“The Kimono” part of Chapter 2.

This must be a dream, thought Mari. I am kneeling on something cold, hard. I smell charcoal… Where am I? It’s so dark my eyes can’t pick anything out. My arms! Why are my arms tied behind my back?

She was kneeling on a cold wooden floor. Her eyes were barely able to pick out details of a room with little light. She was shivering, now naked except for the kimono over her shoulders. She heard a grunt and a low voice.

“So. What have we here? A young maiden lost on her journey through life?”

Mari lifted her head and saw a man, or what appeared to be a man, for the room was still dim except for a low burning brazier. He certainly had a voice like a man. He rose, moved around in front of her and stared down, a bemused look on his face.

He had long, black hair, tied in a topknot, and seemed tall for a Japanese man. His forehead was high and Mari realized his hair was plucked from the front of his head. He was dressed unlike anything she had seen in modern Japanese styles for he wore what looked to be numerous robes and had a dagger in the sash at his waist.

“Catbird got your tongue?” He leaned down and raised her chin up in a hard-skinned hand. Mari shivered from fear and cold.

“Where am I? Why are my arms tied? Who are you?” Mari was stuttering, forcing her questions out, shocked as much with fear as cold.

“Ah, I see I have summoned a young woman who has no manners. Perhaps I will teach you some. Perhaps you can learn to address your betters with respect.” The man took the draped kimono off her shoulders and folded it carefully, placing it on a wooden chest by a wall.

Mari started shivering harder, her naked body exposed to the cold room.

“As to your rude question, I am Lord Tetsu Hakuto, in the service of the Shōgun. I am of the clan Minamoto. That is all you, girl, need to know.”

“You s-s-still haven’t answered my question. Where am I? Is this a dream? Please, I beg of you, I am freezing. For the love of God, give me a blanket or s-s-something to warm myself.”

Lord Tetsu looked down at her, his face a mask. Suddenly he threw back his head and laughed loudly. “I see I have a challenge before me. Well, good, I am up for a challenge, even if it is in the insignificant package of a woman.”

Lord Tetsu lifted her by one secured arm and roughly dragged her to a low futon. He pushed her face down and threw a silk quilt over her. At first Mari lay still until, wiggling like a worm, her head cleared the quilt. She could not sit up but at least she could see.

The man was kneeling before a low table. He was writing something on a paper scroll with a brush he dipped in ink. Mari watched silently, knowing he was watching her from the corner of his eye.

“Please untie me, Lord Tetsu Hakuto. I am very uncomfortable and would like to sit up.”

“Why would your comfort be of my concern? You make silly demands of a superior.”

Mari struggled not to show tears. She was uncomfortable and afraid.

“Lord Tetsu Hakuto. I have to pee badly.”

Lord Tetsu grunted and put down his brush. “Well, that is natural. I also have to pass water first thing in the morning. Come, girl.”

Mari wasn’t sure she wanted help but she had little choice. He threw back the cover, pulled her to her feet, and walked her to a small alcove where a squat clay vessel was placed. He pushed her down and walked away. Mari was glad for the privacy. Of course, with her hands tied she had to carefully balance herself but at least her bladder didn’t hurt.

Mari padded to where he was, blushing because of her nakedness. She wasn’t sure this was a dream for she felt wide awake. She edged towards the low brazier for warmth.

“Lord Tetsu, it is unnecessary for you to keep my arms tied for I am not a threat to you. I am a modern woman who is not violent and I have no intentions of grabbing your sword and using it against you.”

Lord Tetsu looked up from his scroll and listened, his raised eyebrows expressing his surprise. “You could not grab my sword, as you put it, without losing your hands. I have no fear of you harming me. It is rather the other way around. However, since you are about to tip into the brazier, I will untie you.”

He drew his dagger and whipping her around, cut her ropes. Mari almost sobbed in relief. Her arms were numb. Then the pain hit her and she moaned as she tried to rub them, a pathetic, naked woman in great discomfort.

The sight of her must have moved Lord Tetsu for he drew her to him and rubbed her arms. Mari was grateful for she was shivering with cold. She felt exhausted and leaned her head against his chest with a sigh. Then she fainted.

When she recovered her senses, she was covered in the quilt on the futon. He was sitting next to her and smelled of sandalwood and male sweat, real enough.

“This isn’t a dream.” Her voice sounded soft and flat where she leaned against him, her face buried in the fabric of his robes.

“So, you have come back to me, little one?” His voice had a touch of humor. “No, this is no dream, but it is time for you to answer me.”

“Please, Lord Tetsu. Please first give me some water?”

“I will give you some broth for these things can take strength out of a woman. Wait.”

Rising, he drew the quilt over her body. He brought a bowl of hot broth simmering on the brazier. Her hands shook as she reached for the bowl.

“Better you are fed than scald yourself.”

Mari sat next to him, wrapped in the quilt, while Lord Tetsu fed her the broth with a china spoon. It was hot and spicy, tasting like seaweed, but it warmed her.

“Now,” said Lord Tetsu when she had eaten enough to stop shivering, “tell me where you found the kimono.”

“In a shop in Kyoto on Dezu Street. It was hanging near a window and the silver decoration caught my eye. I brought it home and when I slept in it last night, well…something happened, and either this is a dream or it isn’t.”

Lord Tetsu grunted and exclaimed, “Kyoto! It is a long journey from where it was last.” He was silent, thinking, then spoke. “What is your name girl, and are you maiden or wife?”

Mari almost laughed, surprised by his quaint wording. “I am very much a wife and my name is Mari. My husband is a systems operator for a worldwide communications company.”

“What? You speak in riddles! Plainly, girl, for you try my patience with your chatter.”

Mari ventured a question. “Lord Tetsu, what date is it today? Where am I in history?”

“What date? Today is today and as far as this history, you are in the castle of a daimyo who is under the protection of a most powerful Shōgun.”

“What is the name of this Shōgun, Lord Tetsu?”

He looked at her in surprise, his eyebrows arching. “None other than the great Lord Tokugawa.”

This still didn’t give her any idea where she was but the broth was good and she had stopped shivering.

“Lord Tetsu Hakuto, do you have a woman’s kimono for me to cover myself with? I am not used to walking around naked.”

“You will get used to it. girl.”

“Lord Tetsu Hakuto, I would remind you that my name is Mari, not ‘girl’. I am an educated, married woman and well respected in my field.” This last was not true for Mari had no field to speak of.

“Ho! You are prideful for a woman and forceful, too. Perhaps your husband does not beat you enough. That is a failing in many young husbands and you look to be young enough. Perhaps I can help him in this.” He raised his arm as if to cuff her.

Mari spoke fast. “Lord Tetsu, violence is the mark of a barbarian. Surely you are not such a man. You write and that shows you are civilized.”

A sly smile crossed the face of Lord Tetsu and he allowed it to broaden. He lowered his arm slowly. “You think quickly for a woman, Woman-called-Mari. Does your education extend to the brush?”

Mari looked at his table and rising from the futon with the quilt wrapped tightly around her, she went to it. She looked at the finely drawn calligraphy there and shook her head.

“Lord Tetsu, I write with a pen, not a brush, and I also write with a keyboard, something I am beginning to think you have no knowledge of. I do write some haiku but perhaps it would be better for me to recite one for you? You would not be able to read my script.”

“Why, are you so bad with the brush? Then your education is very low. Perhaps you dance or play an instrument?”

Mari smiled. “No, Lord Tetsu. I play violin but I suspect you are not familiar with this instrument. I do, however, write a lot of poetry. I write tanka, choka, sonnets and much free verse. I write haiku when I am able.”

“Ah! You are very boastful. Obviously, your husband is a weak man.”

Mari smiled. “Perhaps, Lord Tetsu, perhaps, or maybe he lives by different standards.”

Lord Tetsu stood at his table, his arms crossed over his chest, looking curiously at the woman before him wrapped in his quilt. “Then, if you dare, compose a poem and let’s see if your boasting has merit.”

Mari thought hard, trying to remember some she had recently written. There were a few, though they didn’t follow the classical forms.

 

Cold rain sweeps the streets.

Even ducks seek shelter.

Feathers drop in haste.

 

“Hah! Not very good, but a beginning. Give me another.”

Mari thought this next one would be more of the classical form but then she wasn’t really sure.

 

A glance at a wrist.

There! The pulse of a river–

tiny beat of life.

 

“Better! Perhaps your husband has taught you something.”

“My husband has taught me nothing, Lord Tetsu. He is not interested in poetry. I have learned this myself.”

“Not interested in poetry? You have married a barbarian then, for a man who does not write poems is indeed a savage. Give me some more, Woman-called-Mari.”

She thought of a few others she had written, though she could only partly remember their lines. She had little option except to admit failure but something in this rude man brought her mettle out. Pausing only a little between poems, she closed her eyes and recited what she could.

 

A woman in bed,

kimono revealing breast.

Snow on Mt. Fuji.

 

Snow falls on meadows.

Crows pick at last harvest seeds.

Spring now far away.

 

A swirl of blossoms

caught in the water’s current

begins the season.

 

Fall’s crispness compels

apples to tumble from trees.

Worms make the journey.

 

I chase one red leaf

across dry and brittle grass.

Juice of summer gone.

 

She kept her eyes closed thinking back to what she had just recited. Opening one eye, she saw him contemplating her with a quizzical look.

“For a mere woman, you have a fertile mind. If you had been born a man, you might have made a name for yourself.” Lord Tetsu gave a short nod of his head, a measure of respect. “Come, woman, learn how a man writes poems. You have shown yourself capable of learning at least something. Perhaps you are the rare woman who can rise above her nature.”

What a pompous ass, thought Mari. Obviously, this dream is about humiliation.

For the next hour, Lord Tetsu composed haiku and longer poems, mostly in honor of his Lord Shōgun. Mari listened to his low monotone and the sentiments that poured out like warm sake. She was lost in the tone of his recitation but was not blind to his beauty. His black hair fell down his back and the vigor of this man before her was evident. Even when he rose and went to make water, it seemed the most natural of things. She was not embarrassed nor discomforted. He was an inventive poet, even when she didn’t understand most of his references.

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2018, now available for purchase at Amazon.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“The Kimono”, Chapter 11

 

Working on final edits of “The Kimono”.  The name change from Lord Mori to Lord Tetsu (Iron) is appropriate and needed.  Hopefully, when  the smoke clears, I will be able to publish this novel by summer/fall.

 

KIMONO, Chapter 11

 

Steven drove Mari to the doctor for the abortion. She was emotionally exhausted, and couldn’t fight him anymore.

A nurse, bowing respectfully, met them in the lobby. They sat in hard chairs, Steven saying nothing and Mari too nervous to talk.

What am I doing? Why would I kill this baby, my first and perhaps my only? What options do I have? Steven demands this and if I refuse? Can I chance a refusal?

A nurse called her name and Mari stood, not feeling herself rise. Steven placed his hand at her waist, prodding her to move. She turned and looked at him, tears in her eyes. Unthinking, like one of those Japanese robots, she moved across the room and out the door. It had been raining since they entered the doctor’s office.

“Mari! What are you doing? Come back here.” Steven’s harsh voice followed her out of the doctor’s office. She did not turn her head. She kept walking, tears falling down her face, startling a few passersby.

Mari walked through Kyoto, her hair wet with rain, her shoulders slumped and huddled in her coat. It was early spring and the rain was to be expected. Mari did not notice her surroundings, not caring where she went, what she saw, lost in her own misery.

What are my options? If I keep this baby, what can I do? Go back to the States and live with my mother? I married Steven to get away from her. He will leave me, divorce me, abandon me if I keep this child.

I am friendless here, thought Mari, biting her bottom lip. I am basically alone in this world. I have to decide for myself what to do.

She walked on aimlessly, thinking of her marriage. Flipping back and forth between guilt and resentment, she was torn in two. She knew she was not happy, hadn’t been happy with Steven for a long time. A baby would probably make it worse.

She finally returned home after tramping the streets with her hands shoved in her pockets of her coat, her shoes and hair wet, her body sodden with rain. Steven wasn’t home yet.

That night she made a decision, though in the light of reason it had none. She placed her wedding ring on the nightstand, pulled the kimono around her tightly and secured it with the red silk rope. She lay down in her bed under a full moon, awaiting the magic and dropped off to sleep.

****
“What? Do I hear more mice? I must remember to set traps before I am overwhelmed with invasion. Or perhaps a hungry cat? What do you think, Lord Ekei?”

Lord Tetsu was standing over his table, looking down at maps. Across from him was his counselor, Lord Ekei. He was looking  at Mari who had materialized on the floor by the window, trussed with her arms behind her back.

“Ho! Said Lord Ekei in surprise. “It looks more like a large, black rat to me. Perhaps a couple of very hungry cats or maybe even a dog. What should we do with such a large rodent? Ah! It is trying to speak.”

Mari struggled in her rope, rocking from side to side, her kimono splayed out from her body, her flesh on the tatami mat.

“Lord Tetsu, please! I am very uncomfortable. Please let me up.”

“Ah, this is quite interesting, Lord Ekei. The rat speaks clearly, implores me to untie it. Yet it comes and goes with little regard and less manners. Now, what would be the proper course to take with an ill-mannered large rat?”

Bowing to Lord Tetsu, Lord Ekei started to draw his long sword.

