Black Body

by H C Turk

  In this bout of communicating, the father revealed himself brilliant by saying nothing. Then within the town we were and I reached my latest predicament, for the wife was periodically saying to the husband: “She is got to have somewhere to go. She must know where she is going.”

  Having failed to impress the husband with her concern, the wife finally turned to her daughter.

  “Ask the young Gerwoman where’s she is going here, Jezebel.”

  Scarcely could I restrain myself from leaping out to avoid the next translation. Looking about, I saw this area of Lucansbludge to be businesslike with decently dressed men and women and no apparent hoodlums. Therefore, I pointed toward the nearest building and shouted, “Can of sewer! Can of sewer!” to the wagon family, aware that “Jaw Thames” would mean nothing to them in that it referred to a London river.

  “You would have out at the barber shop?” the mother asked with some uncertainty.

  “Maybe it be her father who works there,” the genius husband replied. “Those Continentals are good with hair.”

  As soon as the man stopped the wagon, down to the street I stepped, moving off the roadway as I waved and blew kisses to the farming family, calling out, “Mare sea, mare sea!” receiving good-byes and waves from the females, a tip of the hat from the father.

  No farther had I cared to travel with these folk, for the deeper into Lucansbludge I moved, the farther through it I would I have to journey upon exiting. As well, the wagon family’s conversational habits were largely unfulfilling to a lady so social as myself.

  This was no foreign country. A herd of people across the street laughed and gossiped in English. The sign in the barber’s window was readable by the nonalien girl. This was England, and none of the British sinners took great notice of the unforeign witch as I walked. The farming family had not been amazed at my appearance, only my roadside locale and alien tongue. The people on this street were occupied with sinning affairs: loading wagons, berating their children, selling revelatory pamphlets direct from London…. The loiterers seemed no dangerous type, mostly older folk with no better activity than viewing their peers. Walking was my activity, and quickly I moved, as though having some significant appointment to keep at the street’s end. Despite radiating an aloof demeanor, I nodded to the rare couple whose male half tipped his hat while the wife smiled, providing only the first pair with a “Man sawyer” before understanding that this false identity was best left on the wagon.

  An important question then occurred to me, for I wondered what I was doing. To reconnoiter the city properly, would I not have to traverse it end to end? How long could I continue before passing a male sinner sensitive to my crotch? Perhaps I would remain safe and become bored even as I had in the wilds, and finally be finished with the sinners. Was such an achievement not a goal of mine? But this village was no fair site for such an important self-contest, in that no great buildings like London’s were present, and none of the grand society. Around me were working people with only common scents, a minimum of snuff, none of the periwigs and glossy canes and cloaks of Londoners. On the street’s far side was an open market, but not the first pomegranate was being sold, only lettuce. Only onions, but I was without coin. The nearby plant life consisted of weeds beside buildings, not the elaborate hedges and gardens of fine London estates, not the first refreshing green seen at any street’s end. With all its mediocrity, how could Lucansbludge offer a test of my feelings toward sinners equal to those available in London, my home as a lady?

  Those feelings were then tested by an odor. Approaching a shop, a dead, cold smell to unsettle my stomach reached me. Inside the shop I saw a dog chained to a ribcage, a large and raw side of one of God’s murdered creatures, the living animal paying no heed to all that dead flesh for its taking. No person would steal this meat as well guarded by an exceptionally trained canine, and pity I felt for a beast that was made to behave so unnaturally. Then I thought of Randolph and his unnatural life, which at least was made pleasant by Eric.

  This experience inspired me to emphasize my business, that of a witch’s survival. My only intent was to search for aspects of this town that might lead to an attack against my home and my sister. I then surmised that a random route would likely lead to worse sections of Lucansbludge. Reasonably, I would return to the town’s edge and espy about the periphery at a distance, allowing no sinner to notice my cryptic positions. A few days of skulking would be time well spent in the knowledge gained. Then I would return to Marybelle and our home, hopefully with news only of boredom.

