He asked me to stay while he ate, and though I should not have, I sat on the earth under the granary with him. He kept his distance, and I felt no threat from him. I could smell his sweet scent over the dark smells of the earth. He asked about life in the cloister, and about my devotion to God. He seemed to find such devotion strange, and I asked him whether he were not a Christian. He certainly had a strange accent, and if he were—God forbid—a Northman, he might also be a pagan.
'I lost my faith.’ His reply shocked me, but allowed for no further discussion.
He showed no desire to talk about himself, nor how he came to be here. When I asked his name, he said I could call him John if I wished, as though he did not much care what I called him. I admit, Lord, that I found a certain pleasure in speaking to him, in holding his interest. I do not know what category of Sin that may fall into, but as You-Who-See-All must know, I defended my faith and my calling, and made no improper remarks nor gestures. But when I told him of the priory's holdings, of our small parcel of land, he said, ‘So fertile ground is precious, no?'
'Of course. We praise the miracle of life and food coming from the soil.'
'What of this soil, then?’ I heard him thump the ground, and felt the fine vibrations of his touch on the earth.
'I do not understand.'
'This soil, through no fault of its own, is hidden. The sun never reaches it. It never brings forth fruit. Is that not a terrible waste?'
Again that tone of mockery. This time I knew what he mocked. Anger rose up in me.
'Do you think we are fools for denying our flesh?'
'I did not say that.'
'But it is what you meant. If you have lapsed in your faith, that is not my fault. My faith is strong.'
'Your faith in a virgin, and a God you cannot touch? What of your faith in people, Elfleda?’ I heard him shift.
'People are fallible. They sin.'
'And did you ever forgive those who sinned against you?'
I recoiled slightly, not only from his words but from his hand, which he had raised to my face. I felt his heat, as though I had walked into an unexpected shaft of sunlight. ‘I remember them in my prayers.'
'That is not what I asked.'
'You cannot know....’ The nearness of his touch burnt me, took away words and reason.
'Then tell me. They were men, yes? More than one?'
'Yes. I do not wish to speak of it.’ Now, feeling his warmth go through me, I most certainly did not want to speak of it.
'I'm sorry, Elfleda. I did not mean to cause you pain. You should go.'
'Yes.’ As I sat back, I felt the boards of the granary floor above me brush my head through my veil. How I had loved such places as a child. At that moment, I remembered something I had not recalled for many years. Once, when I was perhaps five or six, I had lain on the earth alone in my den in the woods, and, wriggling out of my clothes, had spread mud on myself like an animal. Deciding not to put mud in one particular place, I had, instead, explored it with my fingers, feeling my own warm moisture and a thrilling pleasure, a whole new world of simple joy.
I felt my face grow hot, and turned to leave. ‘I will return this evening.'
* * * *
I have been dozing in the sun at the south side of the cloister, out of sight of the others. When I have spun enough to earn my keep, I sometimes allow myself this luxury.
But while I slept, my body betrayed me. Of course we sometimes wake in the night full of foul desires. It is a temptation all flesh must bear. But to have them visit me here, in the light! He makes a fool of me. I must tell the prioress about our visitor. I will tell her tonight. I must. And tomorrow, when we confess our sins, I will ask formal forgiveness, Lord, for letting my base nature take its course, for not holding back the hand that snaked by itself into my clothes, and felt my secret places, for not stopping its foul beating until I gasped out loud. And for seeing light as I did it, seeing the light that I know comes from the man beneath the granary.
I will confess, do penance, and be absolved.
* * * *
I went back in the evening. I did wonder, as I walked to the granary as though drawn by an invisible cord, whether he had bewitched me. I decided to confront him with my fears before the heat of his presence stole my will.
I put down the pitcher and plate, then asked quickly, before my nerve failed me, ‘Are you a demon?'
He laughed, and his laughter was like falling water. I heard no offence in it. How could I have had such wicked thoughts of one who had such an innocent laugh?
