The Fallen Woman of Világos

by Ursula Grey

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Do you trust in me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. You are now leaving this place and traveling backward in time, back to an important day in your childhood. Describe to me your surroundings. Tell me what you see.”

  He watched as she clenched her fists and her breath became shallow. She appeared to be fighting an internal battle. Her chest rose suddenly. Without warning, she cried out, “I smell smoke. The sky is fiery. People are running outside our door. I can hear screams. Nana, make them stop. Please make them stop! I want Papa, I want Papa—now!”

  “Where is your Papa?” he asked.

  “He’s not here. I want my Papa! Nana, take me to him. Let us leave this place.”

  Her voice was like that of a child. Remarkable, he thought.

  “Remember," he said, concerned at her agitation. "Nothing can harm you, but you must remain calm. I promise you will be safe."

  * * * *

  The voice of the man calmed her. Such a nice voice . . . If only she could follow it she might find her way out of this place. He sounded so far away. But oh! She smelled smoke. The fire was growing closer.

  Before her was the girl, the little girl of her dreams. She reached out to touch the child, to try to comfort her, but was startled by a great popping sound. Before she could stop it, she was drawn into the tiny body, back into her helpless little self. The sound of screaming rang in her ears. Once again she returned to the home of her childhood and looked down upon the scene of chaos that she had prayed nightly to forget. The nightmare was always the same, and now she could not stop herself from entering that shadowy world. The night that changed her life forever, once again she would relive it . . .

  “Karolina! Come quickly or we will not escape.” It was Nana’s voice. She stood before her. How frightened she looked! Nana's face was smudged with dirt and she was shaking. She'd hurriedly packed a satchel and was reaching for her hand. The roar of fighting grew closer.

  Karolina looked around anxiously. “Where is Papa, Nana? You promised he would come for us. And my puppy, where is Mischa?” The angry voices of men sounded near and footsteps like thunder rumbled in the distance. The screams of women pierced her ears.

  Nana was frantic. She looked to the door, and then ran to the window, the sound of her footsteps hard upon the floor. Above Nana's shoulder, outside the window, Karolina saw the sky alight with flames. The town was burning. Men with picks and scythes and shovels ran through the streets. She was frightened.

  “There is no time to explain, little one," she said. Her fingers trembled as she buttoned the girl's red coat. "Your Papa has been delayed. We will go to him instead. Mischa will find us. Now we must hurry.”

  The woman smoothed the hair from Karolina's tear-stained face and then lifted her into the air. She inhaled her familiar scent and rubbed her face into the softness of her guardian's neck. Wrapping her arms round her tightly, Karolina tried to block out the chaos around her. She took one last look at the interior of her childhood home as Nana carried her out the back door into the darkness of the forest.

  “Where are you now?” asked the man’s voice.

  "In the hut of a peasant woman who has taken pity on us."

  “Here, child." The old woman set before her a steaming bowl of broth and crude dark bread. "Eat, little one.” The woman's one room cottage was sparsely furnished and smelled of goats and old cabbage.

  “I am not hungry,” she said.

  Nana sat before her soup and stared into the distance. She was not as she was before they'd left Világos. Emptiness had replaced the spark of light in her eyes. “Nana, can you hear me?” Karolina tugged at her sleeve and climbed down from the chair. “Please Nana, can we go home?”

  “Karolina, there is no home. Not any longer.”

  Finally, Nana looked down at her. Her tired brown eyes filled with tears and she kissed the girl's damp forehead. Karolina didn't know how to make her listen. Didn't Nana know? She did not like it there. She wanted her Papa. She wanted to go home. Karolina tugged on Nana's sleeve and buried her face in her lap and cried.

  The night was endless. The sounds of owls and strange creatures filled the darkness. At least there were no men outside with pitchforks and knives. She shut her eyes tightly. Would they come in the blackness and pound on the door? Would they find them? She must have cried out and the old woman tried to soothe her.

  “Hush, child. You are having a dream,” she said.

