Black Body

by H C Turk

  “You then vow before God—not me, not the bishop, but before God and Jesus—that if I confront you with a witch who killed by act of Satan that you would spare her life to learn completely of her race?”

  “Before you, Dysart, or Jesus are all the same in receiving my integrity, and such a moral pact I would make, as witnessed by all and pleasing to God. But no witch a satanic killer would I set loose upon England. Such a creature’s life I might spare upon learning all of her peers, but she would live within these walls till death, and before God that be another vow.”

  “One understandable. But understand also, Lord Magistrate, that the people of my husband’s life are not all felicitously disposed toward one another. By dint of your business with Amanda Rathel, you are one of these persons. Therein lies potential for such prejudice that you might doubt even a great truth, one that if fully accepted would send another person to this prison cave.”

  “Which person do you sentence, as though you directed the Crown Court?”

  “I am wondering now of the verity required to have Lady Amanda become your prisoner.”

  “Genuine evidence proving any person worthy of incarceration would suffice. But no lie could be subtle or strong enough for me to imprison a great lady.”

  “Well would you contemplate the condemnation of a ‘great lady’ by one despising her.”

  “Your philosophy is sensible, but I am ever convinced by fact. Seldom, however, am I made a fool by vengeance. Have you an individual for me, then, a witch to tell of witches?”

  I had to look away from this sinner. What contest was I entering with my life when the magistrate had nothing to lose, and I had nothing to gain but vengeance toward the Rathel, whether termed “justice” or not? One basis of this game was foreboding, the belief that my legal future would include witnesses to swear my proximity to Percival and Cameron before and after their deaths. Surely, I was best to protect myself from these associations in advance. But beyond self-protection, an additional influence made me casual with my flesh.

  Too long was I speechless for impatient Naylor, eager to be on with our bargaining.

  “What illness has taken you now? I see no philosophy in your demeanor, perhaps weariness. Are you exhausted, woman, from your own diatribes?”

  What courtesy does God deserve before one contemplates wagering the life only He supplies? Was I so set toward justice that Rathel need be revealed? Could I not be satisfied living in this cave along with my guilt and away from my damage, suffering from my latest mutilation without seeing the scar, without being shown by the husband, who would insist that I no longer weep for his damage—but I had never wept, and never would. What element was left to cogitate before the prisoner would present the witch? Then I knew without thought, bending to grasp my head, crying out for the benefit of no one in that cave.

  “God, I wish Eric to be well!”

  The magistrate replied after a sinners’ instant.

  “With all your intense sorrow, you shed no tear. Not from the torment you were found in this morning nor the anguish you now vent toward God. But not even you are so beauteous as to dupe me with forced emotion, no more than with revenge. If the former be true, how can your eyes remain clear when your heart is darkened?”

  “Because though well we feel all of God’s emotions, no more than visit Heaven do witches weep.”

  “Fool you are, woman, to mention witch and yourself. A proof you must have as sure as numbers for me to believe the unbelievable. Well I expected your accusing the Rowell servant, and set was I for firm convincing even with that person. All my life I’ve known evil, but never a woman with your mien who was not inherently a lady, despite a crime caused by some moral flaw. I do believe you possess sufficient malice to have cut your husband, but the lie you now fabricate comes from your hatred of Lady Amanda. Denton’s assault was from envy or anger as aided by Satan, but not from your being his witch.”

  “Proof I have as sure as numbers, and they be three, for that is the quantity of pricks I have cut away with my own body.”

  “Woman, you’ll not be striking me with coarse speech, for I have heard worse, even from—”

  “The best proof you could have is to fuck me, Lord Magistrate, Lord Bleeding Magistrate, who is less of a man than the pricks I’ve spat out.”

  Naylor leapt to his feet, face ruddy. But my distress was greater, and I vaulted forward a long step to speak first.

  “By the grace of God, you will hear the truth I posit in terms of my choosing, for it was my body taken by Satan and forced to kill, and my mouth through which male members left with enough horror to strike me mad. Nothing have you suffered for me to placate your upset sensibilities. And by God’s power to control even fools, the Lord will take your soul as dung if you fail your vow after I have proven myself.”

  Removing myself a distance more comfortable to the magistrate, I continued with my speaking, my voice official as though I were the authority. Though hot, Naylor was no fire to consume himself.

  “I am the witch and the white witch. I am the sex witch who kills with intercourse. Proof I will give of my being a witch, but none of this sex killing, for the act tortures me as though tearing my innards, an agony I will demonstrate not even to save my life. But with facts for you to verify, I will convince you of this sex, and when done, you will believe me as though I’ve counted you like a simple number.”

  The magistrate sat, no longer so startled. Exhausted from my words, he was also filled with energy, that of knowledge and fear, a contradiction appropriate for a lady witch who slaughtered.

  “Never have I heard of such an…entity,” Naylor stated plainly, “not even from Amanda Rathel, though she has mentioned some of the connection between sexuality and witches.”

  “Rathel has told you little of witches. This you can understand, in that the greater your knowledge, the less her influence over you.”

  “But what kind of creature could one be to so ravage a man?”

