Thorn Boy and Other Dreams of Dark Desire (31 page)

She loved
perfume though, and I indulged her craving for it. Scent was like a
religious tool for her. She never wasted it, nor mixed aromas but,
after her bathing routine, chose with care which perfume to wear.
This she would apply with economy to her throat and wrists, lifting
her hand to her nose to take little, contented sniffs from time to
time throughout the day. It was an adorable habit.

At
night, she would be waiting for me in my bed-chamber, clothed only
in delicious scent, purring softly in her throat, kneading the
pillows. She rarely offered herself to me submissively now, but
grabbed me bodily and threw me down onto the bed to begin her
pleasure. I taught her technique perhaps, but she taught me
something more powerful - the instinctual sexual drive of an
animal. I realised that cats had their own beliefs and that sex was
very much a part of their devotion to their spiritual queen. They
had a language we could not understand, that functioned nothing
like a human tongue, but it
was
language. In time, during our love-making I too began to make
the sounds and Simew displayed her approval with purrs. Pu-ryah was
always very close to us in our bed-chamber.

Simew the cat,
the house mourned. The housekeeper decided she must have stolen or
killed, and I went along with this idea, but my grief could not
have been that convincing. Perhaps no-one else’s was either, for as
time went on I have no doubt that more than one of my staff
suspected my new love’s origins and then passed their suspicions
around, but we all had to pretend.

Eventually, I
decided that Simew was ready to present to society. The household
was put into a frenzy by the preparations for our grand marriage.
My friends already knew I was betrothed to a mysterious distant
relative, and more than a few had been most insistent about meeting
her - especially the women - but I had remained steadfast in my
refusal. ‘She has been very ill,’ I said. ‘She cannot yet cope with
social occasions.’

‘
I have
heard,’ one lady remarked at a soiree, ‘that she was locked by her
brute of a father in a cellar for years on end. Shocking! Poor
dear!’

I inclined my
head. ‘Well, that is an exaggeration of her trials, but yes, she
has suffered badly and it has affected her behavior.’

‘
How
dreadful,’ another murmured, touching my hand. ‘You are so good to
take her under your wing in this way.’

I could not
say that had I possessed wings, it’s unlikely I would still have
been there to accept their sympathy.

I do not know
what my friends expected when they finally met ‘Felice’, but I know
the experience amazed them.

Our nuptial
banquet took place on an autumn evening. During the day, we had
undergone a quiet wedding; a priest from Pu-ryah’s temple had come
to the house to officiate at a ceremony that had been written
especially to accommodate my bride’s inability to speak.

In the early
evening, Simew’s maids dressed her in splendid gown of russet silk.
Her hair was twined with autumn leaves of gold and crimson and I
adorned her neck and wrists myself with costly ornaments of amber,
topaz and gold. She appeared to be as excited as any of us at the
prospect of being introduced to my friends.

I waited
downstairs to receive our guests as they arrived, while Simew
underwent the final primpings and preenings in our chambers. I
wanted to present her once everyone had gathered in the main hall.
I wanted them to see her descend the stairs in the caressing lamp
light.

Ultimately,
the hour arrived. My friends were clustered in excitement around
the stairs, and I signalled one of the maids to summon the new
mistress of the house. I continued to exchange pleasantries with
the guests and it was only when the assembly fell silent that I
knew Simew was among us. I turned, and there she stood at the top
of the stairs. I shall never forget that moment. She was the most
radiant, gorgeous creature ever to have entered the hall. My heart
contracted with love, with adoration. She stood tall and serene, a
half smile upon her face, and then with the most graceful steps
slowly descended towards the company. I heard the women gasp and
whisper together; I heard the appreciative, stunned murmurs of the
men.

‘
May I
present my wife,’ I said, extending an arm towards her.

Simew dipped
her head and glided to my side. She smiled warmly upon the
gathering and together we led the way in to dinner.

Bless my love
- she behaved with perfect decorum as the meal was served. Nothing
was tipped over or broken; she ate modestly and slowly, smiling at
the remarks addressed to her. Those sitting nearest to me lost no
time in congratulating me on my fortune. They praised Simew’s
beauty, grace and warmth.

