Black Body

by H C Turk

  “I see, miss,” Eric muttered, looking anywhere but toward me.

  “Therefore, you might understand that I have moral argument against not only killing animals, but enslaving them for selfish human purposes.”

  “And, um, then what of pets, miss?” he replied with an improved tone.

  “I fail to understand your query, sir.”

  “Pets, miss. I wonder of your beliefs toward pets considering your thoughts of other animals.”

  “Sir, whereas I certainly have heard this term before, I lack full understanding of its meaning. What, pray tell, is a ‘pet’?”

  Appearing alive and with me again, Eric explained: “Why, a pet, Miss Alba, is a creature who is kept in one’s home for the benefit of himself and the people there. These animals are often the finest of companions.”

  “Oh, I now comprehend. Prior to my arrival here, the Rathel kept cats in the household likely for the very purpose you state, though previously I believed they simply wandered about the property as do rats and roaches.”

  “My mother has a most exquisite cat from Asia, fully regal and of the purest white—even moreso than your lovely skin, Miss Alba,” Eric mentioned. Then, aware of his blunder—his lust—the boy blushed and stammered through a breath before attempting to continue.

  “Oh, and I am sorry, miss, in that…I, I….”

  “Sir, I promise not to say shit again if you vow not to term me lovely.”

  Although his mouth formed a proper shape for speaking, scarcely could respiration commence.

  “Now that our mutual embarrassment is ended and forgotten, perhaps we might return to our conversation regarding pets,” I said while viewing the bare limbs above us. “I mentioned cats. You described one in particular. Currently I say nothing while awaiting your words to return.”

  “Well, and, yes, miss. I, uh, I—and my father has a most wonderful parrot.”

  “Which is?” I asked, fulfilling our agreement by saying nothing of pulchritude nor feces.

  “A parrot is a bird from the South American continent, the size of a falcon, with a thick, curved beak and the most beautiful red and yellow feathers.”

  “More beautiful than my plumage, sir?” I asked coyly, looking to Eric, who could not view me, unable to see through that plumage of redness on his face (as though a feathery tart), the witch feeling true but minor guilt not for the embarrassment, but for failing to resist the verbal temptation, for depleting her pact.

  “The bird sounds lovely, Eric,” I said, attempting to rectify my crass speaking. “I did not, however, notice any such extravagant flying thing that day within your home.”

  My, the witch brings another plague; may as well have said shit again. That day within his home was a time of Eric’s passion, not his pets, and well to be forgotten by him. Therefore, I attempted another comment that might remove the edifice of shame I had erected between us, currently a cathedral in size and approaching the bulk of a mountain, underwater or otherwise.

  “And you, sir, with your parents so luxuriously endowed with pets, have you some welcome animal of the type?”

  “I do, miss,” he stated with a vague, attempted friendliness, a disposition increasing with his further words. “I have a dog which is perhaps superior to a brother, for Randolph is most loyal and honest. And I do see your meaning. Yes—his nature is such that he seems to have a soul, a spirit of generosity and concern as full as any person’s. Perhaps his is another type of soul, one God has seen fit to describe not in His Bible, but in the world as you mentioned, those laws which you have observed and live by. Perhaps animals have souls lacking intellect, though not permanence. What do you think of my speaking, Miss Alba? It seems so fine a notion, and fitting. Perhaps the soul of an animal goes not to be with God and people of His image after death, but remains within the animal portion of the universe, which is Earth. We do know that God created Earth for humans only for the duration of their lives. My new thinking is that God made Earth for animals forever. Does this seem sensible to you, Miss Alba? Miss Alba?”

