Part III - The Satan before Stalin, the Devil before Bateman
HERE, I MUST jump in and admit to My truer perspective in writing this simple tale of Woe--it is both Our baser and Our nobler Nature, as a writer, part and parcel, to perpetuate a feeling of arch-fiend’s suspense during the readership of Our tales. A requirance towards easy frivolity, combined with a thorough-going acceptance of the burden of work and creativity, causes Us to re-establish the basic designs of Our plotting even as We carefully sculpt Our Works. On the whole.
In other words, I now must change to the perspective of the most Verifiable Important Personne to remain alive throughout the duration of this heart-bothering, abominably bloody, and abysmally villainous folkish Medieval narrative. That is, speaking off the cuff, the aspect of the Conde Miguel de las Siegas del Shuba, or Morocco, who is playing the Role of Abd-al-Rahman II, ghastly, grim and grizzly abysmal Ruler of Toledo and Cordoba in the late 700s, post-mortem, and scarcely analyzed. Never ever! To wit:
My men had informed Me, awakening Me in the midst of the seemingly darker night, really just before it was to become dawn's lightened early morn, softening with obliquel gentle rose colors, that odd and belaboring Noises could be heard emanating from within the thin walls of the larger of the upstairs Moresque punishment bedrooms. These were the same as the earlier ones I had installed elsewhere, being as I was both a convert and a Blooded, Conscientious Umayyad Moor…where the youngest of my twenty legal wives was supposedly whiling away her Quo’ran-mandated Ills, with no such allotted respite from Me.
I hastily dressed, mightily stomping into My broad black lather fur-lined boots in a manner fit to ‘wake My drousing feet. And I strapped on My own best three-foot, gold-trimmed and bejeweled scimitar, Priceless and of a superior Greco-Roman styling and Egyptian forging, with Phoenician inlay. With the aid of several candlelit rushes held overhead by My attendance, My dressing and armament were soon Accomplished.
Our reconnaissance party, five large Rustic noblemen and I, all armed, two with bows and arrows as well as swords, one carrying a lit torch as it was still the darkling hours, took to the castles upper stairwell, finally discovering, through the grand auspices and useless proprieties of lurking about outside the room’s wood-chiseled, five-foot-wide and four-inch-think arched and recessive stone umber doorway, that there was indeed a most hideously God-damned lustful idiot plebian in there with My wife. NOOOO!!!
Oh, well. You could hear all the sighs, and the hastened muttering of indecipherable words. In My turn, I whispered at the bowmen to be prepared, anow. The bastards—or lone wretch—might attempt escape out of the window, and we could shoot him then, or them, easily, as he spread crouching against the wall.
Gritting my raggedly wolvine teeth, and reflecting wretchedly upon the monstrous length of harrowing outer climb necessitated by the immense height of the window and the slickened smoothness of the outer escarpmented paradore fortress, I stoutly ordered the men nearest the door to enter – wielding drawn and ready swords.
I left Mine entrusted to Its sheath, keeping to fealty’s properest Laws, though I am Myself no coward, in order to clearly research the properest situational turns. It might bubble up to discovery that an entire Hunting party had invaded Us, and not a Suicidal lone Fool.
Finding the door solidly locked, three of My men began to ram it, and I as well, in an attempt to broach an entry. I prepared Myself for battle, knowing that dozens of reinforcements were within immediate reach of My voice, an’a hundred more loyal servants of Islam and Me tarried further away. As it turned, no such were required.
Eerily, the feckless, smallish intruder boldly dared to let us in, the trapped Cheat!!! He waited ‘til the last minute, then fearlessly breasted us. Though the window had afforded him an obviously simple exit, he had freely elected to stay and face us down.
We wounded him badly as We shelved Our way in, without half-trying. He was a thoughtless, brainless, and even termably cowardly Suicide. A pity.
There’d than Ample opportunity for Hours of darkened grey early Morn to leave Unobtrusively and in Piece, the obvious way he'd came in. He never took it.