“With your permission, my lord, I would cut off its head.”

“No!” yelled Mari from the floor. “Lord Tetsu, please, I beg of you, untie me and let me stand up.”

“Ah! Did I hear the word beg? Perhaps this rat is learning something of manners. Perhaps I will indulge her. She squeaks like a female rat.”

Walking over to where Mari lay on the floor, he grinned down at her.

“So, girl, you make your way back to me. Is it because you missed my company or you missed writing your verse? Perhaps you can write more and entertain Lord Ekei this morning?”

Mari turned her head as far as she could and looked up at him. Tears were gathering in her eyes and her lip trembled.

Lord Tetsu drew his shoto and cut her bindings. Mari lay before him quietly, exhausted.

Lord Tetsu crouched down besides her, and spoke in a whisper.

“What am I to do with you, girl? Will you stay this time and become useful?”

Mari struggled to sit up, pulling the kimono around her and rubbing her wrists.

“Lord Tetsu, I will stay if you allow me. I have left my husband.”

Lord Tetsu stood up slowly from the floor.

“Ah. And how did you explain this state of affairs?”

“I didn’t. I didn’t want to be with him anymore. I just put on the kimono and it worked its magic.”

“Did you not think he would believe you? He would think that the moon had robbed you of your senses.”

Mari looked up at him, shivering with emotion and cold. “How could I explain anything to him? What reason would I be able to give?”

“Come, Mari”, said Lord Tetsu, lifting her to her feet and leading her to the brazier. He went to a chest, took out the quilted kimono and standing in front of her, stripped the black one from her body.

“There, you will be warmer now.”

Lord Ekei was standing across the brazier solemnly watching Mari. She stared at him for a few seconds and then gave a polite bow, her hands on her thighs as she had seen Miyo bow. Lord Ekei inclined his head to her, not speaking a word.

“Mari, sit and have some tea. You look worse than usual.” Lord Mori’s eyes searched her face as he gave her the tea.

Mari’s hands shook as she accepted the cup, holding it to her and warming her hands around the bowl.

Both lords knelt on their cushions and watched her quietly while they sipped their own tea.

Mari was lost for words but the warmth of the tea stopped her from shivering.

“So, Mari-who-was-married”, said Lord Tetsu, with a slight smile, “you have come a long way to escape a bad marriage, neh? Perhaps you will inform us why it is so?”

Mari put down her cup and stared from one face to the other.

“Do not fear Lord Ekei, Mari. He is a very old friend with much patience in his belly.”

Mari looked down at her hands, now gripped tightly in her lap.

“Lord Tetsu, all I can say is that there is little love between us now, and hasn’t been for a while. I left because I could not bear conditions between us.”

Lord Tetsu stared at her, not uttering a word. Lord Ekei snorted, folded his hands over his prominent belly and closed his eyes like a cat.

Mari looked at Lord Tetsu and tears flooded her eyes. “I wanted to have a child, and Steven did not.”

Lord Tetsu looked at her sharply. “What husband does not want his woman’s belly to grow large with many sons?”

Mari’s hands shook as she held the teacup. “Steven has always said a child would interfere with his career.”

Lord Ekei snorted again and opened one eye. This was most interesting.

“I will send you to Lady Nyo for your comfort, Mari. We will speak later,” said Lord Tetsu.

He clapped his hands once, and his chamberlain, the husband of Lady Nyo, slid back the shoji screen and entered, kneeling inside and bowing low.

“Take Lady Mari to your wife and tell Lady Nyo that she is to be the advisor and companion of Lady Mari for now. I trust your lady wife is in good health?”

“Hai, my lord. She will be honored to do as you command.” Lord Nyo bowed again.

Mari followed Lord Tetsu’s chamberlain out with only one backward glance at both of the men. She tried to make her face a mask, but her ability was impaired by her emotional turmoil. She knew her present secret would become known in a matter of days.

 

“So, what of her story did my lord believe?” The words of Lord Ekei were delivered with a chuckle.

Lord Tetsu walked to the window where he watched the early morning unfold. The Sandhill cranes were back. He watched them dip their heads into the water, feeding on his goldfish in the big pond. The cherry blossoms were just buds, too early for their magnificent display to come. Lord Tetsu started to hum an off keyed tune. He finally turned to answer Lord Ekei.

“Most of it. I am still troubled by her story about her husband.”

“Well, my lord, perhaps he was short-shafted and dull in pillowing. Forgive me, but women have little sense. They run away with the first man who rolls his eyes, waves his cucumber of love and pledges his everlasting devotion. Perhaps she is kurage? A changer of saddles?”

“No, I don’t think she is a run-away. It is something else, something unknown for now.
She reminds me of the poem:

“So lonely am I
My soul is a floating weed
Severed at the roots.”

“Ah, my friend, the great Basho! Yes, I could see how you would sense that in her. She is rather rootless. Without a strong husband or male member in a woman’s life, she is drifting through life.”

Lord Tetsu started humming again. Then he turned and spoke softly, more to himself.

 

“There is something important the Lady Mari is leaving out. I could see it in her eyes.”

“And that is?”

“She feared being a stone-woman. She feared never having a child.”

Lord Tetsu looked steadily at Lord Ekei.

“Perhaps she is with child already. Perhaps it is mine.”

 

 

“The Kimono”, Chapter 17

European Eagle Owl, watercolor, something I imagine what would be Lord Mori in bird of prey form.

 

 

For my friend, Kanzen Sakura.

This is a book in progress.  Actually there is a ‘corrected’ version at Dropbox, but I don’t seem to be able to copy and paste it here.  So it goes.  I am no computer whiz.

I hope to have this ready for publication in this fall, 2017.  Nick Nicholson is a dedicated reader and much more:  his intelligence and eagle eye has made this  a much better novel.  

I know it’s not easy to post a chapter mid flight in a novel…lends to confusion. But I am now, after 4 months, beginning to finish it…”The Kimono” has it’s origins back in 2007 or so, so it’s a novel of 10 years writing.  

Short course as to the theme of the book:  Mari, 21 century Japanese/American woman, married, buys an antique kimono and donning it, is transported back to 16th century Japan….northern region, Akita,  to the domain of a warlord, a samurai and a daimyo, Lord Mori.  Plot thickens….

Lady Nyo

 

CHAPTER 17, THE KIMONO  

Mari stood at the window, a copy of the Man’yoshu in her hand.  Love poems, and of course in a language she couldn’t read.  Literally “The Collection of a Thousand Leaves”.

Some scribe had taken the time to carefully illustrate this book with erotic drawings.  They were exquisite, though rather pornographic in her opinion.  Compiled during the 8^th century, this book was considered the pinnacle of Japanese verse, even in this more ‘modern’ 16^th century.  But eroticism to these Japanese didn’t seem to have many boundaries.  Sex was very natural to them, and even nudity. They did not have a concept of sin, at least of sin she understood.

Lady Nyo was ordered by Lord Mori to teach her to read and write.  He was of the opinion, according to Lady Nyo, that Mari should be entertained while learning a difficult language.  Therefore he gave her this book.

Entertained!  How different their cultures, stretching across the centuries, two oceans separated by mountains and sand.  It was now two months since the miscarriage, but her mood had not greatly improved.  Her heart was a mass of confusion. She would wake in the night, sweating.  She dreamed constantly but could not remember much, just disjointed scenes in clashing and violent colors. Dreams before were fathomable, but now?  They were strips of some unrolling and unending painting, without words or knowable meaning to her.  Just confused sensations with a hidden terror.

With patient instruction by Lady Nyo, Mari was beginning to recognize some of the words.  She still couldn’t construct a decent sentence.  There were all sorts of issues with the Japanese language, and her attempts in forming a sentence sent Lady Nyo into peals of laughter.

Well, at least she was entertaining to someone, if not exactly entertained.

 

The house was a flurry of activity.  Lord Mori was to visit sometime in the afternoon, and Mari felt anxious. He had not visited her since her miscarriage, but Lady Nyo said he had come. Apparently,  she  was asleep due to the medicine prescribed by the doctor.  The only evidence was a short poem inked on his fan. Something about laughter and fireflies.

Mari turned from the window.  There were two small women kneeling outside the entrance to the room. They bowed with their heads to the wood floor as soon as she saw them.  Lady Nyo came up behind them and bowed to Mari.

“So sorry to disturb you, Lady Mari.  These women are here to attend to the house.  Would you please come out to the rokka and view the niwa?

Mari nodded and put her book down on a small chest.  She recognized the words rokka and niwa as the porch overlooking the garden and niwa as garden.  She was beginning to recognize the names of her environment.

“Oh, Lady Mari!  If you would like, I will come with you and we can read together those wonderful poems.”

What she really meant, thought Mari, is I can read these poems, because you are still stupid about our language.  Of course, Lady Nyo was the picture of decorum and would never say such, but Mari was foul in mood and took offense secretly at many things.

The house was more like a cottage, with small, bare rooms constructed from a central passageway, closed off by shoji screens.  They walked through the house towards the back where kneeling, Lady Nyo pushed a screen open and they faced a narrow platform looking out upon a small garden.

Enclosed by a low stone wall, the garden  very old with a misshapen tree in the middle.  There were raked pebbled paths and small green bushes with buds and a few open flowers beneath.  Upon the wall were small plants growing out of the rocks.  The cherry blossoms were almost beginning to bloom. This event was as important to the Japanese of this century as much as it was in Mari’s.  She heard how beautiful they were on the castle grounds when in full bloom.

 

The morning mist, kasumi, had lifted but there was a possibility of rain.  Mari liked the rain, it fit her moods.  She could withdraw from the company of Lady Nyo and look out her window, wrapped in a silk quilt against the cool air.  As she recovered, she spent less time sleeping late and would get up earlier.  She liked the kasumi, it comforted her.  It put a barrier between her and the world.  Any rain or mist was welcomed by the people around her.  There had been a drought for a couple of years. Lord Mori had mentioned the rice production had dropped.  Famine was always around the corner.

Mari sat on a wooden bench on the rokka overlooking the garden and above the pebbled paths.  The mists had all gone from the morning, replaced by a gentle wind.  White cranes lifted off the water down by the shore, their black legs trailing like stiff ribbons behind white bodies.

It was peaceful.  She felt her nerves untangle, fall away.  Breathing in quietly, she could smell the scent of plum trees within the garden wall.  The wind made cascades of plum-snow litter the raked pebbles.

“Lady Mari, I have bought your book outside.  If it pleases you, may I read aloud a few poems?”

Mari could not refuse this simple request.  Lady Nyo’s role was to educate her in these finer arts. It was not as if it were her idea to do this.  Clearly,  it came from Lord Mori.  Mari could see Lady Nyo was obediently following orders.

“Oh, Lady Mari!  Here is a poem by the Princess Nukata.  She was very famous many centuries ago for her lovers.  She was wife to Prince Oama and then the Emperor himself!”

“As I stay here yearning

While I wait for you, my lord,

The autumn wind blows,

Swaying the bamboo blinds

Of my lodging.”

 

“Oh, isn’t that the most romantic of poems?”  Lady Nyo clasp the book to her flattened bosom.

“Well, I would think it would be a matter of taste, my Lady.”  Mari didn’t want to sound sour, but the poem did not move her as it obviously did the reader.

“Oh, Lady Mari”, said Lady Nyo plaintively.  Perhaps the part of the poem that is more obscure is a key here.  The autumn wind in this poem represents the visitor….or builds yearning for him.   And this morning we have such a lovely, gentle wind blowing.”

If she is referring to the Lord Mori, she got him all wrong, thought Mari.

Lady Nyo looked at Mari hopefully.   Mari laughed and asked her to read more.

 

“Tonight, too,

Does my woman’s pitch-black hair

Trail upon the floor

Where she sleeps without me?”

 

Mari sat up straighter, her interest piqued.  Now, that poem had interest and so modern in sentiment.

But why were they separated? There were more secrets than answers in this sort of poetry.

 

“Read more.”

 

Lady Nyo smiled and looked for another poem to please her.

“Though I sleep with

A single thin rush mat

For my bedding,

I am not cold at all,

When I sleep with you, my lord.”

Lady Nyo smiled over the book, again clasped to her bosom.  “She must have been a poor woman to be only able to afford such bedding. But here’s another poem that speaks to men.”

 

“Though I sleep beneath

soft, warm bedding,

how cold my skin is,

for I do not share my bed

with you, my woman.”

 

“Now, that is nice”, said Mari wishfully.  And how modern. A man who shows his main concern in bed:  warm feet.

 

Lady Nyo read another.

 

“Brave man like the catalpa bow

That, once drawn,

Does not slacken—

Can it be that he is unable to bear

The vicissitudes of love?”

 

As soon as Lady Nyo read this particular poem, she blushed deeply.  Mari saw her reaction.

“Lady Nyo.  I am a stranger here.  I have no history among your people.  Clearly that is obvious.  But please tell me.  Does Lord Mori have a wife, or children?”

Lady Nyo’s face went sad.

“Ah, this was a long time ago, but Lord Mori still mourns, I think.  It is hard to tell with men, but Lord Mori, though powerful daimyo, is still a man.”

Lady Nyo moved closer on the bench to Mari and dropped her voice to a whisper.

