Lord Nyo’s Continuing Lament, Part 7, from “The Nightingale’s Song”

 

Lord Nyo’s Continuing Lament, from “The Nightingale’s Song” Part 7

 –

Lord Nyo galloped away-

He did not go far.

Armed with two swords,

His bow and falcon,

He halted at the edge of a grizzled field,

Autumn rain mixing with tufts of chaff

This harvested field

Forlorn, abandoned.

The scene fit his mood.

 –

Sitting under an old gingko,

Only a few yellowed, fan-shaped leaves

Tiredly holding on to life,

He pulled the bone-white fan

From his breast

And thought of poems

He vaguely remembered

From his youth.

– 

What had seemed so right

The night before,

When he had taken his brush

To the task of reforming a life

Now in the cold rain

Under cover of gray morning,

Was more like folly–

The desperate hopes of an old fool.

 –

What good was this brushed fan

When between man and wife

Was a sea filled with misery?

 –

When hidden by bamboo blinds

He spied his wife quietly sitting,

Mending a gown,

Quilting a warm tunic,

While around her

Her women tittered like birds,

Laughing and playing finger games

While she,

Pale face serene,

Sat peacefully at work.

 –

He remembered the early years

When he would enter her quarters,

Pick his way carefully across the mats

Larded with colorful lumps of sleeping women

And pillow her in the dark

Unmindful of the snores

And nightmare-groans of her women.

– 

He remembered her reading

Poems to him,

And shyly reading some of her own.

He marveled at her fertile mind.

– 

She never carried a child.

He could have put her aside,

Taken another wife for heirs–

Yet he didn’t.

 –

One old poem kept turning his brain.

A poem a thousand years old,

One that spoke deeply:

–

 

“This body of mine

has crossed the mountain barrier

and is here indeed!

But this heart of mine remains

drawing closer to my wife”

 

–

Lord Nyo reached inside his breast

And uncurled a paper

Plain, rough in texture,

And read what he had

Written,  the one 

He did not burn.

–

 

Her voice sings

Like a bird beneath the leaves

Of a fall mountain.

If she’d only speak to me

What would we have to grieve?

 

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2011, 2013

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“The Temptation of Lady Nyo”, from “The Nightingale’s Song”, Part 4

 

Does he know?

Does he know?

Does he know about the letters?

 

–

The court of Lord Mori

Was a small one

Where the men,

Lord Nyo included,

Sat and discussed business:

The pleasurable business of hunting,

Archery, drinking

And on occasion,

 Just for form’s sake,

Wrote bad poetry.

–

The women of course

Were positioned behind carved screens,

Where the eagle-eyed Lady Mori,

An old, rice-powdered dragon

Conducted her own court of

Writing more bad poetry, finger games

And layering sleeves and hems for the

Best effects…unseen by anyone else–

Except the other women.

–

There was a break in this

Unending monotony one day;

Lady Nyo received poems

From some unknown admirer

Stuffed in different places where

She would find them:

Her screen at court,

On her silk, embroidered cushion,

And even penned on her fan.

–

She never knew who could be so bold,

Never saw even a glimmer of him-

He could have been a ghost.

–

She recorded her answers in her journal

So she could have evidence of her innocence

Yet she buried his poems in the garden under

A bed of peonies.

She could not bear to burn them.

 –

1.

Yesterday I found a fan with a poem

Stuck in the screen.

Today I found another one placed

On my cushion at court.

Do you have a death wish?

Do  you desire the death of me?

You know my husband is known for his temper.

Would I end my life so dishonored?

–

2.

I see you are as persistent

As the rain in Spring.

Have you no fear?

What is your interest?

Surely I am just another painted face.

–

3.

I read your poem.

I could do nothing else.

This time it was inked upon

MY fan.

–

4.

“The wind blows from the north

Chilling my heart.

Only the thought of a touch of your sleeve

Warms me.”

Very nice, but my sleeves are not interested.

–

5.

“I throw acorns

To the darting carp.

