Father.” Mr. Trobber drove in another nail. “The spirit moved me, I guess. Both of us.”
“Both of us,” Mrs. Henkel echoed. “Ever notice what a happy place this church can be? Yes, with all the trouble of the world, it’s a happy little island in here, isn’t it.”
“Mrs. Henkel, have you gotten into the wine?”
“You’ve got wine?” Mr. Trobber called down from his ladder. “Send me up a flagon!”
“The father is having some soup now. You’ll just have to wait for your own serving, Manfred.” The old woman led the father away to his chambers by the arm.
As he was led out of the church hall, Father Francis’s mind started to race. What about the creature? Where was she? Is she all right? Has she fled? Had the old woman and old man discovered her? No, they didn’t, or they would have said something. And was his little creature even capable of hiding from them all day?
“Father Francis, I don’t know why you have to lock your room,” Mrs. Henkel said when they reached the end of the hall.
“It’s not—”
“There, look, you left it locked. I would have gone in and picked up for you if you’d have left it open.” As she was complaining, Father Francis turned the latch and the door swung open with its customary creak. “How about that!”
“It wasn’t locked, you must have turned the handle the wrong way,” he said as he squeezed his way in through the barely opened door. “Now, how about that soup, and some bread, yes bread.”
“Right away Father,” she said as she went away looking back more than once to the door handle.
He looked around quickly. Was she in here? He saw the opened window. The curtain was sucked outside by the breeze. She was gone. His heart sank. He looked around the room, in case she was hiding. It was a small room, and there weren’t many hiding places—the wardrobe, under the writing table, the bed. A scan of the room said she wasn’t in any of those places. He opened the wardrobe door to see if she was hiding inside. He looked out of the window. There was nothing in the trees, as far as he could see. She wasn’t in the church yard, or the meadow next to it.
“Here we go.” Mrs. Henkel brought in the soup. “What’s wrong Father?”
“Just too many thoughts in too many different places.”
“Here, let this relax you,” she set a place for him and left. “Call me if you need something, I’ll be with Mr. Trobber, holding his ladder.” She giggled as she left.
Have they all gone mad? He shook his head as he heard the two of them laughing as they worked in the church. He lowered his head over the food and said a quick grace when he heard his girl/creature from outside.
It was the same sound as the night she came into his life. Once again, she ran across the roof and climbed down the wall, this time without falling into the tree. She deftly jumped in through the window. She stood there shoulders slumped, a sad little creature, so delicate, so fragile. Yet there was something so powerful and primal overlaying her delicate being. The feelings welled up in him again. He could hardly control the sexual lust he had for her. But he felt another feeling too, intense hunger. It was this other feeling of hunger that kept him from taking her right then and there. That stabbing feeling of hunger, it was coming from her, not his stomach!
“You’re starving!” He pushed himself away from the table and stood up quickly. “Here, sit, eat.” He pointed to the chair and the bowl. First a reluctant step, then she bolted to the table. She sat on the edge of the seat and proceeded to devour the soup. She didn’t use a spoon, just her lips at the edge of the bowl. When the liquid was gone, she scooped the chicken bits and carrots into her ravenous mouth with fingers. Father Francis felt the hunger pangs slowly subsiding as they were replaced with a feeling of wellness and content. “You’re speaking to me through your feelings! How is this possible? Are you a work of God or Satan?” He watched her eat. He didn’t expect an answer.
“Are you still hungry?” he said when she finished. The delicious taste of the soup rolled across his thoughts. “I’ll bring you more, and I’ll bring some for myself. I’m hungry too.”
He took the bowl from her. She touched his hand as he reached for it, then pulled it away quickly. She sensed the internal conflict within Father Francis, and sent the confused thoughts back to his mind.
Father Francis saw her looking up at him, again those big, round, black eyes. What were they saying this time? What sadness were they trying to convey to him. Disappointment? Loss? Longing? Desire? Sex? “I’d better bring more soup. When we’re done eating, I’ll show you how to wipe your face.” He turned and left for the kitchen.
He was ladling soup when he heard sounds coming from the church, hushed sounds. Mr. Trobber and Mrs. Henkel were no longer talking and laughing, and he didn’t hear the sound of hammering. He quickly brought the soup to her and set another bowl down for himself.
“Stay here,” he said with as much urgency his voice muster. “Don’t leave these chambers.” He said with exaggerated emotion to convey the thought to her. She took the bowl and started devouring this serving too. Francis hoped his serving would still b
e there when he got back.
