Evisceration
Virgil
I
The Mousey prospect's father was the type to think every word he spoke a gift. That his mundane mumblings could, and should, captivate any room he entered, that his simple presence was an honor. That everyone ought to hold their collective breath with fascination whenever his low-born mouth opened and clap at the shit that spilled out. The type, much to the woe of everyone around, that was utterly ignorant of just how insufferable he really was. Unfortunately, it was neither Virgil's job nor his place to judge the man thusly. However easy that may be. And it was certainly not his place to voice such concerns so boldly. So instead he stood by, watching calmly and hoping Father would find the good sense to quash this ill-fated match before the larvae turned.
But it was becoming increasingly clear, as Virgil watched the two men laugh, that that was not an especially likely prospect. Since when has my father 'the oaf' ever been able to find 'the good sense.'
At present, the Unan and Father were engaged in a joking banter, the subject of which had grown increasingly trivial, having meandered from the original topic of a dowry to the likely embellished tales of the Unan's travels along Dawn's Coast. He ran fingers through his hair and adjusted his spectacles just so that his hands had something to do.
Virgil's patience wore ever thinner as their empty exchange lengthened. The fool's incessant prattling was beginning to give bloom to a slow rising headache, and a nauseous one at that. He had a few pills left in his pocket that would do his head some good if he could find a discrete enough way to throw them back.
Thankfully it didn't come to that, the unan fool's ceaseless rambling was brought to an abrupt end as the girl and her escort stumbled suddenly through the door.
A hushed silence descended as the eyes of the room broke upon the girl, felled only by the Unan's voice as he rose from his seat. "Speak of fire, and it sparks," he remarked with a smile, slipping his hand through his daughter's.
She looked scared, fragile, ready to be broken.
Meritites
II
No one thinks about you when you're not making noise.
The walk home from the cathedral was a teary haze for Meri. She felt the floor of her world crumbling before her like chunks of stone splitting from a tired canyon. He's lying! She told herself desperately and not for the first time since Jason had forewarned her of father's supposed plan to marry her off to some old Priest.
She clung helpless to Jason's belt, her eyes misted with tears, as she was blindly towed forth over the craggy city walks and towards home. Jason cut easily through the crowds with his usual, fast-paced strides that Meri had to practically gallop behind to keep pace with. His hurried tempo joined with teary eyes turned the faces of the city into a sea of blurred features and dissolved expressions, a canvas for you to project whatever you wanted to see upon.
Meri plastered contempt and apathy upon the parade of mush, their bustling sounds drowning out her ugly sobs and refusing to acknowledge her. Why can no one see me, hear me, know me? She wondered.
Help me?
Paradoxical things flesh, think and feel with neither thoughts nor feelings, blood and meat ought not despair for thou know'st nothing of despair but its phonetics and semantics.
It's not true! She told herself again. Jason is lying so that he can watch me squirm and twist. He's just broken and wants me the same.
And yet, she could feel it, something was wrong. Unease was in the air, in the way the wind blew, the way the sun cooked the city, in the sly expression her brother wore. There was a subtle cracking feeling beneath, like the spring's ice readying to shatter under step.
And still she held a persistent, if desperate, denial.
Some 100 year old priest wanted me? It's ridiculous. She thought incredulously. Moreover father loves me, cares for me, he'd never sell me away to some decrepit priest with thrice the amount of wives as fingers. She reassured herself. He'll have a kind 'prince' waiting for me when I'm ready. He's always said so. This whole notion is entirely absurd. Jason's lying. He's lying. She told herself time and time again. He's a cruel thing and he just wants to hurt me, to make me cry. To ruin what ought've been a beautiful occasion.
But Jason's 'lie' was yet insidious, it wormed its way into her heart as though it were an apple, making a home in the core, sitting heavy and turning black. She pleaded silently with the Creator that her brother's smile and venomous words were just another way of tormenting her, of relishing in her misery. Playing at his sinister games. They had to be. But…
It's not true, it's not true. She continued to pray. Each time the refrain lost its security, the meaning fading, like a word heard on repeat till it sounded but a meaningless jumble of syllables. It's not true. It's not true. Idsnotroo. Idsnotroo. Idsnotroo.
