Valerie and Her Week of Wonders (3 page)

BOOK: Valerie and Her Week of Wonders
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“How much longer are virgins to be undone by a callous hand? How much longer will virgins submit to any random plunderer of their beauty? If you knew, virgin, that the callous hand which touches your breast would leave an indelible imprint upon it, how ashamed you would be! Ah, you will say. No one can see the imprint, and yet ... I shall prove that you are in error, that the blemish cannot be concealed, that the stain shrieks. You, virgin, whose eyes have met mine, not only your breasts, your entire belly is plastered with shame. Weep now, that the tears might at least wash away your degradation. And you whom I have in mind, veil your thighs in skirts as you will, and still you would not deceive me. They are sullied as if having been fondled by a chimneysweep, and how can you not be ashamed! And how is it that among you there is one who, calling herself a virgin, is a sinner, whose womb yields at the touch of a vulgar right hand? Oh wretched womb! You are like a magnificent apple riddled with maggots and you evoke my pity. How withered you are. Angels weep at the sight of you. What grief, base virgin, you bring to your guardian angel! As you sleep, when he, pure as the disk of the sun, turns back your shift in order to breathe upon your abdomen, with what horror he averts his gaze from your fingered loins.”

The church echoed to the sound of weeping. Several girls had broken down and sunk their heads in their handkerchiefs.

But the missionary went on:

“How beautiful you are, virgin, having shunned all human baseness. I see your body, for the fabrics recede in respect before its radiance. I see it – as if the cold had breathed upon it or as if the dew had breathed upon it. Your nipples are like Bohemian garnets sending out alluring flashes of lightning through your garments. Your throat is a long bladdernut rosary, twisted over and over, with whose beads I count my prayers. Your breasts are the purest of husked barley. Your belly is an excited bell, pure as the matinal bellflower. Your womb is an alabaster bowl, which I bless with forefinger and thumb ...”

Once more Valerie had to look up, against her will, into the eyes of him who was now touching her. Those eyes were large and ablaze, and their dazzling light meant that she could not see the missionary’s face. Those eyes blinded her eyes, and Valerie gazed into them as the missionary said:

“I am with you, virgin, in the role of a guardian angel who rejoices in heavenly bliss at your chastity. I am with you. I bend down over your bed and with the most sacred unguents my fingers make the sign of the Cross on your lips, the tips of your breasts and your loins, which have yet to know sin.”

And in tones borrowed from Solomon the missionary ended his homily with the words:

“Maidens and daughters of mercy, marry, lest the great city of the Lord perish. Yea marry, and may the whole world be present at the wedding. Marry, so that the Devil shall depart from your beds thwarted.”

Then the missionary gave the virgins his blessing and left the pulpit.

Valerie turned around. But the one to whom she had lent her clothes had not come.

The girls were leaving the church flushed and with their eyes downcast. If with friends they left in twos, not daring to speak. Valerie stood as if rooted to the floor tiles of the church. A strange dream descended onto her eyelids, despite her being awake. And only when the church was nearly empty did she leave, the last to go.

 

 

Chapter V
LOSING THE WAY

 

Valerie had lost her way. For the third time, without knowing how, she had entered a deserted square that seemed to be enchanted. When she glanced at one of the locked gates, a missionary appeared to her standing in front of it. She left the square and entered the square. Her legs were tired and were leading her on their own, while her spirit wandered like that of someone sleeping. Over one doorway she noticed a cluster of grapes held in the beak of a dove. Then she was alarmed by four windows that seemed to have been forged from a storm. She thought she heard a groan. Her eyes settled on a tall gas lamp with moths fluttering around it. But the groan came again. Having circled the square, she suddenly found herself just a few steps from the lamp and saw to her amazement a terrifying image: tied to the lamp’s base was a girl, emitting plaints from deep in her throat. As Valerie stepped up closer, she recognized her clothes, which were torn in several places.