  He had to repeat my name, for I could not respond. Static and breathless, I showed little signs of life. Then, in a swoon that frightened Eric, I bent at the knees and waist to cover my face with the fabric of my skirt, hiding from a revelation to affect me as though the sight of God Himself. I hid my senses so I could neither hear nor see further, for I was filled with enlightenment and could bear no additional perception. Completely filling me was Eric’s idea that we soulless creatures had a permanent part in the universe, as though our aspect of glorifying God and loving Earth were so valued by Him that He would allow His world to retain our essence. Therefore, I would not be burned one day to meet Satan in an unending Hell, but upon my demise would become an idea, the disembodied kindliness and intended generosity inherent to decent folk. Thereafter, I would be on and of the Earth like an essence: I would be with my mother, who since her death had existed in this manner. I would be with Mother again, her form the great value of her living, which had never left Earth, left existence, only changed. As I leapt upward to run away, fearful of my state, I loved the Lord God as never before, in my selfishness thanking Him with my life not for my life, but for its greatest love, my mother. Before running from any human to be alone with God and my mother who was my mother’s love, so choked that I could scarcely breathe, I found myself able to thank another entity, one so excellent as to be unworthy of further shame.

  “A most wonderful idea, Eric. No idea could be so superb,” I whispered, and entered the house to stumble upstairs with Elsie’s aid, the servant finding me distressed and wordless in the corridor. But I could explain to her no more than I could weep, yet no more deeply could I feel; for in that moment of hearing Eric’s idea, I had gained another sinning friend perhaps no more immortal than I.

  Chapter 14

  The Beast Is Fevered

  Rathel expressed interest in my distress if only because I had frightened her victim from the property, in the depths of her meager heart believing that I had swooned in sudden affection for the lad. I told her that the unclean meat in her system so emitted grease from her pores that I was made to faint.

  Having well met Eric the next morning, Rathel departed on her business. How unfortunate her having to be the honest citizen instead of the vengeful murderess. I imagined her crawling outside the chamber during tutoring to find a weak spot in the wall for extended listening, her vigil one of monitoring the increasing relationship. No talk of murder would she hear, however, for I was certain to allow no further, foolish revelations of the Rathel’s intending to vanquish the lad with me as her medium. Therein lay only more investigation by a magistrate whom I surmised from the first to be cunning and competent, and willing to execute his authority by executing me. Spies on the border of my education would only hear of geography and whales.

  • • •

  “I do apologize for not being more of an aid to you the previous day, Miss Alba, but I could not determine the nature of your affliction.”

  Though Elsie and I had not discussed my condition, the servant provided Eric with some story, an exegesis from her own female, sinning imagination, an area I dared not enter. But whereas Elsie conveyed a bland fantasy to settle the boy’s concern, I responded with the truth.

  “Have no unease, Mr. Denton, since my attack was only the passion of God’s great understanding as brought upon me by your own enlightened reasoning.”

  “Miss Alba, though I praise God if in any way I have influenced you to be nearer Him, I nonetheless have no feeling for profundity in my speaking. Yet, is it not simple to be profound regarding the Creator? Merely think of any wonderful thing beyond our poor normalcy, and more of God’s glory will be found. Even if my idea of yesterday were valued, the responsibility in main be yours, for truly any thinking I had was from your inspiration.”

  “You may not feel profound, Master Eric, but perhaps the lack issues from your modest nature. Despite your current ideas—which again are of great val
ue—your generosity is such that you posit me as the source of inspiration, when truly the cause can only be your own, inherent spirituality.”

  I was no longer displeased to find Eric engaging, for his holy notion yet stunned me with visions of a future I had never believed available. Unlike a meal after a period of hunger, the concept was sustenance to last: not until the next weakness, but for a life, and beyond, praise God, beyond. And though too grand to casually bear, Eric’s idea was discomforting because its source was a sinner, one due to die by my body.

  “I would suggest, sir, that we be about our routine and thereby end a greeting that causes us each to near embarrassment, and that is a state we’ve promoted enough for an era.”

  Embarrassed at the mention of embarrassment, pink Eric quietly agreed. As we proceeded into the household, discreet servants moved at vision’s edge. With no tutoring scheduled that day, the guest and I entered the drawing room to chat apart from the library’s endless books, endless lessons, preferring the more luxurious settees of this less intellectual chamber; and who was offended by the asymmetry of a weapon display with a missing stick?