  I continued in my quick rate, reliving the sensations of a sinners’ community, from broken glass to burnt tobacco to buildings of brick and timber. But no part of this town impressed me toward fondness. Despite my appreciation of St. Nicholas Cathedral and the sinners’ sheltering homes, the significance of London’s physicality ultimately lay not in aesthetics but in the emotions that great city engendered: fear and curiosity and awe. But after one street in Lucansbludge, I came aware that the most important parts of any community are its people. Elsie and Eric and the two elder women conveying me to Rathel’s after Satan through my bottom had murdered. The coachman who lost himself attempting to aid me. But this sort of sinner lived not only in London. Since the kindly family thinking me Germanic were of this community, certainly more of their type were about. But one does not find such folk as though opera performed at a set date: they are met in the process of living with their ilk, which includes suffering from their inferiors. To keep my wild living fine, I turned from this populace, intent upon espying at the town’s edge as per my planning. Behind me, however, was a force as familiar as flies to feces.

  “I would ask you, miss, of your business in my town.”

  Some sinning male smelling of fried tobacco and rare meat was immediate as I turned to a voice too near to ignore. Though drawn to my aspects, not likely was he following my wool.

  “And a fine town you have, sir,” I replied to the average, discomforting male. “How wealthy you must be to own an entire township. Be ye also so gracious as to identify yourself to an unmet lady?”

  Tipping his hat as though dreading the move, the sinner stated, “I am an associate of the constable’s office, miss, and would ask of your business, in that I see you have a bag.”

  “Sir, are you so determined to begin some professional venture that you verbally accost any prospective customer with luggage?”

  “Miss, accosting business is right what I am after,” he answered harshly, “for certain youths gone to stealing are those I seek.”

  Immediately I threw my bag down and opened it.

  “Near all my life’s possessions are here, and of these I have no hiding. My best velvet dress, my Sunday shoes, a pantaloon God Himself would not ask to see, and my mother’s Bible from which I might read you a passage regarding humility.” After pulling forth each item, I stuffed the lot into the bag again, leaving it open before the male.

  What blushing overcame him with the revelation of my underthing. The crowd as well had a sharp, joint inhalation. Ah, yes, in town but a minute and an accumulation of sinners I had drawn, like flies to so on. At least in this less sophisticated community they remained paces removed so as not to jostle the semi-official male and I, most folks attempting to conceal their gaping, which shamed them. Nevertheless, they remained. And though they desired to retain their comments, one too many and too loud was emitted, and heard by this constable’s affiliate.

  “Might she be, I’d ask, of the Lutheran persuasion?”

  Like a dog, my inquisitor pricked his ears for better hearing.

  “And your business in this town is what, miss?” he asked, pricking his tongue for better speaking.

  “I am seeking my aunt, who concludes the affairs of my late uncle’s estate, a business to bring such tears and torment to me that my aunt insisted I not attend. By the butcher shop I was to wait, though why she selected this site when I am terrified of dogs, I know not.”

  “Are
you Lutherans then to come into Lucansbludge and disrupt our town by settling?” he of the constable’s office asked.

  “Sir, my grandparents have a home well removed, so herein we have no desire to live, and thank you. As for my religion, there is only one God for us all to worship, and He is of Jesus and England. Have you another?”

  “In that you are such a talker of God, miss, will you say clear out that you are not Lutheran and disavow them?”

  “With God deeply in my heart as a witness, my religion is not of the Lutherans, and in truth I have no familiarity with them. Therefore, sir, in that you find me not so heinous as to be either Lutheran or criminal, might I be allowed to depart your perusal? Might I continue in my Christian way and pursue the death of a loved one?”

  “About your business then go, miss,” he stated firmly, and walked away with no further salutation. Being a lady, however, and prideful in my etiquette, I was not so quick to release him, in that I was also a bit of a fool.

  “In final greetings, sir, I thank you for the gracious welcome given me by this town you allege to own, and wish you godspeed on your official concerns as paid for, I hope, not by decent taxpayers, who are civil.”