  Sometime later Nana shook Karolina awake. She'd already bundled their belongings and was ready to leave. The old peasant woman stood and watched, warming herself by the fire. A babushka covered her gray hair and when she smiled she had no teeth.

  “Come, Karolina. It is time to go. We must find your father. You want to find your papa, now, don’t you?”

  Karolina tried to shake the sleep from her head and rubbed her eyes. Her feet hurt and she didn't think she could walk another step, but knew she must if she wanted to see her papa.

  Once again, she heard the man's voice. Where was it coming from? The sky?

  “Tell me, Karolina," it said. "Where have you been?”

  Maybe the voice was God’s. If it is, she thought, I must answer.

  “We have walked through the night. During the day, we hide. It is terrible. All the buildings are burned and men lie in the streets, crumpled and bloody. I don't like it here. I want my papa. I want to go home but Nana said we can't until we reach the border. She said there is a camp there, and when we arrive we can rest and my father will come find us. But Nana cries all the time. I hope she is right. My legs are sore from walking and I am hungry. I don't think I can walk anymore but Nana said that I must. She said we must always keep going, even if we do not think that we can.”

  “Karolina...Karolina.” It was the voice again. Such a nice voice. ”Where are you now?”

  The din of other voices woke her. She could hear the man’s voice, too, but faintly.

  There were so many people! Many of them were sad and the women cried all the time. There were children like her, but they were dressed in rags. Last night snow had fallen. Icy air blasted through the canvas walls of the tent and she didn't feel like moving.

  “Child...child, wake up.” Nana was trying to shake her awake.

  She was dreaming of home. Of Papa, the farm, her dolly, and Mischa. "Mischa come, here girl!" she called. Where could she be? Nana stood over her and wrung her hands. The air smelled foul. Karolina’s skin itched. Whenever they left the tent they got muddy and soiled. There was no water to wash with. She didn't want to get up. "Oh, Nana. Please don’t make me."

  “I must try to find us food," said Nana. "If you promise to stay here, I will hurry. But child, listen to me. Do not leave the shelter of the tent.”

  She shook her again, "Wait for me. Karolina, do you hear me?"

  Nana looked blurred, and Karolina couldn’t keep her eyes open. “Yes, Nana, yes. I will wait for you...” Despite the constant clammer of voices around her, Karolina immediately drifted off again. When she awoke, it was dark. Nana was not beside her. “Nana...Nana...Nana!” She cried out but Nana did not answer.

  Nana was gone and she was alone and afraid. Where could Nana be? Had she left her like Papa?

  “Hush, hush, my child. You are safe now.”

  It was the man's voice again. From where did it come? She looked around but saw no one.

  “Has your Nana returned?”

  “No,” she whispered. "I do not want the woman to hear me. She has taken me away from the camp and the noise. But I am afraid..."

  * * * *

  Obviously, this woman has suffered a trauma during childhood, he thought. The way she reacted—amazing, as if she were a child again, as though she were actually reliving the past. Perhaps her suffering can be alleviated if she can be released from the burden of this memory.

  He went to her and knelt beside her. He smoothed away the lines of concern that creased her brow. “In
nocent angel," he murmured, "how cruelly life has treated you." He took her hand in his and whispered, "You are safe now. In time, you will recall less and less of this period in your life. All the pain associated with this experience will ease with each passing day. The memories will slowly dissipate and the pain will be replaced by the strength of your survival. Yes, my dear. You shall be stronger because of it. When you awake, you will feel refreshed. You will not remember what you have told me. When I count to three you will open your eyes."

  * * * *

  His dark eyes peered intently into hers. Surprisingly, she felt without care, as though a weight had been lifted. It was followed by a sudden sense of alarm, for she could not remember what she had told him. Had she revealed anything of importance? He viewed her with such a sad expression. Was it one of compassion, or pity?

  Nonsense, she thought. She had never been pitied in her life—not by a man, at least. No, he was the one to be pitied. For all his trouble, she had simply napped. Without thinking, she raised her hand and reached out to him, gliding her palm across his face. He was somehow familiar to her. His voice. It soothed her.