‘
You are
a lucky fellow,’ one man said with good-natured envy. ‘All of us
know you’ve nursed a broken heart more than once over the past few
years, but now you have been rewarded. You’ve earned this wondrous
wife, my friend. I wish you every happiness.’ He raised his glass
to me and I thought that I must expire with joy.

The meal was
all but finished, and Medoth was supervising the clearing of
dessert plates. Soon, we would all repair to one of the salons for
music and dancing. Simew loved to dance; I was looking forward to
showing off her accomplishment.

Then, it
happened. One moment I was conversing with a friend, the next there
was a sudden movement beside me and people were uttering cries of
alarm. It took me a while to realise that Simew had not only
vacated her seat in a hurry, but had disappeared beneath the table.
For a second or two, all was still, and then the whole company was
thrown into a furore as Simew scuttled madly between their legs
down the length of the table. Women squeaked and stood up, knocking
over chairs. Men swore and backed away.

Again
stillness. I poked my head under the table-cloth. ‘Felice, my love.
What are you doing?’

She uttered a
yowl and then emerged at full speed from beneath the other end of
the table, in hot pursuit of a small mouse. Women screamed and
panicked and, in the midst of this chaos, my new wife expressed a
cry of triumph and pounced. In full sight of my guests, she tossed
the unfortunate mouse into the air, batted it with her hands, and
then lunged upon it to crack its fragile spine in her jaws.

‘
Felice!’ I roared.

She paused
then and raised her head to me, the mouse dangling, quite dead,
from her mouth. ‘What?’ she seemed to say. Tiny streaks of blood
marked her fair cheek.

At that point,
one of the ladies vomited onto the floor, while another put a hand
to her brow and collapsed backwards into the convenient arms of one
of the men.

I could only
stare at my wife, my body held in a paralysis of despair, as my
guests flocked towards the doors, desperate to escape the grisly
scene. Presently, we were left alone. I could hear voices beyond
the doors, Medoth’s calm assurances to hysterical guests.

‘
Simew,’
I said dismally and sat down.

She dropped
the mouse and came to my side, reached to touch my cheek. I looked
up at her. She shrugged, pulled a rueful face. Her expression said
it all: ‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. It’s what I am.’

And it was, of
course. How wrong of me to force human behavior on the wild, free
spirit of a cat.

The news
spread rapidly. I told myself I did not care about the gossip, but
I did. For a while, I was determined not to abandon my position in
society and attended gatherings at usual, although without my wife.
I felt I should spare her any further humiliation. Whenever I
entered a room, conversation would become subdued. People would
greet me cordially, but without their usual warmth. I heard remarks
through curtains, round corners. ‘She is a
beast,
you know, quite savage. We all know he’s
an absolute darling to take her on - but really - what is he
thinking of?’

I was
distraught and blamed myself. Simew should have remained a secret
of mine and my loyal staff. I should have kept her as a mistress,
but not presented her publicly as a wife. How could I have been so
blind to the pitfalls? We had never really civilised her. I know
Simew sensed my anguish, although I strove to hide it from her. She
fussed round me with concerned mewings, pressing herself against
me, kissing my hair, my eyelids. The staff remained solidly behind
her, of course, but she was not their responsibility; her behavior
could not affect them. The terrible thing was, in my heart I was
furious with Simew. Public shame had warped my understanding. I
suspected that she knew very well what she’d done at the marriage
feast, but had wanted to shock, or else hadn’t cared what people
thought of her. She had despised them, thought them vapid and
foolish, and had acted impulsively without a care for what her
actions might do to me. My love for her was tainted by what I
perceived as her betrayal. I wanted to forgive her, but I couldn’t,
for I did not think she was innocent. I made the mistake of
forgetting what she really was.

One night, she
disappeared. The staff were thrown into turmoil, and everyone was
out scouring the gardens, then the streets beyond, calling her
name. I sat in darkness in my chambers. I had no heart to search,
but sought oblivion in liquor. Steeped in gloomy feelings, I
thought Simew had gone to find herself a troupe of tom cats, who
like her had been turned into men by the imprudent longings of
cat-loving women. No doubt I, with my over-civilised human senses,
could no longer satisfy her. She would return in the morning, once
she thought she’d punished me enough.