'Not at all! And I will not trouble you for much longer, if you do not want me to.'
'Perhaps that would be best.’ I sat down and shuffled into the shade with him. I was very aware of my women's parts, the small stickiness there. Perhaps he could smell the sin I had committed alone in the sunlight. Perhaps I wanted him to.
'Is it a good life, here?’ He conversed as though we were friends at a social gathering, not a woman sworn to chastity and a strange man hiding under a building.
'It is easy enough, compared to the lives of those who must make their way in the outside world. And I have my faith.'
'Which I envy you.’ Such talk made me uncomfortable. I shifted backward a little, to be out of his heat. ‘I'm sorry, little sister. I am just curious and unused to your ways.'
'I should get back....'
'I would like to repay you your kindness, Elfleda.'
'Charity is a virtue. I try to be virtuous.'
'Still, I would like to help you.'
'I have everything I need.'
'You know that is not true. Firstly, you do not have your sight. That was taken from you, wasn't it?'
'Yes.’ I prayed he would not ask me how. I would have to tell him if he asked.
His voice dropped to a whisper, yet it was loud in my ears. ‘And you are not ... complete. I cannot see how it is right to abstain from pleasures God gave us the capacity to feel. That is my error. To question the virtue of denial.'
I thought I must have misheard him. ‘What do you mean?'
'Is denial of pleasure such a good thing? Must you be sorry for doing what feels natural to you, and harms no one?'
O Lord, I forget that others have sight! Had he crept out and watched while I abused myself? Had he seen my evil hand at its work?
Of course not. He would have had to leave his sanctuary and risk being seen by the others.
'Some pleasures are God's gifts. Others are the Evil One's temptations. I know the difference well enough.’ I felt shame at the superior tone in my voice.
His voice had that mocking note again. ‘Of course you do.’ Then he sighed. ‘Are you afraid of me, Elfleda?'
An odd thing to ask, though I was glad of the change of subject. ‘No, I am not.’ And it was true. He held no fear for me, only fascination. Sinful fascination.
'Would you let me help you, then?'
'I am not sure what you are asking of me.'
'Let me give you what you lack.’ He had come closer again. I should move away, I knew, but I could not. His hand startled me, but he just rested his fingertips lightly on my forehead, nothing more. I felt his warmth, and smelt flowers and musk. ‘Men betrayed you. I am ... a man. I would like to undo some of the harm done. Think of it as a last act of kindness from one entering damnation.'
His words made no sense, but all I cared about was his presence. I stretched my neck toward him like a cat, leaning into his touch. My stomach fluttered and I felt the arm supporting me start to give way.
'No....’ I murmured, and shook my head.
'The choice is yours, child.’ His touch withdrew. ‘This time, the choice is yours.’ I heard him move back into his dark sanctuary.
I fled.
I knew then that I could not tell the prioress, could not tell another living person about the visitor, for my face would betray me and they would see the longing I would try without success to hide.
* * * *
Night is
the time of temptations, the bridegroom's hour. Once I had a real bridegroom. I had been promised to a man of flesh and blood. I had seen how he looked at me, how my passing stopped his words. The Thane's son, looking at a girl of low status. I was sure Alfric loved me, and that the difference in station would not matter. I was such a fool. I took his gifts, flirted with him, held the image of him behind my eyes when I pleasured myself. I would have given him joy, and sons, and even obeyed him, mostly. But no, he could not wait. Rather than let me give freely, he had to take for himself.
They came at night, four of them, Alfric and three of his friends. They made no noise, and they stopped my mouth. But they did not cover my eyes. I had always seen well in the dark, and I knew them. As they held me down, I saw their profiles, and I knew them. One of his friends must have seen the look on my face as he leant back after sating himself; he whispered, ‘She can see us!’ Alfric gave a low laugh and murmured, ‘Then we'll be the last thing the bitch sees,’ and reached back for something. Such pain, such white searing pain, as the lime burnt into me! Shame and pain, that was all there was for a while.
