Tongue Tied
The tart after-taste of the elixir
lingered in his mouth. Benny Traversom walked down the alley west of Dunster
Street in Boston as directed. He noted that the light grew dim, a mist seemed
to settle itself in the air, and his wool pea coat was indeed warranted, all as
the Instructress had indicated. All so much dramatic pretention, he thought. Power
of suggestion. But it was a lark anyhow. The cost of some clipped fingernails,
a snip of his hair, and a kiss had bought this unremarkable non-adventure. Why
had he listened to Shara?
The kiss had been harassed out of him in
front of his compatriots at the Ghoul and Gruel, a nouveau-gothic bar/gathering
place for bats and beers. What was his hearts’ desire? To meet a like-minded
woman, someone seeking a man like himself. A kiss sealed the bargain of
possibility. Shara dared him to it and wouldn’t allow a refusal. What kind of second
date had this turned out to be?
His head was definitely hazy. Had to be
vodka. Lots of it. And a comingling of some bitters and sour apple. All present
behind the counter, station of the Bar-mistress or Instructress as she had the
effrontery to call herself. Good thing good money hadn’t been involved.
Benny stumbled. The surface of the alley
had changed. He remembered a dirty cement walk-way but now he saw that the
alley was paved with cobblestones. Cobblestones! Uneven, toe-snagging, knee-cap
breakers, that’s what they are! He wiped his nose on his sleeve. The air
smelled like the harbor. He ran his fingers though his hair and found it to be
longer than it had been in years.
The soft gong of ships’ bells mingled with
the soft shush of incoming tide. But he had no time to wonder about this change
in scenery, he had an urgent meeting, a rush-of-the-heart, longing to be there,
push to his footsteps. He turned around a corner of bricks and she was there.
She rushed into his arms. He whirled them
both behind a wall of casks, indigo darkness to any passerby. He accepted her
fervent kiss and embrace, returning them with ardor. He could feel a
familiarity as he struggled to recall her name. He did not know her, as if he
had been slipped into someone else’s life, yet, her perfume steadied him, her
touch reassured.
“My a’th kar,” she whispered.
“My a’th kar,” he replied.
The gonging of the village bell
pulled them apart. They sped off in different directions as if agreed upon.
Benny found himself running down the cement alley-way, not stopping until he
had hustled himself into the crowded entry of the Ghoul and Gruel. Shara turned
to him as he came up to the bar. She grinned.
“How was your adventure?” she
shouted into his ear over the music.
“I went in the alley and had a
hallucination. How was yours?”
“Oh, I didn’t go on one. Only one
per customer and I had mine ages ago.”
“You have to tell me all about it,” he
said, then noticed that a thin silver bar suspended on a delicate chain around
her neck had spidery words etched on its surface.
“Math kat,” he stated, surprised that he
had spoken aloud.
“My a’th kar,” said Shara. “My a’th kar is
Cornish for I love you.”
(560 words)
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