Nights on the Soul©

I cried and cried for the girl’s dead soul. Why did she do it? But I knew why. I lacked full comprehension of the meaning behind these visions, but the actual force in front of them lay holding me in his arms. And was I ready for it? I felt weak and he gave me water. I cried and he gave me wine. I slept and slept and slept.

***

Catherine Childress was lonely in her royal palace. Lonely and bored and longing for some true excitement. She’d changed gowns three times today just for something to do. Tomorrow, at last, was the ball and she may meet some fantastic personages there. Lord knows she needed fresh blood for her demanding games. Catherine liked to play with people. Especially beautiful women, like herself, whose airs of competition she did not appreciate. And she liked handsome young men, to torture with her looks, her tongue, her chastity. For as much as she flirted and petted and tempted, her virginity was completely intact, being held in troth to Sir Riddy Winston. God bless the old fart, he was richer than the King. In these last days of youthful freedom, she would do as much damage to local manhood as possible, letting them know what a loss her maidenhood was and how they never even stood a chance. The lovely ladies of society would always provide her with jealousy fueled by natural meanness. As a Childress she knew she could afford not to play nice. Her position in society was assured. And she, spoiled as she was by her doting parents, felt no due in return for her granted wealth.

Time to throw stones at the ducks. Let’s see how many of the horrid creatures I get today, she thought, walking down to the pond off the west end. She picked the biggest stones she could find to toss and took aim. Quacks of resentment filled the air as Catherine cackled with glee. No doubt her heart was clouded by a dark seed.

Throw. Hit. Quack. Splash. The game amused her for about an hour. Off to the kitchen to badger the cook. La, la, la … what a dreadfully boring day.

Outside the gargantuan iron doors to the entrance of the palace Catherine spied a brightly wrapped package. Running toward the package, she picked it up and saw her name neatly written on the attached card, as she had well expected. The box was heavy and she greedily carried it inside and up to her quarters to savor the opening in private.

She was distraught to find that someone had played a cruel joke on her, for inside the box was a large dirty stone. Tied to the stone was a note that read:

See if you can throw this. Spot me tomorrow night and the hit is yours.

She looked at the stone in disbelief. A temper was surely on its way and it would stay throughout the evening. Who would dare send such a false gift? She spoke not a single kind word at dinner and retired to bed early thoroughly caught in a foul mood.

The following day Catherine’s temper was tested by the mediocre tasks that came with preparations for a large party. Her mother oversaw the cooks in the kitchen, and was busy with her directions. Her father had the groundsmen working diligently on last minute cleanup. Gravel was spread on the drive, and the spring flowers were coaxed into prime viewing position. The ballroom was being prepared with tinsel hangings and floral arrangements, and the housemaids were all a flutter setting tables and arranging the candelabra.

Catherine had all day to select her outfit and hairpiece. Her lady’s maid brought in and took out her various selections in a never ending stream. The box with the rock in it had been stuffed beneath her bed, but being out of sight did not keep it out of mind. She wondered who could have dared to insult her so. And would they make themselves known this evening with a reference to the act? Or would she have to look upon every face as the possible trickster?

She finally pronounced her emerald green taffeta evening gown with the gold bows as sufficient for the occasion and instructed her lady to lay it out for her. She could think of nothing to pass the time till the ball, so lay upon her bed in a rare moment of pure contemplation. Sir Riddy would not be present, he was out of town on business. In a month’s time their engagement would be announced and then her childhood days would soon be over. It distressed her that she would have to take on the responsibility of his home. Perhaps she could hire a woman to do it. She had no interest in selecting the daily menu, or supervising the hired staff. Catherine proposed to continue enjoying her life of leisure without thought or care to adult duties. God save her when Sir Riddy proposed she bear his children. This was one area of her life she’d have to be most careful in preventing. She’d heard of ways to do this. Thoughts such as these sickened her. In the interest of enjoying the evening she put these thoughts aside.