What was this dead zonzo affecting to Be (twinge)? Ta mim, it's would make him Into what he was meant to be, and SOON! My dungeons eagerly awaited their Usual disarmed, Gutless and screaming Occupant! What Fun!! T’would be Rich to RAKE that idiot Thing over HOT coals. What WAS it, a Volunteer? He would soon Learn.
I’faith, t’were nothing better as a Skinny, undernourished, poorly clad little filthy's villageman, one I’d ne’er seen before but from distant wealth-laden horseback. My archers and swordsmen kept all such Scum from Off Our backs; All were cowed so by Us.
He was Rabidly more than accepting of his Tragically Easy and Macabre Death, a bit too sickeningly Much, perhaps. Was our realm growing, anon, in wierd poverty, and Stricken? Certaine, ‘twas…but ‘twas NOT under My behested Pow’rs to Change things, or to Tax lower in Tribute, as My FAMILY sternly Demanded Toledoan acceptance of ME as Espana’s only Divine and Celestial Lord. Anyones who Opposed Me were to pay the Supreme penalty, suffering the Worst of public Torture and the most Painful of Executions, with his or her Life. That is How to RULE!!!
His Pretty and boyish Speech, a Wailing Wall of Sponge par excellence, was for to Throw Us, and unexpectedly Costed Us Dearly. I near gaped My thickly-bearded purple mouth at how Easily his thin form sliced Its way thro’ My Loyal, Bravely leading, and unlucky Jewish hireling Reuben. An’ he Were a family man, leaving wife an’ child…
The stranger ‘most fell to his knees in the swift forward Lunge, a most Learned Duck to ‘scape with, half so, calling all his lifeless, strident Heathen peasant curses down upon My wealthy Moslem house as Three of My valiant Swordsmen opened the Horish basted where he stubbornly stood. Via coincidence, all three were My Countrymen an’ Righteous Muslims.
Rustum, Immanuel, and Saadic, all three Our good and most Unquestioning Muhummedans, EACH swiftly Rived him ASUNDER, Cleaving him Through, Slash after mutilating Slash, in and across of his Torn, Broken, and Bloody narrow back and breast; Lacerated. That is what the Scimitar is For! Is for…this they accomplished Readily, with a Studiously rapid WILL, as he Choicely vulnerable Rose from slaying the Jew Ruben, crumpled and absurdly Fallen.
The stranger’s sword arm, attached to a Piddling most feeble homemade iron sword, was all that slowed them, near being hacked off at the shoulder in the Fantastic Press of Three, forwards. AHHHHHH! ‘Twas OVER.
I loved it!
Unbending to Me or Allah, the grotesquely lionhearted stranger received (ohhhhhhh) each Solid blow as If it Were his Own True and Rewarding Good LORD’S Dearest loving Embrace. He Acted in Valiant form, disregarding All Needless safety. I Envied his obvious courage. But his intensified Howls of urgent, sheerest, sweetest transcendant Agonies sent Lightning electrical Shivers rattling down All the way past the Base of My unhappy and thunder-struck Immortalized Spine, traveling clear to the Tops of My fur-lined Grenadoan Boots.
I did Naught but hesitantly Look On, in Vast and appreciative stone-weary Anti-climactical, anticipatory Awe, but am not the Same sense…
Strange, mistortured, debauched, unseated, and becursed Hind that It Was, He dauntless Faithfully Long Withstood Us, loudly Declaring his Undying hatred of Our (Naturally!!!!) unsurping Reign. “Bout that I small-cared. I knew how little We were loved in Spain! Why had I twenty Wives?
But in his Devil’s faltering Main Strength, and his Evil, dying, Resolute nimble Graces, he nicked with one Manly swipe, casting his own blood as he Swung, the THROAT of Immanuel Open, causing him Just Affect; and after Being LAID Agape once more—straight IN—from Behind, and Underneath, by brave Saadic, who GUTTED him Through him, he near Mortal-Wounded Our important Visitant Arturon al Marcellinus s Well!!!