  Even in this mild weather, the fireplace was functioning, Eric remaining near a terror I could survive only at a distance with my back to the gassy heat. Socially I survived by mentioning my fear of flames. I wondered whether Eric’s position was habitual, or had this weakling sinner gained a true chill from walking in mellow autumn? After losing his assumed or genuine coldness, the male moved nearer me. Alone we were, but not encased, having left the door open, chaperone enough.

  Settled but less than talkative, we felt between us a new closeness that filled Eric like the blood yet coloring his neck. Here was his desire, to be near the girl as social folks, not students, and he was not too young to be aware of marriage. Remaining profoundly pleased to believe that my life’s aspect that loved Mother and worshiped God would remain immortal on this Earth, I scarcely considered the adjacent male’s desire for me, which did not make itself known, at the time, via any sex stench. Nonetheless, my greater feeling was moderated dread; for how could my acceptance of this relationship not encourage Rathel’s desire for Eric’s death?

  “Well, Master Eric, in that I am being smothered with silence, I might continue yesterday’s earthly subject of household animals. Within me you have found a natural interest, and I would care to hear more of your pets.”

  My words reduced his red romanticism. Enthusiastic Eric described his dog and its feeding, his dog and their mutual play, his dog and its endless tongue. With difficulty, I attempted not to consider pets more animals stolen by sinners for the latter’s benefit. But were servants not in a similar position? Both groups were fed and sheltered and had problems with their tongues, but I had never known of a servant so loved as Eric’s animal.

  “Truly, Eric, I would enjoy meeting your pets. Especially your particular dog, in that Randolph seems a most agreeable sort.”

  “I would also have you see him, Miss Alba, for I am certain that you would become friends. However….”

  “However, your parents are pleasantly disposed toward neither me nor Lady Amanda, so my visiting your home would be problematic.”

  “So problematic, I fear, that your visit would surely end my visits here, which my parents do not know of.”

  “And I assume that conveying the dog here is no reasonable suggestion.”

  “My walking him here would be unwise, and bringing him via carriage would be foolish. Randolph, however, is oft outside to avoid his begriming the house with, um…. Therefore, if ever you are near my home, we could arrange for you and his walking to coincide. Since your presence would not be within my household, you would not draw notice from my parents, and I would draw no great shouting from the same source.”

  “Are you beaten?” I asked, curious of the extent to which sinners punished their offspring. I knew horses and adult sinners were brutalized—why not children?

  “Oh, pray God never, Miss Alba,” Eric intoned with relief. “No good English father would beat his child. I’ve had the strap across me when younger, but my father is mild, and—praise God—so is his son.”

  The difference between Eric’s interpretation of the term “beat” and having some sort of strap brought across one’s body was an area of uncertainty I would not pursue.

  “Nevertheless,” he added, “severe shouting is in a way less desirable, for this punition seems to last longer, since the pain is not only toward the offspring but into the parent. Do you not find this so, Miss Alba?”

  “I find any sort of beating and shouting a distasteful area whose discussion I prefer to avoid, and therefore fully apologize for my inconsistency in having broached the subject.”

  “Oh, and I am sorry as well, miss.”

  “Pets are not beaten, are they?” I asked with less inconsistency than the ostensible in that we were dealing with animals, not sinners.

  “Oh, no, miss, only a smack of no consequence when shoes become meals, but this is less impressive than a hollering father.”

  “I certainly concur,” I mumbled, recalling Edward when he dragged his son away from me, his intense speaking at Christ’s Cathedral. “Regardless, I shall not be satisfied in London until achieving Randolph’s acquaintance.”

  “I don’t suppose, Miss Alba,” Eric pronounced slowly, “that there’s some method by which you might travel nearby my home….”

  I stared at him for the briefest moment wherein my head became engorged with foolish heat, and all of my effort was required to restrain a cackle to fill the room. The sound that came filled Eric’s head.

  “Yes, there is—let’s leave at once,” I whispered, then bowed my head, covering that asinine brow with both hands, certain that Rathel a wall away was inhaling our every syllable like a witch stealing the breath of babes.

