Black Body

by H C Turk

  Before Elsie could transform herself from friend to chaperone, I grasped Eric’s cuff and led him outdoors.

  “We are conversing again, miss, and alone?” he wondered.

  “We shall be alone, true,” I intoned, and Eric sensed my changed manner. “Call us a carriage, sir, and we are off.”

  “Destination, miss?”

  “To a place you have never been, not even in your dreams.”

  • • •

  An utter stranger would have sensed my distress. What a mistake, I thought, to allow Eric to gain an open carriage, for no walls existed to hold me in, to keep the water out. As we crossed Hershford Bridge, I thought of Marybelle in her own open box, and felt my end would be no better; for my impressions were of never breathing again and feeling each extended moment of being without air as I suffered and suffocated and lived the dead nightmare of a wet agony to end me.

  This sinner was staring at me as I remained abjectly still, hand on my brow as though to shield myself. I could not accept his ease. No fool was he for not fearing the water—in this relationship, I had the excess emotion. Then I had to look toward him, for was he not my only sanctity?

  “Sir, I fear bridges as any person living fears an upcoming death,” I said, then moved to him, remaining low and compact to minimize the risk of being thrown out, into the water, off the bridge, toward death. I moved against him as though a spider in a corner, and spoke again.

  “Sir, you will hold me with your arm and no passion, the object to reduce these passions of mine.”

  And he did, Eric placed both arms around me to draw me near. Throughout him rushed emotions I could sense with only our mutual touch, a vibration of his body that told me, yes, I will secure you and provide any strength I can, aiding us both with this shared embrace. And though crossing that bridge remained a sort of terror, for one of us it became a type of joy.

  • • •

  No other persons were at Gravesbury Reach, none within smell nor sight. Upon our arrival, I instructed the coachman to be off yet return in an hour, and Jesus bear witness that he keep his observations to himself.

  Christ’s Cathedral I viewed, the edifice so removed as to seem average in size; but was this a building constructed or demolished? It seemed such a piecemeal thing, a collection of parts. So I looked away, for London held more life than this pile of stone, and life remained a mystery. I looked away, and listened. Far, far down the river and across its broad surface came a massive sound. Nearer to me was Eric, Eric speaking, questioning. But I held out my hand for him to cease, for I had turned toward this sound, and here was my effort, my interest. Huge barges floated against the bank, along the opposite side, but too far for clear sight. And though my best sense was hearing, I could not determine that rhythmic sound, the source of a thudding to cover the Thames.

  “What product do they unload, sir, so massive as to sound greatly upon the docks, yet not be ruined by harsh dropping?”

  “I cannot guess, miss, and cannot care, for surely you’ve not brought me here to experience the silence that these boatmen disturb.”

  “I have not, sir, no; this is but distraction. My purpose here is swimming.” And quickly I faced him. “Can you, Master Eric?”

  “Can I swim, miss? You ask whether I can swim?”

  “I do, and a simple query.”

  “Why, yes, I am able, enough to save myself if found in the water, though I could not be placed in competition.”

  “I cannot,” I said, and looked away, again toward that sound.

  “You cannot, miss? You cannot…?”

  “I cannot swim. No witch can swim, this being a trait to separate us from sinners.”

  “Dear God, Alba, do not go mad on me now, not when again I am so near to wedding you.”

  “Oh, and wed me you shall, sir, but not easily. First you must prove your love—not to me, but to yourself. Then the madness shall be yours, not mine.”

  I stepped near him, looking to his eyes so that he could see only me; but, truly, I had been his only sight since first vision.

  “And how do you love me, sir?”

  “How? I love you absolutely, Alba. I love you—”

  “Enough to pledge your soul?”

  “My soul? Alba, I cannot understand you. Your manner in this moment is—”

  “This moment is your life,” I stated firmly. “Nothing in all your prior existence is more important than this moment. You must ignore your confusion at my strange words and listen to each, for they have meaning. Understand the importance of this instant and tell me: do you love me enough to pledge your immortal soul?”

