H C Turk, page 32
"Yes, that's it: You're to suck it some and hold it with your lips and inner mouth and-Jesus bless, yes-your tongue and move along it and again, yes, like that, God bless, yes. . . ."
Reasonably the thing had no taste, in that I was not consuming it. The salty moistness about the stick was no more than sweat, and the small amount of sticky fluid at its end no more than snot. The sensation was strange, for the flesh of this limb remained stationary while the skin held with my mouth moved against it. And I had no curiosity of God's making such massage so pleasurable, for in the first moments of the toothless portion of my rubbing, the man went both stiff and weak in his body and had no emotion within him but sinning ecstasy. My only emotion was relief to find that the man's meat was no worse than the chicken bits Miss Elsie during my illness had attempted to slip within me, relief because my mouth did not lock upon this stick never to release it; and what a superior receptacle for manifesting the special sex of the white witch.
More of this meal was coming. I was aware that males eventually deposit a quantity of fluid for making offspring within the female. I imagined a bucket of sex snot rushing within me to bloat my cheeks like a pregnant woman's belly. I imagined the essence of male sinner sitting in my stomach until a criminal began growing there, and when next I vomited, it would be a baby cretin I puked out, and part mine.
"Enough demonstration, cur," I said after spitting his limb away. I then stood, leaving the criminal to his knotwork. "If you find the sex of my tongue satisfactory, more shall you receive along with vagina and buttocks or bloody ear, if you so desire, soon after the Rathel dies."
"Oh, yes, God bless, yes..." he promised; and with his moans, my chances were trebled.
The hour was not late upon my return, but into the basement I went to wait and later be found. Then came a thought. Though not expected to be present, perhaps the Rathel had returned and now prepared to entrap me, having posted her sinning servants about the household to view my ingress. Concealing my wares in the basement, I moved through the gate again, then around to my side window. Up the wall I clambered, not a sinner on the street to view me, my move surely no more foolish than fucking felons.
My next decision was to wear gloves when again handling a prick, for the smell was on my fingers, though no taste remained after that inner licking and swallowing I had commenced once away from Penstone, Penistone. Beneath the bed I moved, a place over cleaned by some servant other than Elsie in my illness as ordered by Rathel, Satan take her soul soon to be available. With the nasty smell of wood soap and oil about me, I sneered as though a criminal myself, sneered at the Penstone Place too social for Rathel but worthy of me with all my killing deals. Would not Amanda be proud of her daughter's business? Would not my business eliminate her pride? Would not the world be a safer, less sinful place with Rathel removed to God's hands? Yes, please dear Lord, yes. Pray God accept her generously.
Weary from my divine dealings, I felt the safety of my bed's bottom, though not of my greater home, for I had never been more damaged than when in the Rathel's abode. My ideas were so unpleasant that I left them only by leaving awareness, sleeping although afloat in oil as though greased in a pot for cooking, until Elsie entered and called for her lass.
"Alba, child, are you truly not in here yet?"
"Present I am, miss," I announced through the bed's fabric draped to the floor.
"So, how long are you in here, girl, and are you too ill to be elsewhere?" Elsie called without bothering to bend toward the bed cave.
"In and out of this room I have been the day, beneath the bed now to be alone for sleeping. Though more weary than usual, I am ill only due to the excess oil which I absorb like a wick. I suggest you bring no candle near, lest I illuminate all of London."
"Ah, and you're saying my presence is so bad that you're needing to hide from me? And I thought it was months ago that you're abandoning this wild state."
"Kindly induce me less often into announcing that you alone of the persons in this household I would have about me. I thought that during those same months past you had learned that we are friends, and that I am a person with continual regard for both the wilds and for my occasional solitude."
"Aye, I'm allowing you this, girl, if only because from my place our speaking is ridiculous, one of us is talking as though to an empty room, and the other like a dust ball beneath the bed."
