His Black Wings (2 page)

With being told “
no”
so much by my mother, or subjected to an inquisition, I learned to suppress my wants. At least externally I would make sure to never vocalize my displeasure. Inside though, I carried on a secret rebellion that would have made my mother faint and my father raise a shaggy eyebrow at me. Inside I was alive, burning with curiosity and a desire for life.

Our city was both very modern and yet old in its values and esthetics. Home cloning kits were all the rage but they were regulated to pets only. No humans, because some said it went against Yahweh, also known as God. After the Great War, the Grand Council was formed. It was made up of wise men and women who had lived a long time and recognized all the different ways we as a society can hurt ourselves. They abolished toxic chemicals, manufacturing processes and harmful drugs that were supposed to help sickness. Many had resisted these changes, wanting to profit at the expense of others. These people were not the majority, since the majorities were neither elite or rich.       Eventually those ideas, the ones of making one’s wealth at the expense of another was seen as passé and wicked. The world began to thrive once more as it turned to natural medicines and sympathetic practices. Cities grew and poverty and hunger were a thing of the past. People seemed content if not happy. Of course there was still crime; I don’t think any human on this Earth could change that. As I have read many times in my history books throughout my schooling, the quality of life improved for the vast majority. We children were thoroughly indoctrinated with the Grand Council’s message. They created a beautiful new world, abolished pollution and poverty. All one had to do is look around to see it was true. From my girls schooling to when I graduated from the ladies academy at twenty, we were told of what a great blessing the Grand Council was and still is to us. Of course, one did see pockets here and there of unrest and poor people, but we were told that these people wanted to live that way. There was nothing that no one could do to help them.

My own family’s modest wealth was inherited by my grandfather who was in the mining business. After the Great War he invested his fortune in other things such as the new chemical that was being produced called Prothron. Prothron, as all primary school students are taught, is the natural chemical that when mixed with a city’s refuse, turns it into fuel to power just about everything. Clean, powerful and cheap, Prothron was the answer to many prayers.

My Grandfather, though I never knew him, seemed uncomfortable with his new wealth. He would donate vast sums for schools and homes for people who could not afford their own. In such manner he became known as a great philanthropist and even had a plaque in the World Heritage Museum. I was always embarrassed when we read something about my Grandfather in our school text books.

“Claren Maidstone, please stand and tell us something about your Grandfather that we may not know.”

A teacher would always ask and I would always have to say he died when I was a baby, then sit down and stare stupidly at my book. It got to the point where I considered making up absurd things about my Grandfather, like he wore pink nightgowns and hair rollers to bed. But I didn’t, because that would not be
proper
.

I graduated from the Pritchard Ladies academy with high marks, but I was not expected to pursue a career. I was expected to
be proper
and
marry well
. As heirs to the Maidstone fortune, we actually lived modestly according to my Grandfathers last wishes which were detailed thus;

Maidstones should live in a modest size house. (Builds Humility)

Maidstones should never employ more than two maids. (Builds Character)

Maidstones should not engage in acts of vulgar excess unless it is for the profit of those less fortunate. (Thwarts Vanity)

…and this was not on the list, but we never spoke about money( which was vulgar according to my mother).

Someday I knew I would leave the city and perhaps have a little cottage in the woods. I was too young and willful to marry; at least that is what my father always said. My father always knew me best but it was my mother who ruled the household. So my secret thoughts of waiting to fall in love were kept regulated to quiet conversations with Naza. I did have a loathsome suitor that came regularly to dinner on Sunday nights, but that was before my parents died.

My father hung on for several days after the accident, but that was before the Doctor told him Mother was already gone. It was a boating accident. They and some society friends had gone out sailing against the weather advisory and had perhaps imbibed a little too much. The weather turned foul and so did moods. The men had a quarrel as to whom was the real Captain of
The Star Fish
. My father being the peacemaker of the group, decided to quietly steer the vessel back to the harbor. Upon seeing my father at the helm, the two men fell upon him in drunken savagery. The boat overturned and all were drowned. Except my father, who oddly enough, was found floating on a large piece of commercial cork.

All my father could ask in his weakened state, was to the whereabouts of my mother as I held his hand in the hospital. The doctor, unwise and ignorant of the physiological effects, told him in grisly detail how my mother had been found drowned. He did not leave out any detail including her pale blue lips. My father, his lungs just cleared of water, clutched his weakened heart and died.

And so I lost two parts of myself in one day, my mother and my father.

I didn’t have enough time to mourn the passing of my parents before the real world closed in on me. I had never known how sheltered I was, how unknowing. I still have not mourned properly and perhaps will not get a chance to, seeing as how my future is unknown to me.

When my parents died, so did my obligation my suitor, Kurten. He is the real reason I am in this pickle. He is the one that made me flee my childhood home and inheritance without the proper good bye or ceremonies. Kurten, all bloated lips and small pumpkin teeth, with his shaggy, brown hair that did nothing to hide his beady little eyes. He had come around after the funeral expecting to give me a little “comfort”. I had other ideas in mind.

“Honestly Kurten, my parent’s funeral was this morning!” I said as I pushed his hulking, muscular, form away from me and got up from the couch. He sat upon our couch, one leg crossed casually over the other. He had just tried to kiss me in a very unchaste fashion. I don’t know what made him think he could take such liberties with me now. I had hardly even let him touch my hand when my parents were alive. He stood, stretched, then came over to me.

“I know Dove, that’s why I came over. I knew you’d be needing me.”