  “God help me, miss, I do.”

  “You will require God’s aid in the next era I present you, sir, for by your endless soul you must pledge me a thing.”

  “Miss Alba, I yet recall previous vows you forced upon me.”

  “From them you should have learned to trust me to improve our mutual understanding, and again I demand that trust. Now, think carefully, and be concerned with your future, not mine. I depart for a time, but will return. I—”

  “You go where?”

  And I leapt to grasp his arm and loudly speak against his ear, my words more beseeching than belligerence.

  “I go to shout in your ear if you cannot hear my words!”

  The force of my voice was such that Eric had to jerk away. When we both had settled, I continued.

  “I depart, sir, and promise that I shall not be harmed, though it might seem otherwise. Therefore, I will have you pledge on your immortal soul not to come for me, not to interfere in any manner. As you wait, the thought will come that I must be dying, but I do not. And with God as my love and my witness, I swear that only your emotions will be pained, not my bodily health. Do you understand this, sir?”

  “I do not, of course I do not understand, no matter how carefully I consider your words. But as I love you as much as I love my soul, I do pledge to fulfill your wishes, and wait for you without attempting to follow.”

  “Very well,” I concluded, and stepped away, kneeling to unfasten my shoes.

  “Wh-why, miss, do you remove your shoes?”

  “Elsie would be most upset to see me soaked with water, for she would understand the deed presented, in that years ago I offered her this very demonstration.”

  Off with the cloak, then to the gown, my hands behind to the closures.

  “Wh-what demonstration, miss? What precisely are you showing?”

  But he knew, knew I was revealing body. And his breaths were strange, his stance doubtful, though none of that man smell could come, not through his apprehension, not through his knowledge that a certain part of my body would never be seen, for it was missing.

  “Incidentally I reveal what eventually you must see as a husband, for Satan knows we shall be wed,” and from my gown I stepped. “But moreover I reveal yourself as a fool, fool enough to allow your own death were it not for my salvation.” With those words, I lowered my vapid underthing, lowered the fabric that had covered my skin no longer so white in places, lowered the garment to reveal my half bosom, half disaster.

  Eric was not breathing. No tears nor screaming came, and neither did that bottom odor. Not even when the remainder of my apparel fell, and all of his wife was revealed. Likely, he would never see me so clearly again, in the open day with all of God’s light and space surrounding me, white light for my ambience, white apparel as my base, white skin the center of Eric’s world. Now for the devil’s black reveal.

  “I go to swim, sir, and since I cannot, you will panic. But recall your vow, recall your immortal soul.” And I moved into the river.

  “Alba?” he called out from behind, his sound an expression, not a name, a conveyance of consequence.

  I lodged myself in that water before entering. Warm it was, but I felt nothing of this river nor those past, and this was my intent: not to allow the waters of my dreams to drown me when real water never had; for with each crossing, the water became more murdero
us, and I more fearful. And I knew that dream and reality would one day meet, the conjoined water finding me on its bottom to crush me softly with fluid.

  I thought only of the process: open my mouth and allow the water in. And I began, this wet acceptance not yet a terror, eyes closed, slow movements. But I refrained from allowing the water’s air to mingle with the remaining air of my lungs. Fearful comprehension had struck me, the knowledge that breathing air is life continued, but breathing water is death postponed; and how long can a person save herself? Through how many rivers, how many dreams?

  The striking act needed to drive away my panic was the acceptance of wet air within me. At once, I felt drowning, but also air, for so long had I retained the old breath that the new, wet one was sustaining. I found myself alive, though barely. So I determined not to move about as I had with Elsie, remaining stationary to thereby require less air. Standing still on that unexamined river bottom, I began emulating an era by counting imagined steps up the Rathel’s stairs and down, through the kitchen and corridor, into the garden and about the house, through the gate and around, into the foyer and great room to the library, always breathing, always needing to concentrate on that unnatural fluid as I walked along the street with Eric, understanding that I breathed water and was able to do so, though barely, though I would lose this survival with a lack of effort, the slightest allowance of panic, the briefest thought of seeking true air, true breathing, true life, as I entered my bedchamber to find Eric at the window.