It was mid afternoon, the summer sun still high and hot when they came to the base of their apartment building. Meri's stomach sank at the incongruous sight awaiting her there. A shining black automobile, an awfully luxurious one at that, was idling outside and coughing gasoline fumes, it did not belong here in this part of the city, next to the heaps of trash and outdated carriages, next to the homeless bums and vandalized walls. It was exactly the type of car a rich Priest might take to visit the cities.
He's lying! She told herself, though it was more a plea than a belief at this point.
Leaning casually against the hood, the driver, dressed in black finery, puffed a cigarette. A formal smile played on his lips and he gave her brother a nod. Jason responded in kind, offering a polite tip of his own as he guided Meri up the stoop.
Dread crept free through the girl then. No, no, no, it's NOT true! Father loves you. He loves you! He wouldn't!
That icy feeling settled. That realization. That resignation to the unpleasant truths of life.
I know it well, flesh… You ought learn to accept it.
And when they returned home that morning.
And she crossed the threshold of her apartment door, the harsh reality came like a kick to the chest. The ice beneath her feet broke and she fell into the cold wailing waters.
As it turned out, her brother had not been lying.
Meritites
III
It unfolded like a dream before her, sick and twisted and surreal. The outskirts of her vision burnt with a fuzzy halo, a golden hue seeping warm from her periphery and towards, casting her vision in the hazed glow of distant hallucination.
She opened the door slowly, carefully, as if defusing a bomb. The rhythmic thumping of the heart in her chest beat near hard enough to burst from her sternum. The door crept open, creaking under the weight of a trembling hand. She knew what was to come next.
Within she was greeted by the sight of her father chatting up an old man. An old man who looked more like some over large hairless ferret than a prince. Wearied and covered with liver spots, he wore a glazed, empty-headed expression. She could practically hear the jests her brother must've been silently working from behind her, one rodent finds another, how sweet. He'd have surely said in lesser company.
Her father was beside and grinning, plopped into his recliner like it was a throne. Across from him on the couch sat the ferret, his long blue robes pooling across the hardwood like water. Her father and the ferret were laughing jovially, she'd watched as flecks of spittle arced from the old man's mouth as he cackled at one of her father's drolleries.
A warm smile lit her father's face aglow when he noticed her, his inviting blue eyes beaming with familiar affection. He waved his hand in invitation and said something she couldn't quite make out. He rose from his throne, and with a tender reach, he gently took her hand in his and led her, floating like a ghost, over to meet her apparent future husband.
Crossing the living room, she noticed the others then. Tucked tight against the wall, two of them, both men, the priest's presumably. They stood straight as sticks and watched silently, almost solemnly, beside.
It was the taller of the two who first captured her attention. He was hairless, completely so, not a single strand of hair graced him, neither scalp nor chin nor cheeks nor brow. With an over pronounced brow bone and sunken eyes, he glared through Meri with severity. His face gaunt, as gaunt as any face she'd seen, he looked a skeleton veiled beneath a papery thin layer of skin.
In tight contrast the other man stood. This one had a gentle look about him, he wore fine circle spectacles beneath a healthy head of hair and with kind eyes. She allowed herself a most naive moment of hope, perhaps this is my prince, she thought, this is who my father has found for me, a prince. It did not last long.
Their eyes met briefly, and in that fleeting moment of connection, he offered her a sympathetic smile, one that whispered 'Sorry'. It was a sweet and subtle kindness, a warmth. She clung to that warmth. It was likely to be all the warmth she would get.
Ushered forth by her father's gentle but insistent pulling, she was made to approach her future husband. She stood timidly before him, like a prized hog to be judged in competition. "Hello." she spoke as softly and as politely as she could manage. It came out squeaky, nye petulant.
