Blood Is Not Enough

by Ellen Datlow

  “‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘You may be of service. You are the silversmith, are you not?’

  “‘The journeyman, madam. I’m in charge of this shop.’

  “She seemed a little agitated, her fingers playing nervously with her reticule.

  “‘I …’ she faltered, then continued. ‘I have a rather unusual request. Are you able to keep a secret, silversmith?’

  “‘My work is confidential, if the customer wishes it so. Is it some special design you require? Something to surprise a loved one with? I have some very fine filigree work here.’ I removed a tray from beneath the counter. ‘There’s something for both the lady and the gentleman. A cigar case, perhaps? This one has a crest wrought into the case in fine silver wire—an eagle, as you can see. It has been fashioned especially for a particular customer, but I can do something similar if you require …’

  “I stopped talking because she was shaking her head and seemed to be getting impatient with me.

  “‘Nothing like that. Something very personal. I want you to make me a collar—a silver collar. Is that possible?’

  “‘All things are possible.’ I smiled. ‘Given the time of course. A tore of some kind?’

  “‘No, you misunderstand me.’ A small frown marred the ivory forehead and she glanced anxiously towards the shop door. ‘Perhaps I made a mistake …?’

  “Worried, in case I lost her custom, I assured her that whatever was her request I should do my utmost to fulfill it. At the same time I told her that I could be trusted to keep the nature of the work to myself.

  “‘No one shall know about this but the craftsman and the customer—you and I.’

  “She smiled at me then: a bewitching, spellbinding smile, and my heart melted within me. I would have done anything for her at that moment—I would have robbed my master—and I think she knew it.

  “‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I should have realized I could trust you. You have a kind face. A gentle face. One should learn to trust in faces.

  “‘I want you—I want you to make me a collar which will cover my whole neck, especially the throat. I have a picture here, of some savages in Africa. The women have metal bands around their necks which envelop them from shoulder to chin. I want you to encase me in a similar fashion, except with one single piece of silver, do you understand? And I want it to fit tightly, so that not even your …’ She took my hand in her own small gloved fingers. ‘So that not even your little finger will be able to find its way beneath.’

  “I was, of course, extremely perturbed at such a request. I tried to explain to her that she would have to take the collar off quite frequently, or the skin beneath would become diseased. Her neck would certainly become very ugly.

  “‘In any case, it will chafe and become quite sore. There will be constant irritation …’

  “She dropped my hand and said, no, I still misunderstood. The collar was to be worn permanently. She had no desire to remove it, once I had fashioned it around her neck. There was to be no locking device or anything of that sort. She wanted me to seal the metal.

  “‘But?’ I began, but she interrupted me in a firm voice.

  “‘Silversmith, I have stated my request, my requirements. Will you carry out my wishes, or do I find another craftsman? I should be loath to do so, for I feel we have reached a level of understanding which might be difficult elsewhere. I’m going to be frank with you. This device, well—its purpose is protective. My husband-to-be is not—not like other men, but I love him just the same. I don’t wish to embarrass you with talk that’s not proper between strangers, and personal to my situation, but the collar is necessary to ensure my marriage is happy—a limited happiness. Limited to a lifetime. I’m sure you must understand now. If you want me to leave your shop, I shall do so, but I am appealing to you because you are young and must know the pain of love—unfulfilled love. You are a handsome man and I don’t doubt you have a young lady whom you adore. If she were suffering under some terrible affliction, a disease which you might contract from her, I’m sure it would make no difference to your feelings. You would strive to find a way in which you could live together, yet remain uncontaminated yourself. Am I right?’

  “I managed to breathe the word ‘Yes,’ but at the time I was filled with visions of horror. Visions of this beautiful young woman being wooed by some foul creature of the night—a supernatural beast that had no right to be treading on the same earth, let alone touching that sacred skin, kissing—my mind reeled—kissing those soft, moist lips with lips monstrous mouth. How could she? Even the thought of it made me shudder in revulsion.