  Eric under water was thrashing and bubbling, and finally grasping me. I pushed away from him to step quickly to the bank and out before I lost my calm. As I fell to my hands and knees, Eric quit the river to thrash on land as though he were yet submerged.

  Eyes closed, praying for God to keep me calm, I allowed the water inside me to leave, grateful for this release. Then I breathed again, and normally. So sharp and rich is the air of the sky that upon leaving water, a witch must breathe slowly and with calmness lest she pass out as though drowning on air. I thus appeared the opposite of Eric, who was gasping for breath. After blessed moments in which we both recovered, I confronted him.

  “Is your soul as worthless as your life to abandon both?”

  Wiping the water from his face as he supported himself on one elbow, no longer refraining from staring at his woman, Eric replied.

  “You are not God to have control of my soul; so no failure on my part will have me lose it on your account—you’ve not the power. But, God tell me, Alba, what power is yours to go without breathing?”

  “Being only human, I was breathing, through necessity.”

  “Are you a fish?”

  “Continue your verse, poor poet, and find in time the rhyme, for I am no fish, but a witch.”

  “Jesus help me, woman—what are you saying?”

  “I am speaking the whole truth, whereas before you heard but a portion. The Rathel has known of me from the first, and brought me to London in order for you to die, for few men can resist the white witch if she applies herself toward them. The Rathel’s intended vengeance on your father was not your marriage into her family, but your death on our wedding bed, for I am the white witch who kills men with sex.”

  Though breath was no problem, Eric appeared drowned and unable to recover.

  “My God, Alba, you have gone mad! You speak of dreams.”

  “No dream allowed me to breathe that duration you observed. None of my life’s terrors have been dreams, not even the last told by your father; for well he learned. His speaking of the men killed in Lucansbludge and London was most accurate, for both males died by me, though I murdered neither.”

  “Y-you assert that these men you killed? You could not murder—how could a miss my wife ever—”

  “With me they had the marital intercourse, though I was so devastated that only afterward did I learn the truth of Satan within me. The second man raped me through a lust worse than yours and thereby died. The first act you correctly heard described at the time: this Percival’s manhood was cut away from him and thus he bled to death. With both men, this was true.”

  “Y-you cut two men to death?” incredulous Eric groaned. “Am I to believe that you knifed two men and—”

  “I knifed no one, sir, for I am the sex witch, not a butcher of swine. I did not cut the men—I fucked them to death, and my vagina is such as to have pinched their pricks off as a child pulls away the wings of a fly. But the difference is moral, sir, and immortal. The child has the power to cease his act, yet accepts the initiative of intention; whereas I have neither. Never would I choose to kill a male in any manner, yet when the marital act begins, I have no control, only torture of my own. Therefore, sir, do you not care to fuck me? Previously I have promised the husband my cunt.”

  I sat upon my backside, settling on my gown with legs spread, leaning backward with my weight on my hands, knees upward.

  “I’ve another wound for you to view, one you’ve dreamed of long, I know.”

  I could smell his man fumes now, though Eric seemed not excited but devastated, leaning on his elbow as he stared at me—my face and lower, much lower—with that same appearance of having drowned.

  “There’s been enough waiting by you and Amanda, Eric. And I think her correct. I think you can resist me never, not even aware of my murders. Though you call this love, perhaps it’s only lust, no more than sin. Now, come to the wife and foretell the marriage. Come to the witch and see if you can live with her.”

  I told him to approach me and lower his pants. And he did, moving as though walking in his sleep, walking under water. Step to me he did and unclothe himself, revealing his lust, his demon; and was that man-stick held before him more of a sword or a cross?