  “I say, Miss Alba, what a wonderful idea. Unfortunately you seem displeased by your own speaking.”

  I made no rejoinder. Looking up, I turned to the door while gesturing for Eric to be silent. Then I waited for Rathel to roll through the doorway like a runaway cart, to be on me with some punition worse than ever received by this social boy.

  No attack transpired. Viewing into the great room, I shook my head for Eric to do nothing. Perhaps Rathel was yet out on business. Perhaps she simply had not heard, for my blundering words had been whispered. Then I thought that perhaps Rathel had heard our speaking, and found no argument with our intent. After all, I had mentioned journeying to the boy’s house, not Man’s Isle. Perhaps Rathel at the moment was hiding her own sounds, her palms rubbing together hard enough to blaze, her skinny throat cackling worse than any witch; for would she not well desire the two students to be out on their own where terrible things might transpire? With this new awareness, sensibly I would remain lodged in my chair.

  “We leave at once,” I repeated.

  Eric’s leaping upward like a toad was hardly gentlemanly, even to a witch. Motioning for him to remain, I nonchalantly approached the door. With no person seen, I ran to the far end of the great room, gesticulating for Eric to follow. He complied with commendable silence of both his mouth and his feet, and we gained sight of the house’s exit. As I retrieved the boy’s outer coat, he whispered of the exterior chill, suggesting that a lady might need gloves and the like. Unconcerned with cold, I nonetheless decided to hide behind the conventions of apparel, walking oh so casually to the stairs and up, past Delilah with whom I shared a friendly greeting, to my clothes caves for a bonnet and cloak. Then downstairs to the male.

  He was hiding around a corner. Moving furtively, we achieved the front entrance. There we halted, adopting bored, guiltless visages. After searching in all directions—especially for Rathel to be peering at us like a cockroach viewing sinners abandoning their dinner table—we stepped into the air of London.

  Around me I found a compelling space that seemed completely new, though certainly this impression was due to my company. In this atmosphere, our positions were rev
ersed; for whereas within my (my?) home, I was the instigator of activity, once on the street, Eric confidently led the way. As we walked, London’s size and smell accosted me without the insulation of Rathel’s household, without the separation that was her roof, for the city was around me now, not beyond. Tempering this intense experience was the feel of upcoming winter, my sense that the world was preparing to rest. Then I noticed that Eric was swiftly walking ahead, and felt a brief panic that he would abandon me. Eric then looked behind.

  “In that we should hurry, miss, I suggest pressing onward.”

  I agreed with a mumble, following the boy who now seemed a man, certain and sizable in familiar surrounds. I seemed to be in tow, like a public coach, but where was the occupant of this box? for I felt vacant as I donned my bonnet. Since Eric was an expert guide in walking precisely between oncoming persons without upsetting traffic and crossing streets without being run down by metal-mouth horses, I followed his sinning influence without hesitation.

  After a moment’s rapid walking, Eric halted to present a changed idea.

  “We’ll take a carriage to my home.”

  In my bold experience, I espied a coach used by the Rathel household, suggesting its usage to Eric as I prepared to signal the driver.

  “Oh, no, Miss Alba,” Eric declared, and continued walking. “Those are too slow and too expensive. We should seek the company whose vehicles are brown.” And after a tall stretch for searching, Eric found one.

  In his genuine knowledge—unlike my semi-familiarity—Eric summoned the coachman with a word and gesture. And we ran, not needing in our youth to be slow and sophisticated. But we were educated enough in England’s social order for Eric to automatically assist my entry into the carriage. Eric’s demeanor changed as he opened the door, for he became less of the rushing youth and more of the gentleman as he looked to me closely and offered his hand.

  He wanted to touch me. The boy sought to play, the young gent knew to aid a lady, but this maturing man was desirous of my touch. Ignoring two of the three, I scurried into the cab with more the rapid grace of an animal than the vapid oozing of a lady. Within, I smiled toward Eric, who was happy to leap beside me without bothering to accept hurt feelings, for was not my felicitous visage a type of intimacy? Ultimately, however, the smile we shared was not of affection, but mischief.