With each nut I say a

Prayer for your health.”

Lovely sentiment, and I am

Always grateful for prayers.

But do you think of my reputation

And what you risk?

–

6.

I see no poetry this morning

Though I searched for your usual offering.

I knew your interest was as capricious

As a flight of moths.

 

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2011, 2013

“Devil’s Revenge, Chapter 8

It’s summer, it’s humid and I am sick of poetry. I’m working on this novel, and trying to determine whether it deserves the energy it will take to finish and rewrite. It was my second novel, and a strange one at that. I started it in the beginning of 2007 and the plot demanded a lot of research in an area that I would rather not. But, it has a charm of its own, and I grew fond of the little devils. There is a shift coming in the plot and that is where I have some concerns. It seems to be two books, and how to marry them is a problem right now.

I do have all summer to work on it. We’ll see what happens.

Bess has been assaulted by one of the dangerous characters from her previous book, this Obadiah, and she is trying to regain her balance. Rather hard to do because she’s caught up in this world of demons and magic.

Lady Nyo

DEVIL’S REVENGE

Chapter 8

Since Obadiah’s visit, I have been sickened, fallen into a malaise. Whether it was the strength of his attack or the realization I had lost control of everything, I can’t tell. But I know I am suffering.

I find myself haggard, in pain in parts of my body, with no energy. I feel buffeted by everything that is of material substance: I knock into furniture, unsteady in my gait. I feel I have been thrown under the wheels of a carriage. Even the effort of placing my arm on a table makes me weary. My arm is too solid flesh, heavy, and the wood of the table, hard.

I would prefer to spend my time in bed, but the Demon tells me I have to rally myself. I have to ‘walk it off’. I don’t know. .He could never feel this way. He looks and acts the picture of health.

“You don’t remember the knife wounds you wrote into your book? That hurt. A lot.”

Today he is here, and seems to be constantly. Actually, I was in this room for the past few days. He says I am ‘recovering’. I wonder. I seem to be falling into depression. I wonder what is happening at home in real time.

“Nothing that needs you, darling. They don’t even notice your absence.”

“Oh, like that is supposed to make me feel better?” I direct my words at him because he is sitting across from me, having arrived in ‘our’ room a few minutes ago. He thoughtfully brings me a dish of tea in the usual way, by snapping his fingers.

Pure magic.

He is dressed in the same shirt, with large, blousing sleeves, and the vest I embroidered for him. His boots are none too clean, as I see he has tracked some mud from outside into the room. The rain has been falling gently all day, and it seems that the sky will never clear. His shirt seam at the shoulder has ripped and it gapes open.

“Take off your shirt, Garrett. I’ll sew your sleeve for you.” He grins at me, and throws off his vest, and pulls his shirt over his head. It is not an invitation to mate and I tell him pointedly.

“But it’s been so long since I heard you coo in my arms, my sweetwoman.” He tosses me his shirt. It is warm and smells of his scent, which I tease is of brimstone.

“You need to think and write more original material. You’ve used that joke too much before.” He reads my mind at will. Let him read this piece of advice, I think to myself.

“Bess! I am shocked that you would ask me to do such a thing…besides, I can’t reach that part of my anatomy with–”

“Enough, Devil…even for you.” I have little tolerance for his antics today, and feel weary. I just want peace. I stitch his shirt and toss it back to him. He sits there with his chest and shoulders exposed to the cold air of the room.

“At least you have some tender thoughts for me today. I was beginning to worry you had replaced me.”

He grinned and pulled the shirt over his head. The insolent devil grinned some more as he unbuttoned his pants to tuck his shirt. I rose from the table and turned to the window. I would worry if he changed his ways. I was getting used to him, and a difference would arouse my anxiety even more.

“Let me look at your backside, Bess. I promise to be proper.” I was hurting and could only rely upon his magic to stop the boiling pain. But like all medication, his magic wore off.

“Come here, darling, and stand between my legs. I need to see you closely. Obadiah has used his own particular magic on you.”