The austure Roman was merely sharply raising his mailed Arm for a solidly-Aimed Death blow, but My good Immanuel was in his Way. The Heathen peasant took advantage of Arturon’s raised arm and p
uncture-lacerated his side, as It fell dying, Supremely Lost and Victorious, Having Felt the Scourge of Islam Nine Times. ALLAH, Nine times before he fell.
Hideous Sacrifice surely sufficed Allah as my stranger’s Payment in Hell, whilst my goodly remaining men Vengefully split his angry, Doomed gullet, brutally lacing themselves to their armpits with the Blackened fountains of the foolish, wiry lordling’s Unknown, starved, Bastard and ruddy vino novo. In despite of fixed Statuses, or ‘cause of Them, He was held to be Mine! WELL…
His was indubitably one of the smelliest and Impurest an’ most Commonest of vintages, of a completely unidentifiable Vintner, nothing from any Good family stock at All. His Ugly and blasphemous paganic corpus, Gaped Wide as a motley Clown’s smile, was Thoroughly baptizing us (uhhhh) with Its lust-Heated, Impure, fetidly anathematous Sangria del Morte. Being Once more Valorous than any noble’s, It—the Mess that were Peasant—had Now tooken the Form of a Twisted, Exposed, Naked Puppet, Sprawled Obscenely ruptured and Dismembered on the Stone-cold Floor. Oh, how Brave he had Been.
How Unimportant he Was! How swift, how Skillful, how simple was his Demise!!!
He spurted Quite freely, such as he Slimily had when he’d Lain with my Wife.
We were Heartsore GLAD to suffer THIS form of his deabolical Guesthead! The Traitorous, excremental, part-Christian diarrhea-haired Subhuman Demoniac Wretch!!!
How I’d YEARNED from afar to Split ‘im OPEN Meself. He was soon as Good as butcher-quartered, as he’d been Quartered in My House, without My LEAVE, despoiling My as Yet still Virginal, Virtuous and fully Comprised Bride!
At Panic’s levelled end, there was a Divilish, disemboweled and nonetheless dying BASTARD to contend with, AS HE WERE unapologetically staining the clean-kept floors of Our Imperial Muwullad palace, not forty years Held Fast in Spain as yet. A Weep or two at the straws by the Christian Goth mop-maids would perforce Turn the Trick, an’ All would be Well Again. But my GRIEF..It was Everlasting, my Tears Torrential and Overflowing. DEATH…
I slowly turned, with my dear hearts’ Brothermen, whom a’ Now I last Knew Divinely as Such, to poor Arturon, supporting and Blessing his Loyal and fallen Wounded self with my Own untouched and Deeply Felt as Unworthy body. He’d stood in my Stead, shielding Me! Oh, would that mine own head were on the floor.
I had not E’en left the Stone door frame to enter the Miserable room. Deore Arturon had unluckily landed Not a single Blow ‘gainst the Surprisingly intrepid and Adroit Stranger, who had Sliced him one Instead. True interposition!!!
Romans, We found immediately, are Bleeders pas Excellance.
Marcellinus spewed Copious, an’ some Retainers in the Hallways, which were Already echoing hollowly with words, Merest Words, ran to Fetch Our medical arts Practionaries, four Local women (oooooooohhhhhhh) Wise in the Ways of Herbic and Canducal mystic Lore. After a time, Arturon was seen to raise his shaggy, sweaty head, and to have but one apunctured side, Not very deep, a Milder yet still Christly Affliction. He Moaned.
The Paganie de’il! May his Soul Seethe, burble, Bulge, corrupt and SPUME in Blackest HELL!!!! My retainers took Arturon out the Cursed Door on the bedeviled Bedchambers; he Swore and screamed Mightily, ferociously tossing up Maximum profanities at the helpful and doctoring Women, who cooed cheeringly and coquettishly to settle him Down.
