Black Body

by H C Turk

  “Too cool might you be, miss, with your neck so exposed,” Eric mentioned as he turned up his collar.

  “Scant sensitivity have I to cold,” I replied, “and herein I am comfortable. So let us proceed with this speaking and be grave—if you can bear the trait fully loosed in me, for you know how earnest I can be.”

  “I know how unkind you can allow yourself to become. So if you temper this and expose only truth, we both might learn each other’s ideas.”

  “We begin with the wedding,” I stated. “What of your father?”

  “Previously he is wed.”

  “And bore a hilarious boy the marriage did,” I groaned. “I mean to ask the degree to which your parents agree with your nuptial notions.”

  “They agree in the negative. In truth, they disbelieve my intents, and attempt to convince me of my falseness. But they shall not. And if I am tossed from the household because of my conjugal plans, I go elsewhere, for London is large.”

  “Aye, we’ve room in the basement. But enough damp comedy. We now return to your initial topic: my peeved manner as you touched me this noon.”

  “An excellent progression, and one whose explication I fear from a future wife,” Eric admitted. “And the future bodes poorly for me if you shirk so simple a touch. Was I too coarse with your fingers?”

  “Too coarse with your emotions, for along with your touch, I sensed your lust. And with God as your judge, sir, lie to neither of us.”

  “No lying need be done to save my soul, miss, for I have no shame in feeling passion toward the woman I will marry. As well, I’d desire that touching be part of your married pleasure with me.”

  “Exceptional I am with the menfolk for drawing this passion, sir, as you recollect from Mr. Gosdale and the trainer of exotic ladies. This latter man had his finger far enough within me to touch my breakfast, and you were present to observe. Can you question, then, my distaste for the pleasure of men?”

  “The pleasure of your husband is our topic, for the basis here is not lust, but love.”

  “Elsie loves me, but has no desire to lie with me.”

  “Do you believe I care for you less than your servant?”

  “Your concern is dissimilar in its selfishness. Because Elsie loves me, she desires to be with me, whereas you desire to be within me.”

  “But the question ultimately is love, not procreation. Praise your heart and Elsie’s that you have each other to love, for you both deserve the best emotion. But can your love for your parents and for Elsie not allow room for another? Can you not love me as I do you? Never so explicit have I been in saying this, but only because I thought you might not accept the potential, and now I fear it. Think not that gender is the basis of my passion, for no more than Elsie’s is my love sourced in lust. In the frank truth you so admire, I must say that most English men would reject you for your disfigurement, your history of demons, and for the trainer who so pressed toward you that some would call you ruined as a wife and not worthy of bearing their children.”

  Abruptly I halted, turning to Eric as though maddened or amused.

  “Then laugh I do, sir, at your own social position, for the woman you’re vowed to is no more virginal than her mother. The trainer’s offense was slight compared to the violent rape I suffered by a man outside Lucansbludge. As for offspring, gain ye a greater set of dogs if I am to be your wife and you require further family, for my innards are such that children will no more come from me than milk from that missing nipple.”

  As though transformed by God into a boulder, Eric became still and lost his breathing. He then fell to his knees and grasped my dress as though about to pull it off, grasped it like a rapist. Then the weeping began, an unloud sound to offend me.

  Because this man defiled me, using emotion instead of sex, I pulled myself away without touching him while calling down intensely.

  “Pray God you understand that I cannot have you weep over problems that I have struggled profoundly to accept!”

  Eric looked up to me as though a child chastised for a wrongdoing not fully understood.

  “From Elsie you allow weeping, but not a tear can come from me? Is it true that she is allowed to love you more than I?”

  “By the God of Heaven, sir, never would my mother weep on me, and I can praise you no more than by that comparison. Heartfully embrace me she would, then share with me the satisfaction in my strength. After counting my breasts, Mother would have laughed with joy at all of her Alba remaining. But never, never would she or I collapse in misery, for such emotion is a sodden selfishness to steal the value of my fortitude. And though Miss Elsie’s heart is so sweet as to make mine seem decrepit, she yet is no equal to me in the mind. And inferior as well would be her experiencing my past circumstances, for she would not survive. Therefore, sir, I honor you by expecting you to secure the same living strength as mine. By God, no servant of love will this person be—and none to a husband, despite the low level in which English society might place me. And confront me not with accusations of cruelty, for again you have heard only truth.”

  As suddenly as he had thrown himself down, Eric leapt upward to stand with the passion of idea, but no further tears.

  “The greatest truth is that you have no love for me, yet you consent to wed. The utter truth of your heart you spoke when I sought your hand, that you would only agree if given the servant. Therefore, into an unloved marriage you enter by bringing your own love, none from me required.”

  “Might you infer with your brilliant sensitivity that my agreement to wed stems from my preferring to live with you rather than Rathel?”

  “Ah, the fact is simple, then: live with Eric instead of the miserable Rathel woman. And all be well as long as you have the bleeding Elsie.”

