The Palace of Curiosities

by Rosie Garland

  We arrived home at last; I barely knew how. Straight away I made an excuse about having to attend to the needs of nature and went to the privy. I bent over the stinking hole and voided my stomach until there was nothing left inside me. Then I washed my hands and dried them with extreme care.

  Lizzie was in the kitchen, resting her enormous elbows on the table. I was never more grateful to see her. I sat down, very slowly, as though the chair were matchwood, or I were matchwood; I was not sure. I removed my hat and veil with great care and arranged them neatly upon the scrubbed board. My husband stood in the doorway, but did not enter.

  ‘You will remain here, wife. I am going out,’ he declared. ‘To make better our investments.’

  ‘Make sure you are not so over-invested you cannot stand,’ remarked Lizzie. ‘We must have our most excellent Master of Ceremonies for tonight’s show.’

  He stamped out of the house and slammed the door.

  ‘I’ll make tea,’ said Lizzie and grunted to her feet, swaying her bulk across the floor. ‘Looks like you could do with a cup. There’s some in. I’d make the most of it.’

  ‘Yes.’

  My voice seemed very small, the room very large.

  ‘You all right, Evie love?’

  ‘I do not know. He took me out with him. He never takes me out with him. I was excited. I chose my favourite hat.’ I fumbled with the feathers trimming the bonnet lying before me. ‘I cannot believe I thought hats were important.’

  ‘Evie?’

  ‘I have been sick. I am never taken ill.’

  ‘Let’s get you that tea. What has he done to you?’

  I could hear far-off thunder in her voice.

  ‘Nothing. He took me out: to a dog-fight.’

  ‘Christ. If it was the one I think you mean—’

  I found that my fingers had worried the cockade into shreds. ‘He made me watch. I shut my eyes. I could not shut my ears.’

  ‘The bastard. How could he take you there? There’s been talk of it for days.’

  She placed a cup of dark liquid before me.

  ‘Lizzie, I am scared.’

  ‘I thought I could wait for our luck to turn around as it has before. Not this time. Lizzie has had enough,’ she growled.

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘I’m making plans. I’ve got this to live off.’ She cupped a hand around one of the rolls of flab around her middle and jiggled it. ‘I shan’t fade away just yet.’ She cupped a huge hand around my cheek. ‘Now now, don’t you fret for one moment. I’ll not move a muscle till I see you fixed.’

  ‘I won’t hold you here.’ I hoped I sounded braver than I felt.

  ‘You have my promise. No, no tears. If you start now you won’t stop. Save them for when you’re good and safe. Oh, hello, Abel. The pot’s not long brewed.’

  She poured a cup for him and stirred in a hill of sugar.

  ‘Come on, man, there’s always plenty of room next to Lizzie.’

  ‘I did not hear you come in,’ I said, for lack of anything better.

  ‘How he creeps about! Man or mouse?’ said Lizzie in a good imitation of my husband’s style. ‘You don’t mind me, do you, Abel?’

  ‘You are a kind woman,’ he said. ‘You love Eve. That is sufficient reason for me to like you very much.’

  I had never seen Lizzie so affected.

  ‘You are a different man these days, aren’t you?’ She smiled at him. ‘Anyhow, I have work to do if we are to eat well tonight. I am not prepared to starve just yet.’

  She left, leaving Abel and me at the table. We sat in silence; one which was uncomfortable for me, but in which he seemed content. I could not rid my mind of what I had seen only a short while previously. Whatever I tried to think about in its place was swiftly overtaken by the sound of dogs, the baying of a mob, the excited shouts of my husband when he realised he had placed his money on the winner. I busied myself pouring more tea, adding sugar. It was stewed and bitter through the sweetness. If I could only break this silence then perhaps I could free myself; but the longer it continued, the less likely that seemed possible.

  ‘Abel,’ I blurted.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Please. Say something.’

  He put his cup on the table.

  ‘I would speak freely with you, Eve.’

  ‘Do so, I beg you. I have never needed your words so much.’

  ‘You are troubled,’ he said. ‘By your husband.’

  ‘Yes. By what he thinks of me. Of us.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘His crew of freaks, to do with as he pleases.’

  The air hung between us, weightily.

