by H C Turk
Next came eating. Well hungered we were, though not starving, since our meager activity had required scant nourishment. Unfortunately I found another failed contest, for the berries in my chamber pot had spoiled, tainting the remaining victuals. And though Marybelle recognized the odor as I lifted the lid, no gloating came from her, only a silkshoot tossed my way. And thanks again, miss. Might you and most superior God forgive me for my foolishness.
Though immediately outside was the unpleasant slush of melting snow, beyond were signs to enliven us: tracks of not only winter rabbit, but lynx cats and turtles. Farther was the tiny dark spot of a ptarmigan in the receding whiteness, and there a squirrel with a thickened winter coat. Smelled beyond sight was a flock of swallows returned too early in the spring, though they were not so untimely as to meet their own freezing.
Once the cold vacated our realm, Marybelle and I lived unclothed in order to save our shoes and sinners’ attire for the next winter. The lack of inhibition in moving through our world with exposed skin I found satisfying as long as brambles and bogs were avoided.
As spring became summer, our greatest achievements had passed: first gaining our land, then constructing a house, passing through winter alive, and renewing our persons with the spring. Thereafter, we were able merely to live, having vanquished the struggle called survival. From this source of unstressed living, however, came a change to my natural life; for having been rewarded by God for strenuous work and prayerful living, I was delivered by Satan with his curse of boredom.
A day came when I was warm and well rested, without the need to seek food, or build, or flee. Walking with no aim in the lowlands, I passed some stagnant water. A frog’s leaping there activated the water’s odor, and I smelled it fully. Then I was transported. That smell I knew, but its source was not this ditch, but the River Thames, for the odors seemed identical. And I was conveyed a world away by a simple sensation as complex as life, suddenly feeling London around me as though my spirit were present there. With Elsie, I stood on the riverbank, an untrue experience so convincing that I remained utterly still to retain the sensation. The power of this unique impression was of the original experience, an old living so rich as to survive into my succeeding life. Exact details were not of import here—the wharf’s timbers and Elsie’s clothing—for I was moved by return, not reproduction. I relived that previous moment, all my bodily and spiritual aspects located in London, by the River Thames, with Miss Elsie, my friend.
Captured by conviction, I remained until the vividness changed from reality to recollection. In this state, I was passively delivered with unsought memories of every aspect of my living with sinners, all their social and material and falsely familial constructs. Remembrance came so quickly that I was astonished in a changing array, astonished at Elsie and the genuine love we had shared—and, yes, continued to share, for I yet loved this woman, enough to weep for her had I been a sinner. Being as human as any, my emotion was the same, even in the next moment when I recalled Elsie’s smell, the terrible odor of sinners. Further thoughts of London immediately followed: Rathel’s distressed romance and her ultimate goal: for me to kill the Eric boy. And I nearly laughed upon recalling Eric, for whereas Elsie was the most beloved person in that world, Eric was the most entertaining. I recalled in renewed astonishment the change he had elicited within me that made my living lighter: his profound impression that after I died, had not God so made love a part of His human world that my love would continue, even as I loved Mother although her body was gone?
I was delivered from this reverie of remembrance by its initiating emotion: boredom. Thoughts of my current home’s simple living returned me there. Never during the winter controlling us completely had we reasonably feared dying, whereas each day in London was a challenge to survive. Surely, this strife was the source of my entering contests with Marybelle. In London, had I not been presented with the constant challenge of surviving Rathel and her society? Unkind the devil was to have me even obliquely compare Marybelle to the enemy. Thank God for His following revelation, that my witches-in-the-wilds self-contests were akin to the gamelike confrontations I had so often undertaken with Miss Elsie.
I was then astonished by my greatest games in London: my trials to escape. Pawnbrokers and criminals and coachmen. Here were recollections of fear, and I was astounded by the reckless acts I had willfully entered. Less astounding was my having killed a man, for therein I had been unwilling and ignorant. This death brought me more sorrow than repentance, for God or His chief devil seemed the cause more than this misused witch. Finally, I could only pray God for His greater way of kindness to be done in my world and in Satan’s.
The latter’s realm remained in my thinking, for certain aspects of the sinners were yet desirable though their life was unnatural and thus inferior. How often had any witch astounded me with religious revelation as had Eric? Could the sinners be completely decrepit if Elsie were a member, a friend as loyal and loving as any sister? And though most sinning productions were wasteful, had not great cathedrals moved me? Was not our hut the same as any sinners’ dwelling in sheltering its residents? Were not sinners also human?
Eventually these impressions left, my tangible state again becoming foremost. And reasonably so, for whereas London’s torments were more influential than its satisfactions, my current world held no danger, the boredom of this land next impressing me as a mildness to satisfy in a godly manner. How could I not well love a land that so kindly kept me? Like a mother.
No more powerful sense of return to London had I in the wilds than those impressions engendered by boredom and a smell. Occasionally thereafter I returned to that stagnant water, though never was the evocation so intense as the first. With no intent, however, I often recalled the sinners’ great city, and often felt boredom in my latest realm. But I had learned to respond to that boredom with a sensible appreciation of my moderate life.