Evening soon fell upon her, she was clothed and having her hair dressed. Her little foot tap, tapped away in its’ green velvet slipper. Anticipation of the expected fun was tinged with only the slightest bit of doubt. Mother had already gone downstairs to greet the first guests, but Catherine lingered for a moment in front of her glass, admiring her own pretty features. Not hard to look at, by any standards, certainly she was one of the prettiest girls in society. She deserved the admiration she got from young men and women alike. Catherine did not take into account the fact that her personality left a lot to be desired.

Alas, she was ready to descend the staircase and make her entrance. The ballroom was already half full of glittering society folk partaking in their amusement rituals of dancing, drinking and socializing as it was meant to be done. Mother always put on the grandest of parties. Dinner was sure to be a spectacular feast.

Catherine eyed the floor looking for someone suspicious. All she could spy were revelers of her group, her parents friends, lords and ladies of society. No one in the least out of the ordinary. In fact, no one seemed particularly interested in herself. It was as if her days as an eligible young lady had been declared over and she was now off limits. For certainly, was she not being ignored? Was no one paying her any mind? Was she invisible in her descent that even her own dog would not see her? It was absolutely bizarre that the orchestra played, and the guests danced, yet when she walked about the room, a carefully presented smile perched upon her lip, not a single male bowed to her, and the young girls did not make way for her to join their groupings. She was about to and would have soon stamped her foot to demand some attention when she looked outside the open glass doors which led onto the terrace. Here she saw under the light of the full moon a perfect stranger, dressed entirely in exquisite black attire. The extraordinary thing was he was looking straight at her inside the ballroom. He directed his stare at her only, and as she made her way across the crowd, he continued to do so.

“Hello,” she called, as she stepped through the doors to gain way to this person. “Might I ask to gain your acquaintance? This is the home of my family, this is our ball, yet I fail to recognize you as one of the invited guests. Who, may I ask, are you?”

“I am Dave, Prince of the Irish Isles. I have traveled a long way to deliver you a gift.”

“A gift you say,” Catherine’s temper perked as she realized him to be the culprit of yesterday’s prank. “I suppose you think it’s funny, sending rocks disguised as presents to young girls. Well, I’ll tell you I take great offense to your gift. I ought to throw that stone right at you and hit you on the head. It would serve you justice, giving me a headache! I don’t care who you are, or say you are, your attention is unwanted!” She spat this out in such a quick rush, she did not see that he was reaching into his delicately embroidered silk jacket to bring out a slim package. She hiccuped a slight, Oh! in surprise at this new development. Perhaps she had placed judgment hastily, for here was the gift to which he referred. He looked her straight in the eye for a split second. Her heart skipped, and then he averted his gaze. Her interest grew as he retained the package he had in his hand. It seemed he expected something of her.

“Why, I’m quite sorry, sir. You see, I’ve been played a rotten trick on, and I thought perhaps it was you. Though, of course, now I see my error, for you have only now just come here. To make my acquaintance, and to give me a gift?”

“You are Miss Catherine, am I not correct? Yes, I knew it to be true by your beauty, I have carried this gift far and held it for a long time for you, and now it is yours.”

He handed her the package which was really a leather sheath wrapped in cloth. Catherine withdrew from the sheath a silver dagger, its handle intricately carved and supporting a finely laid ruby. She was surprised at the gift. What should she do with such a weapon? But truly it was a fine piece of work, she could tell of the quality craftsmanship. It was probably worth a pretty sum.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

“Why, yes, I do. It’s just I don’t know quite what I shall do with it.”

“Oh, you’ll find a use. Look here now, on the blade it is engraved with CC, your initials.”

“Why, so it is! How amazing! And why is it you are bringing it to me?”

“She comes to those who call. You, Catherine Childress, were in my dreams. I deliver her to you, that you remain the way you always want to be.”

Catherine’s eyes narrowed at this. Prince of the Irish Isles or not, this was bizarre. She had heard of gypsy tribes and fortune tellers, but the nice looking man that stood before her did not seem the type. He talked nonsense however and she was wary.