  ‘Abel, you are troubled also.’

  ‘I am. There are things I would say to you. Ask you, even. But there are people in the house …’

  ‘George?’

  ‘Indeed. He wishes us ill. You in particular.’

  ‘I know. He has been talking to my husband. Lies.’

  ‘George has said certain things to me.’ He shifted uncomfortably on his chair. ‘He wants you.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘To possess you. To remove Mr Arroner and take you for himself.’

  It shimmered before me: a tempting vision, free of my husband. But … George? My fur stood on end.

  ‘Never,’ I declared. ‘I know where my affections lie.’

  ‘Eve,’ he said, and I felt the weight of his hand travel up my arm and rest on my shoulder.

  I leaned into the warmth and it flared into a heat that swept down my arm into my fingers. I surrendered to its wonderful comfort.

  ‘Oh,’ I said.

  ‘Are you well?’

  ‘Yes, oh yes! When you touch me it is like fire.’

  ‘Am I to apologise?’

  ‘Not at all. I forget how much pleasure I take from it. There is none other makes me so …’

  He removed his hand, slowly, placed it in his lap and stared at it.

  ‘See now. I said I would not speak tonight, with others in the house. But I cannot hide what I feel for you.’

  I nodded, breathless and blushing, and was grateful for my fur. Every hair on my body stood on end, pricked and alert for what might come next. I tugged at my moustache. I took the deepest breath of my life.

  ‘Abel, I have secrets also. I am making plans to leave.’

  ‘You are?’

  His eyes were lit with the brightest fire I had ever seen in them.

  ‘After what I have been forced to witness, my mind is made up. There is no longer any safety with Mr Arroner.’

  ‘No, there is not.’

  ‘So, I shall go.’ I waved my hand; I tried to make it a courageous gesture, but my arm seemed exceedingly heavy. ‘I have money put by. I have my skill of palm-reading. Even my strangeness will keep bread on my plate, and I would rather eat crusts from a plate of my own than roast beef from one of his.’

  My breath wheezed, my chest tight with the spilling out of my heart’s truth.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied simply.

  I smiled at him, and he looked at me as though we were seeing each other clearly for the first time. He smiled in return, and I bathed in its simple warmth; I felt myself washed clean. He opened his mouth to say more when the outer door slammed, speaking noisily of my husband’s return.

  ‘Where are you?’ he roared.

  I sprang to my feet, racing upstairs to meet him in the hallway, fired with a conviction that he must not find me alone with Abel.

  ‘Dear husband!’ I said, spreading wooden arms.

  ‘Yes, yes, very well,’ he muttered, shoving me aside. ‘George!’ he bawled. ‘Where in hell are you? Where is Abel? I have plans.’

  He tapped his temple with a broad forefinger.

  ‘A new show in town? We’ll see about that. It’s all up here,’ he said, leaning so close the spirits on his breath were unmistakable. ‘I’m not finished yet. Not Josiah Arroner, Esquire. Plenty of fight left in me.’

  He pushed me aside and ye
lled down the steps to the cellar.

  ‘I said: Get up here!’

  There was the sound of thumping and George appeared, rubbing his face awake, Abel behind him.

  ‘Where’s the bleeding fire?’ yawned George. ‘I was asleep.’

  ‘Sleeping off my food and drink?’ he grunted. ‘Into the showing-room with the two of you.’ He pointed at me. ‘You, Mrs Arroner. Downstairs and get a meat-skewer from the kitchen. If you please.’

  ‘Is there such a hurry, dearest?’

  ‘There is, wife, when I say there is.’

  It took me long minutes to search through the drawers, now emptied of their valuables. I did not know why I was filled with such a sense of foreboding, but it seemed important for me to hurry. At last I found a skewer fallen down the side of the range, clearly overlooked by the last maid, and dashed back to the displaying-room. Abel was tied to the velvet chair, ankles strapped to the legs, arms twisted back and roped together.

  ‘Ah,’ purred my husband, snatching the spike from my hand. ‘You are in time.’ I wondered if he meant to draw out another chair and fasten me to it. ‘We have managed without you, as you may observe.’

  ‘My dear husband, why do you need to restrain him so?’