The raiders from the north are such monsters, said the villagers. To come among us in the night and deflower a virgin child, then blind her. Of course, no one would believe my version of the night's events. Not even my mother believed me, and in the end she sent me here to the priory for my own safety.
So what should have been pleasure was instead pain. If I remember that night at all, I recall fear and betrayal. I try not to recall the worst of it: that if they had not thrown the lime in my face, I would not have told anyone what they had done. I would have let them have me, because to fight would have made them harm me more, and to comply would have made them think they had power over me. But really I would have had power over them. Despite their inexpert fumbling and grunting, they had not really hurt me. They were rough, certainly, but I already knew how to take pleasure where I found it, and the thrill of making them into undignified fools before my womanhood was a wicked joy. If only they had not seen me watching them, seen the recognition in my eyes. I knew them for what they were, animals at the mercy of their lust. They saw that, and they could not stand to be looked at in that way.
* * * *
I open my eyes. I feel the lids part and see the pre-dawn sky through the dormer window.
I am dreaming. I have my sight again, therefore this must be a dream.
I sit up, my head swimming, then stand, seeing the faint grey outlines of the world around me. Yes, a dream. If it is a dream, then I cannot help my actions. We are blameless in our dreams.
I pull my cloak on and walk between the beds of my sleeping sisters. The wooden floor feels real enough beneath my bare feet. After two steps I am afraid; I can see them, so they will see me. I close my eyes. Now I am in a familiar place. But as I reach the door and the chill of the pre-dawn air seeps into me, it all becomes too real, and I must open my eyes again and return to the dream.
From here, I can see two buildings. Ahead, the granary. To the left, along the cloister, the chapel. Their dark shapes loom like choices. Well, I still have my faith. Even in dreams, I am the bride of Christ, though he is a cold and distant lover. For that thought alone I might be damned, if I were not dreaming.
Mud oozes beneath my toes. I trail my hand along the outside cloister wall as I pass. It would be easier if I closed my eyes; I know where I am without my sight. But that would shatter the dream. The chapel door is heavy; it creaks. I walk up to the altar, barely lit by the vigil flame. I cross myself and kneel to wait for the grace of God, but it is not my heart nor soul that is filled with the love of Christ. It is a lower part, a baser part. The longer I kneel, the stronger the warmth becomes and the less I can concentrate. I pray with my eyes open, fearful of losing the dream. Then I realise I am not alone. Movement at the corner of my eye. I ignore it for a while, but the burning will not abate, so I stand and turn.
There is a pale figure in the aisle behind me. He wears rags, though once his robes were white as Heaven's grace. I see paleness behind him and I know the truth.
Now is the final choice. I can dismiss him and wake myself up. I can lock my womanhood away forever. If I close my eyes, I will not see him and he must go.
But it is no choice, really. I know myself truly now, in this dream. I go to him.
Everything is silent, as though I have traded my blindness for deafness. The air is cold, but his touch is the fire of the sun, flaring through every part of me. His arms enfold me and his wings refurl themselves to hide us. How can this be wrong?
For a while, he lets me bask in his touch. But I want more of him. I must complete his fall. No longer God's virgin, now I am God's harlot. I take his hand and pull it to my sex. He smiles and closes his eyes. I am giving pleasure to an angel!
We sink to the floor, kneeling at first, his hand still on me. Such fire, probing me! Waking what has slept for too long. I lean back, knowing I cannot fall. He lowers me to the flagstones. As he leans down to kiss me, the feathers of one wing dip and brush my arm. This I have renounced? This I have given up in giving myself to God? I have been a fool, when God's own messenger can come to me now, like this!
We are told that angels are beyond the flesh, neither male nor female, but through his tattered robe I see that this creature is certainly a man.