I moved to stand with my back to him, and lowered my robe. Anything else on my skin was intolerable. If it weren’t for the laudanum he mixed in water every few hours, I would not be able to sleep. Obadiah had deeply scratched my back and my buttocks in a frenzy of hatred. He had also raped me, and had drawn blood.

“Stay still, lambkin, and I will apply this ointment where it will do good.” His hand moved across my back and I felt a warm sensation spreading across my skin. He did the same for my backside and then gently pulled my robe back across my shoulders.

“There. That should do it for a couple more hours.”

I turned around and sat down on his knee, leaning my head against his shoulder. I glanced at his face, and caught a slight smile. He was surprised at my tenderness. He enveloped me in his arms and we sat quietly for a few moments.

“Help me understand, Garrett. Help me understand the world you and Obadiah come from.”

He didn’t answer, but gave it some thought. “Obadiah and I don’t exactly come from the same worlds, sweetheart. You drew us together with your book, but I wouldn’t say he and I would necessarily be found in the same dimension.”

“Then Obadiah is from Hell and you are from Heaven?” I was hopeful that this would explain them both.

He chuckled. “You insist in making comparisons to your Heaven and Hell. There’s so much more to this universe, Bess. But if you can only think about things in this small dimension, then think of the Talmud.”

Oh Great! Jewish history! Just up my alley. Even more confusing than the Christian Bible, something I avoided in any case.

“There’s lots of good stories in that one, my dear woman, like the Songs of Solomon, and all the orgies and wars.”

“Oh, you would think of all that.” I laughed at him and slapped him on his breast.

“Well, then, explain it to me, my Demon Jewish Scholar.”

“You have heard of Lilith?” I nodded, but not sure who she was. “Have you heard of her consort, Asmodeus?” I shook my head.

“Asmodeus translated from the Hebrew as “Evil Spirit.” He thought a bit. “Or better yet, Belial. He controlled 80 legions of demons, 6,666 demons per legion…that’s a lot of devils! And he brought pain and suffering to humanity. His particular talents were lust, perversion and guilt. Think of Obadiah here.”

“I’d rather not,” I said dryly.

“Well….he delivered lust and perversion upon you last time you met, so the example is lucid.”

“Rape isn’t lust, Garrett…it is pure violence.”

“Ah, you modern women. Lust gives the stiffness to that which rapes. Think of lust as starch.”

I chuckled at his example. He had me there. “So you are saying you and Obadiah know each other but aren’t connected?”

“No, I’m saying that Obadiah and I are connected, but not in the ways you would understand.”

I was getting uncomfortable sitting on his knee, and crossed to my chair. I sat down gingerly. His magic was good, but not complete.

He smiled at me, and extended his hand across the table. This was a familiar gesture he made each visit, and it took me a while to trust him enough to join my hand with his.

This time, he opened my hand and played like he was a fortune teller, reading my palm.

“I see there is another man in your life, Bess. He has charmed you with a sweet, melodious voice, and your husband would load his shotgun if he knew your thoughts.”

I blushed and took back my hand.

“Oh, I don’t need your paw to tell me what is going on in your heart. Perhaps other places?” He grinned at me and my blush increased.

“You Devil! Do I have any privacy here?”

“Nah…not with me. I have my own interests to protect.”

I didn’t like the sound of that.

“You wouldn’t. I don’t like competition.” He grinned, but I took him seriously. There was something a bit menacing in his tone.

“ I admit it took me a bit of time to figure out some of the allusions to him in your novel, but they keep popping up before me. Like securing passage on the Mystic.

My God! I hadn’t even written that in yet. But it was a great name for the boat the two characters would use to escape.

“Ah, Devil…leave him alone. He once was a friend but it ended badly.”

“Ah, Lilith! Follow your own advice!” He laughed at my expression.

