Marshsong

by Nato Thompson

“Tell me, what do you know about a Duke of Izmir?”

  “A duke you say?” Yosune’s eyes squinted and she walked about the room.

  “Yes. A very large man.”

  Yosune looked over at the other two in thought. “I have never heard of this man. I know the Duke of Imbetta, the Duke of Chillbach, the Duke of Ellington, the Duke . . . ”

  “But no Duke of Izmir?”

  “No, I can’t say that I do. Is there something we should look into? Oh, tell me about this duke.”

  “No. I am not sure he exists. Don’t bother with it. If you do hear anything regarding that name please tell me.”

  Heinrich entered with a glass of grape juice and placed it next to Isabella.

  “Can I retrieve anything for you, ladies?”

  “I would like another Raki-Su,” Rana stated, finishing off the glass she had.

  “I would as well.”

  Isabella sipped her drink and thought about the rest of her night. She was without Fennel. She looked over at the Persembes—her darling informants, sisters who dazzled the eyes of men and women of the court and were ever so bored, so tired. The malaise of the thin life. Their thoughts on mystery perpetually eluding them. Isabella should bring them closer. Pull them in just a little more. And in her feeling toward them, she could sense the steamy breath of Marty right there, musky, on her neck. She needed them.

  “Would you ladies be interested in a night out with me?”

  The Persembes were now excited. “With you? Oh, well, of course! What did you have in mind?”

  "I have a little function I put on secretly in the Calliope District. I think you might enjoy it."

  “A little function?" said Rana, smiling. "You really are too much, Lady Isabella. Ha! Whatever it is that you do, I can only hope to know."

  Isabella smiled at Rana. “You might benefit from actually doing something yourself. It truly isn’t such a miraculous thing to invent things in the world. It just requires effort.”

  Rana squirmed at the suggestion. "Effort? I’m allergic to such a thing. Will there be cute boys and girls and toys and drinks and scandalous creatures in the night?"

  "I should think so," responded Isabella.

  “Lady Isabella,” Rana burst in. “Do you like boys?”

  “No.”

  “Do you like girls?” Rana giggled.

  “No. Nor do I like men or women. I enjoy tragedy. Tragedy allows me to love the play but not the players.”

  “I can see that.” Yosune grabbed her Raki-Su from Heinrich. “I aspire to gain your distance at some point.”

  “Don’t be stupid, Yosune. It is a mistake to glorify such things.”

  “That, too.”

  Rana laughed. “I aspire to drunken shamelessness! Now, being one of the players in the play of tragedy, I will take my role seriously and present the most pathetic one. I am the foil to your profound majestic qualities, Isabella.”

  “Without question,” Yosune said incredulously.

  “Ha! We still have hours of night to tolerate each other, sister. It’s a sin to rush.” Rana threw back her drink. She was getting drunk and feeling more herself.

  “Lady Isabella, let us cause some trouble this evening. These girls don’t seem to have the appropriate zeal in their work.”

  “Ah, work. I do wonder what that means to you.” Yosune was becoming annoyed.

  “Work? Did I say work? My god, I don’t like that word one lick. I guess by work I mean its opposite. You know, those sins: gluttony, lust, whatever else. Fun!” said Rana.

  Isabella smiled and rose from her seat. “Very good. Now let's head out to this social game.”

  They headed out into the streets, Isabella striding beside these three women who towered over her in all their regalia. They loved having her as company and felt a strange sense of importance from it. Their chins picked up, their steps gained an excessive boost in confidence.

  Isabella, on the other hand, felt a mixture of excitement and loathing. She preferred her solitude where she could slip along the shadows, but there was no avoiding attention with this company. They were extremely attractive and presented a ludicrous display. Their attire bordered on gaudy in their excessive grandeur. One could hear traffic accidents in their laughter.

  Once they reached the Aliber Bridge, Yosune hailed a carriage. They all climbed in. They headed up Rue de Blunt with its collection of patisseries, cheese mongers, and vegetable stands. The smell of fresh bread hovered in the air, leaving an aroma of coziness amidst the trample of horse hooves. They were making their way toward the Calliope District along the harbor not all that far from where they spotted the Drunken Boat night last. Large frigates and galleons began to appear along the water. The silhouettes of people dining revealed themselves along the bows.