As she began sighing and turning away, I told her, "Incorrect, miss, for no dust exists beneath this bed, the floor polished as though a surface for eating, and therefore no longer quite a place of my own."
Then Elsie spoke again, and most sadly.
"And it's correct you are, girl, for all of this locale is the Rathel's."
Then she departed, unable to hear my final phrase.
"But you and I, miss, are not the Rathel's for long."
Two days later was the Friday of my arrangement. That afternoon was not useless for me, for therein I culminated my concern. Around and around my considerations chased me, here another waking dream, one of morality, for I yet regarded myself superior to the criminal creatures who had worshiped me from below. Objectively, however, because of the nature and purpose of my influence, I was inferior to them in God's sublime eye. This was the emotion that alternated with my throwing a hand against my mouth lest the household hear me cackle, for those sinners sucking me like a treat for kitty were clearly more ludicrous than any human ever seen by a witch, even more so than that whore sucking the elephant's prick; for she was the beastmaster-beastmistress-not he, the trainer in control of the sexual menagerie. But the felons' foolishness was not their aspect I encouraged. By promoting their continual evil, I positioned myself below them morally as I crammed my desires into
their persons to be spit out as murder against the Rathel's face.
These conflicting responses were nothing new. From the beginnings of my plan, I had retained my self-revulsion from plotting murder. How holy I was to save my friends from Rathel by emulating Rathel, Satan's purest sinner. But when the time came for Rathel to die, the time came for me to find God again instead of Satan, whom I had disguised as the Deity. Finally I came aware that I had been dealing with the devil, not sinning criminals. Sinning me. When Rathel with Lord Andrew departed to the opera, I nearly achieved panic, for I had missed my best opportunity to save the mistress. Therefore, I waited with dread outside the Rathel's home those following hours with no complex plan, my new business only to warn her of death and have the coachman drive her away upon hearing my screaming to flee for her literal life.
I positioned myself early in fear of being late, slipping into a neighbor's privet hedge, hidden from those social folk to pass me, some silent, some with pleasant chatting as though a witch and a doomed boy whispering at night. Houses away I waited to gain Rathel before the expected criminals met her at the door, my intention to gain her carriage as it slowed while turning the nearest corner. And there I was at the proper time when Rathel came home from the opposite direction.
Though other vehicles were out this night, not until I heard one halting behind did I fling myself about to see Rathel's taken coach before her house. Too far away and too late to be screaming, I leapt out and ran to the coach, Rathel alone within, the driver stepping down to the passenger's door as three exotic animals converged on the mistress.
From a hedge before me ran Giraffe, who saw Monkey running toward him, swinging a knife. Giraffe's weapon remained sheathed until he saw the armed man, and clearly each was attacking his alternate, so the operatic scene appeared even to me. They met before the coach to call out vicious oaths to one another, then swing uneventfully with their knives before flinging themselves about and away, desperate to avoid the corresponding assassin. This was the true arrangement I had made in the eyes of Elephant, who ran from across the street as I proceeded to Rathel's vehicle, this last animal hissing that I was a "vengeful witch" and stabbing at me with his own knife, but missing because his greatest effort was in fleeing a scene surely arranged by the lady wench to gain vengeance on three males who had attacked her months ago, these being the thoughts I read in some mind, perhaps my own, as four running bodies fled from the static coach, the criminals in three dissimilar directions, the witch slipping into the spot by her neighbor's kitchen recently vacated by Giraffe, in that she no more than the other criminals desired to be caught making business at night.
No hopeful prayer did I offer for my safety, in that greater relief had been delivered, the panting, frightened witch praising God for fulfilling her ultimate plan, that of saving evil Rathel.
"Madam, madam! Are you safe?" the coachman called out as he looked everywhere for further flying demons. No knives seen, however, and no animals, the Rathel climbing out on her own and running to her doorway.
"Off with you before the next attack!" she shouted to the driver, then beat on her door for entry, the house opening as the coachman whipped his horse, which flew past me as though a fleeing criminal; and I wondered what this harnessed creature thought of our theater.