I wondered what I had been doing myself. I didn’t know he had numerous affairs for the past 15 years, and I would have been another notch on his belt. It was a sweet relationship, but as things go, it was bound to blow up in my face. He left his email open and his wife of many years read all. The last straw came when he hinted he might have done this on purpose. God! The trouble a man gets when he deceives himself! His wife demanded he break all contact, and he would not honor her request. I said hurtful things to him to end it all. Sin definitely finds you out, even if you don’t believe in it.

“I bet he would like to be a ‘very strong part’ of something else, my darling.” He laughed at his words. “All men like notches on their belts.”

“Oh, Devil! Don’t torment me now. I already told you. It ended, and ended badly. I have lost a friend here, it had started so sweetly.”

“If his cock isn’t his first concern, then he’s not much of a man. You women…you fall for such morality! He ‘appears’ sweet, because he knows a pot of honey attracts the bees. He has sucked you in and he hasn’t even waggled his finger yet! Let him waggle another part and we will see what you do.”

Oh! He was such a vulgar Demon. “You could not understand such friendship, even though it has ended. It was a false friendship, and should have ended. He was a moron and a deceiver, but I was a dupe. You can only waggle your own ‘part’ and think that women should fall on their knees before you!”

“Not a bad place for a woman, between my knees, don’t you think?” He sat back in his chair and grinned at me, a perfect false charmer.

I had to smile a bit at his banter. He had been a generous lover and was becoming a friend.

“About the opposite with your friend, wouldn’t you say? A friend about to become a generous lover?”

I sighed heavily. My friend had never been that. He was a middle aged man afraid of growing old. A vicious temper, with childlike tantrums was the last memory I had of him. An overgrown child.

“Oh, stop it! What would you know of men and women? You are nothing but air!” I snapped my fingers, and he pushed his lip out at me.

“Be careful what you assume of me, Miss Bess. I have more substance than you know.”

Well, I did know that he was flesh and blood enough when he made love to me. It felt more than real. What had grown between us was more enduring than a mere sexual act. Something was of the heart. My demon had a heart, and I was finding that I had one, too.

“Promise to leave him alone?” I asked sweetly.

He grinned at me and stretched his hand again across the table. “Oh, I’ll leave him alone, enough. But you do the same.”

There is no arguing with a Devil. This one was right from the start. I just wish I had known. I could have avoided a lot of grief.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2007, 2013

Sonnet: “When Cu Chulainn Courts Sweet Emer”

“Emer, courted by CuChulainn”  Irisheart.com

–

 

This is a companion piece to the sonnet previously posted, “Immortal Marriage”.

Celtic mythology is a convoluted place in literary history. It is like a swamp actually, as it is complex and sucks you right in.  To get out may take years.

Lady Nyo

——-

“In that sweet country, I’ll rest my weapon”

Spoke Cu Chulainn to beauteous Emer,

And a war spasm came upon him fast

With face distorted, hair stood upended

Teeth barred in anger, cock a rigid mast–

His body whipped around, his knees unbended.

–

Sweet Emer, fainting,  prayed his luck would last.

Her father, King Lug, Celtic God of Light

Set her swain to tasks and toil unending,

While Bricru the Poison Tongue cries in fright:

“The Hound of Ulster, Irish unbending,

Leads in battle for comes he in his might!

–

And Emer waits with patient love the day

When Cu Chulainn comes near and claims his right!

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels,

Copyrighted, 2012

“Metamorphosis VI”

 

Continuing the series…..

When Laura fell off the roof she smashed her ankle.  It took all of Bart’s Shibari bindings to stabilize her limb.  Now Laura was making Bart wait on her, wing and foot.  He wasn’t too happy with the ‘fetch’ thing but was puzzled why Laura’s wings hadn’t worked.

“Bart,” Laura whined, “The ice melted in my drink.  Make me a fresh one, darlin’.”

Bart came from the kitchen, an apron tied around his middle.  He was pissed being a house-bat but what could he do? A dominant fruit bat, this apron went against his nature.  But the dishes had to be done, guano shoveled.