“Years ago, before my Lord Nyo and I were vassals to Lord Mori, he lost his young wife and children to the sea.  They were travelling to a city on the southern coast and a terrible storm took hold of the boat and all were lost.  Lord Mori was not with them, being on land.”

Lady Nyo sighed.  “I understand he travelled to a sacred mountain and for years lived in the forests.  He talked to their ghosts and shunned all men.”

Mari felt her breath catch in her chest.  Perhaps this was key to his personality.  He was certainly a strange man.  Even for a 16^th century daimyo.

 

“But surely he has remarried? Does he have a wife in the castle I have not seen?”

Lady Nyo’s eyes widened.  “Oh, no!  To my knowledge, Lord Mori has never remarried.  Certainly she would be amongst the women with Lady Idu.  Oh, it would be hard to ignore a daimyo’s wife!”

Mari thought, yes, she would be first among all the women in the castle.

“But perhaps he has a wife that lives apart from him?”

Lady Nyo shook her head. “No, not that I have ever heard, Lady Mari.”

“But of course men and women many times do not live together.  So that would account why we know nothing about a wife.  However, surely my husband would tell me.  But in all these years, he has said nothing.”

The expression on Mari’s face took Lady Nyo by surprise.

“A man and wife don’t live together?  How strange.”  As soon as Mari spoke, she realized her mistake.

“Oh, Lady Mari!  Surely the married people where you come from don’t live together after marriage?”

“Well, actually they do.  Except if the husband has to travel for his…ah….business.”

“Oh! People are so different it seems.  Only the farmers live together, but that is because their women are needed in the fields.

That morning Mari learned that among the upper classes, and especially within the aristocracy, men and women lived apart.  The visits were planned, and each was notified by a messenger.  Now that poem of autumn winds and the bamboo blinds blowing made sense.  These marriages were conjugal visits.

“No, no wife I think, but the finest courtesans do visit him….or he them, from time to time.  It is only right and proper. He is not a hermit.”

“Who?  Tell me, Hana, do you know the women?  What do they look like, have you seen them?”

Lady Nyo, touched Mari would use her name, blushed and shyly touched Mari’s hand next to her.

“Well. There was the beautiful courtesan Midori last year.  Oh, Lady Mari!  You should have seen her kimonos! Such silks and colors!  She looked like a beautiful butterfly!”

Lady Nyo giggled like a girl and rushed to explain.  “I was passing from one hall to another on some endless errand and I saw her with attendants.  She was so beautiful!  Her skin was as white as a lily and her hair was as glossy as a blackbird’s wing.  Long, too.  She wore it unencumbered and it swept her hems. “

Mari chuckled to herself.  So, Lord Mori wasn’t the hermit he appeared at first to her.  He was man enough.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2017

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“The Kimono”, Chapter 6 with a Strong Warning to Readers…..

 

–

If you have qualms reading about public executions, or extreme violence, don’t read this chapter. 

Yabusame was a practice in Medieval Japan to train samurai in archery and horseback.  It was instituted by an early Shogun because he thought his samurai warriors were short in their ability with the long bow. A rider gallops towards three targets and from his horse, hits a target.  However, at certain times in history, Japanese criminals were the targets.  I don’t know how long this practice of public execution was used, but an arrow to the heart was certainly less brutal than boiling, burning, etc…all standard forms of execution.  Also used in Europe.

Yabusame is a cultivated and honored demonstration today in many parts of Japan.  Just wooden targets, no criminals.

The practice of shibari was first used on criminals.  Depending upon the rank of the criminal, the knots were either many or none at all. This novel is a work of fiction, time travel, (from the 21st century Japan to the 17th)  but I have tried to include many practices as I have researched them. Mari is tied with many knots as she is delivered by this magic kimono to Lord Mori, hence she must be a ‘dangerous criminal’ in his eyes.  He knows she isn’t, and it’s all a joke to him.

Lady Nyo

THE KIMONO

Chapter 6:

Mari woke the next morning to the smell of coffee.  Steven was bringing in a cup and smiled at her when she sat up, blinking her eyes and yawning.

“Sleepyhead is finally awake.  You must have been tired last night.  I tried to wake you earlier this morning, but you were sleeping like the dead.”  Steven smiled down at her, the coffee’s steam floating like a ghost above in front of her.

Mari yawned again, as Steven set the mug on the bedside table.  She was naked under the sheet and glancing over the side of the bed, saw the kimono rumpled on the floor.

Sipping her coffee she wondered if there was any evidence of the lovemaking by Lord Mori on her body.  Perhaps some bruising, or some mark that would be noticed by him.  She knew now that these weren’t dreams, they were something far beyond that.  They were magic but a peculiar kind of magic.

“I think the change in season is making me sleep soundly, Steven.”  Mari buried her head in her mug and swallowed her coffee, her black hair hiding her face.  Her excuse sounded a lie even to her ears.

Steven’s voice floated back to her from the bathroom.  “Mari, you still taking your pills?”

Mari grimaced and said, “You are referring to my birth control?  Yes, Steven, still taking them.”

“Good, just checking.  We don’t want a mistake to happen.”

Something of Lord Mori’s words came back to Mari as she drank her coffee. Perhaps he was right, perhaps she would feel more bonded to Steven with a child.

“Steven, what if I got pregnant?  Pills aren’t 100%.  What if I conceived a child?”  Mari could hear him turning the water on and off as he shaved.  There was silence from the bathroom and Mari watched what she could see of him from her bed.

His voice came back to her with the tapping of his razor against the sink as he finished his shaving.  “Mari, you know how I feel about this.  A child would not fit in my plans for my career.  I have to remain mobile.  The company demands that we fly where they want me. You knew this when we married, and nothing has changed since.”

No, nothing has changed since, thought Mari.  Our marriage limps along and we have no future except your work, Steven.

Steven’s voice continued to sound from the bathroom.  “If you’re bored, Mari, then for Christ’s sake, go take some courses at a local college. Find something to occupy yourself if being married isn’t enough.”

Mari sank back into the covers and thought.  She didn’t have the energy to fight him this morning, besides she was rarely aggressive.  Steven won at most arguments because he knew this.  She wouldn’t fight openly with him.  It wasn’t in her nature.

“Steven”, she called out quietly as he came in the room, adjusting his tie and cuffs. “It’s not that I’m bored, it’s that I want something more.”

Steven stood at the end of the bed and looked at her with a mixture of confusion and anger.

“Mari, what is this ‘more’?  You have money, right?  You can buy anything you want within reason.  You can spend the entire day shopping and sightseeing.  We have a maid every place we go so you have no housework. You knew the nature of my career when you married me, so what’s the beef now?  What has changed? Look, someday we can talk about children, but right now is not the time.  You knew this when we married.”

Steven came to the side of the bed and kissed her quickly on the forehead.  He was annoyed again, Mari could tell.  He left their little company-rented house, closing the front door quietly. To Mari it was the same old argument.  The sameness of sentiment between them was wearing on her and wearing her down.

That night she knew she wanted ‘more’ and the more was clearly defined.  She knew she could escape, even if it was risking all she had.  She was dying slowly and though it would be fantastical in the telling, she made a choice for this ‘more’.

The moon was again full, and streamed into their bedroom. Steven insisted on heavy drapes, but when he was asleep, Mari opened them and knelt on the bed, the moonlight illuminating her skin.  Her breasts felt full, like the moon, and her nipples were hardened like two cherry pits.  She went and retrieved the black kimono from the closet and draped it around her, tying it loosely with a small piece of silk rope she had picked up in a shop.  It was not the elegant obi sash but just a piece of faded red rope. For some reason, it seemed to be right for the kimono.

Though the room was dark the moonlight was strong enough to illuminate the black kimono.  Mari looked down at where it was folded across her breasts, the soft mounds of them disappearing into the darkness below, caressed by the heavy crepe of the kimono. She looked up at the moon, stark in the black, velvety night, and even the lights of Kyoto could not diminish its power.  She wondered if the kimono flew her past the moon, washing her in the white beams of its light as it carried her to Lord Mori.  She wondered what the process was and what happened to her body, her atoms, her molecules enfolded in the crepe of the gown.

She pulled it tight around her hips, already feeling the knots of the embroidery cut into her skin.  She secured it with the red rope around her waist.  Quickly braiding her hair behind her head, she lay down next to Stephen, pulling the quilt up over her shoulders and closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep.

*****

Mari lay on the stone floor, her arms tied behind her back by the silk rope formerly around her waist.  The kimono now open, her naked body hugging the cold wooden floor of Lord Mori’s chamber.  She looked up, startled, only able to raise her body just so far.  Lord Mori was standing at the open window, the wooden shutter thrown back against the wall.  His back was to her and she managed a throttled cry to get his attention.

“Lord Mori!”, she cried.   “Lord Mori!” She called out again.  He didn’t seem in too much a hurry to notice her on the floor.

“Do I hear a mouse calling my name?  What kami has allowed a small rodent such a gift?”

“Ah! It is Lady Mari, come to visit me so early in my room.  Does your husband know you are trussed up and lying on my floor, Lady Mari?”

“Lord Mori, please, for the love of God, untie me.  I can barely breathe on this cold floor.”

Lord Mori walked slowly, obviously in no hurry, to her side and stood looking down at Mari with a grin on his face.

“It seems the kimono has used some complex knots this time, Lady Mari.  I will have to study the pattern before I can release you. Ah! It seems that you are a dangerous criminal, for there are many knots in your binding!”

“Please, Lord Mori, I am cold here, my kimono is open and my body flat on the floor.”

“Yes, I see, Lady Mari, a good place and position for such a criminal.  Perhaps it is best that you remain where you are for a while?  Perhaps you are too dangerous to be allowed your freedom.”

He stood above her and she could hear him laughing softly.

“Please!”  I am cold and I have to pee!”

“What?  Again?  Very well then, I don’t want my floor to be soiled by your water.”

Lord Mori pulled Mari up to her feet, his eyes boldly looking at her body, now exposed by the open kimono, her nipples erect from the contact with the cold floor.  He then quickly untied the silk rope that kept her arms tightly bound behind her back.  Mari rubbed them, now free and closed her kimono, aware of his eyes upon her.

“Thank you, Lord Mori”, she said, looking up into his eyes.  “I was starting to shiver on your floor.”

“Well, come near the brazier, Lady Mari, and warm yourself.  The morning is cold yet, but it seems we are to have a fair day.  Already the clouds are dispersing and the morning birds are singing of the day.  Lord Tokugawa is still present in the castle and you have come on an auspicious day.  We are to have a ceremony in honor of my Lord this morning.  Perhaps you are familiar with the Yabusame ritual?”

Mari shook her head, now standing near the brazier, her hands out to its steady warmth.

“I thought not.  Well, we keep the gods entertained and all the other demi-gods, like our Lord Tokugawa happy with this ritual.  We ride our horses past targets and shoot our bows from horseback.  Today, we have a surplus of prisoners to substitute as targets. They are mostly common criminals, thieves, robbers and a few more dangerous.”

Lord Mori stood there looking at Mari, watching for her reaction.  It was not slow in coming.

Mari gasped, her eyes widening.  “Lord Mori, that is uncivilized! Surely you are not serious.”

“Oh yes, I am very serious.  How do you dispatch criminals in your world?”

Mari thought of her society’s methods of execution: hanging, the electric chair, and poisonous injections.  There was little to recommend in her world that was not as barbarous.

“Well, we don’t string them up and shoot arrows at them,” she said in disgust.

“But your methods are more humane?  Then tell me what they are and perhaps I should adopt them.”

Mari did and Lord Mori’s eyes became mere slits as he listened to her.

“I believe we have the many-fold advantage over your methods, girl.  We attempt to dispatch the criminals quickly with an arrow to the heart, we develop our skill with our bows and we exercise our horses at the same time.  Clearly, we have a superior method of execution than yours.  Of course, we have many more methods, but the morning grows late.”

Lord Mori removed the haunted kimono, folding it carefully and placed it on a wooden chest with reverence.  He then held out an opened kimono for Mari to wear.  Mari turned her back to him and felt the quilted kimono slip over her arms and settle on her back.  At the same time, Lord Mori pulled her firmly to him with one arm, the other freeing her long, black hair from beneath the kimono. Mari could feel his breath on the back of her head.  Lord Mori slipped a hand into her kimono, cupping a breast and squeezing her nipple.

Then, suddenly breaking off, he said, “I will send you to Lady Idu to be prepared.  You certainly cannot sit in the stands with the other women naked.”

Mari was sent to Lady Idu who received her with thinly disguised distaste.

Once again she supervised the bath and the dressing of Mari.  The cosmetics were applied and the false eyebrows were applied high on Mari’s forehead.  She was handed a small mirror and she barely suppressed a giggle at the surprise the mirror gave her. She did look fully Japanese with the makeup and robed in layers of thin silk kimonos.

Lady Nyo was again in attendance and together the two women sat and talked softly until

Lady Idu clapped her hands together and summoned all the women to her. These were the wives and daughters, and some of the older women of the castle. All would be expected to attend the ceremonies planned to honor the visit of Lord Tokugawa. With the swishing sound of silken clothes and a fluid gliding of many feet, the women walked two abreast behind the Lady Idu out of the castle to the park where they were to sit beside the raised platform for the Lords Tokugawa and Mori.