His arms snaked around my waist as he pulled me close. He tried to nuzzle my neck but again I pushed against him.

“No, means no Kurten. I have so much to do, so much to think about.”

Like getting rid of you.

I loved my parents, but the fact was I had always hated Kurten. He was the type of person that would stick a firecracker up an animal’s hind quarters just to see what would happen. He had no remorse, no feeling or compassion. Whenever I looked into his eyes I saw a dead, blank thing. Not human somehow. I knew he had many girlfriends in St. Marhen’s many taverns. I had seen him on occasion, coming out of these very taverns with a woman on each arm. The kind of woman that took money for her favors of the carnal kind. He would always be slovenly and drunk. I would stay hidden in the shadows and never told a soul. My parents did not know this. They only knew three things, three things that to them were important, and nothing else mattered:

Kurten’s father was the mayor.

His family was wealthy.

I had to marry well.

No one married for love anymore, only station. In their eyes Kurten was a suitable match since he had both station and money. Our own family wealth was quite well known, but so was my father’s idea of simple living. He wanted to make sure that I did not marry someone beneath me that would only want me for my money.

I didn’t blame them though. They only thought they were doing the right thing for their timid daughter who was a dreamer. They were only trying to secure a comfortable place for me. I knew that all the money in this world would not make me comfortable if I had to marry this incredibly ignorant, narrow minded, cruel, womanizing drunk.

I had hopes that someone else would come along, someone nicer, someone I actually liked. Then I could tell my parents that I was in love with someone else. However, when that person failed to show up, Kurten was always there. Sunday after Sunday I raised a polite protest to my mother which she would wave off.

“Mother, I don’t see why Kurten has to be our guest every Sunday.”

“Hush now! He is in the parlor he may hear you.”

“Would it be such a bad thing if he did?”

“Claren! When did you become such a rude young lady? You know very well what we hope for you two.”

Sunday after Sunday the same discussion. But my parents also had their own reservations about Kurten. I could tell the way my father would question him, then raise his shaggy eyebrows at hearing the response. He would only do that when he did not approve of what was being said. I had faith that my father was seeing through his veneer of innocence and like me, waiting for someone better to show up. If that did not happen (I was not exactly keen on the idea of marriage as I mentioned before and I was not a social butterfly so I had limited encounters with men my age) then I would let the nasty, drunken, cat out of its putrid bag and let my parents know everything I knew about Kurten.

I knew I would never marry him, of course now that my parents were not alive, I would not have to endure him Sunday after Sunday. God forgive me, but if there was a bright spot to my parent’s death, it was not having to marry Kurten.

He picked his teeth at the table, he swore uncontrollably, ate till he vomited, drank until unconscious, womanized till he was diseased and he smelled bad. Parents are so blind sometimes.

Kurten looked at me hard, like he knew what I was thinking, like he knew that I despised him. His thick, liver colored lips pursing slightly.

For all your money and social standing, Kurten Wandsworth, you are still a pig.

“We should get married right away, tomorrow I should think.” He said in a sickly, sweet voice I knew as fake.

What I could not understand, was why he wanted me so bad. My family was respected, but not well positioned or political as his was. I was intelligent, but not a genius. I was not ugly, but I wasn’t beautiful. I was not easy, in fact at twenty I still had not kissed any male other than relatives. With that reputation, I wondered why Kurten didn’t stay far away, thinking he might as well not even try with me. But here he was coming every Sunday to my father’s house for close to a year, attempting to “woo” me. I shivered with disgust.

“That is something we need to discuss Kurten. The marriage.” He took a few steps to my father’s well stocked bar and poured himself a brandy.

Pig!

He didn’t even offer. He didn’t sip either; he threw it back like it was lemonade on a hot day. He poured himself another.

“And what exactly do
we
need to discuss pet?”

He put stress on the word “we” as if women do not discuss anything but knitting. I laughed inside, knowing he was as disillusioned as my parents were (or at least my mother had been). He thought that I was the subservient little mouse he saw at dinner while my parents were alive. Hah! My parents knew it was an act, but Kurten didn’t. He had never seen any other side to me other than the quiet, docile and polite side. Not to say I was a demon. But I had my own thoughts and feelings and views on things that were generally frowned upon by the men today. They thought women should do no more than bear children and cook. Perhaps host a party or two. Even though as a society we had progressed, it seems that the ancient study of feminism had dissolved and women liked being pampered and staying at home.

I was still planning on being nice to him, saying something along the lines of needing a week or so of solicitude. I needed time to think of my parents and their will. I did need time; time to pack my belongings undisturbed. I knew that I had to make quick arrangements to sell the house and leave it in the care of our solicitor.

It pained me to think of leaving my childhood home, but I inexplicably sensed danger all around me, like the air we breathe. I felt like running, now. A small voice was telling me to,
Hurry! Run now! Run!

I knew when I “officially” broke off the “engagement” with Kurten, his parent’s would be outraged and insulted and he would just be enraged. The most absurd thing of the whole affair was that we were never engaged. He just started showing up Sunday after Sunday and now expected to marry me. I never went out alone (or chaperoned) with him anywhere, I never even smiled at him. If that is all it takes to be engaged then I could have been married off to a hedgehog if it showed up every Sunday. But no matter, I had to keep a clear head so that I could deal with these matters. The full impact of my parents passing had not hit me yet, and I very much wanted to act before it did. I did not want to be overcome with emotion and have that greasy little worm Kurten around to try and take advantage of me.