The priest's beady eyes washed over her, fixating especially on her small breasts. She felt naked beneath that gaze.
His wrinkled hands extended to take hers, he cupped them with surprising gentleness. They were clammy and cold and felt like old leather that had been left out in the rain. The heavy black bracelet on his wrist clacked as he tremored. A rusted smile crept upon his lips, revealing a set of worn, yellow and brown teeth. "Hello sweetheart." The sound of his voice crawled up along her skin and down her spine. It croaked out of him in a tinny, scratched pitch that sent a shiver through her. A slimy tongue darted across his lips. "She'll do nicely. Yes she will, yes she will." He had a way of losing breath at the end of his sentences so that his words gradually strained to whispers. And though he spoke to father, he kept his black eyes on her, studying her like she was some sort of meal and he was starved.
"She's a wonderful girl, as dutiful as she is honorable." Her father promised proudly, he took a step closer and put his hand on her shoulder. She turned to face him. Why are you doing this? Can't you see this isn't what I want? She stared up at him with a bugged stare, a stare that begged sympathy. He just smiled back down at her, kindly and utterly devoid of any concern.
"Obedient too?" The old Man asked.
Father had at least enough grace to twist uncomfortably. "As obedient as they come." He assured him.
"And unsullied, I presume?"
"Of course, your countenance."
She wanted to vomit.
"Oh, I've no doubt." The priest's old hands drifted from hers and slid down past her arms to her sides. They roamed across her, and feeling her curves, he moaned quietly, breathy and ill sounding. His lips wet, his eyes hungry. "You know sweetheart, they say the perfect obedience is to be led by a singular strand of hair. Do you know what that means?"
She shook her head.
He did not care to elaborate.
From across the room her brother's cruel sneer was gone, he just stared flatly as the old man felt her body. Father kept his smile though, his ever loving smile and the pair of visitors hardly watched.
She looked around from one face to the next for help and found none.
Why is no one helping me… She wondered.
Meritites
IV
She knelt at the foot of the bed, her hands tightly clasped, and whispered her prayers like a good Gnostic girl. Tonight, it felt more habit than ceremony.
Her typical askings were sullied by the day but still she entreated the Creator with her usual bedtime prayer.
Beneath this night I thank the King Creator and his Lords, so they shall speak between my gratitudes. In times of glory and of strife I worry thusly and ask humbly in thy honors. For safety, happiness, family to prosper. A prince to cherish me. The words of it were tired to the heart.
And she prayed for her father. Despite everything, she couldn't help herself. She whispered his name, asking for goodness to find him, for his safety and peace.
And you'll give it to him
In cold moments of honest reflection, those spare seconds spent free of her usual wanton day dreaming, she'd always feared she'd grow old, never finding love. Turning wrinkled and gray as the women around her grew ever younger.
She had so wanted to be rescued from this obsolescence, it was this obsolescence she had been so sure awaited her, piteous stares for the old maid and ill given kindnesses to boot. She'd wanted rescue so badly that somewhere along the way her dreams morphed from distant hopes to an assurance. It will happen. She'd told herself a thousand times past. It had too, for whatever else could there be?
Since childhood, she had dreamed it would be a prince to rescue her. The night before last, and the night before that as well, her prince had visited her in her dreams to do just that. It was a familiar dream, one she always welcomed. And one she was always disappointed to wake from.
They met accidently in an empty train car, just him and her. He was starry-eyed and smiling. They began to talk when he asked her for some innocuous bit of information about the next stop. He was lost, just like her. The conversation was surface-level at first, but wasted no time growing deeper and deeper. They fell in love in a single night.
And what a fool you are. There is no prince, and were he real he'd never settle for the likes of you, such a nothing girl. Rat. She thought to herself.
For who would ever love her? There is no prince waiting out there for her, sitting in a train car, waiting for a mousey grotesque to walk through, waiting to rescue her.
Just an old priest, four times her age.