“Orlík,” escaped from her lips. But then the head of the victim sank, and Valerie rightly surmised that he had fainted. She rushed towards him and started to unravel the ropes that bound him to the lamppost. It required strenuous effort. The coarse fibers of the ropes cut into her fingers. Yet despite the difficulties impeding her from untying the bonds, she persevered in her rescue. When she thought that the rope binding Orlík’s hands had slackened, she bent down to his feet and tried to free them from their fetters. Finally she succeeded. The young man was sleeping on his feet and his face was blanched. His pink mouth wore a smile and a number of fair curls tumbled across his brow. Only after Valerie touched his brow for a third time did his eyes open.

“I was waiting for you,” the girl said.

“That monster,” Orlík replied, as if still semiconscious.

“His beautiful sermon nearly had us in tears.”

“What? He even invaded the pulpit? Now I understand why he cleared me out of the way for the evening.”

“These knots are his handiwork?”

“Far from it. He didn’t lay a finger on me himself.”

Orlík was reviving. He blushed at the sudden realization that he was wearing a dress.

“I’m like your sister,” he said.

“True, I’m not the least embarrassed to be standing here with you.”

Orlík bit his lips and his eyes flashed.

“I’m not a girl, do you hear? I’m not a girl.”

He began to take off his girl’s garments and handed them to Valerie one by one. Without a hint of a blush he was emboldened to stand before her naked.

“That’s my revenge on him,” he said.

But Valerie averted her gaze and looked towards the doorway at the grapes in the bird’s beak.

“He had his henchmen attack me.”

“You were attacked?” Valerie asked in surprise.

“Because I didn’t want to enter the church until just before the start of the service, I hung back in this square, which has been, or so it seems to me, deserted practically all day long. Just as I had resolved to set off towards the church, I was approached by a pack of drunken men, who had probably attended that wild wedding, and with all the brutality they could muster they bound and tied me to this lamppost.”

“Why didn’t you shout for help?”

“I simply could not cause you any trouble by calling for help while wearing your clothes.”

“And if anyone were to see me with you now, as inadequately attired as I imagine you to be?”

“I will make sure that no one sees us together like this.”

“Farewell then.”

“You can’t leave just yet. I was about to give you some sound advice.”

“I’m worried that it’s not entirely proper to be taking the advice of a naked man on a public square.”

“Five paces from us there is an allegorical sculpture of Peace. Before you turn to look at me I will change myself, to the best of my ability, into a sixth figure wrestling with the serpent. So now you can turn your head without fear.”

Valerie glanced back. Her eyes could barely detect which of the men in the sculpture was Orlík. Under her arm she gripped the torn clothes that had been returned to her in such a strange way.

“I’m impatient to hear your advice, since I’m sure they’ll be coming to look for me.”

“First,” said Orlík, but he did not finish the sentence. Like a deluge, or a black cloud, a swarm of hands rolled in from somewhere and hurtled up towards the allegory of Peace. In the darkness, Valerie counted five men brandishing belts, whips, and switches. A furious struggle ensued before her eyes. As she herself could not discern the real figures from the false, the assailants, too, were unsure whether they were lashing marble or a human body. During the fight this or that assailant was suddenly swept to the ground and this or that weapon wrenched from his grip.

When most of the thugs were on the ground, Orlík detached himself from the statue with a leap and fled, pursued by those he had duped and fooled. Only now did Valerie dare to fix her gaze wholly on his fleeing silhouette, and with anxious heart she measured the shrinking distance between the youth and his pursuers. Everything now depended on who would be the more agile at the low wall they were approaching. Orlík leapt over it effortlessly. His pursuers were held up for a time until they had managed to scramble up onto the wall.

Valerie heaved a sigh of relief, since she could assume that the nimble Orlík was now safe. She thought it was now all right for her to go home, but hardly had she taken the first step when she couldn’t help but notice a figure walking at some distance behind her. She turned and froze. Marching towards her, as if the church tower itself were on the move, was the missionary.

 

 

Chapter VI
A VISIT

 

Valerie stood motionless as if she, too, were now tied to some invisible lamppost. But as the missionary passed by, a Christian greeting slipped, as if involuntarily, from her lips.

“I need you, young woman, to assist me with something,” the missionary said, without deigning to stop.