Inactivity made Laura horny.  She eyed Bart and flapped her pinkish wings alluringly.  Bart’s eyes gleamed as he climbed between them.  He began to nuzzle her belly, but lost his head.  Laura  had used a new perfume, “Peaches and Cream”.

“Bart! I’m not a cantaloupe. Your teeth are sharp!” 

“Sorry, Laura.  I’m just following my nature.”

Of all kinds of bats in the world, I get a fruit bat, thought Laura.  Life is unfair.

But he did look cute in that frilled apron.  The big bow on his butt suited him.

Nature be damned.

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2009, 2012

“Metamorphosis V”

 For those who have not read Metamorphosis I-IV, Bart and laura are bats, Bart a large common fruit bat with interests in Shibari and bdsm, and Laura a woman finding herself transforming (badly) into a bat.

Lady Nyo

–

“Come on, Laura, pick it up!  I can’t stay up here all day.  It’s exhausting.”

Bart was suspended in mid air, about ten feet from the roof apex, twenty feet off the ground. 

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t I can’t.  What if they don’t work?”

Laura, mesmerized by the languid flap of Bart’s massive wings, stood on the top of the roof.  She remembered the times he trapped her small, delicate wings within his and felt the power of his dominance. Bart had many faults, and a sadistic nature, but his sexual allure could not be denied.  Laura was blossoming like a rose, with little Japanese beetles buried deep within her petals.  She felt Shibari was helping them bond, though Bart left her too long in the bindings. Parts of her had turned  blue.  She was finding this ‘freedom of the ropes’ one knot at a time.

“Come on, Laura, I’ll catch you. Trust me. Now, run fast and leap. Your wings should work fine.”

Laura did as she was told and hit the air running.  She dropped like a stone. 

“Bart! You Fuckerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!” 

“Hey, Laura!  Next time flap your wings, not your gums.”

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2009, 2012

“Metamorphosis IV”

 (thanks to cheezburger.com for the photo)

These pieces are called ‘flashers’.  They are short scenes or stories of 200 words.  They aren’t easy to write, but they are instructive.  They exact a certain amount of discipline, as in learning not to love all your words.

Lady Nyo

–

Laura twisted in the wind. Well, rotated in the air conditioning.  Bart had a new kick, called ‘Shibari’.  An ancient Japanese practice of wrapping things.  Precisely.  With hidden knots. She should have thought twice when he insisted she strip.

Arms wrapped behind her back, more rope holding her legs together, she sighed.  She didn’t mind hanging upside down, was even getting used to the headaches.

Bart, however, was having a bit of his own transformation, and Laura didn’t know if she liked this one bit.  He was becoming ‘weirder’, taking up hobbies. Piercing was one, this shibari another.  Laura was seeing Bart in a different light, helped along with her new, nighttime vision.

*Goddamn Japanese!  Why can’t they stick to wrapping small packages?*  

Bart told her ‘shibari’ was the ancient art of “wrapping the heart.”  She bought it, didn’t even mind the bananas, mangos and kiwi he stuck between the bindings.  He was, after all, a common fruit bat.

Up on the roof, Bart had other plans. From under his wings, he drew out a new black, leather- riding crop. He slapped it on his palm, laughing with glee.

Laura was about to obey.

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2008, 2012

“Metamorphosis III”

Continuing the series…..

Now a widow,  Laura’s life took on different dimensions.  The house was on the market, and she decided to travel.  She thought of spelunking, exploring caves, climbing mountains.   

 

Pouring over brochures, she heard a scratching sound. She unlatched the second story window and allowed Bart Batkowski to flutter in. 

 

“I wish you would use the door like a normal person.  You will draw attention this way.”

 

“Laura, do you forget what I am? Besides a co-conspirator in murder?”

 

Laura signed. Harold was dead, gone, Bart now sharing her bed.  But it wasn’t the bed where the action happened.  It was the damn closet and sex was gymnastic at best.  Though Laura had known a transformation, it wasn’t complete.  The angle of penetration was off. Bart would insist on hanging from his heels, and all attempts at necking gave Laura a stiff one; neck, that is.