None could do Aught for precious Reuben the Jew, save Weep; he was known to Us only as a Leading merchant Jew of south Spain, and a political Advisor to Us in the Area.
Meantimes the dying Peasant stranger, without sound, spun in hellish, horrid and Horizontal circles, freely Untamed to the Goal. His pitifully GAPING wounds Yawning Broad-Broken and redly, his torn muscles Thinly showing, he Created a looming chaotic message of nonsense All Over the straw-bestrewed Stone, thickly Gooey with Wet and dangering Us with Slippery-slime.
His END was Minutes close. Yes. Clucking, I straddled his Corpse. I Grimly laughed. “I do sincerely Hope,” I thought a’ meself, “that This Dumb, Gross, libertinous bastarde passionate ha’ been Supremely Happy, on the Now…Having attained ALL his most madcap Desires.” If ‘t…indeed Had.
For it’d ha’ been my Life he’d Desired, I would ha’ Done over with it to Better his chances at mine, he had Shown himself so Well. This I Never saw again.
Suddenmost I, as though being perpetually Lightening-Struck, sharply and Firmly AWOKE to My Wife’s present ungainly State, which had Seemed so sleepily Natural to Us from Our Carefully Assumed Spot within the concealed and Ruined Portico. There were Already the Tragickal dead Reuben to Contend with, and hurt-bested Arturon.
PAUSE – no hands have meat
Hail Immanuel,
It doesn’t matter.
Touched,
Stuck.
Dead,
Full-Bled.
To live for my Master was the finest of rewards. Ah—my Wife!
There…were…someone Else hurt as Well.
By upon My swiftly pounding the lengthy space of floor over to the Sumptuous Beside of My sweet-breathed young Endangered wife and newly nuptialed Bride, I found her Dead and colder than a twisted laurel stump. My Jewel…my Juliette… my Child…
Her Immortal Soul perceivably was fled to unreachable, impassionate Heaven! To the Highest of plateaus, where Remorseless I would Never DESERVE to Travel, being Myself a Well-situated, fortunate Landed King, and Prevalent, and so beyond all ordinary Morality but the Allah’s. Who indeed WAS this “Allah”, and what was He FOR? And When?
THEN…the awful dagger in Her ripped-open Heart was discovered, by Myself, no less, with her bloodless hands wrapped about it, like a peel…stiffened…
…her Innocent’s blood on my Guilt-ridden hands, bellowing like a Deranged maniac Bull, I Rahman II, as Vilest Monster and Madman, came ROARING back, in impotent Furious Rage and Titantic Violence (THUD THUD THUNK THUD), to the Hopelessly slaughtered pagan Villanie, swinging my immense Scimatar as if It were an Insect-Clubbing Mace!!! And so did I the poor, shriveled, yet still Accessably dying Idolator, lost and Naked to “Allah” on the strawy cold floor, the VIOLENT Service of My ancient and more than Adequate dispatching Expertise.
I gave him (AHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhh) the Autochthon, brief Justice he had so Laughably Requested and so brutally Deserved, Un-thin-king-ly giving All his Wasted young gente baja life Towards It, and my lovely young WIFE’s as Also! I wielded a shining and razor-edged DEVICE, with the Which I short-shriftedly Hewed what remaining little Intruder was Left into Ground-up Hack-meat left-Over vulture food. WHO had given Me This?
