I have no place here, am not of the multitude. Let me be more delicate in my ways, obtain again the silence that I knew. They are not virginal here-know not the attitudes. Tonight in my diary I shall write the lives of all, Helen and Carrie to their lusts down-drawn, their knickers ever soiled by pools of sperm. In their uncleanness shall they flourish, petted and patted by Mama, bright on Sundays in their white attire, to chapel led, the hymn books rustling.
When they kneel, when they kneel, for what do they pray? Let me be seen not in their congregations, knees bent, upon the hassocks spread. I would pray for solitude and stars, comforts of night and hallowings of quiet, the pestle to my mortar put and soundless desire.
They will marry, of course. Am I fretful at this? Their training was inexact, comportment lewd. Even so, 1- hypocrite-pleasured myself in my holding of Helen. Some girls perhaps should be put to it thus-young servants no doubt, or field-girls with pretty faces. I have seen such on my father's estate, yet gave no thought to it, he roaming there with stick and gun, rushing of hares and twittering of leaves.
In the grass, in the grass-how pleasant it might have been in the grass, the dew upon my bottom kissing, filterings of sunlight, a fastness of swallows. Would he have breathed to me as I to Helen? I must do down into my thoughts, emerge, comfort myself. Bacon and devilled kidneys for breakfast. Afterwards, afterwards. My aunts like angels quiet would come and go. Mama would speak of butter, milk and churns. How cold a churn were I put over one, yet soon my bottom warm to urgent thrusts, the milk rush-rolling in the silvered cone.
I am come upon the hall, the doorway. No one bars my exit. The carriage waits still.
“You were a long time coming of it, M iss. I was not told to leave nor go nor wander forth.”
“It is best that you did not. There are herds in the darkness, their bodies heavy.”
“They should be milked and taken in, Miss.”
“Have you been so? It matters not. I shall return to my hotel. You remember the place, the far place, where the lights glow?”
“I couldn't be forgetting of it. All the gentry comes and goes there. There is ever a coming and going there. You are of the country, Miss. I smells it on your skin.”
“Soft, is it not? They are lewd people within and would have remarked upon it had I let them, felt me as one feels tapestries or cloth.”
“There's a lot of it goes on, Miss, as for them what can afford it. I heard tell from a gent that was in my conveyance of a party he went to where all the guests took their clothes off and romped about terrible.”
“I disapprove of such. Do you not disapprove of such? Let us go then, let us go. There is badness about, the sins of the multitudes.”
Rushings of summer night and whirling of heavens. I shall retire, take a cottage upon my father's estate. My aunts will visit me there-a twirling of parasols. We shall have readings, converse upon philosophies, dip strawberries in cream and lick our lips unseen. A horse will stand without in waiting upon my journeys.
I shall take the woodland rides and wait his coming, penis still upon the saddle's rim. Delicately we will tread together into a copse, the twigs snapping, upwhirring of wings and clouds of starlings sailing. May I speak? I would tell you at last how long and thick your penis is, how tightly I enclose it. Let our mouths meet. Speak to me of Rabelais, of pages yellowed by the sun, the bindings stiff upon their hinges. Caress my thighs, my quim through cotton drawers. Do my stockings not band tightly? It was said once there were elves, here. Let me lie back, prepare, display myself. The loam is soft. How soft the loam is…
Be quiet Laura, be quiet.
Be quiet.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Is there a second ballroom here, a place for dancing?”
I address the counter clerk on my return. A happiness is upon me, and air of gaiety, as though the night were young. He has a sombre look, a crouching, hunted by beagles.
“There was one above, Miss. It is closed now these past two years. Guests who could not sleep complained of the noise. There were abandonments. Are you not on the same floor where it used to be?”
“I could not find the door.”
“It is there, Miss. The lock is rusty. You may try it. Will you have someone attend on you? It is not a pleasant place. I would not to that place. There are mirrors and hauntings. Too many, it is said.”
“Of mirrors and hauntings, yes, there are ever so- some pleasant, some unpleasant. I will go. Have wine and sandwiches sent up to my room.”
I pass along the upper corridor the selfsame fellow who took Charlotte there. His glance is open and abrasive to my eyes. He would have me on the instant if I let him.
“Is the door open? The door along? The door to the ballroom? Open? Is it open?”
“It were never closed, Miss. There were revellings once. The floor is thick with dust I hear, the mirrors glazed with memories. I was taught poetry about it once but have forgotten it.”
He stands, would weigh me up and down. A nascent paunch bells out his trouser tops. I would speak of the wallpaper that covered the door, but do not. There is a trick about it, perhaps, some incidence of light or shade. I have long fingernails. I shall tear it. I have no forebearance in such things. Mama would think it impolite. My father taught me ever so to be.
“That all action should be direct action is beyond denial, Laura. When there are no words to be used, put aside the words that would be used. Mistake not the things for the word nor the word for the thing. Should a young child, young in its unknowing, perceive a rose then it places not a net of words about it, for indeed it may not know the word “rose” and hence, being innocent of such, sees the flower in greater purity than we. Remember this ever, for if you have no understanding of it now, then understanding will come later.”
“I must not then have regard for things, Papa?” I asked.
“It is incumbent upon us, Laura, to have regard for all, yet whether paper, for instance, is printed upon, used for wrapping, adorned with great art and skill by a scribe, or crumpled up and burned, it has no caring for the matter, since in its paperness it remains and then returns to the infinite. Be caring and kind, do not damage unless there be cause for such. When there is cause, let it be done and have no hesitation on the matter.”
I asked my paternal aunt, who ever then grew closer to me, whether she herself had understanding of this.
“You listen wisely, listen well, Laura. Not to have hesitation when the spirit moves forever engenders activity in us, a sparkling of life, performances of good. When our dear mama took to the sari, she took also to the ways of the Hindu texts and read such translations as she could find. She engendered in us then a reverence for all, declaring that manifestations of the body were also those of the spirit. Though I would not declare such interpretations to be exact, yet I took a fondness for them. Upon the coming of mid-spring we would disrobe ourselves and meditate. I was then put to exercises, even as you. Immediately afterwards she would have me meditate again, saying that otherwise I would become inert and somnolent.”
“Am I inert? I wish not to be inert.”
“One who is inert, my pet, would by paradox endeavour to escape the strap, the piston's urging thrust. In your receiving of both, in your receiving, your energy is coiled and strong, is latent, ever-present, not inert. You are the servant of your realm and yet its mistress. When the cock is well planted, do you not enjoy, receive, draw out the strength?”
“Why must I ever be strapped?” I laid my head upon her lap. A scent of musk, of lavender, burring of stocking tops beneath her skirt.
“Would you bend to it without-raise your skirts, lower your drawers.”