He ran into the church. On his way in, he heard that hushed sound again. Someone moaned. Was someone hurt? Has someone attacked the old pair? There it was again, the sound same from behind the alter. With heart pounding ever faster he quietly followed the sound. Francis saw the two of them were on the floor behind the alter. Had they been attacked? Were they hurt? A second glance told him what his eyes would not believe the first time.
“What are the two of you doing!” he stammered. Mr. Trobber rolled off Mrs. Henkel. They were in a most unusual position, one that surely was not sanctioned by Rome. “And, here in the holiest of—”
“Well... father,” Mrs. Henkel spoke, as she lowered her apron covering the parts best left covered, “you see... like I said before, this church is a... well... a happy place. We were just working on getting the place finally fixed up for you, and well, he kissed me, then I kissed him back and... you see... one thing led to another...”
Mr. Trobber stammered a few lines of his own. Father Francis didn’t hear them. His thoughts were racing on the creature: the power she had over him, the raw sexual energy she exuded. It was effecting these two old people too. The contagion was clear.
“You’d best go home,” he mumbled. “You can continue with the repairs tomorrow.” He turned and swiftly went back to his room.
“You’re not mad at us?” Mr. Trobber ask after Father Francis turned to leave.
“Manfred, shhhh,” she said. “Come on, you heard the Father, lets go home. You can sneak into my cottage without being seen easier than I can sneak into your room.”
Francis burst into his chambers. He wanted to tell the girl/creature something. She was licking her bowl clean with her long sensuous tongue. She had left his bowl of soup for him. Again she looked up at him. What did he want to say to her, ‘stop exuding so much sex’? Then he realized she wouldn’t even understand the concept of what he was trying to say. Wherever she came from, whatever she was, she was a total innocent. Did she fall through from a different world where Eve resisted Satan’s temptation of the forbidden apple? Did her kind run around naked and without shame, living lives of sexual pleasure and remaining innocent creatures until the day they died? If they did die at all. Perhaps God would take them to heaven still living so they would know no death? Then how did she fall into his world? An accident? Was she plunged down here by Satan? Did he push her through a floor in her world to fall down here to Earth in a time of chaos and turmoil to stir up man’s anger? Would Satan have her be another sacrifice, one so innocent?
Or perhaps she didn’t have anything to do with events on such a cosmic scale. Could she be one of the mythical woodland creatures of the old religion? A creature that wasn’t so mythical after all, only scarce. Although it was true that man had expanded to cover most of Europe, there were still many forests that had not been explored. Perhaps there were grains of truth to the old fables of nymphs, pixies, fairies? Maybe this creature lost her way in a conventional manner, wandering too far away from her forest warren.
Father Francis wasn’t sleeping well. Late night thoughts raced with this strange girl/creature as he slept on the hard stone of the kitchen. He found himself drawn to her—again. He stood. He walked into his chambers. The moon was full and illuminated the room. Blue shadows exaggerated every object from his quill pen to the back of the chair. He stood above her sleeping body. Hands longed to touch her, but do not move. He couldn’t not move. All he could do was to look into her eyes. Although they were closed, he could see the pupils darting back and forth in fevered dream. He felt himself being drawn in and swept up in her dreams. Swept in like a sailor being swept overboard into the turmoil and confluence of a churning sea.
He saw what she was dreaming. He was drawn in and became a part of it. And it was in her dream that he followed her down the corridor to the church. She found her way to the altar and touched her palm to the ground where Mr. Trobber and Mrs. Henkel had fornicated. This was sacred ground to her. She drew energy from that spot. She smiled—this was a good spot. With her palm still on the ground she looked up at the crucified Christ on the church wall. The Christ statue looked down at her from upon his cross. She stood and went to him. She kissed his feet. She stroked them gently with her fingers. Her tail undulated slowly. Father Francis looked on, frozen, as saw what she is doing with the cross. Rather than worship at the feet of the Christ, she kissed and caressed them, and made love to them.
Father Francis slowly raised his eyes to look up at the body of the Christ statue. It stirred. A statue no longer, now an animate being. Although He still showed the wood grain of his original carving, He undulated like a living, breathing human. The girl/creature freed His feet from their nails, yanking them free of the cross and tossing them aside. She climbed up on Him. Her insignificant weight didn’t bother Him. She climbed up His torso with legs tightly wrapped around His frame. She freed His hands from their nails, tossing them aside too. They hit the floor with dull clangs that echoed through Father Francis’s head.