I remember the boys’ rough hands and their ungainly little pricks. They were nothing; this is how it is meant to be. I lift my shift and guide him into me. At once I am filled with light, his light. Now, at last, I close my eyes, to contain the light within me. I would cry out, but for fear of waking myself.
There is a time of light, of desperate joy, and my only thought is how like beasts we are, and how this is a good thing, as God made the animals too. And it appears that even angels are animals. No grunt and fuss from this celestial creature, though. He is intense, and, it seems, a little surprised to discover that pleasure is so simple to achieve.
I would not stop until I have had my fill of him, but finally he pulls free of me, and I feel the stone floor and the chill night air again. ‘Do not go yet,’ I say, the first words I have spoken in my dream.
He takes no notice, just stands up and murmurs, ‘My fall is complete.’ Then he turns and leaves without a backward glance. He moves painfully, slowly, like a wounded beast. He will not get far. I fall back and rest a while, but the stone floor is cold and rough, so I get up. My thighs are damp with the unction of an angel. I turn back to the altar, where the vigil flame and the cross look down on me. I feel a sense of elation, and release, and no shame at all.
I wait, eyes on the cross, for God's wrath, but it does not come. So, then, this is Your will. My gaze leaves the cross, drawn to the vigil light, and I know what I must do.
He gave me what I needed. Now I must give him what he needs.
* * * *
I awoke to fuss and shouting. One of the other sisters told me to be still. There had been a fire, she said, but the church was safe. We took the first office of the day as though nothing had happened. The smell of burning filled my nose.
We had confession. The priest talked to the prioress in whispers; we strained to hear as we knelt and waited our turns. I had little to confess, other than a brief night temptation. What could not happen did not happen.
But as I stood and left, I saw brightness in the centre of my vision, and when I walked into the sunlight, the space behind my eyes pulsed red where the shadow of the cloister fell across my face. I pulled my veil closer and kept my gaze down.
As I sat and spun, the darkness and light resolved themselves, and after a while I could see the outline of the spindle. I ran out of wool just after Sext and walked to the granary to get more, half-expecting it still to be standing. It was not, of course.
Standing before the ruins of the building, I squinted at the broken, charred timbers. My sight is almost perfect now. His promise was not idle; he has indeed restored me to what I was. He has given me my vision back and, for a
while, he made me a whole woman again. Though it was at the cost of the last of his grace, poor fallen creature. He was not happy here, in the purgatory of our world. He was neither pure enough for Heaven nor base enough for Hell.
Seeing brightness in the ruins, I bent down to pick up a feather. It was blackened and scorched along one side, but where the fire had not touched it, it was perfect white.
My sisters have already moved the body and will bury it tomorrow, in hallowed ground. They know nothing of their poor dead visitor, which is as it should be. Just an unlucky trespasser, they will say. They would not be strong enough to comprehend the truth, because they, unlike me, have not known what it is to be complete. And they, unlike me, have not been permitted to sit in judgement on an angel.
I released the feather; the wind caught it for a moment before dropping it back into the mud.
I did right, Lord, did I not?
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Experiment: Love by Brian Conn
Experiment: Foil
Obtain a car and driver, some aluminum foil, and a roll of adhesive tape. The car should be one you wouldn't mind falling asleep in; the driver should be someone you love.
Tape up some foil inside the car. Cover the ceiling and the area around the windows. Foil crinkles easily; make it as smooth as you can.
Wait for night. Go for a drive. Doze off in back, then wake up, uncomfortable, wanting to go back to sleep. Look out the front window: you are on an unfamiliar highway. There are no other cars. Your driver knows where she is going; that's one reason you love her. Take your seatbelt off and lie down across the back seat; make a pillow of your coat. Fall asleep again.
Wake up. Feel the vibration of the engine and feel the road beneath you. Wonder where you are. See your driver in profile and trust you are somewhere good.
GUD Magazine Issue 1 :: Autumn 2007 Page 12