  “Tell me, doctor, have you learned anything which will help me to recover my memory?”

  “No,” he said. “You have slept soundly for the past hour. You must be famished. Let me bring you something to eat.”

  The doctor placed his hand over hers and caressed it gently. Then he rose and left the room. She wondered about the great sadness in his eyes. Was he merely disappointed that his experiment had gone awry?

  Chapter Five

  The doctor had prescribed bed rest for his patient for the next three days. While at first not opposed to this sentence, she soon grew weary of spending each day in this fashion. Her needs were well met and he took special care to see that she was comfortable. He arrived at regular intervals with meals, sweet treats, a deck of cards, and books to pass the time, but it was the heavy aromatic port that pushed her into a sleepy stupor each evening.

  This morning, greeted by the songs of the lark and bullfinch, she found herself unable to remain in bed any longer. She rose, hastily completed her ablutions, and made her way down the silent corridor. As she strolled through the passage, she met the eyes of his ancestors held captive in the portraits that looked down upon her. She could not stop an impish grin as she wondered what they'd think of her roaming unclothed through the halls of their grand mansion.

  Her destination was the library, and her intent was to find an intriguing volume or perhaps continue her exploration of the numerous artifacts obtained during what she presumed were the doctor's travels. Today was also the day when he told her he would try again to help her to recover her memory.

  Without finding an item to hold her interest, she sank into the cushions of the window seat, hoping that from this vantage something would catch her eye. She glanced over and spied the far-seeing instrument that had enabled her to view even the smallest interactions of nature, from the squirrels busily foraging for the winter season to the flocks of birds following their migratory paths as they flew overhead. How she envied their innate ability to know their destination in advance and without guidance.

  She retrieved the twin telescopes, returned to the window seat, and drew aside the curtain. Placing the lenses to her eyes, she surveyed the verdant expanse leading to the lake and the now breaking sunrise inching across its waters. Still as glass, she scanned the silvery surface until she noticed an area that rippled with activity. A spark of movement caught her eye and she focused more intently upon it. Suddenly, breaking the blue, a wild creature emerged from its depths--or was it a man?

  Yes! Indeed it was. She turned the knobs, as the doctor had instructed her, until she could see the figure more clearly.

  The good doctor's face appeared before her. Dark eyes glittered above the chiseled cheekbones. His aquiline nose perfectly suited his face. Brushed a shade of amaranth, his lips were neither thick nor thin. They were set within a jaw line strong and proud. This unity of divine features created a most startling effect. She thought him the most handsome man she'd ever seen. Rarely had she had the opportunity to take in his features so directly. On those occasions he had spied her observing him with an intent eye, she had grown suddenly shy and cast her eyes away.

  Here he appeared in his element, she mused. He propelled himself upward and rose from the water to his waist. His Herculean chest expanded as he inhaled, and raising his mighty arms, he vaulted forward and descended again. Upon his reappearance, she followed his progress as he swam toward the shore. Coming to the shallows, he stood and majestically strode from the waters like Neptune himself with the sun following in his wake. She gasped as she found herself viewing the doctor in all his natural glory. And what a sight to behold!

  In profile, he stood with his hands upon his hips. She viewed his robust arms and sighed. How pleasant it would feel to be wrapped in his embrace, she thought. As he surveyed his surroundings, she watched the rise and fall of his powerful chest as he inhaled the brisk Alpine air.

  Ofttimes, clothing hid those faults we had rather keep secret, and perhaps that was why his naturist philosophy might never catch fire, she thought ruefully. But not so with the doctor. Other than for warmth, he had no need of clothes, for he looked even grander without them. Caught between the youthful exuberance of a prince and the sage maturity of a king, his bearing was regal in all its aspects.

  As she guided the scope downward, she was suddenly cheated as he turned his back to her to face the sparkling waters. As if in supplication to the gods of the lake, with legs wide, he raised his arms upward in an arc. As he stretched his arms widely back to his sides, she was entranced by the rippling of his taut muscles as they snaked from his broad shoulders down to his tapered waist.