But she did
not return. Days passed and the atmosphere in the house was as dour
as if a death had taken place. I saw reproach in the faces of all
my servants. Dishes were slammed onto tables; my food was never
quite hot enough. One evening, my rage erupted and I called them
all together in the main hall. ‘If I don’t see some improvement in
your duties, you are all dismissed!’ I cried. ‘Simew is gone. She
is not of our world, and I am not to blame for her disappearance.
Her cat nature took over, that’s all.’

They departed
silently, back to their own quarters, no doubt to continue
gossiping about me, but from that night on, some kind of normality
was resumed in the running of the house.

After they had
left, I went to stand before the portrait of Pu-ryah, resolving
that in the morning, I would have it taken down. I heard a cough
behind me and turned to find Medoth standing there. I sighed. ‘If
she is a mother, she is cruel,’ I said.

Medoth came to
my side. ‘You put much into that work, my lord. Some might say too
much. It has great power.’

I nodded.
‘Indeed it has. I thought I could brave Pu-ryah’s fire, but I was
wrong, and now I am burned away.’

‘
Your
experiences have been distressing,’ Medoth agreed. He paused.
‘Might I suggest you make a gift of this painting to the temple of
the Lady? I am sure they would appreciate it.’

‘
Yes. A
good idea, Medoth. See to it tomorrow, would you?’

He bowed. ‘Of
course, my lord.’

I began to
walk away, towards my empty chambers.

‘
My
lord,’ Medoth said.

I paused and
turned. ‘Yes?’

He hesitated
and then said. ‘One day, you will miss her as we do. She only
obeyed her nature. She loved you very much.’

I was about to
reprimand him for such importunate remarks, but then weariness
overtook me. I sighed again. ‘I know, Medoth.’

‘
Perhaps
you should acquire another little cat.’

I laughed
bleakly. ‘No. I don’t think so.’

I did see
Simew again. After some years had passed, she came back
occasionally, to visit the servants, I think. Sometimes, I found
fowl carcasses they had left out for her in the garden. Sometimes,
alone in my bed late at night, I would hear music coming from the
servants’ quarters and the joyful peal of that unmistakable laugh.
To me, she showed herself only once.

It was a
summer evening and dusk had fallen. I went out into the garden,
filled with a quiet sadness, yet strangely content in the peace of
the hedged walkways. I strolled right to the end of my property, to
the high wall that hid my domain from the street beyond. It was
there I heard a soft chirrup.

A shiver
passed through me and I looked up. She was there, crouching on the
wall above me, her hair hanging down and her eyes flashing at me
through the dusk. She was clothed, I remember that, in some dark,
close-fitting attire that must be suitable for her nocturnal
excursions. Where was she living now? How was she living? I wanted
to know these things, and called her name softly. In that moment, I
believe there could have been some reconciliation between us, had
she desired it.

She looked at
me with affection, I think, but not for very long. I did not see
judgment in her eyes, for she was essentially a cat; an animal who
will, for a time, forgive our cruel words and unjust kicks. A cat
loves us unconditionally, but unlike a dog, she will not accept
continual harsh treatment. She runs away. She finds another
home.

My eyes filled
with tears and when I wiped them away, Simew had gone. I never
married again.

Night
’s Damozel

This story
first appeared in 1998 in Interzone magazine in the UK. It has a
similar theme to ‘My Lady of the Hearth’, in that the protagonist
falls in love with a woman who is not entirely human. I wrote this
story with Eloise Coquio, and the plot derives from an idea Lou had
concerning a man obsessed with poisonous flowers. I liked some of
the surprises Lou invented for the tale, the serpentine twists and
turns. Sympathies for the characters wind this way and that, like a
serpent over the sand; nothing is certain. Lou had clear and vivid
images in her head, but was looking for a story structure. We
workshopped the ideas, and Lou wrote some of them down as a first
draft. I then did the bulk of the writing, added dialogue and so
on.