Kneeling on low, hard cushions with the other women, Mari followed Lady Ngo’s example of spreading her layers of different colored kimono so the hems radiated out in pleasing colors.  Lady Nyo tittered and whispered into Mari’s ear until a look from Lady Idu shut her up.

Mari saw Lord Tokugawa sitting on the platform, dressed in clothes of ceremony, plus caplets, swords shoved through his sashes and a rather silly headpiece. She looked for Lord Mori, but did not see him next to Lord Tokugawa.  There were other men around the lord, but not Lord Mori.

A large crowd gathered to view the parade of samurai and horses.  Mari thought it amazing so many people were assembled this early in the morning. But of course the presence of Lord Tokugawa would have drawn all the officials from around the countryside and their appearance before the lord would have been necessary to their future favor with the great Lord Tokugawa.

Suddenly a low toned horn blew in the distance, and Mari with the other women craned their necks to see where the sound originated.  Soon the horn’s plaintive notes sounded nearer. A long horn came into view, carried on the shoulders of two men with a third blowing fiercely, his cheeks puffed out like apples with each tone he made. Behind him, numerous drummers.  As they came up the long winding street in front of the platform, they were followed by many men walking two abreast, dressed in ceremonial robes. Then followed the mounted samurai.  At the head of these samurai was Lord Mori.  He was astride a white horse, this beast decorated with red ropes and tassels. Lord Mori himself was bulky with many robes and sashes, and a white shawl thrown over the left shoulder.  He carried a long bow in his left hand, and a quiver of long arrows was fixed to the back of his saddle on the left side.  Lord Mori led at least twenty mounted samurai, all similarly garbed in colorful robes and all with broad brimmed hats.  More men walked behind the mounted horses and then the prisoners.

Mari’s heart beat hard in her breast and her stomach clenched in knots.  He was serious! She had hoped he was just hounding her with a particular brand of cruelty, but he was serious.  Mari’s face must have betrayed her horror, for Lady Ngo looked at her with a quizzical expression and tapped her on the hand with her closed fan.

“Lady Mari, you look like you have seen a ghost!  What is wrong, why are you so distressed? Are you ill?”

Mari could barely focus on the words of Lady Nyo.

“Those are prisoners, those men in the parade?”

“Oh yes, Lady Mari, those are prisoners.  They are greatly honored to be executed before the Lord Tokugawa.  I have heard they are very dangerous men.  Some were taken in battle, but some have done great offenses, and they deserve to be killed.  May the Gods show their families mercy.”

Mari stared at her, disbelief overcoming her reason like a huge wave. Was she to be an observer of the suffering of these men?  And at the hands of Lord Mori?  What beasts and monsters were these people around her?

The horn blew again and the drummers started their ponderous rhythm.  An official on the platform was reading a proclamation.  Mari could only understand a few of his words, but it seemed to be a greeting from the Lord Tokugawa to the people in attendance.  She looked for Lord Mori, and saw him still mounted on his horse, with men in attendance surrounding him.

Three prisoners were led by two men each to an erect stake.  Mari saw them tied with their hands behind the stake, their bodies further bound with rope. They were also bound by the throat.  They were about 70 feet apart, enough to draw an arrow, fit it to the bow and swiftly release it at a gallop.  Mari tried to read their expressions, the ones she could see, but the men kept their eyes to the ground.

The mounted Samurai had moved down the road past Lord Tokugawa, along with their attendants. Again the horn sounded, and the first rider thundered into view.  Standing up in his stirrups, he fitted his arrow to the bow and holding it high he came at a fast gallop,

letting the arrow fly at the human target.  Mari could not see the man clearly, just his form tied to the stake, but she heard the crowd around her break into shouts of approval as the man was hit directly in the chest.  The rider continued at a gallop and again raising his bow, he shot his arrow at the man, but missed killing him, hitting him instead in the left arm as he passed.  Sighs of disappointment floated around her. Mari’s placement was almost directly across from this prisoner.  She saw him yell with shock and pain and twist his body to the side, straining his ropes.  She missed watching the next prisoner, but heard the crowd around her yell with approval, so the next one must have been cleanly dispatched.

A short wait while the dead and living were removed and replaced with fresh men and

Another rider came into view.

“Lady Nyo, what happens to the men that aren’t killed as targets, but just maimed?”

“Oh! They are beheaded, killed quickly.”

Mari felt sick.  She could barely breathe and squeezed her silken robes in her hands until she thought she would tear the cloth. Taking deep breaths, she finally calmed herself and

shook her head to clear it.  More prisoners were tied to the stakes.

New riders galloped by, letting their arrows fly at the prisoners.  Mari listened to the horse’s hooves and kept her eyes in her lap, her thoughts frozen by the horror before her. She didn’t want to see more.

Lady Nyo tried to comfort her, but Mari could only clutch at her hand.

“Lady Mari, your hand is so cold and it is such a pleasant day.  Perhaps you have fallen sick this morning?”  Lady Nyo looked carefully into the eyes of Mari and chuckled.  Then she fell quiet, patting Mari’s hand softly.

Mari squeezed shut her eyes, no longer wanting to watch the proceedings. She concentrated on her breathing, attempting to calm herself and mentally disappear from what was around her. She wondered why she was so distraught over what she had seen when this was a public execution and in her country these things happened but were discreetly done behind prison walls.  Only a few generations before there were public hangings, and that form of execution was much worse than a clean shot through the heart to Mari’s thinking.  It was only because she was on the field of execution and a human witness to the killing, she thought that this was horrific. Then again, this was execution turned into sport, and thirty human lives were the beating hearts of that entertainment.  She tried to remove herself by stopping all conscious thought and just breathe.  She listened to the sounds of her inhaling and exhaling and tried to blot out the sounds around her.

It worked until she heard Lady Nyo’s words in an excited whisper.

“Look, Lady Mari!  Lord Mori is riding now!”

Her words made Mari’s eyes fly open and out of curiosity, look to where the rider came. Standing high in the stirrups, she saw him smoothly draw back the bow and loosen the arrow at the prisoner.  A great cry erupted from those around her as Lord Mori swept down the road at a relaxed gallop. Three times he pulled back his longbow, holding it high above the horse. Three times Mari heard the crowd sound its approval.  Three times a man sagged against his bonds, pierced with Lord Mori’s well-placed arrow.

These were clean shots and obviously showed the expertise of Lord Mori’s abilities with the bow.  Mari wondered how many men Lord Mori had killed in just such rituals, besides the ‘legitimate’ slaughter on a battlefield.  Of course, these were different times in the history of the world, and she wished she had more knowledge of this country before she had appeared in his century. Perhaps some understanding would have prepared

her better for what she had just witnessed, though she didn’t think any amount of reading could soften the horror of a public execution.

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2015

“Devil’s Revenge”, Chapter 35

I know this drives readers crazy, and probably away, but I’m jumping around here as I proof this book. This will be the first introduction I believe, on the blog, of Madame Gormosy, the Demon of Lust from Hell. She is a transgender devil apparently, changing from Monsieur to Madame at will, though she really perfers her shape as Madame. She plays faro and cheats, but she is also a tender devil.

Garrett has been advised by Lord Abigor and Lord Aamon, two Arch Dukes of Hell, to travel back in time to gather his forces for this upcoming battle with Obadiah and his legions of Hell.

Lady Nyo

DEVIL’S REVENGE

Chapter 35

“So, M. Demon”, Madame Gormosy raised her head from her cards and addressed Garrett across the table. “Tell us a bit of who declared for your side. Mon Dieu! This house was so full of those Devils that day! They have left soot marks on the walls and some dents in the floors.”

Madame Gormosy was having her fun. I am assured by the Demon nothing of the sort has happened downstairs. However, it is a couple of days before I was allowed outside of this room, and perhaps there was a kernel of truth in Madame’s comments.

The Demon looked up from his hand. He was losing, but that was because Madame had subtle tricks with the cards. She cheats. Faro was her game and she was hard to beat at cards. Garrett has not caught on yet, but he will. His pile of coin was lessening and Madame’s was growing. My old trick of launching my shoe to the side of Madame and peering at her cards was not working today, for she was not indulging my trickery. That was tolerated only when we are alone. I am not winning a coin here.

Garrett looked up at her and thought a minute. “Almost enough for my side of the board.” He referred to the impending warfare as the Chess Game From Hell.

“Ah! And who are these Demons that have come to your side?” Madame coyly kept her eyes on her cards.

Garrett uttered a low curse, and threw his hand on the table. He was a poor loser at cards, and not gracious at all.

“Madame”, he said sharply. “Will you indulge me and allow me some time with this woman?” He shifted his eyes and Madame smiled slyly.

“Of course, Monsieur le Demon. I have other work to attend.” Madame got up and left the room gracefully, my Demon bowing her out the door.

I put my cards down, suspicious of his behavior. “Were you losing that much money this morning?” I know he hates faro, and isn’t the card sharp Madame is to best her.

He turned from the door, his expression hard to read. “We have things to discuss Bess this morning. You can play with Madame later.”

He moved to his chair across from our tea table. “I have talked to Abigor. He agrees with my plans.” He sat there, not looking at me, and I could see he is struggling with something he had to say.

“And if they include me, would you at least tell me my part?” I saw him hesitate.

“These dreams you have, Bess. Abigor thinks they are important.”

Ah! So Abigor, an Arch Duke of Hell thought them important, never mind my sleep was wracked with images that frighten me.

“Aamon has bound me to him. I have promised to follow his counsel and visit the otherworld. You’re going with me.” He looked at me, and I could see from his eyes that he would not brook an argument. I remembered his handling of the whip a few days ago.

“Then tell me what this ‘otherworld’ is, Garrett. At least allow me the favor of this.”

“You know the dreams of the Morrigen and Cernunnos? They are not idle events. They speak to a kinship that I have known for a while and have avoided for various reasons.”

At least this is a start! It gave some shape and comfort to what happened here and some answers to his origin.

“But this otherworld you speak of. What is it exactly? Is it like Hell?”

“No, it actually would be something you would have studied perhaps. Let’s call it the Mystic Isles for the moment.” He looks at the floor, deep in thought.

“Somewhere in Scotland?” I think of a previous dream, that first one of Culloden.

“Close. But more distant, too.”

Ah! He’s into games this morning. But I’m not following.

“Avalon?” He smiles, he is humoring me.

“Avalon is only a small part of it all. The two worlds, the present and the otherworld have portals. Your visits from Morrigen and Aine had meaning to me but until I discussed them with Abigor and Aamon, I didn’t know how important they were.”

He sucked on a thumb and spit out a piece of a nail. “I am to seek support and forces from among my own kin. Obadiah has his forces from Hell, as do I have, but I also have the magic of this particular otherworld to plunder.”

He finally turned to me and looked at me closely. “Abigor thinks you essential to this. The Morrigen is going through you to reach me.” He pauses and scowls. “As is Cernunnos.”

It seemed to me both Cernunnos and the Morrigen had no qualms in how they reached him. If I was a vessel, the price I paid was a costly one.
“Whatever kinship I have with these others, I will have to claim it soon. That is why we will leave in a matter of days. You, as my consort among demons, will have the same position among these others.”

Ah! I’m beginning to see a pattern here.

“Tell me, Demon, what actually will you be doing in this otherworld you speak?”

“It grows near to the Beltaine. The Great Marriage between the Horned One and the Mother draws nigh. The fertility rites will be attended by us. You and I will be part of the consecration and you will be confirmed as my consort. That is only a part of the work. I will be conversing with others there as to the merits of my case with Obadiah.”

“And what does that entail, Demon?” I am all ears.

“Lots of orgies and gore. Perhaps a sacrifice or two.” He expects me to be frightened. He is not amiss in his expectations.

“Garrett, explain please. You are talking in riddles.”

“Any kinship I can claim to Cu Chulainn , as I am told I have rights, will force these spirits to come to my side. I can raise an army from my birthright.”

Good and fine. “Now tell me, Demon, what you expect of my presence?”

Garrett looked at me with a serious expression. “You, as my consort, will be expected to attend me in the ritual of the Great Marriage.”

“And what it that?” I seem to have remembered some pagan rite of spring, something to do with the fertility of the land, but whatever I once knew, it has faded.

“You know of the festival of Beltaine?” I nod my head. “A number of times a year, more than two, but is known by most at Samhain and Beltaine, the Horned God and the Goddess couple in symbolic gesture. They, by their mating, assure the fertility of the land for the halfyear to come. At this ritual, you will be initiated as my consort, and will enact the same rites.”

I look at him in confusion. “We are to get married?”

He smiles to himself, but I see that there is more to this smile than he lets on. “A very public wedding night. Shared by others.”

“What part of all this is shared by others?” This should be interesting.

“You will be instructed by women as to how to deport yourself. And we will not see each other for a number of weeks. I will have my own instruction to attend to. You will be in the good hands of women who are steeped in these mysteries. Your time there will teach you far more than mere magic.”

I feel that he is avoiding my questions, but what he has said gives me meat enough for thought. After a while he leaves me to myself, and I notice a book placed in the window sill. I had not noticed it before, nor was it one of the few that I had brought up from downstairs. The Demon must have placed it there, or perhaps Madame Gormosy. I settled at my tea table and read what I could. It was a book on the history of the Druids and in it I came across what he called “The Great Marriage”. The pages were spotted with age and water, and the printing had strange characters in its alphabet, but I read on.