  Small and tight, the orbs of his buttocks appeared hard as marble. His legs were finely shaped, with strong thighs that descended to full and finely formed calves. It was apparent that he was a true practitioner of his philosophy, as the length of his body was an even color, unmarked by areas of white.

  Presumably satisfied with his homage to nature, he slicked back his ebony hair with his large, masculine hands and turned to retrieve his clothing that lay at bank side, exposing his full frontal view to her delighted eyes. Droplets of water glistened upon his naked chest, creating an illusion that he wore a fine armor of silver. So bright was this vision that she dropped her sight lower.

  Slowly, she shifted the lenses downward until she spied the first glimpse of his manhood. Unable to restrain her curiosity, she gazed fully upon the generous gift nature had bestowed on him. She gasped in surprise. The doctor was endowed with a member that gave her pause. Even in its current state, it was both wide and of a length that would be enviable to most men, but much admired by women. She felt her cheeks flush and watched with regret as he withdrew a large cloth of cotton from a satchel and vigorously began to rub himself dry before donning his clothing. As he did, he happened to glance upwards, seemingly at the window by which she sat. She hurriedly withdrew from sight and replaced the magical instrument where she'd found it. If this was a component of his early morning ritual she would be certain to awaken in the early hours to behold the sight of his naked flesh.

  She grew warm with desire and hoped to search through the library to find a book to break her fevered state. Perhaps one of the dry volumes of a medical nature would serve to bring about the desired effect. She reached upward and pulled down an ancient volume that she'd not seen before. The title on the spine she could not decipher, for the script was written in a language foreign to her eyes.

  The book was bound in red leather, the pages dusted in gold. She carried it to the window seat and, sitting cross-legged, placed it before her. Carefully opening it, she was surprised by a depiction of a couple caught in an embrace of intimacy. The woman's knees were lifted above her head, exposing her delicate slit to the man poised to pierce the pink folds leading to her valley. She replaced the face of the woman with her ow
n and that of the man with the doctor, then allowed her imagination free reign.

  Aroused by the sight of such intimacy, she teased the nipples of her breasts with thumb and forefinger. Pinching harder, the familiar stab of desire between her legs intensified. Her tender bud ached for attention and she caressed it with the tips of her fingers, moaning softly. Her font of pleasure gradually became hard and erect and eager for release. She continued her manipulations until she cried out, spent and sated.

  The sound of footsteps outside the door was followed by a knock. She hadn't recalled setting a time for their meeting. Lost in her lust-filled reverie, she wondered how much time had elapsed since she'd first entered the room.

  She did not know how to prepare herself for these sessions. She steeled herself each time to remain awake, but had yet to achieve her resolve. When he'd asked by what name she wished to be called, she'd said, "Why don’t you christen me anew?"

  "No," he'd answered. They would discover her true name together. It was as if her life were a puzzle he was intent upon solving. During the short time she had been there, she found herself intimidated by all the knowledge she did not possess. Sometimes she sensed that he looked upon her as if he were studying her, the way one keen on bird watching studies a specimen.

  Strange, she thought--for most of her life she'd felt invisible. Only when her budding breasts pressed against the seams of her clothing did men’s eyes begin to notice her. She had caught the same interest in the glittering eyes of the doctor, but there was more to his gaze and she could not quite grasp it—at least not yet. In time, she thought. In time.

  He rapped again. She rose, placed the book on the table, leaving it open to the page that excited her, and then returned to her place at the window seat. Perhaps she could break the doctor’s quiet reserve. Perhaps she would tell him a story of danger and intrigue. Something that would ignite the doctor's passion—or explain the fragile and desperate creature she’d become.

  Despite her attempts at seduction, the good doctor remained immune to her charms. This troubled her. If it were not soon remedied she might find herself once again cast out and alone. No, he was too fine a catch to not at least try.