 

Since Bart said his DNA required the closet hang, they compromised with a vertical 69 position.  Bart would embrace her with his wings wrapped tightly around them, and Laura would get comfortable with her pubis level at Bart’s nose.

 

It was a strange mating, but when Bart snored it sent Laura to heaven.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2008, 2012

“Metamorphosis”

 
 “Maine Shore”, watercolor, Jane Kohut-Bartels, 2006

“Metamorphosis” is a series of short stories.  They are all related to the characters Bart (a bat…a Fruit Bat) and Laura, a woman who is transforming (for some unknown reason) into a bat.  I tried to write a horror story, but it became a comedy.  I have no idea why.

Also, I have received some correspondence since I posted these two pieces (so far) of “Metamorphosis”, and some readers express confusion as to ‘the Lady Nyo (or Jane) they knew as a writer: a poet, and not one to write  ‘this kind’ of work.

For me, the greatest thing about becoming a writer, and working at it seriously, is that you expand your abilities, interests and horizon.  It is confusing to those who want to stick you into a ‘box’ …something they can understand and are not uncomfortable in the reading.

That’s not advice I would listen to,  and one does get a lot of flack about  work when you ‘step out of conceived roles’.

I believe strongly  a writer needs to write broadly, that’s if they can.  I can, and I intend to continue to push my limits.  I leave it up to individual readers as to whether they like or even read my work, but in the end…I write for myself.

Lady Nyo

–

Part One 

Standing at the window, Laura was lost in thought. The crispness of  autumn purified the air at dusk.  The moon rose, the sky a pale lavender, that peculiar time of evening when both sun and moon balanced the sky. 

Swifts and swallows flitted over chimneys and rooftops, wheeling like tiny black crescents.  As the moon rose, the swifts were replaced with bats speeding like rockets in front of the window.  She could hear the sound of their twittering as they flew by, sharing the day’s gossip.

“Laura!”  Her husband’s harsh voice cut into her mind. 

“I’m coming” she called back. But she didn’t move.

Peering out the window her pupils opened wide. She saw strange things. Veins in the leaves, mounds of disturbed soil from moles far below. The moon so close! The night beckoned and she felt she could fly out the window and join it.

She wondered what was happening.  Under her gown she felt thin membranes grow beneath her arms. Transparent tissue joined with two small hooks on her elbows.  Her breasts shrunk to nothing, only large nipples remaining. Her sex seemed to shift backwards, her vulva misplaced.

 “I’m coming along nicely,” she whispered.

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2010, 2012

“The Devil In Paris”, Chapter Three

A week later John Garrett was shown into Madame’s apartment by an old servant. He glanced at the dark , wizened man and smelled brimstone.  Madame was known to choose her servants carefully. Life could be a subterranean maze in Paris. He knew other demons in the city and all were not friendly devils.

“Ah, John!  Bonjour!”  Madame was drinking tea with a young woman, one Garrett did not recognize. 

“You remember Mlle. Luciern?  What changes we have wrought! Such an elegant young woman!  What man in his right mind could resist her! Could you, John?”

Ah, thought Garrett.  Madame is up to her old tricks.  She insists in making me part of her plans.

Madame’s eyes glittered as she turned to look at the young woman sitting across the tea table. Garrett bowed over the hand of Louise, and then stood back to look at Mlle. Luciern.

Madame had indeed worked magic.  Mlle. was coifed and gowned like a young, elegant Parisian matron. He admired her hair, piled high on her head, with many curls and loops and one long curled tendril- like, a thick sausage over her shoulder. At least Madame’s hairdresser had forgone the powder and her natural color was preserved. Mlle’s complexion was good but now she had some bloom in her cheeks.  He knew this was all art, for Louise was an expert with faces and makeup.  He saw Mlle. had only two black satin patches on her face, one near the left eye, and one near the mouth, to draw attention to her painted lips. They did look alluring to him. They looked like they were stung by an amorous bee.