It seemed the Great Marriage was a ritual more public festival among pagans than the Christian monks would wish. In our eyes, some of the parts of the rituals would be distasteful enough, but one was especially perverse. It seems that a white horse was found at Beltaine and the Horned God, I would suppose Cernunnos, would mate with this mare. She would be killed, he washed in the blood, and would eat of the raw flesh. White horses were rare, and the sacrifice of one was a significant event. Then there was a very public ritual of the mating of Cernunnos with the Goddess, and it seemed that all hell broke loose. Bonfires were set on hills, and cattle driven over the flames or between two bonfires to insure fertility. Young women and men would jump through the flames, and they would pair off and mate in the open and throughout the forest or glen. This was not frowned upon, at least by the ordinary folk, for in its superstition, it assured the coming fertility of the crops and the expected harvest. Some man with antlers representing Cernunnos would run around and mate with as many women as possible. I shivered thinking about my own encounter with Cernunnos. I could do well to avoid him again.

Madame Gormosy came back later in the evening. We would begin to pack for the trip. She recommended stout and warm clothing, and boots and woolen stockings. Since it was still not spring, I thought as we traveled, we would meet a cold and dreary landscape. If my trips to Scotland and England taught me anything, it was that the weather was awful, and I’d probably get sick. We packed what woolen clothes I had, and a stout pair of leather boots. My red woolen cloak and some shawls completed my trousseau, for what I packed was a strange assortment of wedding finery. No modest veils or satin, and the heaviest of linen chemises for my wedding night. Hah!

There was little else I could do or prepare, and went back to playing faro with Madame. She was not to come with us, and I realized that I would miss her companionship. Although Madame, and at times, Monsieur, kept me guessing, she was, as my Demon declared, all sweetness and light. That’s when I didn’t catch her trickery at cards, but she had centuries of cheating beneath her belt, and I continued to play the plucked chicken.

Ah, Madame! I will miss your smile and your wandering hands. What I face on the morrow would be much soothed by your company!

Jane Kohut-Bartels,
Copyrighted, 2009, 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

“The Kimono” Chapter 1

Child playing with a Tengu mask, 17th century painting

 

 Three years ago I started a novel that stretched from 21st modern Japan to 17th century Japan.  This time warp was made by a magic kimono, bought by the main character, Mari. She does get stuck in 17th century Japan, and the last I checked on her, (Chapter 26) she was still there.

I actually bought the antique kimono that inspired this book from Marla Mallet here in Atlanta.  Anyone who is interested is marvelous textiles and kimonos, etc. should check out her site.  www.marlamallet.com. (I just checked her site…it’s not what it used to be, and I’ll have to do further search before I will recommend it. She had beautiful antique kimono, tomesode, etc…many wedding kimono, but I don’t see the original site here.)

This is pretty early in my writing attempts, so there are a lot of revisions to be made on this chapter…and all the chapters after it.  I seem to work on this book periodically, seem to lose sight of it, but when I reread a chapter, I get excited about the story again.  I have an ending…somewhere…plotted out, but these things finish on their own.  In time.

A big propellant to write this was studying Saigyo, Ono no Komachi, and Basho’s poetry, amongst others of the 8th-17th centuries.  For a year now I have studied Japanese just so I could read some of the waka in the original.  So far, I can pick out words, but that is about all.  For the last two years, I have studied the cultural issues of medieval Japan, especially their love of ghosts, kami, ogres, etc.  I have tried to weave these monsters into the work, and it has become a lot of fun for me.  Hopefully it will be the same for readers when this book is finished.

Lady Nyo

 

 Tomesode: A married woman’s kimono, always black with a pattern on hem, etc.  Usually with five family crests.

Yukata:  a summer kimono…usually dark blue with white patterns, from geometric to repeat floral.

 

It hung in the window of a shop as Mari walked around the old part of Kyoto. The shop looked out to a very small, shaded garden. With the sun overhead piercing the fan- shaped leaves of a gingko, the ground beneath looked like a yukata’s repeat pattern.

At first her eyes were drawn to a slim beacon of light, gaining her attention.  It was enough to make her enter the small shop.

“Ohayo!”  The shopkeeper came from behind his counter and bowed respectfully to Mari.

“Ohayo”. Mari bowed back.

Mari was Japanese- American, married to an ex-military man and this, their first trip to Japan.  The only thing Japanese she knew was food.  This culture was no more hers than being American.  She would be forever caught in the middle, a tug of war by two sides, and neither to claim her.

She turned and saw what had caught her attention. It was a kimono, a black, formal tomesode. A kimono any married woman would wear, not dyed with the usual flowers.  Winding around the hem and up in a serpentine path high on the left front was a wide silver band.  Looking closer, she saw the intricate handwork of what looked like stitched, silver cloth.

“That is surihaku, embossed silver sewn foil”

The voice of the shop owner startled her, and Mari jumped. She blushed, not hearing him approach.

“How old is this kimono?  May I look at it closer?”

He took it down from the pole and carefully draped it over his arm.  With her eyes, Mari traced the river of silver from the hem up to where it disappeared as it turned into the inside of the kimono.  The shop keeper opened the left panel and Mari saw the embroidery continued around the tan, encircling the hips.  The silver was only on the outside decoration, but the embroidery inside was heavy and patterned.

Mari could not restrain her hand from stroking the embroidery. She wanted to close her eyes and read it like a piece of Braille.  She had never seen a kimono quite like this. It couldn’t be that old, perhaps no more than 60 years.  It seemed to be in excellent condition.

“Do you know anything about this tomesode? Where it came from, perhaps?”

“No, one day it just appeared.  I am a widower; my wife must have purchased it when I was away.  I found it after she died, in a chest.”

Mari bought the kimono home.

She married Steven four years ago. They had never really settled down.  His company sent him for long stays in different countries. She went along because they were married and it was what was expected.   It was never clear to her what he actually did, something to do with numbers and systems and strange codes.  He was an expert in his field and the company happy to uproot them both and send them afield.

Mari was not unhappy in the marriage, just restless.  Steven had his work but she had nothing to do except to knock around the streets and look at people, read and think. 

Kyoto was a pretty city and the older parts shady and pleasant during the two months they had been there. Mari’s mother thought her malaise was over the issue of children, but Steven was against that from the beginning.  He complained children would make their movements complicated, and Steven was all about making things simple.

Mari was a dutiful wife and put up little resistance. Perhaps because her own mother was a good Japanese wife, she had been trained to do the same.  Her mother always submitted to what her husband wanted.  They both did.

It was two days before she was able to try on the kimono. Carefully untying the string and opening the box, she took it out.

Holding it from her, the weight of the winter crepe felt heavy. Just a dull black kimono with five white painted crests. Mari laid the kimono on the bed, and she again traced the silver river, this time with her face pressed on the cloth, her eyes following the winding course of the silver. It was as cool as water on her skin.  Laying it open on the bed, she looked carefully at the black embroidery, wondering if there was a pattern in the high knots that coursed around the silk.  She couldn’t tell because the pattern was like hieroglyphics. Perhaps a secret language sewn into the silk; something indiscernible.

Mari stripped and pulled the kimono around her, binding it to her firmly.  It was heavy on her body, clinging like a second skin.  She sat on the floor feeling suddenly overwhelmed with a heaviness her legs could not support.

She held out her arms, the dull silk rippling like water.  It fell into the form of her breasts and without reason, she felt her nipples harden.  It must be the cold of the crepe, she thought.

Sitting on the floor, she wrapped her arms around herself.  She vaguely watched the river of silver course up her leg and disappear into the interior of the kimono.  She wondered about the course of her own life. What would the years bring with Steven and could she endure this dullness inside?  With a start she realized that was exactly what she was feeling, a leaden dullness that leached out all color around her.  Perhaps that was the attraction of the kimono now girding her loins, the silver surihaku that led to her noticing it in the shop.  The brightness of something to catch her eye and her imagination.

She didn’t know how long she sat on the floor, her thoughts spiraling inward like the design of a nautilus shell.  She finally looked at the clock next to the bed and was amazed that an hour had passed.  She stood up and dropped the kimono around her on the floor.  It puddled into black mountains, a landscape of rivers and valleys.

Mari touched her left hip and found a series of flesh tattoos. In fact, all around her hips, stretching from one side to the other, there was a definite pattern pressed into her flesh.

She thought of the weaves of a basket, the marks of a rope, the binding of her flesh to something stronger than her own mind.

That night when Steven returned she showed him the kimono.

“Why a black one, Mari?  You will look like an old crow in that.”

A less than flattering characterization, but Stephen was rather critical of how she dressed. Mari did not go for floral designs and bright colors.  She picked colors that were neutral, earth tones; colors that did not make her stand out.

“Married women in Japan always wore black kimonos, Stephen.  It’s the unmarried woman who wear floral designs.”

“Well, get a red one and I’ll be interested in your choice of bathrobes.”

Stephen was not interested in Japanese culture.  His whole purpose in life was to do his job and move on to the next.

That night after they went to bed Mari was cold. The weather had changed and the fall was becoming chilly.  She got out of bed and padded to where she hung the kimono.  Pulling it around her body its heaviness and drape comforted her. She returned to bed and fell asleep.

This must be a dream, Mari thought.  I am kneeling on something cold, hard.   I  smell smoke.  Where am I? It’s so dark my eyes can’t pick out anything. My arms! Why are my arms tied behind my back?  

She was kneeling, on cold floor, and soon her eyes were able to pick out details of a room with little light, and little furniture she could recognize.  She was shivering. She was naked except for the kimono over her shoulders. Suddenly she heard a grunt and a voice.

“So.  What have we here?  A young maiden lost on her journey through life?”

Mari craned her neck around and saw a man, or what had to be a man for the room was dim except for a brazier.  He certainly had a low voice like a man. He rose and moved around in front of her, stared down, a bemused look on his face.

Mari looked up.  He had long, loose black hair that swept his chest, was tall for a Japanese man, and was attractive.  He was dressed unlike anything she had seen in modern Japanese styles, for he wore what looked to be numerous robes and had two swords at his waist.

“Catbird got your tongue?”  He leaned down and raised her chin up in a hard-skinned hand.  Mari shivered from fear and cold.

“Where am I?  Why are my arms tied? Who are you?”  Mari was stuttering, forcing her questions out.

“Ah, I see I have been brought a young woman who knows no manners.  Perhaps I will teach you some.  Perhaps you can learn to address your betters with respect.”  The man took her draped kimono off her shoulders and folded it carefully, placing it on a wooden chest.

Mari started shivering, her naked body exposed to the cold room. 

“As to who I am, I am Lord Mori Higato, in the service of the Emperor.  I am of the clan Motomuri.  That is all you, girl, need to know.”

“You sstill haven’t answered my question.  Where am I?  Is this a dream?  Please, I beg of you, I am freezing, for the love of God; give me a blanket or sssomething to warm myself.”

Lord Mori looked down at her, his face a mask.  Suddenly he threw back his head and laughed loudly. 

“I see I have a challenge before me.  Well, good, I am up for a challenge, even if it is in the insignificant package of a woman.”

Lord Mori lifted her up by one secured arm and roughly dragged her to a low bed.  He pushed her down face and threw a silk quilt over her.  At first Mari lay still, until wiggling like a worm, her head cleared the quilt.  She could not sit up, but at least she could see.

The man was sitting down on a bench before a low table. He was writing something on a paper scroll with a brush that he dipped in ink. Mari watched silently, knowing he was watching her from the corner of his eye.

“Please untie me, Lord Mori Higato.  I am very uncomfortable and would like to sit up.”

“Why would your comfort be of my concern?  You make silly demands of a superior.”

Mari struggled not to show tears, but she was uncomfortable. Also afraid.

“Lord Mori Higato.  I have to pee badly.”

Lord Mori grunted and put down his brush.  “Well, that is natural. I also have to pass water first thing in the morning.  Come, girl, I will help you.”

Mari wasn’t sure she wanted help, but she had little choice.  He threw back the cover, and pulled her to her feet, and walked her to a small alcove where a large clay vessel stood.  He pushed her down and walked away, and Mari was glad for the privacy.  Of course with her hands tied she had to carefully balance herself, but at least her bladder didn’t hurt.

She padded to where he was, blushing because of her nakedness.  She wasn’t sure this was a dream now for she felt wide-awake. She edged towards the low brazier for the warmth.

“Lord Mori.  It is unnecessary for you to keep my arms tied for I am not a threat to you. I am a modern woman who is not violent and I have no intentions of grabbing your sword and using it against you.”

Lord Mori looked up from his scroll and listened, his raised eyebrows expressing his surprise.

“You could not grab my sword, as you put it, without losing your hands.  I have no fear of you harming me. It is rather the other way around, girl.  However, since you are about to tip into the brazier, I will untie you.”

He drew his short sword and whipped her around, cutting her ropes.  Mari almost sobbed in relief. Her  arms were numb.  Then the pain hit her and she moaned as she tried to rub them, a pathetic, naked woman in great discomfort.

The sight of her must have moved something in Lord Mori for he drew her to him and rubbed her arms.  Mari was grateful for this contact for she was shivering with cold.  She felt exhausted and leaned her head against his chest with a sigh. Then she fainted.

When she recovered her senses, she was tucked inside his robes, sitting on the futon bed.  He smelled of cinnamon and sandalwood and male sweat, but it was comforting enough.