  “Call me not ‘creature,’ unknowing sinner, for in this prison are persons of your own kind who have murdered through pure intent; whereas I have been most pitifully the vehicle of Satan through no desire of my own.”

  “How is it, then, you summon Lucifer when the killing is to be done?”

  “Do not become a fool!” I loudly groaned. “I will not have you blaspheme God by impugning one of His worshipers who in her heart and mind completely loves peace.”

  “Yet you also assert to be the sex witch who kills? A human who well loves God yet consumes men?”

  “In His fantastical wisdom, God allows Satan to enter my sexual parts to injure male persons. Were this a desire of mine, every hour I would pass coupled with men to come away with their man-sticks in my sex lips. But this or any act of damage is a horror to me, and I have endeavored my entire life to avoid men. After being wed, I lived for months with my husband before Rathel supplied a potion so that Eric might be harmed.”

  “Woman, for all your charges of my ignorance, I remain well thinking and experienced, my beliefs and observations reasonable. Rational thought guides me to believe you no ‘sex witch,’ but a madwoman who cut away her husband’s member, and in her madness would convince both herself and me of a false story tremendous in its telling. But I will have my proof before hearing further.”

  “Then this proving you shall have, Sir Jacob, my truth to take two forms. To begin, I shall prove myself the medium through which Satan destroyed the men Percival Bitford and a constable’s affiliate in Lucansbludge.”

  Naylor’s interest was thereby provoked as though a desire for my sex; for although deaths were common to him, these two were special, one for being within his own city, the latter a killing of a person his kind.

  “Tell me of the former,” he instructed, looking to me as though I truly were a murderess.

  “That person procured from me the sexual intercourse, which killed him through no advance knowledge nor intent of mine. Though executed for this death, the woma
n Lucinda was innocent of any connection. Proof of my responsibility will be found in the testimony of one Mr. Wroth, who spoke with me in the same room as Percival minutes before the latter’s death. Further witnessing might come from two fine ladies who conveyed my person ill from that death to the Rathel’s household shortly after the incident.”

  “And this ‘constable’s affiliate’ from Lucansbludge?”

  “His was a later death, and sorrowful despite the man’s own immorality; for this Cameron followed me into wild land after I had quit his village, and therein harshly raped me, dying from the act through no will of mine. The individuals to interview are those of my detention within the Lucansbludge prison. The magistrate of that locale is named Waingrow, and was with minister. I was released from their litigation by a certain Amanda Rathel’s swearing my integrity, proof again that she has fomented plots even against England for me to fulfill her vengeance.”

  Sir Jacob then gave his best interpretation of my truth.

  “Your prejudice toward witches is well understood, but stems from your delusions, not your blood. Your time gone from London was explained truthfully by Lady Amanda, for the same as in your youthful days, you were taken by true witches. In this later instance, these witches murdered the poor folk you described, then were executed for their crimes, having been proven guilty and proven to fit the accurate, established description of witches as adjudicated by English law.”

  “And by the expert Rathel, who, by insisting upon my innocence, also asserts her own.”

  “For myriad reasons, Lady Amanda’s tale sings truer than yours. First is the fact of your stories’ being unoriginal, in that each I have heard before. After Bitford’s death, I interviewed his employer, Mr. Wroth, who mentioned a belle even then recalling your appearance. Though now I learn of your presence there, I learn nothing to dissuade me from the truth of witch Lucinda’s having done the killing, thereafter being discovered and punished appropriately. Thus proven are both Lady Amanda’s expertise in describing your delusion, as well as the efficacy of my own constables and English law. As for the man of Lucansbludge, through my very office did Waingrow seek Lady Amanda, and thereby I heard of your situation before she. Sensibly explained was that witches from your past had found you again, and again one had murdered in your vicinity. Furthermore, an obvious witch was discovered nearby and adjudged guilty of the killing. That ending part wherein you molested yourself only proves that you were taken by a witch’s influence, for never have I known a witch to harm itself—they only harm others, even if using human folk to harm themselves via their auspices. As for tales with less corroboration than those mentioned, Lady Amanda’s views are to be accepted above yours, for her basis of belief is a life of integrity. But your life’s great influence is witches and their heinous ways.”

  “In your bland professionalism, you then believe it coincidental that these deaths were equal to Eric’s injury, and though most immediately present, I was not involved?”

  “I believe that these witches were so decrepit as to kill average men and influence you evilly, perhaps even teaching the young belle to imitate them in malice. In fact, that single assault for which you stand accused proves by its limited nature that you are less than a true witch; for these friends of yours well managed to kill their men, whereas the common woman could only wound hers.”

  “How brilliant of compositional effort you are to have created an operatic defense for me as extemporaneous as it is false, and surely as fluent in its own glib conviction as any story told you by the Rathel, that demon to have influenced you toward self-deception, deposing you from your place in English law and God’s justice. Therefore, I hope my further proof, being purely deed, shall better convince you toward the verity of my life.”

  “The deed of which you speak, and endlessly, is other than that act of sexual mutilation itself? But, of course, for previously you swore not to display this act even to save your life. How brilliantly convenient in that your future life is now saved, by my vow but your arranging. How additionally convenient since you could offer no such proof regardless, for this delimbing cannot be done with the sex of any woman. Perhaps by a witch, but you are no witch, only a deluded and vengeful child.”