Garrett cocked his head to the side and let his gaze travel down her figure.  Her morning dress was light blue silk.  Ruffles framed her breast.  Garrett let his eyes linger only a second, but Mlle. did present a lovely bosom to onlookers.  He knew this was due to more of Madame’s magic – this time with pads in the corset.  Round, delicate mounds above and the merest of rouged nipples appeared like little mouse noses peeking over the tops of the corset.  Such was the fashion for seduction.  He wondered how far Madame had corrupted her student.

“No, Louise, no man could resist such a beautiful young woman.”

Garrett was surprised to see Margot blush so deeply.  At least Madame’s instructions had not destroyed this vestige of virtue in the girl.

“Mlle. is a good student, John.  She learns fast and takes an interest in her future.  Her mother will be proud of her.  We will get her matched up with the proper husband soon enough.  But as I have told Mlle. Margot, there is plenty time for an engagement.  Now is to be given to sharpening her feminine skills. That way she will attract the best prospect for her future happiness. Mais bon Dieu!   She is still so young and innocent.  We must hone her wit and deportment.  Nothing like the polish upon an apple to attract the proper bites.”

Garrett stared at Madame Gormosy.  He could easily see through her designs, but of course, the young woman was too naïve to understand what was happening right under her nose. She was a pretty morsel, and it was hard to take his eyes from parts of her.  The swell of her breast, how gently they rose with an almost imperceptible movement. He could feast his eyes on those two tender pieces of flesh all morning. How much more alluring they would be if she were panting, he thought.  A sly smile appeared on his face.

Ah, Madame Gormosy was full of devilry this morning.

Louise Gormosy spoke with a tone of excitement.  “Today we will work on the great science of “coquetry”.  Non, M. Garrett, do not laugh, for women have their own science.  Let the men work with fire and chemicals.  We women have our own fire and it is called “Les Passions!”

Garrett winced and hoped Mlle. Margot would forgive the bad prose of her patroness, but Madame would press her case.

“Surely Mlle. Margot has higher aspirations than to be a housewife to her husband. It is a most contemptible and unfashionable position for any women of breeding, and has no social standing except for a parson’s wife or a farmer..  Ah Dieu!  Mlle. is made by nature for much finer things!”

Garrett wondered if the word “God” did not burn the inside of Madame’s mouth, but since she was an old devil, he imagined she would have a mouth immune to heat.  Still, he had heard this speech before, but he could not remember when.  Perhaps it was another time in another century, while attending Madame under similar circumstances, that she had used these same words.  They seemed familiar to him in any case. He heard her drone on.

“Now, Mlle. Margot, advice today is seen as ridiculous to be given, and even more ridiculous to be taken, but your dear maman would want you to listen to me very closely. Alors!  She has given you into my hands for more than to fluff your beautiful hair and plump your fine bosom.  It is her dearest desire to prepare you for entrance into the best of society. This is the path to catch the eyes of a husband.  Have you read Madame d’Effine’s letters? Non?  Pity.  But I can supply you a copy of her book.  Or better yet, I can give you the benefit of my long experience.”

Garrett could not stop a smile creeping across his face.  Mlle Margot would have no idea just how long that experience really was.  Yes, Mlle Luciern, it goes back a long way.  Whether Madame could read his mind, which was standard fare amongst devils, or she caught a glimpse of his sly smile, she turned around suddenly and gave Garrett a jaundiced look.  His face went neutral and he closed his eyes in compliance.  He would not interrupt her behavior.  Besides, it was an entertaining morning’s visit.

“Now, Mlle.Margot.  Virtue is all very fine and good, but to get a husband, or any admirer, a woman must use what attributes she has and more.  A fine voice, the ability to cut to the heart of a man’s desire just with the cast of your eyes, the flutter of your fan, ah!  There is so much to learn, but we will persist.  Now, M.Garrett, please attend to Mlle. and lead her around the room, s’il vous plait.