Stepping backward like a cat, I returned to my best shelter -the Rathel's home-but found each door locked, including the basement entry. So up the wall I climbed like my former spider to discover my window latched. Then I recalled my own doing, for I had feared that one of the criminals might surmise the residents here and come looking. Unfortunately, the curious criminal was I.
To the Giraffe's kitchen niche I would retire, slipping to sleep until morning when I would stealthily move inside the house as though never gone. A single step I took toward the neighbor's before smiling and running like a horse to Rathel's front door.
"It is I, Alba!" I hollered while violently rapping the knocker.
"What? Who? Why . . . ?" came replies from numerous voices within before one of the anguished women understood my screaming to be genuine, opening the door a crack to first view, then fully receive the daughter.
I was the one to slam and bolt the door as Elsie, Rathel, and Delilah asked of the meaning. But I had no answers for them, only condemnation.
"Out I run to see the loud activity, espying two criminal men, when here is a third running directly toward me. Tremendously I flee from his knife, yet when I am returned and desperate to enter my home, you have locked me out! Am I a part of that band of thieves that I must live on the streets?!" I yelped, then stalked angrily to my chamber, firm in my demand not to cackle until upon my bed, slamming the door behind, my face in the pillow as I laughed enough to tire me; but before sleeping, thankful prayers to Lord God that He deserved, even though from a sinner.
Twenty
How simple my dreams became. No ship's chain to entangle me, no bridge, no salt water, no drowning, no attempted escape. No Mure, only pain, and all from smelling a witch burn. In this era, I was smelling Lucinda die, my dreams of the agony I had felt upon sensing her odor. Perhaps the misery remaining from Rathel's securing me in her home was inspirational, at night drawing similarities from a remote, more permanent damage. Often I slept well through evenings, but when I slept poorly, I slept not at all, sensing a sister ablaze.
No further tutoring was I given, though my thoughts of geography continued. Rathel and I scarcely spoke to one another, and were never together alone. Elsie had no further justification for Rathel's evil acts' being caused by a heart hurt long before. Never in my healing did Elsie speak of the mistress in fine terms. Neutral she was but no better, and therein equal to me, for I had no more liberal reviling of Rathel. Student Elsie had been tutored by her own observation to understand the truth of Rathel's heart. But we shared no hatred, for neither was capable of altering her servitude to the sinning mistress.
Less intently I looked through my window, no studious stares for witches and boys unheard of since their departing an era of education ago. Such a thing as letters existed but had never been promised. And if sent, might not Rathel intercept them as part of her business of which I was an instrument, a dupe? Perhaps I missed Eric's company, and I would never neglect the godly revelation provided by this male who seemed less foreign a beast than other sinners: less than Rathel and that zoo lapping at me in Penstone. But being with me would mean Eric's death, I was certain, and I was saving my wares for other men.
Fleeing London became the center of my existence. Unlike my early days in the city, I now had great confidence, having learned all the vagaries of British business. Only for my strength I waited, in that I required more energy to fuck my way out of London.
In this manner my plan proceeded. One morning, feeling nearly strong enough to begin my seduction of the city, I gazed through my window at passing sinners. One woman was walking herself like a dog, for stiffly past she stepped in her decent dress, later returning. Then came a coach for Rathel, our mistress entering and gone. A moment later, as though predictive, I turned from the window to see Elsie enter my chamber. Surprised she was that a lady from church sought to visit me though aware that Rathel was absent. A woman unknown, but who was Elsie to argue with a fellow parishioner on God's business? After my accident, some religious guests had come in the way of normal, soulful visitation of one ill, but orders from the Rathel were to disallow such intrusion, using the pretext of the girl's yet being too delicate about English society to be swimming in it hideous. The lastest visitor, however, had been adamant: not in seeing me, but in having the servant deliver her name, So up comes Elsie prepared to go down as soon as I give the order, as surely I would have except for that proper word brought me, the name Marybelle having me run downstairs like an animal.