  “I’ve done enough bleeding for us all, sir, so resort not to a criminal’s obscenities. Selfish you are, Eric, if you will have me as a wife and also demand my worship. I say that we have insufficient investment in each other to have formed a mutual love of spirit. Long has Elsie been my aid and guide, and though oft attempting things not fit me, never has she sought any benefit but mine. She lacks the passion of the crotch to provoke a love as yours was surely engendered. Despite your appreciating my additional traits, initially you sought me as a female, not a friend. Deny this truth to God if Hell be your chosen eternity.”

  “I do not deny the natural desire between genders, and reasonably so herein, for your most evident trait is comeliness. But your unique wit and telling speech I also love, Satan receive my mediocre soul if this not be true. But since reason compels even you to admit that my love for you exists beyond passion, the query for us is your love toward me, for this greatest emotion must be mutual between man and wife.”

  “In London, I have learned that certain people must exist with others in order to be sheltered by a stronger will. Such a person is Elsie, but I am of a different sort. Though I appreciate companionship, I require no sustenance from an alternate person’s strength. And though Elsie’s friendship I treasure, I would have you as a companion of peerage rather than any other person I know to be alive.”

  “Though I as well cherish your company, Alba, do not consider me selfish to also desire a love of touching between us, for this is only normal.”

  “Oh, now I have a true view of this passion, for I was thinking only of the mating sort. You also mean the preliminary things that young lovers engage in when not seen by society, with their squeezing and rubbing lips. Ah! here’s a third type of loving to challenge me, but one too many, sir. Beyond the love of character that I mutually grant you, as wife I might also provide that part of marriage required by society called mating. But, sir, whereas I might well fuck you, do not expect me to kiss you also.”

  Before aghast Eric could reply with some astonished speaking, we were accosted. A man with a familiar type of staff and doublet ran toward us calling loudly to gain all of our attention and fear.

  “Eh! and what is your standing in the street’s center!
This is no hour for legal passage, and I will have your explaining.”

  So explain to him I did.

  “Our identity, Sir Nightwatchman, is that of a recently wed pair having misgivings to sort away from our family. Pray God that English law will ever allow us harmless citizens access to Queen Anne’s streets.”

  Allowing enough of God’s space between himself and the accosted for official response, the nightwatchman replied to the talking woman.

  “Harmless folk are no difficulty, missus, but those lower persons who would thieve from you. In such dark and with no populace about, you cannot be expecting us nightwatchmen to protect you from so large a city.”

  “You need be no further aid, sir,” Eric stated, a citizenly demeanor replacing that former disposition of derided lover.

  We then walked away, leaving the nightwatchman to stare after us and mutter of our unfoundedness. After a separation from the officer and our previous distress, the, er, lovers began speaking again.

  “Returning, sir, to love and its lack, we are not the only people in this wedding who emote. Of your parents lacking love for me, what precisely do they portray as the cause?”

  “They say that your history of living with witches renders your soul suspect.”

  “You find this unreasonable?”

  “I believe in evil, but witches and other tangible demons I consider as real as elves, and I’ve never been a boy for such foolish tales.”

  “And a solid, earthy brain lies within your head, Master Eric.”

  “Though Lady Amanda has briefly described your past living, I seek your own version. And I expect you to find no offense in my asking, since you are so cold and severe with things as minor as a suffering life.”

  “I would first ask what tale the Rathel has given you, for thus I know what to lie about.”

  “She depicted a girl whose parents were lost and whose person was stolen by females later deduced demonic, said girl thus removed from them by English law. Later, Lady Amanda accepted same girl into London for a superior life. How agreeable are you with this story, Alba?”

  “The Rathel lies enough to make me vomit.”

  “Jesus calm your soul, Alba. I have not heard such crudities from baseborn beggars.”

  “Less crude in their mouths they might be, though I doubt they compare in the areas of wit, vanity, and remaining chest. Certainly in seeking money alone, they have more integrity than the devious, dishonest Rathel.”

  “How then, miss, would you correct her tale?”

  “I would begin with the parents. And bear down upon your tender spirit and watery eyes, Eric, for comes my next fact to damage your heart. The utter truth is that I know not my father—nor did my mother, for I sprang from a rape, of which God and Satan are equally cognizant. Are the nuptials therefore dismissed?”

  Eric’s response was to accept a fact to brutalize the average English fiancé, looking down to shake his head in a motion virtually unseen, though understood. When he replied, his speaking seemed objective, lacking both severity and coldness.

  “Despite its personal import, you provide an addendum to Lady Amanda’s story, not a refuting as I see it.”

  “Then see this next addition as emotion, for it deals with my mother. And, sir, if ever I come to love you half as much as I yet love my mother, you will have more emotion from me than you can imagine. My mother is as dear to me as yours, and if yours be as decent as mine, then she is a saint. In fact, my mother I well knew into my young adulthood until we were separated by mad English officials who condemned her as a witch and had her burned. Sir, yes, beheaded and burned as though the most wicked murderer instead of a thoughtful mother, killed dead along with our friends on Man’s Isle. And the person to convince the authorities of this demonology was Amanda Rathel. The person who allowed my mother to be butchered and burned was the woman from whom you seek my hand. Only after destroying my family did the heinous Rathel conduct me to London. And if you do not believe in demons, sir, then you are a fool, for no demon ever existed more evil of spirit than Rathel. Now, sir, go ye home for your best weeping ever. Look first at your mother, however, and imagine her beneath the executioner’s axe, imagine her in ashes. Think of your mother and her love, and as you love your mother living, therefore weep for mine.”