  He rubbed his hands together. ‘It is all part of the new act I have devised. I am still the guiding genius of this company. I’ll show them. Think they can put me out of business? Me? Josiah Arroner? We shall be rich again. Abel doesn’t mind. Do you, Abel?’

  ‘It is an act,’ said Abel, looking at me calmly.

  I crossed the carpet, moving as swiftly as I dared without it seeming as though I was hastening to Abel’s side. He was stripped to his under-britches. I had never seen him so exposed: for his turn in the show he only ever removed his shirt. His legs and toes were seeded with fine black hair; a dark mat covered the palm-span between his navel and the waistband of his under-garment; he sported a bear-lick of fur in the groove between his nipples. My husband shook his head, and drops of sweat spattered Abel’s naked chest.

  ‘It’s all very well Abel cutting himself. But they think it fakery. Clever, but a trick nonetheless. Now we shall let them satisfy their curiosity.’

  He brandished the skewer, placed its point in the inkwell at the joint of Abel’s collar-bones and pushed hard. George stepped round to the back of the chair.

  ‘Well, damn me.’ He smirked. ‘It’s coming out the other side.’

  I went also, but more slowly: indeed I was unsure that I truly wanted to see what I knew I would find. The skin on the nape of his neck was being pushed out into a small tent of flesh, as the metal nib probed for a way out. Then the skin opened. It did not tear: rather, it paused and then opened a polite gap just wide enough for the barb to pass through. I could not find enough breath; all the air had been stolen from the room.

  ‘Is this how you preserve your investments?’ I said lightly, as though I did not care if I had answer or not.

  ‘I’ll do what I please,’ my husband panted. ‘I’ll do more. I’ll show them what he’s capable of. No-one knows but me. We’ll have wagers placed upon him. How deep can he be cut? Gentlemen, place your bets! We’ll provide knives for hire. The deeper the cut, the higher the price. And the house wins, every time.’

  He drew a knife from the inside of his waistcoat and waved it under Abel’s nose.

  ‘Aren’t you afraid of me?’ he hissed. ‘Aren’t you going to stretch your eyes? Grind your teeth? Aren’t you going to beg for mercy?’

  Abel gazed at him. ‘Why?’ he said, breast rising and falling slowly.

  ‘Dear Mr Arroner,’ I said, ‘is there really such a need to vex him so?’

  ‘If I am to feed and house him, then he needs to earn his keep,’ he grumbled without looking at me. ‘So, sir,’ he continued, ‘do I vex you?’

  Abel continued to stare at him. ‘No. But I am tired.’

  ‘What!’ he roared. ‘You lie on my bed, stuff yourself with my food and drink, and you are tired?’

  ‘Mr Arroner!’ I said, still lightly.

  The blade hovered; my husband gouged two lines in a letter X over Abel’s heart and began to carve into the muscle. He watched the wound curiously, as if daring it to heal.

  ‘Oh, will someone throw a towel over him!’ my husband exclaimed. ‘He is as shameless as a dog in heat.’

  I saw the swelling in Abel’s undergarments and flicked my eyes away; but could not keep them held off for long: I had dreamed of such a thing, had I not? If that made me a harlot, then so be it.

  ‘You see?’ barked my husband. ‘There is no aggravation. Unless it be you, Mrs Arroner. So. How deep can you be cut?’ he asked, pressing harder, voice climbing. ‘What if I were to cut out your heart? Would you grow a new one?’

  ‘It is all an act,’ said Abel. ‘All of this.’

  ‘Go on,’ urged George. ‘Deeper.’

  ‘I’ll make you swallow knives whole, handle and all. Make men pay to feel your belly, the blades within,’ he roared. ‘Pay to watch you shit them out. You might fool them, but you can’t fool me. No-one fools Josiah Arroner. No-one, d’you hear?’

  His voice broke like a boy’s. Moisture swam across his forehead, dribbling to the tip of his nose.

  ‘In fact, we’ll strip you naked. No britches to cover you up. Then we’ll see the ladies gasp. Then we’ll see the money come in—’

  ‘Dear Mr Arroner,’ I cried. ‘Does it profit you to test him so?’