“You don’t believe me? Last night were you not fitful? Were you not running down a hillside, escaping the rocks that flew about you? Did you not curse God’s wrath and ask for escape? Where do all the birds fit in? For they flew and flew about you, then one by one fell to the ground, apparently dead. And you only laughed, for it was a game, counting the dead birds. Only the dead ones count, live ones can fly away. Isn’t that right? And who were the people you were shouting at? A man and an old lady. The lady was holding a bundle. What was in it, for she threw it and the blanket into the rubbish heap. Then she burned it and she laughed and laughed just like you…”

“Stop, stop!” Catherine cried out loud, covering her ears and stamping her pertinent little foot. There were tears in her eyes. “I hate you, you evil man! What are you talking about? I never had those dreams! Those are only your ugly dreams and I want no part of them! Leave my house! Your presence is unwanted here!”

He smiled at her sadly, took her shoulders in his hands and came close to whisper in her ear, “You were beautiful this time, but I don’t like your demeanor. Stay young forever, and forever I will find you.”

“Go! Go!” Catherine screamed. She closed her eyes to make him disappear from her sight. She thought she might faint from all her unsteady breathing. When she opened her eyes he was gone, his vision but a bad memory fading from her mind. She held in her hands the dagger lovely in its’ lethality, simple in its quest. She turned toward the palace, still in a state of suspension. Not a glance did she receive from a single soul, not even her mother noticed as she passed by choking on her words of how she felt ill and was going to lie down for a rest.

In her sleeping chamber she discarded her clothing articles in a heap by her open window. The party noises faded from her consciousness as she prepared for bed. Abandoning any help from her dilatory lady seemed easiest. She ripped and rend her long hair to take it down, and stood naked with her tangled hair gazing at the moon. Thoughts of a strange presence filled her heart and her soul. Her mind was left at the party, along with her true body. This was not herself. This was another. She looked down at her naked form with no thought of praise and pampering. Everything she knew of life was disjointed in such a way that it finally fit. That dark prince, who was that nice man, he’d be back wouldn’t he? She turned her head slightly to the right and held it there for a moment, contemplating the full womb of the bright moon. Then she tilted her head over to the left and saw now that the womb was empty. It was a different color. Yes, turn it over and it answers itself. She felt glad for a moment, and eternally at peace, for the decision had been made. Who wanted to marry old Sir Riddy anyway? Catherine wanted to remain childless and young forever. with no thought of right or wrong to bind her, no regret for she’d seen the other side of the moon, it could always be a different color. She was slow and calm in her movement. A shooting star shot over the moon and she laughed and laughed. For she would never be an old woman forced to kill babies and other unwanted responsibilities. She believed she would kill Sir Riddy if he made her full. No, she would be a different color, she would be eternally young. She picked up her dagger, its’ weight so natural in her grip. The tip of the blade she ran lightly across her belly, leaving the mark of its path for only an instant. She smiled as she traced a circle around her belly, so flat and girlish. Never, she smiled, never to be full. She lay down on the floor beside the window, her head resting upon the evening gown dropped earlier. At this viewpoint the moon looked higher. She looked like a nymph in an exquisite painting with the moonlight shining on her long silky hair which fell in curls caressing her naked body. She saw his smile, and remembered his eyes for an instant. Understanding came late and she was totally caught in this life. No chance ever to change its’ course. She decided to cut it short and try again. This got tiring after awhile, but one can only continue progressing. She looked for moment upon the engravings of her initials. Carmen Cordoza, Cunya Cui, Chak Cungardo, Catalina Cassanova. So many women. So little time. This time, she said a light prayer, Dear God, bless me. Bring me unto him, Amen. She brought the dagger up above her chest. A last look at the moon. A last smile. Catherine Childress shall bear no children. She struck hard into her own heart. The force, the feeling, sweet pain. She pulled the blade out and lay it across her stomach, happy at last with red blood trickling down her pearly white skin toward the gleaming silver dagger.

***