A woman dressed as though a merchant's wife, and veiled, but no witch I knew, not with my improving nose sensing no sister's odor. A woman so timid as to remain outside, though requested to enter the foyer. Not timid was I, however, for out I went to close the door behind and lift that veil myself. And, yes, below the cloth was an ugly thing, and at this distance, having the faint but true smell of a sister.
"A rare salve applied on the skin when beneath the bright sun for the day," she described. "I learned that some dogs have been trained to smell us, and I would rather not be caught by an animal who should be friendly."
This witch I did not embrace. Perhaps no living person I should have loved more, but Marybelle should not have been living. She should not have been dressed as I nor walking so well, no cane used when stepping along the street, her clumsy boot of Man's Isle replaced by a normal shoe. But this sister, no less wise than before, was aware of my thinking.
"More of a witch you are now with your changed head. But even this bent face shows me your thoughts. What you would hear told can come later. But now we go."
"Go?" I asked. "Our destiny being . . . ?"
"A decent land with no streets, one made by God for His simple folk. A long journey we have, and must begin now."
"Now?"
"The servant of Lady Rathel has heard my name. Rathel will recall it from Man's Isle."
"Elsie wdl tell no one if I ask her to refrain."
"So thick you are with this sinner to trust her with my life?"
"In fact, so godly a person is she that I can trust her with both our lives. Regardless, why the jeopardy of using your true name?"
"Thereby I gained you now. Having done so, we must now depart. God would have us leave to be natural. Where would you be, Alba, with London and this servant?"
"I would be in a decent land with no streets, one made by God for His simple folk who yet include me, despite the complexities of my current life."
"Then abandon your complex living and return to God."
"You speak as though your meaning is immediacy."
"And when should we go if not now? Are you not prepared in your heart to regain our original life? If so, when better than immediately?"
"But I have to . . . first" I said, unable to enunciate the center of my feelings. Though my only need was to quit London, this need was only for myself, and therefore selfish, akin to lust. In this city, I lived not alone, but with friends. And how could I depart with a nightmare? How could I leave with someone whose death yet pained me waking and asleep?
"You hesitate, Alba."
"Often have I departed this house in order to exit London, though never successfully. Never have I made such attempts, however, without preparation, and therefore the notion of a simple exit is strange."
"You would kiss the sinner good-bye, perhaps, or bring your best gown? If you've money or jewels, bring all you can, but elsewise bring yourself."
"A veil at least I need to draw no attention through London."
"Agreed, yet you hesitate to run for this and be gone."
With the immediacy Marybelle sought, I announced, "You are dead," and understood that all along I had been staring at her, staring at a person often seen in my dreams. "You are dead, Marybelle. You died as-"
"I survived," she stated curtly. "I continue to live as God intends, so do not argue with my life unless you would argue with Him. And to His land we now should journey."
So I ran away. I turned and hastened upstairs to my chamber, taking veil and hat and cloak, also a bag. Yes, from a massive chest I took a bag, one for holidays in the countryside, and placed within a fine gown, my most comfortable shoes, but no mementos. The Rathel had jewels, and since I would no longer be living in her London, I need not fear being discovered, arrested, enjailed. But I had no jewels, and was too much the sinner in having killed and stolen to become a greater felon. Downstairs I ran, below to the foyer and Elsie.
Hesitation is not the term for my response, for Elsie looked at the apparel in my hand, saw the bag, and knew my goal. So I ran to her, dropping my items, and embraced the woman as I had no one since Lucinda. I embraced Elsie with no explanation of my intents, only of our lives.
"Never mention that this person gave her name," I whispered while looking into the sinner's eyes, my friend's eyes. "And never forget I love you." And I kissed her face, kissed her well and loved her better, then ran away before she could reply, through the doorway and to Marybelle.