Not altogether very much worth speaking of were Izquierdo; but ‘twere Muerto. Of Blasted Course! For THAT, I SCREAMED and SCREECHED Pitch-Siren in Utmost Heart-Rented Disappointment, towering, Surging in RAGGEEEE!!! There was No Way to Torture this twisted Thing instead, for Days on end, relishing his Broken (or Unbroken) Defeat, Solely in order to make a popular, informative, and intimidating, Example of him. No, It had ESCAPED Us there…and So…
…I Doctored him most Throughly in the Perverse direction Least opposite to good Healing, Hitting him every Where not Hurt, Loudly Wailing and Howling My SORROWFUL Hatred of All these Misfortunate Deaths to the Veriest highest SKIES, my Lordly SOUL completely lost in Jealousy from My Nobly acquired (and thus forever Innocent) lust for Pow’r, unable to touch or hurt this young Jackal’s proudly fulfilled Serenity, one brought about manifestly Throughout and through my odious and Well-borne illicit greed and Monumental Jealousy.
‘Twas I Who Was to Blame, I who should be dungeoned, Garrotted, TORCHED!!! Not these Children.
I finally ceased, panting, My inmost Soul dying and ‘most Longing for something—Candy, perhaps—far Painfuller and sweeter than the Respite of Death for My—pointless—and Villainous Self, letting the youth’s now Unrecognizable Corse take its Timely and Mortified Rest—It now Being most strictly Terrible and Gruesome, smaller and more brilliantly Scarlet Pieces. Cut into.
Peace. It does Never oft Prevail, and would Not do so for Me.
; Only then did I piosly and Humbly drop to my knees, as though in Diabolical Prayer to the dead Passant, obeying the ordained and scared Tenets of Allah, as I had Not been doing of Recent; these Events obviously BEING the Price God was ha’ ME pay, I Bowed to the Lowering of My Darkened and Grieving Moslem HEART, which did NOT bounce, and which Seethed in the relentless Perturbations and volcanic Infernos of Licit Bona Fide Noble’s implacable hurricane Anger, which had propelled my Vindictive (I have bloody dick, I have a bloody dick) and tumultuous energies; and SO I sorrowfully Bequeathed All further such tragickal (laundry detergent) Vengeances to ALLAH, and, well, also to Our professional Palacial undertakers…who make money off of dying.
Euloge’s Eulogy was for his Lady Love, you logs!
“WE HAVE CONSIDERED the statements of the accused, Dhaba, and evidence as to her denial of the divinity of Allah; also her affirmation that Jesus is Allah, arising from her denunciation of the Prophet’s mission as a lie. It is our opinion that the woman must be condemned to death and sent forthwith to the stake.”
--final verdict of the faquihs (what, fuck hers?) of Cordoba, leading a Christian monk named Euloge, a “fanatical” follower of St. Isadore (well, she sure was already dead, wasn’t she?), to denounce Allah (who wasn’t round, neither) and the Musselman (my Uncle Arnold DIED!!!) Way of Life.
Abd-al-Rahman II didn’t want the death penalty for him, supposedly, but his successor had “fewer scruples” and in 859 Euloge followed Dhaba, martyred citizen (and mystery victim) of Cordoba. I guess!
The above is All from Jan Read’s The Moors in Spain and Portugal (your One True Author’s real-life Hubby is half-Portuguese), concerning the very firstest major Moorish invasion of the Iberain peninsula of Western Europe, the first landing being placed in roughly 710 A.D. by scholars. Come seven, let’s go to the Seven-Eleven? No, come eleven, times? Wow, the Rain in Spain. It lasted to the Start of the Reconquest, in 1017 A.D. That’s when “Spain” won. Rocka Gibralter! Remember? Recollect your sevens and tens. Be thar or by squy-yar! Face the plaid monkey tree! I’m for being oval m’self. In plaid. While eating square pancakes. Where that IS a clock that Runs Backwards…a Muslim clock, revolving counter-clockwise.
Marriage, anyone? How ‘bout a War? Why? Durst ye have lambs for Children, or would ye prefer some cute li’l Kittens or those barky, cold-nosed, one-breed, pin-striped Mas o Menos Mongoloid Puppsters? How’s bout a Pet Rock?
Anon. May your Fate be far braver…or kinda cool. At least, Negotiable!
The Rainbow Horizon - A Tale of Goofy Chaos Page 15