In this manner, the months proceeded. To alleviate my tedium, I initiated a hobby: seeking each type of creature in the domain by walking circularly around the hovel-manse, first cataloging the largest variety: rarely seen small bears I notated via droppings and lairs in caves Marybelle and I had not previously found—and would not be living in now, considering those unsharing inhabitants. Besides, we had a cave. But friendly I would remain with these furry beasts, since we were so similar as to share sleeping habits, perhaps along with elephants.
The second-largest creature was a type of lynx cat, like our own from Man’s Isle, and therefore happily reminiscent. This beast I appreciated less upon learning it ate lizards. Smaller yet were two varieties of fox that hid in dead trees, and a type of marmot residing in burrows. None of these animals had interest in me, avoiding the witch even after my smell and demeanor proved me harmless. No Randolph were they. Perhaps the same as London, I would be appreciated more once I was gone, and the beasts became bored with their dull life without me.
London.
I nearly lost the fine spirits I held in this enterprise upon discovering a third variety of squirrel, because a black moth flitted by of a type not observed before. The remainder of the day, I sought only moths. Despair set in shortly, for of the countless moths seen, the different types seemed as numerous as the individual members of any breed—what then of flies and half-eaten lizards?
Never did I find a monkey.
Marybelle had no similar activity, enjoying her safe life painlessly. Not painless was mine after endless moths turned my hobby into a chore, into another contest I would certainly lose; for how many decades would I need to discover the final animal when each day a new bird was observed, though weeks ago I had proceeded to toads? And, no, this self-inflicted hobby had nothing to do with my surviving in London by becoming aware of coachmen and clergy and constables. The possible truth I next considered, however, hardly relieved my anxiety. I came to believe that neither boredom nor my retrieved past was the cause of these contests, but a curse from Satan for my not killing enough sinners when he had
given me opportunity.
With this response, the understanding of my past most likely to come seemed madness. To encourage my own survival of mind, I abandoned my animalistic hobby while I yet had the ability to count and account for, and what a relief not to have reached ants.
This relief, unfortunately, came too early in the year, for I retained my hobby only till early autumn. Therefore, the greater part of a season lay for me to pass before winter brought its fortuitous suffering. And come winter did, with more intensity than the former. Again we became like bears, but before sleeping we suffered, for not even witches can comfortably accept a cold to paralyze furred creatures. All our clothing we donned, including shoes and pantaloons. Lying together in our mutual bed, my belly against Marybelle’s back, painful shivering struck completely through us. And though I longed for spring and the warmth of new life, not in the least did I desire London, not even the Rathel’s house with its superior warmth. The only removal from this cold I craved was a season of heat. But first came sleep and with it comfort.
Soon after Marybelle and I awoke the following spring, I determined to love the present season and avoid both old and new anxieties. I therefore pursued no further hobbies. Sinners and their cities were not my concern. The same as Marybelle, I proceeded with my common living and an appropriate appreciation thereof. Then came summer, and another stench to change my life.
Early in the season came a tremendous passing of birds, a type of kite with abbreviated tail, the flock so massive as to inhibit sunlight like a cloud. Though the fascinated witches denoted no untoward occurrence, the white one had further curiosity.
“The previous year we were present in this land, Marybelle, yet no such passage was seen.”
“And before that we doubtless missed their return.”
“I beg pardon, miss, but I fail to glean your meaning.”
“For birds to go one way now means their later returning. But the cycle may not be a year, but two or three. Perhaps they returned at a time before our arrival below them.”
“Know ye of other animal cycles so lengthy?”
“In nature’s whole, more than creatures are of a cycle. Winds high and low can come each year or once a lifetime. The sun does things difficult to sense but every decade or more. If these birds are longer than a year in leaving, their travel is great, for they will remain in no winter’s place, but fly to warm lands. Other animals find the need to mate but once in their life, or once young and again before dying.”
“If recollection supports my knowledge correctly, thrice in my life on Man’s Isle were tides of equal intervals so low as to expand beaches.”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Furthermore, is not my remembrance accurate of a crab with long legs seen only with these tides?”
“Oft the things come not alone, but engender other parts of nature toward their own cycles.”
“Might we then expect a companion effect with this massed flying, perhaps tornadoes or hail—or an influx of giraffes? Oh, please, miss. No more delightful sight could I imagine than scores of giraffes descending from the mountains.”
“‘Giraffes?’ Be this something the sinners make? Expect ye metalwork or furniture to be coming our way?”
I was delighted to explain these wonderful creatures—and elephants. Marybelle at first considered my speaking mere humor, but the monkeys I also mentioned were beasts she had sensed before. I therefore proceeded in a wondrous but accurate manner to describe my every sight and smell of the animals, pleased Marybelle becoming most interested. Not mentioned, however, were auxiliary facts: about viewing the creatures with a sinner boy and being ravaged by their trainer, about naming my personal semi-killers after these animals, this an insult for which I would doubtless never redeem myself in the eyes of God.