  Then I closed my baggage, lifted it, and left, the crowd dispersing. Behind me, the constable-oriented male watched, but did not follow as I passed the butcher shop, the barber, and vacated his town.

  Displeasure destroyed my design. From distaste, I would depart the town, thereby returning to Marybelle with insufficient knowledge. I exited via the same route of my entry, remaining on the trail’s surface as though I belonged there. Outside the town, I encountered two male riders who passed only to return and ask with smelly smiles if I required some assistance.

  “No English I speak, sinners,” I retorted, and waved at their horses with my bag, the animals bucking, though controlled by the men and their reins. These males then continued on their way with no further interest shown me, though they were certain to spur their mounts so that dust was kicked against my face, the devil take their Lutheran souls.

  Once calming my ire so that sensibility was revealed on the volatile patina of my personality, I left the trail proper and moved out of vision of travelers. Near dusk, I stopped in a stand of diseased trees whose rotten husks offered a fine hiding site against sinners surely disappreciative of this odor more natural and inoffensive than their own. Confused and displeased, I determined to reconsider my position after a renewing sleep, hoping to wake in the morn with a fresh view of my journey. But when I awoke, it was not morning, and I did not wake alone.

  That evening, I dreamed. Through the water I walked, but no salt was present, the fluid around me so diseased as to be nearly black. My journey was reduced to a few final steps before I would gain the bank and good air. Though opaque, the water transmitted smell; thereby was I aware that on the bank stood a dog, one trained to guard anchor chains by sinners who coated the links with grease. Though harmless to me, the creature was a terror because in London I had told the magistrate that I was fearful of the beasts whom in fact I appreciated, what with their long necks and stripes. Because I had lied to another human in the official society of his ownership, then berated him in God’s name, my lie had come true in reality, the reality of this dream that currently was my life. So drown or face a fear to make dying preferable were my choices as I took my final step toward the bank.

  Then I awoke. Before me stood a huge dog wagging his tail as he sniffed loudly in my direction. But not even waking to suddenly see this creature caused me to fear it. The dog was tied with a strap, the strap held by a man, and here was terror and hatred. The man was of the constable’s office in Lucansbludge. And the despised smell of this person was not of sinners, but of a male aroused in his body.

  “The heathen is now found by a true man of God,” he loudly called down. “The Lutheran who tells folk that English is not her language—and is this lie not true? German you are, or is it the devil’s tongue you hold in your mouth? But yet in England is no law against Lutherans who worship dissent. So arrest you I cannot, but my duty is to deliver you with God’s truth and the laws of morality.”

  Then the man exposed the source of his hated stench, entering a hand into his pants to step toward me with his man-stick grasped, a godly part held in Satan’s fingers.

  Up I leapt to run without confronting this sinner with anger or words. Up I ran, leaving my bag, finally deciding to end my journey by absolutely rejecting the sinners’ realm. But only one step I took before the dog bit my ankle. His hold was nearly playful, though, for I was being tripped, not mutilated. Then the man was on me, but he displayed no gentility: his entire weight thrown against my back abolished my breathing. Though I knew by this sinner’s grunting that he had harmed himself as well, the male was not so damaged as to end his perversion. My only wish was to continue breathing, for the blow to my torso had ended my lungs’ movement, and I felt myself suffocating on nothing. And I prayed God only for my breath to return, my terror so great that I could feel no concern for the foolish sinner who even then was killing himself on me.

  Moments later, when I breathed again, the dog was lapping my face. Though yet to fear this creature, I was terrified of Satan, for I felt a pain in my loins only the devil could envision. Agony averted my regarding the male’s tragedy as he became trapped within me, for I longed to be merely breathless. So tightly did my baby muscles clench that a vision came of my innards imploding, as though an insect stepped upon and splattered. The sinner’s grinding my breasts with both hands like pig meat for sausage passed me unfelt, for bodily pain is naught compared to the torment of an inner demon.