“This isn’t a dream.”  Her voice sounded soft and flat where she nestled against him.

“So you have come back to me, little one?”  His voice had a touch of humor.

“No, this is no dream, but it is time for you to answer me.”

“Please, Lord Mori. Please first give me some water?”

“I will give you some broth for these things can take strength out of a woman.  Wait.”

Placing her on the bed, he drew a quilt over her body.  He brought back a bowl of hot broth simmering on the brazier.  Her hands shook as she reached for the bowl.

“Better I feed you than you scalding your breasts.”

Mari sat next to him, wrapped in the quilt, while Lord Mori fed her the broth with a china spoon.  It was hot and spicy and Mari didn’t know what to compare it with, but it warmed her.

“Now,” said Lord Mori when she had eaten enough to stop shivering, “tell me where you found the kimono.”

“In a shop in Kyoto on Dezu Street.  It was hanging near a window and the silver decoration caught my eye.  I brought it home and when I slept in it last night, well..something happened, and either this is a dream or it isn’t.”

Lord Mori grunted and exclaimed: “Kyoto! It is a long journey from where it was before.”

He was silent for a moment, then spoke. “What is your name girl, and are you maiden or wife?”

“I am very much wife, and my name is Mari.  My husband is a systems operator for a world-wide communications company.”

“What? You speak in riddles! Plainly girl, for you try my patience with your chatter.”

Mari’s suspicions were confirmed and she ventured a question.

“Lord Mori, what date is it today.  Where am I in history?”

“What date? Today is today and as far as this history you are asking about, you are in the castle of a powerful daimyo.”

Almost as an afterthought, he added in a whisper.

“And under the protection of a most powerful shogun.”

“What is the name of this shogun, Lord Mori?”

“None other than the great Lord Tokugawa.”

This still didn’t give Mari any idea where she was, but the broth was good and she stopped shivering.

“Lord Mori Higato, do you have a woman’s kimono for me to cover myself with?  I am not used to walking around naked.”

“You will get used to it girl, for I have an amusement planned that requires your nakedness.”

“Lord Mori Higato, I would remind you that my name is Mari, not ‘girl’, I am an educated, married woman and well respected in my field.”  This last was not true, for Mari had no field to speak of. 

“Ho! You are prideful for a woman and forceful, too. Perhaps your husband does not beat you enough.  That is a failing in many young husbands, and you look to be young. Perhaps I can help him in this.”

Mari thought fast.  “Lord Mori Higato, violence is the mark of a barbarian.  Surely you are not such a man.  You write and that shows you are civilized.”

A sly smile crossed the face of Lord Mori Higato, and he allowed it to broaden.

“You think quick for a woman, Woman- Called- Mari.  Does your education extend to the brush?”

Mari looked at his table and rising from the futon with the quilt wrapped tightly around her, she went to it.  She looked at the finely drawn calligraphy there and shook her head.

“Lord Mori Higato, I write with a pen, not a brush, and I also write with a keyboard, something I am beginning to think you have no knowledge of.  I do write some haiku, but perhaps it would be better for me to recite one for you?  You would not be able to read my script.”

“Why, are you so bad with the brush?  Then your education is very low.  Perhaps you dance or play an instrument?”

Mari smiled.  “No, Lord Mori Higato I play violin but this instrument I believe you are not familiar.  I do, however, write a lot of poetry.  I write cinquains, choka and sonnets and much freeverse.  I write haiku when I am able.

“Ah! You are very boastful for a woman.  Obviously your husband is a weak man.”

Mari gave another smile.  “Perhaps, Lord Mori Higato, perhaps, or maybe he lives by different standards.”

Lord Mori stood at his table, his arms crossed over his chest, looking curiously at the woman before him wrapped in his quilt.

“Then, if you dare, compose a poem and let’s see if your boasting has merit.”

Mari thought hard, trying to remember some she had recently written. There were a few, though they didn’t follow the classical forms.  Perhaps he would find some pleasure in one or two.

“Cold rain sweeps the streets

Even ducks seek shelter now

Feathers drop in haste”.

“Hah! Not very good, but a beginning.  Give me another.”

Mari thought this next one would be more of the classical form he demanded, but then she was beginning to see it hard to match wits with him.

“The glance at a wrist

White, the pulse of a river

Tiny beat of life.”

“Better!  Perhaps your husband has taught you something here.”

“My husband has taught me nothing, Lord Mori.  He is not interested in poetry.  I have learned this myself.”

“Not interested in poetry?  You have married a barbarian then, for a man who does not try to write poems is indeed a savage.  Give me some more, Woman –Called- Mari.”

She thought of a couple of others she had written, though she could only partly remember their lines. She had little option, except to admit failure, and something in this rude man brought her mettle out.  Pausing only a little between poems, she closed her eyes and recited what she could:

“A woman in bed

Kimono revealing breast

Snow on Mt. Fuji.

–

Snow falls on meadows

Crows pick at last harvest seeds

Spring now far away.

–

Swirling winds of fall

Make kimonos lift to knees

Birds fly to the south.”

–

She kept her eyes closed when she finished, thinking back to what she had just composed.  Opening one eye, she saw him contemplating her with a quizzical look.

“For a mere woman, you have a fertile mind.  If you had been born a man, you might have made a name for yourself.”

Lord Mori gave a short nod of his head, a measure of respect. 

“Come woman, learn how a man writes poems.  You have shown yourself capable of learning at least something.  Perhaps you are the rare woman who can rise above her nature.”

For the next hour, Lord Mori composed haiku and longer poems, mostly in the honor of his Lord Emperor and his Shogun.  Mari listened to his low, musical voice and the sentiments that poured out like warm sake.  She was lost in the delight of his poems, and was pulled by his natural beauty.  His black hair fell down his back and the vigor of this man before her was evident. Even when he rose and went to make water, the sound of his stream of piss was musical to her ears. 

 End of Chapter 1, “The Kimono”

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighed, 2008, 2011

‘Devil’s Revenge’, Chapter 43, for some Summer Reading Fun….

I came across this last chapter (so far) of “Devil’s Revenge” and thought I would post it.  It’s funny, or at least it made me laugh.

I have lost the corrections of this chapter twice so I appreciate the indulgence of readers.  I’ll get to them.

Explanations:

Those bothersome rips in the Universe and ley lines….. Chapter 43 takes place in the 1820′s….a dinner party.

Madame/Monsieur Gormosy is a Demon.  shape shifter and also the Demon of Lust.  There are a few of them, but M/Mde Gormosy enjoys cohabiting in both sexes.

M. Abigor is the top daddy…very close to the throne.  He was featured in Chapter 32 on this blog.  He is he most powerful demon in the room.

M. Bucon is a terrible Devil.  He’s the Demon of Hatred Between Sexes…

M. Garrett is half and half….human and devil.  Bess is fully human and terribly confused with life amongst devils.

Someday these Demons and Devils will leave and I will be lonely.

Lady Nyo

—

Chapter 43  “DEVIL’S REVENGE”

The bedroom door flew open and Garrett strode in.

“It’s been decided. It’s to be a duel.”

I looked at him, my mouth open in surprise, and twisted around to Madame Gormosy. She was arranging my hair and had a mouthful of pins. She shrugged, her eyebrows raised high and spit the pins into her hand.

“Bon. So tell us about this duel.”

Garrett leaned against the mantel. He grimaced, passed his hand over his face, and pulled at his lips, looking distracted by his thoughts.

“Better you both know we will be entertaining some devils tonight. M. Abigor will be one of them.”

His face dropped in a scowl and I felt Madame’s hands hard on my shoulders. Perhaps she knew more than she showed.

M. Abigor again! Well, I already knew he was an Arch Duke of Hell and a military adviser. He was also a healer but what that had to do with this situation I hadn’t a clue. Perhaps he replaced the lopped off limbs and bound up the wounds after battle.

But Garrett said ‘devils’. M. Abigor struck enough terror in my heart, but the presence of more?

“Who’s rounding out the company?” Trying to sound nonchalant, but my voice still shook.

Garrett looked a bit spooked and his eyes went straight to Madame Gormosy.

“M. Bucon will be dining with us.”

Bucon! The father of Obadiah! My stomach hit the bottom of my gut.

Again Madame Gormosy’s hands tightened on my shoulders.

“Do not fear, ma petite. M. Abigor is his equal and more. Nothing will happen to you tonight.”

Soothing words, but the look that passed between them was not reassuring.

Bucon was not a devil to dismiss easily. Another official from Hell, commanding a lot of legions of lesser devils, and the Demon of Hatred to boot. The Demon of Hatred between sexes. A real troublemaker let loose in the world.

Not to mention Obadiah’s father.

When I was writing the original novel, the one where all these queer and dangerous characters came from, little did I know what lay ahead. Now my life was at the mercy of more devils and I didn’t have any angels appearing in the fray. These were the forces surrounding me and little else to depend upon.

“I have a particular problem, Louis.” Garrett’s words were spoken softly, his eyes riveted to Madame.

That was strange for Madame appeared as a woman, certainly Louise, not Louis.

“Ah, life is always a problem. How can I be of service, Garrett?”

“I will need a second.”

I stiffened. Of course! But why not Abigor?

Garrett looked at me, reading my mind.

“For the simple reason that Abigor is an Arch Duke, and for him to be a second in this matter would not be a level playing field. Demons are tricky, but we do have ethics.”

I started to laugh but saw his expression. This was not a time for debate or levity.

Startled, I heard a voice not of Madame’s behind me, but of Monsieur Gormosy.

“But of course, mon ami. I am at your service. It should be no other devil than Louis. We have done well through the years. We have a bit of a blood bond, n’est ce pas?”

Garrett was not one to express gratitude easily. He was more likely to deflect an open show of gratitude with sarcasm, witty remarks. An expression of gratitude came hard to this demon. But something had changed, perhaps his pride or another human part.. Now his face showed relief.

He bowed stiffly to “Madame” still behind me, a bow expressing his profound gratitude..

We gathered together in the large sitting room before meeting our guests. . The house was ablaze with candles, and every fireplace stoked with a good fire. I supposed all done with magic, the particular devilish magic Garrett and Madame had shown before, but I was to be surprised at their invention.

Garrett said little as he poured sherry into two glasses, handing me one with a little bow. I had been tucked and pinned into a brocade gown, more the style of a few decades earlier, but this was not my choice. Madame Gormosy appeared with this gown and dressed me. It was not the loose and flowing gowns of the present 1820’s but a gown of more structure: a gown needing the benefit of a tight full corset and petticoats. I could barely breathe. My hair was pinned high on my head with one sausage curl falling across my shoulder. At least Madame did not powder my hair. A pair of pearl drop earrings and one gold bracelet was extracted from her jewelry box and I was presentable. Of course she insisted I wear rouge and a moue on one side of my face.

Garrett seemed pleased with my appearance when he escorted me into the sitting room, but since I had worn a dressing gown with uncombed hair for days, this change in appearance would please anyone.

“You do look fetching, Bess, perhaps a bit too fetching for the company. Abigor is known for his charm with mortal women and I don’t want him distracted by such a choice morsel.”

“Are you worried about M. Abigor at this stage of the game? I would think both of your minds would be well occupied with the issue at hand.”

Garrett grunted, his mind quickly elsewhere besides my ‘fetching’ appearance. I could tell he was worried because he paced the room. It surprised me to see him so agitated, but then again, considering the company for dinner, what would one expect?

Suddenly there were soft strains of music, seemingly floating upon the air. It was chamber music, sounding like Handel or Haydn, though I could not exactly identify the composer. It was not perfectly played, for every so often I would hear a badly bowed passage, either lagging in tempo or gratingly out of tune. Then some cursing. A muffled screech and the music would begin again.

Garrett gave a short laugh, more like a snort.

“We have servants galore tonight, my darling. Of course, they are all minor devils, but useful under the circumstances.”

I must have looked confused, but that competed with fear.

“The devils are courtesy of M. Abigor, Bess. They are just a soupcon of his power,—his devoted legions. He has many surprises up his dark sleeves tonight. He is to be the host of this little dinner party.”

“Where is Madame tonight, Garrett? Shouldn’t she be appearing soon?”

“Ah. I am depending upon Gormosy to show. This dinner would be lacking a certain element if that one didn’t.”

Speak of the Devil, and “Madame” Gormosy appeared in the doorway. But it was no more Madame than a cat. It was Monsieur Gormosy in a white powdered wig, black velvet coat with a red and gold embroidered waistcoat. His white silk stockings sagged a bit around his thin calves, but I would imagine his physique, as Monsieur was the same as Madame, would be similar, baring a few differences for the change in sex.

I stared at him, forgetting my manners. He was a smart looking little peacock, with the makeup men of the French aristocracy affected in the previous century, perhaps before they went to meet Madame La Guillotine. There was something striking about Louis Gormosy, even dangerous, tonight, something I didn’t feel when he was Madame Gormosy. Perhaps it was the slim sword he wore at his side. But perhaps it was that I knew him to be quite the devil. I would have to have faith in him and his trickery, but my confidence would have meant nothing here. It was all of Garrett’s choosing. The evening and the outcome rested in both the hands of Garrett and M. Abigor.