  Isabella’s eyes strayed to strangers who walked in solitude against the sea salt boardwalk. Her eyes spotted an old woman in a fur coat looking in a jeweler’s window, her head kinked to the side staring. Isabella sensed this woman was the last of her family. She had outlived them all and was now left looking at clues left behind. She could feel the sad loneliness in her heart. It tasted good and made Isabella sad.

  Up ahead she spotted the Drunken Boat continuing its loading. She could sense the sad movement of the crazies as they moaned their way up the planks to be shuttled below. At the head of the line, she again noticed the man of the night’s past who Fennel had bitten with extreme hostility. His lavish robes and elegant mannerisms easily separated him from the smarmy hooligans commandeering the vessel. The moans and laughter of the inmates clamored through the air and into Isabella's ears. A torrent and eddy. She listened to scale and breadth of their sounds. The range so broad she swooned her head to get inside it. The sounds so unprotected. Oh, what a travesty to send them into the night, but what an amazing sight this boat must be as it careened along the misty banks of the cities—a wailing reminder of a town's betrayal.

  They stopped outside a magnificent residence, the Chateau de Crawler, which carried the loud music of deep rumbling bass and beats into the streets. The bass was trembling the carriage and reminded them of a heavy cauldron boiling. Suddenly the excitement began to rise and course through their Turkish veins. They began to get the jitters. The house overlooked the water and a line into the building spread out along the sidewalk. People were dressed up in evening haunting wear—the clothing of the dreadful. Deathly pale men in mascara blended with women in silk suits. The brothers of Siam with their launch chests and the Kentucky Seven were all present. It was obviously a large to-do. The windows above were glowing in blood reds and lunar blues and the smell of spices flowed about as though cascading from the chimney. Isabella footed the bill for the carriage and they barreled out right toward the front of the line.

  The doorman was a rotund, cabbage eating man. He weighed more than many and his arms seemed to squeeze against the air. The ladies just plowed right into his space—personal space of which he claimed a greater ratio than most. That was their way of being entertaining. They just zoomed in on people and played beguiling tricks on their retina. They showered him with glimmering smiles, lips puckering and whiteness of teeth. Their faces were both hypnotic and unnerving in their salacious charm. He grinned his ogre grin and gestured his arms in what appeared to be a failed bow.

  “Welcome, my ladies,” he bellowed. “Your presence confirms that I am somewhere. I thank you for that. Good evening, Lady Isabella. It's been a while.”

  "Good evening, Tugboat. I've been so busy lately. I'm glad to be back though." Isabella smiled and waved adieu at they sailed into the milieu.

  The mansion or derelict ranch or whatever it was opened up enormous. Entering the main stairs into the foyer, one could see a maze of rooms down just the first hall. People were already smooshed together and the smell of perfumes and cigars was layering up.

  Rana grabbed Isabella’s hand and raced her through the labyrinth. The Persembes were enjoying the sights. They spotted a stage in one room whe
re above it was an old woman covered in feathers and perched in a massive golden birdcage. Below her was a lone whistling farm boy in overalls. He was whistling and doing a jig. Below the stage, people were scattered about at tables talking and watching and drinking and chirping. Many sounds of laughs and caw caws caught Isabella’s ears as she whirled by. In another room, they spotted people on their hands and knees crawling about through small dark tubes that littered the floor of a monstrous room—or was it a gymnasium? The tubes seemed to lead to little huts where Isabella could faintly make out the silhouettes of people smoking at tables inside. She heard the sound of hushed whispers and the darkness in the room seemed to make everyone a conspirator past their bedtime.

  Finally, Rana stopped and turned to her almost panting. “We’re here. We can stop. Oh, Isabella! You are so beautiful. I die. I die right now!” Rana all of a sudden collapsed on the floor. People spread apart and she bounded up laughing. “I die for you! Blood is on your hands! You’re the greatest woman. I know it! I need to drink. Why aren’t I drinking?”