Though assured by Marybelle that no such exotic beasts would flock to Wales, the imagining was nevertheless so fine that oft I literally looked beyond in a game of seeing giraffes and elephants come quietly approaching. On a hill one day to search for mushrooms that never grew low, I sensed a strong, hot breeze from along the mountains. With this wind came an odor I thought at first to be of giraffes, so odd and old it was, though known. With more thought, however, I found it unpleasant, therefore not belonging to these favorite creatures, but more akin to…stagnant water. Comprehension of this scent then returned, for even diluted by distance and mixed with intervening odors, I recognized the smell of sinners.
Long enough I remained to return with an assured story for Marybelle, who thereafter climbed the hill with me. Thereupon she worked her nose and lungs only to agree.
“Do you find their distance significant, Marybelle?”
“Not great enough to make us fearless.”
“But the smell I find static, not of a moving herd.”
“No better is this, for the smell is not of simple human animals, but sinners’ products. We smell an establishment, not a pack. This scent I fear to be of a village,” Marybelle determined.
“Not smelled before, I presume, because of this extra-seasonable wind come to frighten us. Nevertheless, the intervening distance should not currently distress us.”
“Not now, but as any plague, a sinners’ village spreads and devours nature before it.”
“What then might be our active response to this unpleasant knowledge?”
“Worry little and remain alert.”
“And if the plague of sinners infests our domain?”
“Move away and deeper into this land.”
“And live thereafter on the bog? I would rather be taken by sinners,” I retorted.
“Not into the bog, but to the far side, beyond our current sensing.”
“The direction I mentioned when this one was chosen instead. Praise God we did not proceed that way, for surely we would now be standing in a major city.”
Guided by good sense, Marybelle and I remained cognizant of the sinning smell without becoming so concerned as to modify our lives. Never did the older witch need to climb high ground to denote the sinners’ state, for her curious sister kept vigil, finding herself perhaps too often on that hill. Marybelle did not bother to inquire of these views, aware that I would describe any significant changes in the sinning situation. And silent I remained because the sinners retained their position, allowing us to retain our land.
During that summer, I developed the notion of insufficient concern. What sinners were we concerned with? I wondered. How were we to understand the potential problem when our knowledge was diluted by distance? Would we witches not improve our defense by learning more of the sinners? To do so, some sister would have to near that smell, and what was dangerous about a walk in warm weather?
Naught of this I mentioned to Marybelle, preferring not to display my overconcern and thereby fail another unintended contest. Nevertheless, to prepare for dreadful circumstance, I examined my sinning apparel without my sister’s notice. My brown woolen dress approached shabbiness with its shredded ends and translucent areas where the witch had rubbed her environ. In better condition was my medium-blue gown of a cut not so stylish as to stop the River Thames. Despite the swamp-and-bog drenching of my bag, its contents had survived with minor staining. But had I grown so massive that the blue dress would no longer fit? What value the apparel in coming winters if I could not pull it over my form? But fit me it did, though tightly. No shawl had I, and no jacket for my torso, so how much of the lady was I? A cloak and bonnet, however, I had retained, adequate for societies shy of London’s. Since at the time I lived in God’s society, I undressed with the knowledge that if need be, I again could pass amongst sinners.
After days of believing that increased knowledge of the sinners would benefit us witches, my moral sense revealed additional emotion, for desire was included, the need to understand what value I yet found in the sinners and their manufactured lives. For days, this self-comprehension satisfied me as a mark of my becoming more ethical in God’s moral world. As though an expert in under
standing, however, I gained even greater comprehension, though it seemed detrimental to my ethics. My desire to find a proper place with the sinners by understanding the past and predicting the future was not only moral education, but an attempt to justify my acceptance of certain sinning values. Therefore, I dealt not with mores, but lust. My attraction to sinners was like Londoners and their liquor, which made them fine yet made them mad, and eventually could kill. As though drunk myself, I had only to decide if I were insane enough to approach the sinners, or witch enough to remain apart. Before mentioning my passion to Marybelle, however, the sinning witch had decided.
• • •
“Despite my lack of objectivity, Marybelle, I confess that I fear the sinners, their potential and proximity.”
“I also, but little.”
“My belief is that our fears would be alleviated by our learning more of this nearby populace.”
“True, so tell me news when you smell it, in that often you are high.”
“Since I am also distant from these people, my suggestion is to approach them to learn more with better smelling, perhaps with sight.”
“Being no fool, I’ll not go to sinners who would kill me.”
“I would offer myself for this venture, Marybelle. Since I resemble these folk, my appearance would not draw them.”
“The white witch draws them with her smell.”
“Only when near to the touch, and I would remain at distant sight.”
“What if you were espied yourself and followed here?”
“I would run.”
“Not from horses.”
“Horses I would smell before their riders could observe me. I would remain beyond sight.”
“The value is not enough for the risk,” Marybelle insisted.
“We wait, then, for the sinners to attack us?”