And this is what you deserve, rat. What else? Her brother was laughing in her mind.
She had no friends, and certainly no prior prospects, she was far too quiet for such, always had been. So quiet her schoolmates had thought her a mute. Everyday, back when she'd still been attending school, she'd sat by laughing students wishing that she could join in, but whenever someone spoke to her, words would fail. It was as if her voice box would seize or perhaps some part of her brain was simply missing. It was just impossible. And if she somehow did manage a stray sentence or two it always seemed to come out a clumsy jumbling vomit of language, often making little sense or spoken too quietly or both. And so she was alone, terribly so. Her only connection a 'kind' hearted father.
And this is what comes next for such helpless things, she knew. Such ugly things. Aged, cringing creeps. Was it any better than the obsolescence of spinsterhood? Meri wondered.
Virgil
V
"She's got poor racial hygiene." He mused aloud as his fingers thrummed restlessly upon the empty seat beside. The Auto-carriage was big enough to hold eight, but today Virgil, his father, and Lut'ther were its only passengers. They'd gone into the cities to see Father's newest prospect and subsequent future wife. The sooner I'm free of this stink and these mongrels the better, he thought as the city's sickly sight sped past his window.
"Barbarous heritage, I can see it plainly just in her head shape." He continued nonchalantly. His father was caught in a world of his own, absentmindedly gazing at nothing as he was ever wont to do. He wore the same dumb, empty headed smile as always. Virgil watched as a thin waterfall of drool dripped from his lip to pool onto his turquoise robes darkening them a royal blue, and this man seeks to inherit Godhood? He thought with quiet disdain.
The others made for no better conversation, Lut'ther, the bald bastard who looked almost undead at the right angle, just shrugged and kept resting his eyes and Yollo, the driver, had his tongue pulled out way back during the latter years of the inquisition, so he was obviously no conversationalist. I ought've brought my pet along, he'd have been chatty. To a fault even.
Virgil continued anyhow, ignoring the car's indifference, "and that's without mentioning how homely she is, are you sure about her father?" He turned to his old man. "Surely we could find a more suitable match. Someone of higher birth, better genes, at the very least better looking. She looks a rat" Not too much unlike yourself, old man.
"She's the one." He waved a lazy and dismissive hand and kept staring out at the blurred city.
Of course she is. Virgil ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. He could only imagine the conniption mother would have when she heard about this one, he could already hear her harping, 'This is a proud family, of old blood. Are we to taint it with the water that runs through the gutters?' At least now he could claim he tried to dissuade Father.
'It's your responsibility to protect his name!' Mother had given him that speech half a hundred times, or an odd 30ish. Each time a new wife entered the fray. But why bother? He wondered, Father's mind is mostly mush, try and change it and it'll only settle back to where it started.
Virgil spilled the contents of a small brown bottle into his hand. He tossed some calomel and opium back and swallowed it dry. Bitter and obstinate it slid down his gullet. Hopefully a little chemistry would help pass the time. And ease this damnable head-aching.
As the carriage crossed the city checkpoint the smooth roads of the upper cities gave way to the uneven cobblestone, poorly maintained, of the ghettos. The carriage rattled something terrible as they moved through the old slave quarters. At least the old man hadn't chosen a woman from here, mother would've had a heart attack, truly.
A group of children, wearing rags and tattering smocks chased after the car, laughing and hooting, surely thinking it some sort of treat.
A few shots their way, that'd learn em'. Bleed a few of the rodents, rodents at best, and filth more like.
He almost asked Lut'ther to abide, but thought better of it. No need to cause any ruckus.
The children soon disappeared behind the pale dust kicked up by the tires. He removed his glasses, setting them aside softly, closed his eyes, and sought sleep. It came blessedly quick.
He woke hours later, cold and clammy despite the heat. The carriage bounced, rolling over the gravel roads that led towards the Manor.
Father had scarcely moved since he'd last been awake. The waterfall of drool had pooled sticky to the seat, collecting in a small pond of saliva. "Finally." Lut'ther drolled with a clap. The Manor's tent came into view, poking above the tree line.