  “Follow me, kitties. I think you might enjoy this,” Isabella said as she led them down some stairs and through a door. Inside the room was a large stage adorned with a big, beautiful, blaring brass band—horns wailed, hips jived, sweat was flung, a zoot-suited gangster leaned against a microphone and howled about “The dangers you’ll find on Monkey Island.” People were dancing at a maddening pace. Limber body parts flung every which way and the balmy air induced a fervent social jujitsu. High up above a few obviously well-mannered monkeys were swinging from vines. Howling and laughing they augmented the luau lunacies of this mad creation. The Tiki gods were descending from the heavens and demanding complete social calamities. The crowd was appropriately bending and bowing in complete submission to the blaring music of the brass band. Isabella nodded emphatically in approval and led the enamored sisters through the crowd to a door positioned to the side of the stage.

  “It is magic! I really have never in my life!” screamed Rana on her tiptoes, looking about the crowd. “I’m swooning, sister, swooning! There is nothing more I need nor want. Just give me this any night of the week!” She fled into the crowd with arms a flinging.

  The blinking sign above the door read “The Hide Out.” Another cabbage eating bucket of a man was at the door. He grinned wide and with strength. His large behemoth arms scooped Isabella up and placed her inside the room. “You, you, you!“ his gravely voice gurgled. “I can't believe you are here. Ah, I am so glad. You have no idea. Isabella, the nights here aren't the same without its three ring master."

  “I'm sure Capperwill has taken things along the appropriate invigorating course. I really liked the darling farm boy in the other room.”

  "Yes, a fairly recent acquisition. He is a charmer for sure. And the Ransacking Avengers?"

  “Oh, of course, they are very good, aren’t they? I think I might ask them to swap out that gold lamé, but, all in all, they are doing a great job,” she replied.

  The Persembes scuttled in past him, giggling, cackling and spilling drinks. They tumbled down into their booth and Yosune motioned a waiter over for their drinks. She noticed that across from their booth was a large window from which she could see into the chaotic dance hall.

  “Is that a one-way mirror?” she asked.

  “Absolutely. Tonight we window shop,” said Isabella.

  “Sibel, I want Raki-Su," Yosune said. “Window shopping. I do like this. All those rooms were so exciting.”

  “Yes, I think so as well. It is a sort of social experiment. I play with people. Right? I play. Like I play with you. Tubes, strange hallways, people crawling on the floor on their hands and knees, monkey mayhem high above. Oh, it is all so fun and there really are so many possibilities in this life. It’s my attempt to give spice, liquor and adrenaline their proper respects," said Isabella, gazing through the one way mirror. Her reflection caught her and she reminded herself, “Yes, there are so many possibilities.”

  "There are so many faces I don’t recognize here," said Sibel as she stared into the sea of people. They were all so fascinating to her. This world of people with lives and sorrows and beds and homes and meals and perversities all of which she would never know flowed like undulating waves before her—little dramas in each little face. Sibel chewed her nail and imagined kissing each and every one—her mouth touching their lips, the odor of their body.

  “That’s because we basically go to the same party every night of our life,” Yosune threw in. "Hands and knees? Oh, like us?"

  “Yes. I like to see the three of you groveling low and miserably.” Isabella smiled.

  “Ha! I’ll do that for you, whenever! Now?” laughed Rana as she bounded back amongst them. Her face was perspiring and her wet hair stuck to her cheeks. Yosune couldn’t believe how little time it took for her sister to look crazy.

  “Rana, stop it and help me! I need a boy. We need to focus,” replied Sibel.

  “Yes, let's help our suffering sister out!” laughed Yosune as she banged her legs against the table.

  “I want a little poet,” said Sibel.

  “A little wimp?” asked Rana, grabbing drinks from the waiter. “I want a drink.”

  “Yes, a frail petite poet that will cringe at me,” said Sibel with an odd, nearly ugly, smile. “If we are in fact window shopping, find him for me, please. That’s what I want.”

  “I want Isabella! Isabella is the best!” said Rana. She turned to look at Isabella and smiled wide and silly. Her lips were already very wet from gin and it made her look as though she were perpetually salivating.

  “Please stop that, Rana!” said Yosune “You’re making me ill. Look at something else would you?”

  “It’s true, Rana. Look out that window. Your sister needs you,” said Isabella, smiling and playing with her hair.

  “Fine. Fine. You’re still the best. I’ll look at your reflection,” Rana said as she slouched in her seat.

  “I’m sorry,” said Yosune, turning to Isabella.

  “Don’t be dumb,” said Isabella. “I like her sloppy like this. What about you, Yosune? What do you want this evening?”