Garrett stood and offered his arm to Mlle. Margot.  They walked around the large salon, Mlle. Margot only standing as high as his chest.  He was a tall and well- built man, with broad shoulders, and Mlle. petite next to him.  He observed her blush as she placed her hand on his and looked up into his face. 

Entertaining as Madame was, he was beginning to have his doubts.  He believed this young woman to be innocent.  He rarely, now that he thought of it, came across a woman so – uncorrupted, and certainly not in Paris. The thought crossed his mind: Quelle dommage, as Madame liked to say.  Perhaps he would have his own plan for Mlle. Luciern.  What was a little competition between devils?  They had shared tender morsels before in their long history.

“Eh bien! Attendez–moi!  John, give me the advantage of your eyes.  Tell me what you think are the best points of Mlle.’s figure.  Does that style of dress, the color suit her the best, mon ami?  Speak out loud what her beau would say, and let us see how Mlle. reacts to such praise!”

Ah, it was clear what Madame’s plan was now! Madame was a terrible devil this morning, and she would have her fun at the expense of the painful blushes of Mlle. He decided to turn the game to his own advantage, and perhaps spare Mlle some pain.

At that very moment, the old devil servant of Madame Gormosy slipped into the room and approaching quickly, whispered into the ear of his mistress.  Madame cocked her head towards his mouth, and though she did not take her eyes from John Garrett and Mlle. Luciern, Garrett saw they grew dark with concern. Muttering some curses low under her breath, she rose and went with her servant from the room, forgetting her two guests.

Garrett took the time of Madame’s absence to lead Mlle. Luciern to a chair and to sit down across from her.  He observed Mlle. sink gratefully into her seat, and with a motion beneath her skirts, kick off one shoe.

“Ah, Mlle, does your foot hurt?”

“M.Garrett, I can not get used to these narrow shoes Madame makes me wear.  I am not used to this fashion.  And if you would know further, I am not used to these headaches. They are from my hair pulled from my head and pinned so tightly. And I can breathe only a little. Madame demands my corset be laced tight.”  Mlle. blushed, but Garrett could hear in the distress in her voice.

“Ah! I sympathize.  Perhaps you think what Madame does here is far off the mark?”

“I don’t understand what you mean, Monsieur.” Another sharp kick under her skirts and off came the other shoe.

“Mlle Luciern.  Forgive my blunt words, but Madame is an “old fogey” as we say in England.  She means well, but she is generations behind in her thinking.”

How many generations Mlle could never guess.

Tears formed in Mlle. Luciern’s eyes, and she shook her head. Garrett could only sympathize.

“Here, Mlle. Let me do something for your comfort.  I will take all the blame, but tant pis!  I am an old friend of Madame’s and used to her ways.”

He stood and moved behind Mlle’s chair.  With practiced movements, he removed the pins from her hair and spread them from their high peaks down her back.  With gentle hands he massaged her temples and she groaned in relief.

“Ah! Bon Dieu, Monsieur.  That feels so good.  My poor head was about to explode. Madame means well, but she does not seem to suffer pain like the rest of us. I saw her put on a hat the other day and plunge a pin into her head. Mon Dieu!  She said she did not hit her skin but her hair, but to me, ah goodness!  To my eyes, it seemed to go through her head!”

Garrett smiled from behind Mlle’s chair. In fact, he had seen Madame do this before and other such things and had warned her if observed her game would be over.  Madame had laughed, she had been doing such tricks for centuries. Besides, the winds of Paris were strong and her hat would blow off if she didn’t get a good layer of skin beneath her long pin.

“Madame has a thick skull, Mlle. Luciern”, Garrett said with a droll tone. “ She is used to all sorts of torture for fashion.” 

Garrett looked down Mlle. Luciern’s bosom and watched the gentle curves rise and fall with her breathing.  Too bad his plans for Mlle did not include a seduction.  He would like to savor those two young mounds in his mouth.  But it would be a passing fancy and his plans for Mlle. Luciern’s future did not include this fleeting pleasure.  He had a more lasting pleasure to savor.

And his good friend Louis would be the poorer for it.

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2009-2012