  “On your knees and well spread your legs,” I instructed, for I had become expert in taking men. Eric complied. As he knelt before me, flat upon my back I lay, knees well up and above my hips. But when Eric placed his reddish glans against my vagina, I reached down to grasp the shaft and guide him toward perversion, Eric removed from death by a bit of flesh, separated from a demon by a segment of God’s profound space.

  I had him spit on me. I had him spit on my anus and his phallus as per the lessons of one illegal animal. Then that central buttock muscle I endeavored to relax as Eric arrived at the safe entrance. No more instructions need be given, for Eric moved on his own, moved against me and then inside me with a manly thrust, his entry painful. His entry hurt because that orifice, despite relaxation, was too constricted to comfortably accept such a function. The initial pain, however, is not my best recollection. Most I remember his testicles against me, soft, a type of caress. As he began a thrusting known to men deeper than dreams, I looked away. Eric was desperate, it seemed, for I saw no joy, and was able to ignore his lust because no one was dying. I gained a sore muscle below, that soft kiss of his testicles antithetical to his grinding at my buttocks and his spearing within and the shuddering of his entire body. This force I recognized. His hard breathing had a different timbre and the rate had increased, but was not the nature of this thumping akin to the barge’s unloading we had heard? A sound gone while I was submerged, as though drowned.

  Eric soon achieved a lesser shudder, one I felt within, but mild compared to his great thrusting. Why, then, had the new movement such influence over the lad as to make his face go mad and grasp his entire body as though choking him, as though the stabbing were in his heart instead of my bum? Then he slowed, that greater shudder having lost its strength, nearing completion. And I felt the lesser tremor squeezing outward from within me, then relax; reach, then return, again. Eric moved his man-stick in close rhythm to this stretching as though practiced, slower, then ceasing, that last caress of his testicles held tightly in their softness against me, then stillness.

  Only then did I notice that Eric had been supported by me, for he held my thighs in his hands, now moving his fingers slowly upward, away from the welt caused by his grasp, and he seemed elsewhere. Eric’s view was of no
area seen before, as promised, his hands unconscious as they rubbed toward my welt, passing the pained area to aggravate the bruise, then continued only to return, gone, return, and I would not find this touch offensive.

  His legs were the damaged pair when Eric made to stand, for although flesh, they seemed boneless, giant man-sticks more limp than his small limb. After an unbalanced step backward as I sat on my sore, undamaged bottom, Eric gained enough solidity for him to bend and aid my rising. Not toward each other did we look, but with all the understanding, what was left to see? Then he embraced me more fully than upon the bridge, embraced me with both arms and all his body, as firm yet as tender as his testicles’ kissing me, Eric with his head against mine, holding his lady with all his heart; and again he was weeping, barely heard though unmistaken, but on this occasion accepted by the wife.

  Chapter 31

  His Receptacle

  Hiding in the shadows like any decent demon was I when Eric arrived the next morning. As a gentleman he appeared, not a pained lover; and, yes, he was present for business, not passion, in that he made no mention of me. Eric sought audience with Lady Amanda, waiting for her in the foyer instead of entering deeper to find greater comfort, greater love.

  I concealed myself behind the short wall near the library, not revealing my position to Eric nor to Theodosia as the latter proceeded upstairs. But when Rathel oozed from the upper floor to the lower, I casually encircled her with graceless steps before returning to my hiding.

  The mistress continued without acknowledgment, exchanging brief cordialities with her guest before Eric began his business.

  “No longer am I allowed to live within my father’s house,” he told the mistress. “Therefore shall I move to the home of my true family, and that is myself and my wife. Of course, nothing with my parents has changed to improve my position as a future head of household.”

  “Previously I have vouched that your finances shall be no difficulty,” Rathel conveyed. “Not so long as I remain your mother-in-law.”