She climbed off Him, again slithering along His body. Then she helped Him off the cross. They stood next to each other. She kissed Him. She, being no taller than His chest, her kiss landed there. He kissed her back on the top of her head.
She then cleaned his wounds, very much like the way Father Francis cleaned her own. As Father Francis watched from the side he saw her dip a washcloth into the cleansing brew and gently touched the wound in his side. It’s a dream, he remembered, so things can just appear as needed. The Christ winced but she continued, so softly. She moved on to clean the wounds in His hands. Then she knelt on one foot before him and beckoned him to put a foot onto her knee. She cleaned the hole in his foot, then repeated the ritual on the other foot. She laced his hands and feet with bandages. She kissed him again on the chest when she was done, and again he returned the kiss on the forehead.
They started to dance, she and the Statue Christ. Father Francis didn’t hear the music, but knew it was there. The music was only for them, a divine music not meant for his mortal ears. However, he did feels its reverberation in his chest. He watched as the two danced around the altar. The music turned wild and passionate. So did their dance. Bodies rubbed against one another. Both of them were naked, the Christ’s cloth fallen away without Francis noticing when and where it happened. Arms and legs intertwined as they whirled around and around.
“My Lord and Savior, why show this to me? Why taunt me with her beauty, why do you dance with her so sensually?” The two didn’t hear him. They continued their dance.
“Oh, how could I have been such a fool as to think that I am worthy to have this creature when she is meant for Christ himself? Yes, a fool. Would I so easily discard my vow of celibacy over her?” Then, as these thoughts whirled through his head he felt the music build to its grand finale.
When it ended, the statue Christ and the girl/creature bowed to each other. They kissed, this time on the lips. The creature helped the Christ back up onto the cross. Father Francis felt great sadness emanating from both the girl and the Christ. The cast aside nails appeared in her hands. She drove them into his hands. He convulsed in pain as the nails took their places in his hands and then his feet again. The bandages she so gently prepared for him fell away. He froze in his position of agony becoming wood again.
She stood there looking up at the statue in awe. Tears ran down the girl/creature’s face. Finally, Father Francis walked over to her. He took the creature by the hand and led her back into his room. Once there, he helped her into bed, pulled the blanket over her, and made sure she was well covered. He looked down on her, still longing for her touch, for her caress, for her body. She then awoke from her dream. She became startled to see the Father standing above her. And startled to wake from such a vivid dream of her own.
Disoriented at first she soon realized that it was all a dream of hers. Her look told him that she knew this time it was he who followed her down into her dream. Her eyes told him that he had alrea
dy partaken of her most intimately while she was so vulnerable. Take me now, in the flesh, she said with her eyes. She reached out to him with both arms and called him to her.
He couldn’t help but follow. He found himself crawling under the blanket. A joy overcame him along with an intoxicating passion as he lay with this slender creature beside him. She pulled him on top of her. With skin against skin, she reached down and guided his now hard member inside of her. Again, like the other night in his dream, he slid into her effortlessly. He found himself impossibly deep within her. Yet it felt natural to be inside her. How tight, how hot, how wet she was. This union was so beautiful. He couldn’t remember why doing this was so wrong. He could no longer understand. She bucked her hips below him. She wrapped her legs around his back. But she was too perfect for him, and he found himself rising to the inevitable point all too soon. How quickly he was ready to explode. “No, not so soon!” he bemoaned. But, it was too late as he came inside of her.
‡
Francis woke with a start to find himself holding himself; his member, now receding, was wet and sticky with his own ejaculate. His hands and thighs are covered too. He became aware of his situation as his wakeful mind formed again: a nocturnal emission.
“Not again.” He sat up, trying not to get the goo over anything more. He tried to survey the damage in the moonlight. “It was so real. Yet, it was all a dream, and then there was a dream within a dream.” He shook his head as he stood. He washed himself in the bucket of water and then washed his nightgown.There was a wet spot on his nightgown as he lay down to sleep again, a dull reminder of his situation in life. As he lay there he realized he remembered every detail of the dream. What a fool he was, thinking he was inside her head. It was his dream all along, the animate Christ statue, the wild sex with her....
‡
“I have something for you to wear,” Father Francis told the girl/creature. He spoke slowly with exaggerated gestures. He handed her a monk’s cloak. “Our people cover themselves, see, like me, like Mr. Trobber and Mrs. Helkel.”