The enormous top tent Father had demanded be stuck above the Manor would be the first thing to go when he came into his inheritance. It was rippling in the gentle winds. Stripes of red and white waved like water. What a gauche thing. The very moment Father croaked he'd tear that damned thing down. The manor underneath was gorgeous, carved delicately, built of only the finest wood and stone. A true Thracian masterpiece. And covered with a ugly tarp, if that wasn't the perfect metaphor for the state of this household, I don't' know what is.
How many years have you got left, old man? He questioned silently and hoped it was few enough.
As the car pulled up he spotted her. Mother was waiting outside, arms crossed and wearing a fiery expression. Fuck me. He lamented. It seemed someone had informed her about the mousey Unan.
Time for a tongue lashing.
Meritites
VI
One short hour. That was how long it took.
In the space of sixty minutes her 'beloved' father was able to broker a deal and sell her off, wiping his hands of his nearly 18 year old burden. It didn't seem real, how can so much change so quickly, she wondered. One hour and she was alone, one hour for her to learn how utterly unloved she was, for the blindfold to be cast away. A blindfold she couldn't pull back over her eyes no matter how badly she wanted the ignorance to return.
One hour and the deal was done, the priest was gone, heading back upstate, surely to some audaciously large manor.
And she was his. Till death.
How easy it was.
She'd found several hours of solitude after the meeting. The sun had fallen long since and she'd spent countless tears. She'd been spending countless more when a knock sounded at her door, breaking the quiet she'd carved for herself. She pulled herself from bed and moved sluggishly across her room. The door opened, a cold wind blew, and through walked her father.
His smile was wrought with poison, a sweet poison and one she was only able to taste now that she had had a spoonful.
"Here my sweet girl. Here is a taste of the wealth you're given, come see these jewels" He cooed, his voice ever loving and still full of its regular warmth. An assortment of jewels glittered in his big hands, shining in a dozen colors, three ruby rings, garnets and sapphires, pearl earrings, an emerald necklace, and more, they must've cost a fortune. "A wedding gift from the priest's estate. Gorgeous aren't they? And this is but a taste."
It's moving too fast, how is it moving so fast?
Never before had she even seen jewelry so opulent, let alone owned any. Her fingers daintily swept across them as if worried they'd bite. They were cold and the very sight of them made her stomach turn. I don't want them. She thought as a chill crept down her backbone, I hate them, she wanted to say. Get rid of them! Toss them into gutters! Give them to the needy! "Yes, gorgeous, thank you father." She replied instead. Obedient indeed.
She didn't dare look her father in the eyes for fear of bursting into tears. His face was surely beaming like the sun, she could feel it bearing down on her, baking her. Melting her.
"I remember taking you school shopping when you were but a child. How grown I'd thought you then. Always begging for this or that. Do you remember?"
Meri nodded.
"The finery you asked for!" He guffawed, "I wanted to get each and all for you, sweetling. And now," He smiled just as he always had. "It's all yours." Why do you look at me like that? She wondered, studying the glisten of his teeth and sparkle in his eyes, why bother if, the whole while, you were just waiting to sell me off. Would it have killed you to be cruel and honest?
"Would you have ever imagined you'd be wearing such gems?" He asked.
"No." She answered honestly. It took more strength than she had not to cry. She brought her gaze down to the jewels to hide the buildup and fall of tears. I thought you loved me, she wanted to yell. She wanted to burst. I thought you loved me…
And what does love even mean to you, Meri? She asked herself. And was ashamed she hadn't an answer. At least not since this afternoon.
After he had withdrawn she settled in front of her desk. The old wood of which was chipped, peeling, and Jagged, ready to offer splinters at the barest of wrong moves. She gathered and arranged her drawing utensils. Leads, a rubber, charcoal, a sheet of paper, and tried to think up anything to draw.