  “In your incompetent adjudication, you have no interest in my additional verity as yet undescribed?”

  “Describe it first, then be on with your deed if not adjudged by me specious before displayed.”

  “I shall swim for you, Sir Jacob.”

  “How entertaining that might be, but wherein lies proof of your occultism?”

  “Occultism is a sinners’ invention. My surviving is proof of the witch, for no sinner can breathe within water.”

  “A term you often use is ‘sinner.’ I would ask of your meaning.”

  “Sinners are those people other than witches.”

  “And witches do not sin?”

  “They do not create societies comprising sin, as though an enterprise.”

  “Then tell me of their swimming.”

  “Since witches cannot swim, to cross a water body, they breathe the air contained in that engulfing water.”

  “Akin to a fish?”

  “I cannot speak of the similarities or differences,” I explained, “but I can demonstrate in verity that a witch can breathe within water whereas your people cannot.”

  “That no person can breathe water is true, but entertainers can well convince in their false depiction of truly impossible acts. Shall I therefore bring a bucket for your head’s immersion?”

  “Your bland attempts at comedy belong in an opera. But I will impress the comical magistrate with a deed inexplicable as entertainment; for I shall be completely and visibly immersed in water for so great an occasion as to confirm myself no member of your species.”

  “Proving yourself the frog will not make Amanda Rathel a prisoner for your own entertainment.”

  “Will you have this proof, or will you have more comedy, frivolous sinner?”

  “I will have the former, and warn you that no more of your own frivolity shall I endure before depending on God’s perfection to forgive me for breaking a vow. Now, on with the particulars of your proof.”

  I then described that I should be conveyed to some body of clean water, one so clear that I could be seen by observers. I did not request a pool so shallow that I might leap up into God’s air as required by panic, only that any place would do but Gravesbury Reach; and no explanation was provided for this parameter. Then away was Naylor to formulate logistics, my accompaniment by official men, enough to succumb even a witch, even a deluded, mad and maddening woman. And with a bow and verbal salutation surely provided no other prisoner, the magistrate left me alone with my cyclical despair.

  • • •

  My prison home seemed so unclean compared to rural London, compared to Pangham Gardens, where I was delivered in a wooden cave, a dark coach with a minuscule window, a blank interior, and an outer lock on the single door. Though the coachman was a constable, he offered the lady a hand for her entry—or was his hand for the sex witch and the inferred sublimity of her crotch? Being neither lady nor witch, but a criminal, I entered with no aid. But even locked in that box I felt the beauty of spacial volume, of distance, having stepped from the prison into an alley to find space around me and beyond. Then into the box that reeked of men’s sweat and sorrow, and on with the unpleasant ride.

  The pool was strange to be so contained, its walls whiter than sand, straighter than any cliff leading to an ocean. This reduction of messy details sinners deemed elegance, but how elegant was the finest clock compared to the average vegetable?

  “You will be on with your proving, woman.”

  Around me stood sinners, all men. Vapid an art is philosophy to remove one mentally from the real. As I prepared to immerse myself, thoughts of the pool replaced my concern for drowning, no shuddering heart, no stuttering lungs. But with the magistrate’s words, I was returned to my most recent life of evil disbelieve
d.

  “Woman, does this water body fit your occult requirements?”

  The constables were mixed with prison guards, dull doublets versus thick, loose shirting of a reddish brown. With Naylor and this army, I stood before a geometric pool with floating, living plants pressed toward one end, and golden fishes—more magical and beautiful than the whitest witch—swimming at my behest, it seemed, dazzling me to my preference.

  “The selection is good.”

  Though a slight accumulation of fungi grew at the pool’s edges, this water was more clear and clean than any to drown me before.

  “You might proceed, instead of staring down so intently. The fishes will offer no harm.”

  “Where the fishes breathe, therein might I…not,” were my words, too quiet for anyone but the immediate witch. To my side stood the magistrate, but unseen, for into that contained river I stared.

  “Woman,” Sir Jacob continued more loudly, “you will—”

  “Have you dry apparel for me? The cold I do not mind, but I cannot bear to be damp, as though a lichen in a cave.”

  “Woman, shall you wet yourself and prove your truth, or—”

  “Yes, Naylor, I shall drown for you now.”

  I stepped toward the pool, kneeling to remove my lady’s footwear. This dweller of Montclaire wore excellent clothing because her mother was wealthy and influential; and what a hag the Rathel would seem if failing to provide her daughter with fine attire and bedding despite the youth’s incarceration. To save my shoes, I removed them, for they were insulation against Montclaire’s hard, damp floor; and being a sinner, I preferred my amenities.

  “Shoes so retain moisture,” I mentioned, but whose voice was this with such lethargy? Was the witch poisoned again by Rathel’s potions, or merely by future water, an upcoming moisture to drape her lungs and drown her thinking, her philosophy? And what of the constables so enthused to see my feet that they swayed as though toxic themselves? Did I smell a low odor from them that only my husband was due to project? Of course not, for that region on my husband had only the smell of gore.