  “I don’t know. I really don’t know if I want anything.”

  They scanned their eyes across the crowd. Isabella’s head was woozy from all the exasperating faces and hints she saw. It was always like this. She both loved the bevy of idiosyncratic guests and found it psychologically exhausting. Boots, gloves, furtiveness and remorse all slid across her view. She slipped past one face and onto another, watching hands twisting shirts and could feel toes curling in socks. Her acumen in minutia came in handy but made close proximity to crowds hard on her. She would just breathe slowly like Marty had showed her and let the murky water run through her.

  “It’s really too much. Large menu we have here. Sibel, what about that black boy with the valise?” asked Isabella. The boy was captivatingly feminine and obvious in affected sincerity. His hands softly clutched his valise and the golden buttons down his red vest glimmered. So plush. The boy was accompanied by none other than Barrister Bruno who constantly crammed his cigar in his mouth, puffing dramatically and talking incessantly.

  “Is that Barrister Bruno he is with? I didn’t realize he comes here as well,” said Yosune. “They must be a couple. What an amazing pair these two make. I think there is no hope for you on this one, Sibel.”

  “They’re not. I mean, they are not a couple that is,” said Isabella. “I happen to know the Barrister quite well. I know him well enough to know that he would never deign to be in any kind of stated relationship. With him, everything is tentative, tendentious, and contingent. He doesn’t like to hold on to things.”

  “The Barrister is truly one of Barrenwood’s secret stars,” said Yosune.

  “It’s no secret,” said Sibel. “Everyone knows about him. He is quite the talk of the town, but I happen to be uninterested in him at this moment. I like his pretty friend.”

  “I believe his name
is Gregory Daniels,” whispered Isabella. “He is a young poet just as you requested and I am sure Sibel would have a wonderful evening with him.”

  “You know of this young man?” asked Yosune impressed. “How is it that you know so much about the people of this town?”

  “You sound surprised. How telling that is. Yosune, I am simply observant. I can tell a lot about people rather quickly. Not to mention, of course, that both of these gentlemen are regulars here at the Crawler. I keep tabs, of course.”

  Isabella raised her hand and motioned for the waiter. “Hello. Could you be so kind as to invite Barrister Bruno and company to our table?”

  The waiter ducked off into the crowd. The Barrister came barreling through the crowd. He was shaking hands along the way and slapping people on the back. He truly was a Barrenwood celebrity. Isabella had produced many of the night’s activities in consultation with her literary colleague. The waiter brought him and his new friend over. They were laughing about some joke or other.

  “I present Barrister Bruno and Mr. Gregory Daniels,” said the waiter as he offered the two with chairs.

  “Evening, Isabella. Didn’t see you arrive. Our paths seem to cross more frequently of late,” said Bruno. He took a puff on his cigar and put out his big hand. “I see you’ve got the Persembes with you. Evening, ladies. I didn’t know you visited such low down dirty jamborees as this.”

  Yosune smiled. She put out her hand and he kissed it. She was used to people knowing who they were. Generally such familiarity would be seen as slanderous, but it was Barrister Bruno.

  “Well, to be quite honest, we were never 'in the know' about this Chateau de Crawler. Frankly, we were surprised to see you here as well. You really should tell us about such things. Our lovely Isabella is surreptitious in the extreme.”

  “Indeed she is. A regular shadow, I tell ya. If ya don’t mind me sayin', the place is going to crap without you, Isabella.”

  “I know, Bruno. I’ve been extremely busy. I wanted to put Capperwill in charge for a while.”

  “Bad idea, sugar. Real bad. Caperwill may be a great manager, but not a social alchemist. That’s your bag. You’re the tonic and the tobacco, know what I’m sayin'? Hey, but who am I? But I gotta say, remember the door cards? Remember? Now that was great. See, ladies, Isabella here had these cards you’d get at the door and they would have secret instructions to certain rooms that required these secret cards and certain advised secret topics of discussion. Like gods or war or sex and vegetables. Oh, I don’t remember. Now if you had certain cards you would be asked to do certain things by the undercover insurgents at the doors to these secret rooms. People would end up just following these things—room to room—the whole party a mass of people blubbering about the most fantastic notions and meeting the most bizarre people. A beaker. Yes, a beaker. See, if that didn’t make sense, well, you just got to try it. See?