“Bonsoir, Madame Bess, you are looking ravishing tonight.” He bowed an elegant little bow and I inclined my head with a broad smile. I couldn’t help it. Such a change in appearance from female to male, but still the same ‘man’.

“And you, M. Garrett? Are you feeling up to the evening?” He delivered this with another little bow.

Garrett gave a thin smile and poured Louis Gormosy a glass of sherry and presented it to him.

“D’accord Louis. Tonight is only the beginning. I am grateful for your presence, my old friend.”

Again the music was heard, this time the small chamber orchestra seemed to be doing a bit better, with only a few sour notes and no cursing. I listened and started to relax a little. Perhaps it was more the sherry than the music.

Garrett and Louis Gormosy had moved to the far end of the room, by the large windows fronting the house, perhaps talking about the coming evening. I could see a little argument forming between them as one would shake his head, and the other would stomp his foot. I had to laugh a little. “Monsieur” Gormosy, in his stamping his elegant little foot, still claimed the behaviors of Madame.

Nerves were to be expected tonight because their future….our very lives, rode upon the alliances and the strength of them.

We both heard the clip clop of horses, and a carriage with gleaming lanterns came across the front windows. I looked at Garrett, expecting him to greet his guests at the door, but he just winked.

I heard soft footsteps and saw a man with a white wig, dressed in red cross my vision as he went to the door. I raised my eyes to Garrett, and he smiled.

“More of M. Abigor’s magic?”, I asked.

“A bit more. The evening will be entertaining. I promise you won’t be bored.”

I heard voices and within moments M. Abigor was in the room, bowing first to Garrett and then to M. Gormosy. I rose from my chair and looked at M. Abigor, unsure of what to say or do besides a general greeting.

“Ah! Madame! You look lovely this evening. You grow more beautiful each time I see you.”

He was his most elegant as he bowed over my hand and when he raised his head, I saw nothing disturbing in his dark eyes. I believe he knew what had happened to me when we met that first time. Perhaps Madame Gormosy informed him of my suffering, but then perhaps such a powerful demon knows what he does. He counts on it. It’s part of his power and control of beings around him. Usually there are no accidents with devils.

Suddenly the room was colder. A short figure stood in the doorway looking hard at me and I shivered in spite of the heat of the fire.

It was M. Bucon, the father of Obadiah. The father of the man who had raped me those months ago. He was followed by a woman, but in no way did she appear quite human. There was something about her appearance that just wasn’t ‘right’.

Garrett face hardened as M. Abigor made introductions, and he gave a stiff, short bow to M. Bucon. M. Gormosy gave him a wide grin, but there was nothing friendly about it.. I was introduced by M. Abigor but M. Bucon only nodded his head in acknowledgement. Thankfully, he did not bend over my hand.

“May I present Madame D’Aberge. She is visiting and M. Abigor thought she would be an interesting addition to your dinner.”

Madame D’Aberge made her curtsey and whipped out her fan. She had frizzy white hair piled high on her head, a face painted chalk white and a red cupid-bow mouth. Two large circles of rouge sat like pompoms on her cheeks and her eyebrows were painted black wings threatening to fly from her forehead. I smiled and gave her a curtsey and she again curtsied and fluttered her fan. Clearly she was some lessor demon rustled up for this event, a way to round out the company with feminine presence.

My first impression of M. Bucon was this: he was an unimpressive man, neither attractive in face or figure. I was surprised he didn’t wear a wig, as the other two men did. Garrett never did, but pulled his hair back in a pigtail for formal occasions.

M. Bucon was short, rather rotund, and badly balding. It looked like moths had attacked his head, for though he had hair on the front of his head and around the bottom, all between were patches of burnt, dark skin and little attempt to coax his remaining hair into something that was presentable. But perhaps the most prominent feature was his mouth: though his lips were not without form, his face seemed to fall naturally into a sneer. He had a peculiar way of closing one eye as he looked at a person, and a disdainful manner. If I had seen him on the street I would not have noticed him. Here in the house, in a sitting room illuminated by the soft lights of tapers and a good fire, he seemed out of place amongst the natural elegance of the other three men. Perhaps M .Bucon evoked contempt in all he met, and therefore he responded with hatred?

Again the music floated into the room and those devils weren’t doing a bad job of it. A little Corelli, a violin solo that sounded like bad Vivaldi, perhaps some obscure Handel, and here and there a taper appeared to light a corner or grace a sideboard. It was if an invisible servant were placing candles to illuminate parts of the room. A nice trick, but rather disconcerting.

A red coated devil, obviously part of the liveried staff came in with a tray of glasses followed by another one with a tray of spirits. They were dark, little men, probably French devils, or rather well sizzled denizens of their place of origin. They looked like burnt carbon copies of each other, and I wondered if they were part of the loyal legions of M. Abigor or M. Gormosy? Probably M. Abigor for he was he reigning head cheese tonight. They served without noise, seemingly to float over the floorboards, and were more like haunts than men. But of course! They were devils and bound by their magic. Or someone’s magic.

Madame D’Aberge’s mouth was so red her teeth had a yellow cast. She would look at me, smile, her upper lip rising like a horse about to sneeze, and then she would pull her lip down to meet her bottom lip with a snap. I found her interesting to look at. Her hair was powdered white, her face and bosom so ghostly that the dabs of red on her cheeks stuck out like beacons. She reminded me of a rag doll I had when I was a child, except with white frizzled hair, not red yarn.

The men did not sit down but stood stiffly apart from Madame and I. Louis Gormosy did come over to where we sat and made a formal bow. Madame D’Aberge tittered and up went her lip. M. Gormosy also bowed to me, catching my eye and giving a wink. He made small talk amongst us, more I believe to reassure me than to effect any real conversation, but I was grateful for his attempts. The combination of the tight corset and the tension of the night made me uncomfortable and uneasy.

When we finally went into dinner, I was famished. Behind each chair was a devil- in- waiting. M. Abigor and Garrett sat at either end of the long dining table, M. Bucon and Madame D’Aberge across the wide table. M. Gormosy sat next to me, and this was a relief. A quick squeeze of my hand under the table was reassuring. He took the liberty of an additional squeeze of my thigh.

The servants were excellent, both noiseless and gliding like ghosts, serving from the left and placing bowls of the first of two soups before each diner. I looked at mine, a shrimp bisque with clams and the little devils were still jumping in the cream stock and flipping their tails. Pretty little pink cooked shrimp should not be behaving in that fashion. A clam spit a stream of soup upwards, missing me but making me blink. I looked at M. Gormosy next to me and saw him smiling into his bowl. I carefully spooned the broth.

Next two servants brought in a stuffed and glazed swan on a huge platter. They placed it in the middle of the table and left. The swan started to sing, a melancholy voice that praised Apollo and sang of his sweet love of life. Suddenly I realized I knew the music: “The Roasting Swan Ballad” from Carmina Burana. There was no way I was going to eat that swan. I looked at M. Gormosy and saw he was struggling not to laugh. I looked at Garrett at the end of the table, and his face warned me not to say a word. A servant reached across the table and twisted off the head in mid song. It’s wings flopped over the platter and on to the polished table. It was dead.

Another servant brought in a fat and steaming capon and the bird started to crow. This was enough even for M.Abigor. He whispered into the ear of a devil behind his chair and the man left. Within minutes, a covered salver was returned to the top of the table. I could only guess what it contained under it’s dome, but all the activity of our food ceased immediately, and we ate.

(End of part one of Chapter 43)

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2006, 2011

 

 

“Devil’s Revenge”, Chapter 43….

 

Five years ago, as a very new writer, I attempted my second novel.  It was silly–hadn’t  done the rewrite on the first.  But I fell in love with the characters in the first book,  and didn’t want to kill them off.  So, not knowing much about much, I changed them all (well, mostly) into devils.  Some were good, some were bad, and some were half and half.

I came across this last chapter (so far) of “Devil’s Revenge” and thought I would post it.  It’s funny, or at least it made me laugh.

I have lost the corrections of this chapter twice so I appreciate the indulgence of readers.  I’ll get to them.

Explanations:

Those bothersome rips in the Universe and ley lines….. Chapter 43 takes place in the 1820’s….a dinner party.

Madame/Monsieur Gormosy is a Demon.  shape shifter and also the Demon of Lust.  There are a few of them, but M/Mde Gormosy enjoys cohabiting in both sexes.

M. Abigor is the top daddy…very close to the throne.  He was featured in Chapter 32 on this blog.  He is he most powerful demon in the room.

M. Bucon is a terrible Devil.  He’s the Demon of Hatred Between Sexes…

M. Garrett is half and half….human and devil.  Bess is fully human and terribly confused with life amongst devils.

Someday these Demons and Devils will leave and I will be lonely.

Lady Nyo

—

Chapter 43  “DEVIL’S REVENGE”

The bedroom door flew open and Garrett strode in.

“It’s been decided. It’s to be a duel.”

I looked at him, my mouth open in surprise, and twisted around to Madame Gormosy. She was arranging my hair and had a mouthful of pins. She shrugged, her eyebrows raised high and spit the pins into her hand.

“Bon. So tell us about this duel.”

Garrett leaned against the mantel. He grimaced, passed his hand over his face, and pulled at his lips, looking distracted by his thoughts.

“Better you both know we will be entertaining some devils tonight. M. Abigor will be one of them.”

His face dropped in a scowl and I felt Madame’s hands hard on my shoulders. Perhaps she knew more than she showed.

M. Abigor again! Well, I already knew he was an Arch Duke of Hell and a military adviser. He was also a healer but what that had to do with this situation I hadn’t a clue. Perhaps he replaced the lopped off limbs and bound up the wounds after battle.

But Garrett said ‘devils’. M. Abigor struck enough terror in my heart, but the presence of more?

“Who’s rounding out the company?” Trying to sound nonchalant, but my voice still shook.

Garrett looked a bit spooked and his eyes went straight to Madame Gormosy.

“M. Bucon will be dining with us.”

Bucon! The father of Obadiah! My stomach hit the bottom of my gut.

Again Madame Gormosy’s hands tightened on my shoulders.

“Do not fear, ma petite. M. Abigor is his equal and more. Nothing will happen to you tonight.”

Soothing words, but the look that passed between them was not reassuring.

Bucon was not a devil to dismiss easily. Another official from Hell, commanding a lot of legions of lesser devils, and the Demon of Hatred to boot. The Demon of Hatred between sexes. A real troublemaker let loose in the world.

Not to mention Obadiah’s father.

When I was writing the original novel, the one where all these queer and dangerous characters came from, little did I know what lay ahead. Now my life was at the mercy of more devils and I didn’t have any angels appearing in the fray. These were the forces surrounding me and little else to depend upon.

“I have a particular problem, Louis.” Garrett’s words were spoken softly, his eyes riveted to Madame.

That was strange for Madame appeared as a woman, certainly Louise, not Louis.

“Ah, life is always a problem. How can I be of service, Garrett?”

“I will need a second.”

I stiffened. Of course! But why not Abigor?

Garrett looked at me, reading my mind.

“For the simple reason that Abigor is an Arch Duke, and for him to be a second in this matter would not be a level playing field. Demons are tricky, but we do have ethics.”

I started to laugh but saw his expression. This was not a time for debate or levity.

Startled, I heard a voice not of Madame’s behind me, but of Monsieur Gormosy.

“But of course, mon ami. I am at your service. It should be no other devil than Louis. We have done well through the years. We have a bit of a blood bond, n’est ce pas?”

Garrett was not one to express gratitude easily. He was more likely to deflect an open show of gratitude with sarcasm, witty remarks. An expression of gratitude came hard to this demon. But something had changed, perhaps his pride or another human part.. Now his face showed relief.

He bowed stiffly to “Madame” still behind me, a bow expressing his profound gratitude..

We gathered together in the large sitting room before meeting our guests. . The house was ablaze with candles, and every fireplace stoked with a good fire. I supposed all done with magic, the particular devilish magic Garrett and Madame had shown before, but I was to be surprised at their invention.

Garrett said little as he poured sherry into two glasses, handing me one with a little bow. I had been tucked and pinned into a brocade gown, more the style of a few decades earlier, but this was not my choice. Madame Gormosy appeared with this gown and dressed me. It was not the loose and flowing gowns of the present 1820’s but a gown of more structure: a gown needing the benefit of a tight full corset and petticoats. I could barely breathe. My hair was pinned high on my head with one sausage curl falling across my shoulder. At least Madame did not powder my hair. A pair of pearl drop earrings and one gold bracelet was extracted from her jewelry box and I was presentable. Of course she insisted I wear rouge and a moue on one side of my face.

Garrett seemed pleased with my appearance when he escorted me into the sitting room, but since I had worn a dressing gown with uncombed hair for days, this change in appearance would please anyone.

“You do look fetching, Bess, perhaps a bit too fetching for the company. Abigor is known for his charm with mortal women and I don’t want him distracted by such a choice morsel.”

“Are you worried about M. Abigor at this stage of the game? I would think both of your minds would be well occupied with the issue at hand.”

Garrett grunted, his mind quickly elsewhere besides my ‘fetching’ appearance. I could tell he was worried because he paced the room. It surprised me to see him so agitated, but then again, considering the company for dinner, what would one expect?

Suddenly there were soft strains of music, seemingly floating upon the air. It was chamber music, sounding like Handel or Haydn, though I could not exactly identify the composer. It was not perfectly played, for every so often I would hear a badly bowed passage, either lagging in tempo or gratingly out of tune. Then some cursing. A muffled screech and the music would begin again.