  • • •

  No courting or communication occurred the following day. My only thoughts of the previous evening’s damp discussion were of mad and maddening humor. What would come of the Rathel’s plans if Eric rejected me for promising him my crotch but not my heart? This jest remained until night delivered a pair of eyes and one nose to my sill.

  “I come for the wife.”

  “Wrong sill, intrusive face. Lovers alone reside here.”

  “Then the daughter boasting of mother’s love. In the street do we meet?”

  “If you rhyme no other time.”

  After the eyes disappeared, down the wall I crawled, again cursed with verse.

  Quietly we walked in the street’s center, avoiding audible footfalls and all words as though in a quiet contest, a challenge I abandoned by calling out with voice enough to startle Eric.

  “Any nightwatchmen please note that our event is but marital difficulties discussed by decent folk.”

  Though this brought a laugh from Eric, from a side street came that voice of the previous night.

  “And well, but speak lightly, in that untroubled persons be asleep.”

  After Eric and I laughed lightly as instructed, I confronted the male with a history I desired to conclude in order to proceed with the future.

  “Sir, I did not convey the complete truth of my emotion upon implying I had scant love for you. What I did say remains true in that your companionship is more desirable than that of any other man alive, but as well I have a genuine fondness for you.”

  “This I wish to hear, Alba,” Eric returned with a serious sort of enthusiasm. “I would hear this and desire to believe it more than life itself, it sometimes seems, certain times at night when I can—”

  “No more interruptions for loose emoting,” I chastised, “for my idea is not yet expressed. Because I do appreciate your character and have some fondness thereof, I wish no harm to reach you, not before the wedding or after. Thus, you must know of the Rathel’s design with our lives so that we might avoid it and formulate our own.”

  “Describe this design, then, Alba, but provide it as observation; for despite all your graveness, you remain a person of extreme emotion. So tell me true, but tell me calmly so that I might believe by learning rather than suffering.”

  I stepped before Eric and turned so that he could see nothing but my face.

  “The truth with Rathel is that your parents are correct, and you are a fool.”

  “A fool I am, because I know not your meaning.”

  “Sir, you shall not learn now, but after preparation. To know the cruel truths I have for you that will pain you soon and save you later, you must come to me with a new ability to accept. This you shall gain elsewhere, from a trustworthy, believable person.”

  “How am I to learn, and from whom?”

  “From my pet.”

  “The spider?”

  “Miss Elsie. The spider was ravaged by Rathel, as she has ravaged all my loved ones. As she would ravage you. But before being sent along for a lesson of preparedness, you must promise me a thing.”

  “The promise is then made,” Eric returned. “Now might you say in advance the suffering to be caused by that vow?”

  “None worse than you’ve received on this street, but perhaps no better.”

  “Perhaps I should then rescind my vow, for I’ve not been well treated by these nights.”

  “No, you shall not rescind the vow, which is to speak with Miss Elsie and insist that she tell you dispassionately of the Rathel’s response toward me upon learning of your departing for distant schooling. Question her thusly tomorrow when the mistress is not about. Come to my window that night, and in further
vow, bring no tears. I have your total promise, then?”

  “You do, miss, and in truth you have my fear. If more tears are expected of me, then Miss Elsie’s speaking I would avoid.”

  “You would, sir, but shall not, for you have vowed to hear. The purpose in this lesson is to prepare you for the Rathel’s greater truth, which Miss Elsie cannot describe. But this present lady can, and shall tomorrow evening. Bring with you some strength then, and all your objectivity; for no story told by Elsie will be more true or more damaging than that you shall hear from me.”

  • • •

  Being as forthright as possible, I implored Elsie to speak with Eric upon his arrival that day and reply with utter truth to his immensely important queries. Though unavoidably I instilled in her vast trepidation, I retained faith in her strength and her love for me. To avoid interfering with Eric’s visit, I remained in my chamber. Trust him I did to fulfill his vow, though I caught no sight nor scent of him. Immediately after his departure, Elsie confronted me with her distress.

  “Dear Alba—dear God—and why were you having the boy demand such a story? There was no relenting in him, and each of us told all. And I’m never seeing a young man with more torment, no matter how much he was holding it in. Alba, girl, I’m not knowing your purpose in bringing forth such pain, and giving it to your future husband.”

  “I will not conceal so significant a story from Eric exactly because he is my future husband,” I truthfully explained. “Regarding the event you depicted to him, either the Rathel or I was evil, and I will have none believing it me. Trust me, miss, that in having this man know me fully, the two of us will be safer.”

  “And you think he’s to be knowing you so completely, girl? Even husbands and wives can be decently keeping secrets of themselves. We’re talking of marriage, Alba, not God’s own judgment. And, dear God, I’m fearing you’ll next be telling him that story of being a witch—and how that would be ruining poor Eric and the wedding.”