  The agony continued along with the male’s thrusting until I thrust in return. I felt such torture that I prayed for both parties to die, but then I felt strength. Desperation was this idea, for God might end my torment if only I aided Him. Here my assistance was not selfish, but moral, for I rejected this male person’s death. I insisted upon pushing him away while he remained whole. But not with both hands on his shoulders could I press strongly enough to move the sinner, and my legs were so separated by his torso that I could not arrange my feet to kick him. But somehow I managed to roll over. The man had quit his thrusting, my vagina locked on him in an agony to kill my senses, kill him, managed to roll over to sit on the male and press with both hands against his chest, press with both feet against the earth with all of my effort, press so utterly that I stood, lifting the man’s middle, moving up and down as he groped with both arms, attempting more poorly than I to depart. I shook myself while standing as though fucking this man, attempting to drop him. The witch succeeded where the woman failed, for having intentionally exerted to the absolute, my body continued beyond desire. My crotch continued as I fell upon the man no longer attempting to extricate himself. Having failed to save him, I was left with torture, and prayed God for the sinner to die so that I might live, prayed that if this pain were to continue, dear Lord take my life instead of the sinner’s. But the only angel receiving prayers in this disaster was the black prince who had me suffer so long that when the sinner and I fell apart, my senses left also. When again I awoke to an awareness of agony, the dog was lapping my tormented bottom, the sinner relieved to find himself away from my cunt and with his master in Hell.

  Again a sinner had brought me revelation, this bloodless male displaying with his passive body the effortless intent of our greatest Lord. No sufficient thinking could I procure to comprehend a man’s lax piety heinous enough to make him worthy of so devilish a demise, one provided by the Creator without effort. No lust and self-concern of my own so compiled an immoral mass to condemn me as a continual killer. Only the Deity kills with impunity and implies it exalted plan—how casual was God’s correctness to equate in castigation His sinner and His witch, unequal people made similar by enhancing the devil’s domain.

  • • •

  In the darkness near dawn, I arose with my bag to crawl away, then collapse, having to void my stomach of its mo
st miserable contents, a rushing gush so painful that my very innards seemed rejected. Then away from this mess I rolled, moments later able to stand, but I was followed by a beast. First the dog ran to me and barked in no threatening manner, then returned to my stomach’s contents to smell a moment and then consume. Away from him I moved as rapidly as my weakness allowed, but the dog followed in a most dedicated manner. Since I ignored him, the dog made himself known by leaping against me, disrupting my walking. I made to gain his leash and tie him anywhere, but this he understood, running away with a wagging tail as I approached. So I chased him as best I could with body bruised enough to be blackened, chased the dog, which leapt and barked and would not allow me to near him nor allow me to leave, for it ran before me and blocked my path. When I turned away, it ran from behind to jump against my legs, knocking me down. When I stood to begin running, the creature demonstrated himself better at this game by running faster than I to trip me or throw me to the ground again.

  This game continued until I could no longer run, could no longer walk, collapsing in the grass to make senseless noises as though mad, grunts of exasperation to a God Who had deserted me. Then He returned in the form of a dog who approached to lick my face. With the first kiss, I grasped his leg. Though the dog yelped and bit me bloody, I held him firmly, feeling anger enough to pull his leg off; but there was the leash, and then in my hand. As I stood with a firm grip on the strap, I was prepared to drag the dog with all my force to the nearest site for tying. But as soon as I jerked his leash, the creature followed; and I walked away with him. What a sight this would have been, a young woman evidently aggrieved over a dog with wagging tail whom she followed to its dead master.

  The man had moved. After ravaging me, the male had taken his reduced form and walked away; and I imagined him stumbling off in shock as his blood leaked out, collapsing only to die. Somehow he had managed to secure his pants about his hips again, so I had no view of his damage in moonlight adequate to reveal a horror. And I knew him dead from his stillness, not through smelling; for there is no smell of death in a living world, since death is a removal.