  His hand paused. I looked at George, who was standing with his arms folded, head cocked, and observing the scene with a hungry interest. As though he sensed my gaze, he raised his eyes to mine and grinned, revealing his gleaming teeth. I made a big show of yawning and stretching out my arms.

  ‘Ah, well,’ I said, patting my hand over my mouth. ‘I am fatigued by all of this. I can see this sort of show any night.’

  I turned, and walked away.

  ‘Get back here this instant!’ my husband screamed.

  I carried on walking. Behind me, I heard the clank of the knife hurled on to the floor. I knew I must not turn round, nor show I had heard it.

  I went directly to my room, and was never happier to be alone. I could hear the grind of argument downstairs; presently Lizzie’s voice joined the mêlée. It swelled into a thunderstorm of shouting and thumping feet; then the front door slammed and the house grew quiet. I undressed, put on my night-gown and crawled beneath the covers.

  Hours or moments later – I was unsure which – I was woken by a hand on my shoulder. A candle was waved over my face.

  ‘Where are you, puss?’ It was my husband’s voice, but oddly choked. ‘Puss!’

  He beered his breath into my neck, grabbed my arm and squeezed where it still throbbed from earlier. I held my teeth in a clench; I knew I must not make any noise at all.

  ‘Here you are,’ he hiccoughed. ‘Hiding from me all curled up in your basket. What a pretty little pet it is. Pretty, pretty, pretty.’ He blew out the candle. ‘Who’s going to be a good girl and let her husband climb in next to her. You are. Yes, you are.’

  He set the candle on the night-table and poked me in the ribs.

  ‘Want me to give you my heart?’ he snorted, his hand growing sticky around mine. ‘That’s what women want, isn’t it? Even you. Take my heart, then, and leave me nothing.’

  He lifted my numb fingers to where his shirt was undone and pressed them into the flab covering his chest. I could feel the paddling of his uneven pulse.

  ‘I caught you looking at him. But you’re mine. A man needs something he can call his own.’

  I wriggled against him, but he only held me tighter. I whelped against the pain and he ignored me, pulling up my night-dress and pressing his knees between my legs.

  ‘What we need is a litter,’ he slurred.

  He grasped the hair on the back of my neck and clamped my face to his, tongue scrubbing against my teeth. I seesawed back to escape its anemone suck; he seesawed forward: back and forwards we went i
n a sweaty jig. His arms were huge: I struggled against the solid wall of him, but I was cemented between his fists. My jaws lost the fight to keep my mouth closed against him, and he eeled his tongue into me and licked, and licked.

  He let go one hand and scraped at my throat until the buttons of my nightdress snagged and tore; he slithered his other hand through the forest at the fork of my thighs and prised me open, following with the hard pole of his secret parts, pushing and pulling in and out.

  ‘Genius,’ he grunted. ‘Genius. Genius. Genius.’

  After a few thrusts his body quivered and he stopped moving. A moment more and he rolled away, panting. I watched him wipe his lips, and then tuck his privates back into his trousers.

  ‘Why do you stare so?’ he whined. ‘Why? I am your husband. Look at you. Look at the wife I chose. An animal. Business made me do this. This is not what I want. This is work.’

  He lurched off the bed and staggered to the wall, spewing up the wine he had drunk. When he had finished, I heard him shuffling to the door, where he paused, the gaslight from the hallway silhouetting him so that he was merely the shape of a man cut from black paper and pressed to the face of the air. If I breathed out, I could blow him away.

  I held my mouth shut for as long as I could, and he did not stir, dangling in the doorway on the hook of my breath. I grew dizzy but still held on, and only when the room began to sparkle did I breathe in at last. He shivered and floated away.

  I lay, staring at the open door, and felt his moisture trickle out, for it seemed that no part of him wished to remain in contact with me. This thing I had desired so long, this thing I had dreamed of possessing had finally been given to me: I no longer wanted it.

  I had been so cock-eyed. I fell in love with the mirror he gave me. I spent all my time seeking within it a kind reflection of my husband: like him, it sucked in everything and gave back nothing, reflecting only what it was given; and I fed it hope. I got out of bed and fetched it from the press. It was grubby with finger-smears I did not remember making.

  Mirror, mirror, in the palm of my hand, I am the ugliest in the land.