“What is your wish, Father?”

“I need to visit the most wretched people of the town, and I don’t know how to find them.”

Valerie said nothing.

“Surely you know,” the Polecat continued, “where the parish poorhouse is.”

“Oh, yes. It’s not far from here.”

The missionary walked beside the girl with majestically long, monotonous strides that echoed round the square.

“If I am not mistaken,” said Valerie, “the only man who lived in the poorhouse was an old organ grinder; he died recently.”

“We shall see. Or would you rather not take me there?”

“Oh no, Father.”

“You are performing an act of mercy.”

“We’ll reach the poorhouse down this street here.”

Indeed, in no time at all, a low, very long, yellow building appeared before their eyes.

“Here we are, Father.”

“You go first,” said the strange man, “I want to inspect everything closely.”

Valerie wanted to say that her grandmother was expecting her, but speech failed her.

She opened the door and entered the house, of which she had the most somber impression. But inside it was dark and empty.

“I don’t know whether to go left or right, Father.”

“To the right,” he said peremptorily.

“I’m afraid, Father.”

“God is with us.”

“How dark it is!”

“Just proceed.”

“That way? Or that way?”

“No, no!”

The moon was just coming out and the rooms they were passing through began to take on contours. They were not rooms, but unfurnished spaces with several partitions. In one such primitive chamber, on the ground next to the wall, was a tattered straw mattress, brought to life by the moonlight. The stench was unbearable.

“Father, what will Grandma say if I’m back late?”

“Let’s go down,” said the priest, “you’ll be home before you know it.”

The missionary raised a floorboard and a hole appeared.

“Go on now, and fear nothing.”

Valerie could tell from the damp and cold that they were underground. She walked down a corridor, barely wide enough for two. Her heart pounded. She was moving as if in a dream.

“Any minute now we will be beneath your grandmother’s house. Haven’t you ever noticed there are several loose bricks in the cellar?” asked he about whom for the past two days Valerie had had a very doubtful opinion.

“No, I never noticed them.”

At certain points the corridor widened out. And sure enough after a few steps Valerie noticed she was no longer walking on the sodden earth of a cellar. It even seemed to her that she was walking on carpet.

“We’ve reached the spot,” said the missionary.

Valerie heard several strikes of a match. Then before her eyes appeared a high-arched room, furnished in the style of the nineteenth century. She was amazed. On the lumpy walls hung magnificent pictures in ancient frames. Several armchairs stood in a semicircle. A chandelier hung from the ceiling.

“Where are we?” the girl asked.

“Don’t concern yourself. Actually, you’re only a wall’s thickness away from your grandmother’s.”

The Polecat sat down in one of the armchairs and toyed with a small metal figurine which had been standing on the edge of the table next to an inkwell.

“There is something I must tell you,” he said quietly.

Blood rushed into Valerie’s face, which till now had been pale.

“Sit down opposite me.”

“Why can’t I listen to you standing up?”

“This is going to require more than five sentences.”

Valerie remained standing.

“I am sure you know a missionary is going to be lodging with you.”

“I think he’s already moved in.”

“We shall see,” said the man in disguise.

He stepped onto a short, sturdy ladder and climbed up to the ceiling. Giving some kind of bolt several turns, he removed it and peered through the hole thus created.

“Yes, he is there. Climb up behind me and take a look.”

Drawn as by some unknown force, Valerie obeyed her guide. She recognized at first sight the room the maids had converted into the missionary’s cell. Close to the hole sat the missionary and at his feet her grandmother was kneeling with her head in the priest’s lap.

“What does it mean, Father?”

“You don’t need to address me like that. And anyway, I shall be taking my frock off as soon as possible.”

“Is that really Grandma?”

“Listen!”

From above came the following conversation:

“Gratian, I had begun to believe you had been clawed to death by wild animals.”

“Not at all. I’m still far from letting death gnaw my bones.”

“You haven’t changed a bit, Gratian.”

“Vino nero is an excellent means of rejuvenation.”

BOOK: Valerie and Her Week of Wonders
11.96Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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