But a painfully white page sat expectantly, staring up at her. With lead in hand, poised above the snow colored page and ready to strike, yet nothing would come.
Drawing was a thing father had always encouraged in her.
"How could you do this?" She asked the shadows. No response.
A fire built in her and in a rare moment of rage, Meri swiped her hand across the desk, sending the lead clattering across her floor. Her hand caught a barbed splinter. The desolate page twirled and spun through her room like a leaf in an autumn gust. And as if in mockery it settled exactly from where it had just taken lift, right back in front of her. Meri's rage was quickly supplanted with the more characteristic sorrow. Not for the first time today, nor the last, she let tears gather and well before they streamed down her cheeks, hot as bath water.
The splinter in her thumb was as long and sharp as a sewing needle. Easy enough to remove. Red blood dripped down her wrist to splatter onto the page, the red of strawberries dying the white.
And she painted, spreading the blood into form with her fingers.
The city's music sung to her. Yelps and anger, play, confusion. The grinding of car engines accompanied by honks and squeals. Beyond her window, beyond these towers, it was somewhere out there, in the large world, that her prince was waiting for her. Waiting in that train car.
No, no man waits for you, save for the priest and his beady little eyes and hungry mouth. She reminded herself.
A strange face revealed itself upon the page. Splotchy and red were the lines and pained was the expression.
Now there's your prince, rat.
Meri
VII
There was another soft knocking at her door, this one late into the witch's hour, well after she'd fallen into bed. Holding a candlestick, her brother strode in without invitation. He knelt beside her bed. The flickering flame spilled dancing shadows across her walls.
She sat half up beneath a thin linen sheet.
Her brother studied her face, she studied his in silent exchange. The candlelight rippled across it, playing tricks with his features. His grin was absent and his jaw clenched. She couldn't read his expression, though admittedly she never could. Was he angry? Sad? Lords, he might even be scared.
She was scared. And not just of him, of her husband, her future. Even her father.
He was looking at her as if she were a math equation he was on the cusp of understanding. "Do you remember mother from before her operation?" He asked finally. His flinty eyes were ever still.
"She cried a lot." Meri mumbled in answer, she shifted uncomfortably in bed.
He nodded. "That she did, mostly after you were born. Did you know that?" He didn't sound bitter at all, instead he sounded calm and almost resigned.
She could feel herself crumble inward, shrinking down to nothing. "No." She managed weakly.
"Before you there was laughter in her, and song. She used to sing me to bed each night." A pause. "Something about you broke her." His lip snarled, finally hinting at emotion and cutting into the quiet calm of his voice. "I can understand why. An accident you were, a surprise. A mistake. Holding you for the first time, looking down at you, it would've broken anybody. To see that this is what they'd sacrificed their body for 9 long months. What they'd be stuck with for another 18 years."
Meri hid her face from him as the warm tears resurfaced.
"You've alway looked up to father." He continued. "You must've been awfully surprised when he married you off for a bit of status. Not me, no. I knew what he was. Always have. I knew to fear him." The dark room turned eerie with a long silence.
"You know why mother got that operation?" His voice grew, it raged and seethed. "He couldn't fucking sleep through her sobs. So he had them cut her fucking head open and pull out a bit of brain, all because he couldn't sleep. Because you were such an ever-damned disappointment."
He stared at her, into her, his eyes cutting. The silence of the room seemed to stretch on and on.
"I just thought you ought to know." He brought his index finger and thumb to his mouth, wetting them. "Sleep well, Meri." He pinched out the candle and disappeared into the dark.
She waited a few minutes after for the tears to relieve. She then rose and returned to her window and the city scenery, golden headlights sparkled like stars as they distorted against her window pane. The real stars, even the brightest among them, were drowned out by the countless city lights. These were all the stars she had left. They blinked on and off, and swam across the glass.
She stared down. Five stories up, in an emotionless logic she considered. It was surely high enough. Though she had never been one for boldness, I am pathetic, she thought as she fell back into bed.
She fell asleep to tears that night.