Garrett gave a short laugh, more like a snort.

“We have servants galore tonight, my darling. Of course, they are all minor devils, but useful under the circumstances.”

I must have looked confused, but that competed with fear.

“The devils are courtesy of M. Abigor, Bess. They are just a soupcon of his power,—his devoted legions. He has many surprises up his dark sleeves tonight. He is to be the host of this little dinner party.”

“Where is Madame tonight, Garrett? Shouldn’t she be appearing soon?”

“Ah. I am depending upon Gormosy to show. This dinner would be lacking a certain element if that one didn’t.”

Speak of the Devil, and “Madame” Gormosy appeared in the doorway. But it was no more Madame than a cat. It was Monsieur Gormosy in a white powdered wig, black velvet coat with a red and gold embroidered waistcoat. His white silk stockings sagged a bit around his thin calves, but I would imagine his physique, as Monsieur was the same as Madame, would be similar, baring a few differences for the change in sex.

I stared at him, forgetting my manners. He was a smart looking little peacock, with the makeup men of the French aristocracy affected in the previous century, perhaps before they went to meet Madame La Guillotine. There was something striking about Louis Gormosy, even dangerous, tonight, something I didn’t feel when he was Madame Gormosy. Perhaps it was the slim sword he wore at his side. But perhaps it was that I knew him to be quite the devil. I would have to have faith in him and his trickery, but my confidence would have meant nothing here. It was all of Garrett’s choosing. The evening and the outcome rested in both the hands of Garrett and M. Abigor.

“Bonsoir, Madame Bess, you are looking ravishing tonight.” He bowed an elegant little bow and I inclined my head with a broad smile. I couldn’t help it. Such a change in appearance from female to male, but still the same ‘man’.

“And you, M. Garrett? Are you feeling up to the evening?” He delivered this with another little bow.

Garrett gave a thin smile and poured Louis Gormosy a glass of sherry and presented it to him.

“D’accord Louis. Tonight is only the beginning. I am grateful for your presence, my old friend.”

Again the music was heard, this time the small chamber orchestra seemed to be doing a bit better, with only a few sour notes and no cursing. I listened and started to relax a little. Perhaps it was more the sherry than the music.

Garrett and Louis Gormosy had moved to the far end of the room, by the large windows fronting the house, perhaps talking about the coming evening. I could see a little argument forming between them as one would shake his head, and the other would stomp his foot. I had to laugh a little. “Monsieur” Gormosy, in his stamping his elegant little foot, still claimed the behaviors of Madame.

Nerves were to be expected tonight because their future….our very lives, rode upon the alliances and the strength of them.

We both heard the clip clop of horses, and a carriage with gleaming lanterns came across the front windows. I looked at Garrett, expecting him to greet his guests at the door, but he just winked.

I heard soft footsteps and saw a man with a white wig, dressed in red cross my vision as he went to the door. I raised my eyes to Garrett, and he smiled.

“More of M. Abigor’s magic?”, I asked.

“A bit more. The evening will be entertaining. I promise you won’t be bored.”

I heard voices and within moments M. Abigor was in the room, bowing first to Garrett and then to M. Gormosy. I rose from my chair and looked at M. Abigor, unsure of what to say or do besides a general greeting.

“Ah! Madame! You look lovely this evening. You grow more beautiful each time I see you.”

He was his most elegant as he bowed over my hand and when he raised his head, I saw nothing disturbing in his dark eyes. I believe he knew what had happened to me when we met that first time. Perhaps Madame Gormosy informed him of my suffering, but then perhaps such a powerful demon knows what he does. He counts on it. It’s part of his power and control of beings around him. Usually there are no accidents with devils.

Suddenly the room was colder. A short figure stood in the doorway looking hard at me and I shivered in spite of the heat of the fire.

It was M. Bucon, the father of Obadiah. The father of the man who had raped me those months ago. He was followed by a woman, but in no way did she appear quite human. There was something about her appearance that just wasn’t ‘right’.

Garrett face hardened as M. Abigor made introductions, and he gave a stiff, short bow to M. Bucon. M. Gormosy gave him a wide grin, but there was nothing friendly about it.. I was introduced by M. Abigor but M. Bucon only nodded his head in acknowledgement. Thankfully, he did not bend over my hand.

“May I present Madame D’Aberge. She is visiting and M. Abigor thought she would be an interesting addition to your dinner.”

Madame D’Aberge made her curtsey and whipped out her fan. She had frizzy white hair piled high on her head, a face painted chalk white and a red cupid-bow mouth. Two large circles of rouge sat like pompoms on her cheeks and her eyebrows were painted black wings threatening to fly from her forehead. I smiled and gave her a curtsey and she again curtsied and fluttered her fan. Clearly she was some lessor demon rustled up for this event, a way to round out the company with feminine presence.

My first impression of M. Bucon was this: he was an unimpressive man, neither attractive in face or figure. I was surprised he didn’t wear a wig, as the other two men did. Garrett never did, but pulled his hair back in a pigtail for formal occasions.

M. Bucon was short, rather rotund, and badly balding. It looked like moths had attacked his head, for though he had hair on the front of his head and around the bottom, all between were patches of burnt, dark skin and little attempt to coax his remaining hair into something that was presentable. But perhaps the most prominent feature was his mouth: though his lips were not without form, his face seemed to fall naturally into a sneer. He had a peculiar way of closing one eye as he looked at a person, and a disdainful manner. If I had seen him on the street I would not have noticed him. Here in the house, in a sitting room illuminated by the soft lights of tapers and a good fire, he seemed out of place amongst the natural elegance of the other three men. Perhaps M .Bucon evoked contempt in all he met, and therefore he responded with hatred?

Again the music floated into the room and those devils weren’t doing a bad job of it. A little Corelli, a violin solo that sounded like bad Vivaldi, perhaps some obscure Handel, and here and there a taper appeared to light a corner or grace a sideboard. It was if an invisible servant were placing candles to illuminate parts of the room. A nice trick, but rather disconcerting.

A red coated devil, obviously part of the liveried staff came in with a tray of glasses followed by another one with a tray of spirits. They were dark, little men, probably French devils, or rather well sizzled denizens of their place of origin. They looked like burnt carbon copies of each other, and I wondered if they were part of the loyal legions of M. Abigor or M. Gormosy? Probably M. Abigor for he was he reigning head cheese tonight. They served without noise, seemingly to float over the floorboards, and were more like haunts than men. But of course! They were devils and bound by their magic. Or someone’s magic.

Madame D’Aberge’s mouth was so red her teeth had a yellow cast. She would look at me, smile, her upper lip rising like a horse about to sneeze, and then she would pull her lip down to meet her bottom lip with a snap. I found her interesting to look at. Her hair was powdered white, her face and bosom so ghostly that the dabs of red on her cheeks stuck out like beacons. She reminded me of a rag doll I had when I was a child, except with white frizzled hair, not red yarn.

The men did not sit down but stood stiffly apart from Madame and I. Louis Gormosy did come over to where we sat and made a formal bow. Madame D’Aberge tittered and up went her lip. M. Gormosy also bowed to me, catching my eye and giving a wink. He made small talk amongst us, more I believe to reassure me than to effect any real conversation, but I was grateful for his attempts. The combination of the tight corset and the tension of the night made me uncomfortable and uneasy.

When we finally went into dinner, I was famished. Behind each chair was a devil- in- waiting. M. Abigor and Garrett sat at either end of the long dining table, M. Bucon and Madame D’Aberge across the wide table. M. Gormosy sat next to me, and this was a relief. A quick squeeze of my hand under the table was reassuring. He took the liberty of an additional squeeze of my thigh.

The servants were excellent, both noiseless and gliding like ghosts, serving from the left and placing bowls of the first of two soups before each diner. I looked at mine, a shrimp bisque with clams and the little devils were still jumping in the cream stock and flipping their tails. Pretty little pink cooked shrimp should not be behaving in that fashion. A clam spit a stream of soup upwards, missing me but making me blink. I looked at M. Gormosy next to me and saw him smiling into his bowl. I carefully spooned the broth.

Next two servants brought in a stuffed and glazed swan on a huge platter. They placed it in the middle of the table and left. The swan started to sing, a melancholy voice that praised Apollo and sang of his sweet love of life. Suddenly I realized I knew the music: “The Roasting Swan Ballad” from Carmina Burana. There was no way I was going to eat that swan. I looked at M. Gormosy and saw he was struggling not to laugh. I looked at Garrett at the end of the table, and his face warned me not to say a word. A servant reached across the table and twisted off the head in mid song. It’s wings flopped over the platter and on to the polished table. It was dead.

Another servant brought in a fat and steaming capon and the bird started to crow. This was enough even for M.Abigor. He whispered into the ear of a devil behind his chair and the man left. Within minutes, a covered salver was returned to the top of the table. I could only guess what it contained under it’s dome, but all the activity of our food ceased immediately, and we ate.

(End of part one of Chapter 43)

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2006, 2011

 

Some Random Poems from “The Kimono”

Japanese Lovers

This weekend, with the prodigious work of Bill Penrose, “White Cranes of Heaven~ 50 Seasonal Poems” was published by Lulu.com.  We are awaiting the proof copies so we can see what needs correction, but I am over it.  I am glad it’s done, but damn….I don’t want to do it again.

In a few weeks, it will be released to the public, but there were a lot of considerations with this book, more than with the previous two. We wanted it to remain as inexpensive as possible, but Lulu, with the ISBN# would have pushed the price to around $50.00.  Without the ISBN#, the retail price at Lulu comes in at around $25.00.  The expense is because of the 11 full color paintings illustrating the poems.  But from what it looks like, and you can’t fault Lulu’s printing…..it looks worth the price.  So we hope.

I’m ready for a break…sort of.  I’ve ordered a lot of books from Amazon.com over the last few weeks on Japanese Mythology, etc. and I’m reading for the happenings in “The Kimono”.  From the beginning of this novel, there has been magic, but now it’s magic and mythology.  I find the mythology of Japan to be complex, fascinating and fantastical.  There is just so much of it and it takes a while to get acquainted.

In the course of writing this novel, I have also written in a lot of poetry between the two main characters….a 21st century Japanese-American woman, Mari, and a 17th century Daimyo, Lord Mori.  Tanka and other forms of verse would have been common amongst certain classes of Japanese, and these two characters go at each other through their verse.  Where they can not express their emotions to each other in normal conversation, they hide behind their tanka and poetry.  I decided to post a bit of it, just because it’s part of the developing theme of the novel.  And I am as surprised as anyone as to what these characters come up with in verse.

Lady Nyo

Excerpt from a chapter in “The Kimono”

“So, Mari, do you have a verse in mind to start our exchange?”

Lord Mori poured a little water on the inkstone and started to rub a long-haired brush across the surface like a cat switching its tail.

Mari closed her eyes and thought for a moment.    He would write her poem  on paper and  answer with his.  She had not learned Kanji yet.

–

“How long will it last?

I do not know his heart.

This morning my thoughts

Are as tangled as my tangled hair.”

–

“Ah!  A good start, though of course you compose like a woman.”

–

He bent over the stone, added more water and wrote her words  with his brush.

“Let me think of a good answer.  Give me a minute.”  He picked up his pipe, relit it from an ember from the brazier, and puffed for a while.

–

“How can a woman

Know a warrior’s heart?

We have the sound of

War drums drowning

Out weaker sentiments.”

–

“Oh, very good, Lord Mori.  Perhaps I can answer this.”

–

“Who attends to the wounded

But women.

Our hands are soft and strong

And the best medicine after war.”

–

Lord Mori grunted and expelled a large puff of smoke.

–

“A woman only knows a man’s heart

By her silence.”

–

Mari thought of the inherent chauvinism of this statement.  However, this age would not embrace more progressive sentiments.  Women were still chattel, no matter how high their position.

–

“Wait.  I have another.  Perhaps more pleasing to your ear.”

–

Lord Mori let out another plume of smoke.

–

“Who knows the depth of my hidden heart?

Perhaps a ravine in the mountain?

No matter. A firefly of my love is flashing.”

–

Mari laughed and clapped her hands.  “Only a firefly?  Can it dispel the blackness of a man’s heart? Oh! Perhaps you should work that into another verse.  That could be a good beginning.”

–

Lord Mori’s eyes shone in the gathering darkness.  A cloud of aromatic smoke surrounded his head like a halo. He was silent.

–

“Let me try then”, said Mari, pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes in concentration.

–

“What can dispel the

Blackness of a man’s heart?

Never mind, even the insignificant

light of a firefly

Is a start.”

–

Lord Mori’s eyes narrowed, a  smile creasing his face.  The flame of the lamps wavered in the darkness and a nightingale sung nearby. Crickets were chirping outside the window and every once in a while the sound of carp could be heard jumping out of the lake for insects.

–

Mari looked at her hands in her lap.  She felt a loneliness, a yearning  she could not place.  She raised her eyes to Lord Mori, his face now cast in shadow.

–

He was puffing on his pipe again.  In the lamps, his hair shone like a blackbird’s wing, worn loosely down his back, except for the samurai topknot.

“Your soul is unsettled.”  A statement,  not a question.

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted 2008,2011…from “The Kimono”