  “‘Ah,’ she smiled, knowingly. ‘You want to save me from him. You think he is ugly and that I’ve been hypnotized, somehow, into believing otherwise? You’re quite wrong. He’s handsome in a way that you’d surely understand—and sensitive, kind, gentle—those things a woman finds important. He’s also very cultured. His blood …’

  “I winced and took a step backward, but she was lost in some kind of reverie as she listed his attributes and I’m sure was unaware of my presence for some time.

  “‘… his blood is unimpeachable, reaching back through a royal lineage to the most notable of European families. I love him, yet I do not want to become one of his kind, for that would destroy my love …’

  “‘And—he loves you of course,’ I said, daringly.

  “For a moment those bright eyes clouded over, but she replied, ‘In his way. It’s not important that we both feel the same kind of love. We want to be together, to share our lives. I prefer him to any man I have ever met and I will not be deterred by an obstacle that’s neither his fault, nor mine. A barrier that’s been placed in our way by the injustice of nature. He can’t help the way he is—and I want to go to him. That’s all there is to it.’

  “For a long time neither of us said anything. My throat felt too dry and constricted for words, and deep inside me I could feel something struggling, like a small creature fighting the folds of a net. The situation was beyond my comprehension: that is, I did not wish to allow it to enter my full understanding or I would have run screaming from the shop and made myself look foolish to my neighbors.

  “‘Will you do it, silversmith?’

  “‘But,’ I said, ‘a collar covers only the throat…’ I left the rest unsaid, but I was concerned that she was not protecting herself fully: the other parts of her anatomy—the wrists, the thighs.

  “She became very angry. ‘He isn’t an animal. He’s a gentleman. I’m merely guarding against—against moments of high passion. It’s not just a matter of survival with him. The act is sensual and spiritual, as well as—as well as—what you’re suggesting,’ there was a note of loathing in her tone, ‘is tantamount to rape.’

  “She was so incensed that I did not dare say that her lover must have satisfied his need somewhere, and therefore had compromised the manners and morals of a gentleman many times.

  “‘Will you help me?’ The eyes were pleading now. I tried to look out of the small, half-moon window, at the yellow-lighted streets, at the feet moving by on the pavement above, in an attempt to distract myself, but they were magnetic, those eyes, and they drew me back in less than a moment. I felt helpless—a trapped bird—in their unremitting gaze of anguish, and of course, I submitted.

  “I agreed. I just heard myself saying, ‘Yes,’ and led her into the back of the shop where I began the work. It was not a difficult task to actually fashion the collar, though the sealing of it was somewhat painful to her and had to be carried out in stages, which took us well into the night hours. I must have, subconsciously perhaps, continued to glance through the workshop door at the window, for she said once, very quietly, ‘He will not come here.’

  “Such a beautiful throat she had too. Very long, and elegant. It seemed a sacrilege to encase such beauty in metal, though I made the collar as attractive as I made any silver ornament which might adorn a pretty woman. On the outside of the metal I engraved centripetal designs and a
t her request, some representational forms: Christ on the cross, immediately over her jugular vein, but also Zeus and Europa, and Zeus and Leda, with the Greek god in his bestial forms of the bull and the swan. I think she had been seduced by the thought that she was marrying some kind of deity.

  “When I had finished, she paid me and left. I watched her walk out, into the early morning mists, with a heavy guilt in my heart. What could I have done? I was just a common craftsman and had no right interfering in the lives of others. Perhaps I should have tried harder to dissuade her, but I doubt she would have listened to my impertinence for more than a few moments. Besides, I had, during those few short hours, fallen in love with her—utterly—and when she realized she had made a mistake, she would have to come back to me again, to have the collar removed.

  “I wanted desperately to see her again, though I knew that any chance of romance was impossible, hopeless. She was not of my class—or rather, I was not of hers, and her beauty was more than I could ever aspire to, though I knew myself to be a good-looking young man. Some had called me beautiful—it was that kind of handsomeness that I had been blessed with, rather than the rugged sort.

  “But despite my physical advantages, I had nothing which would attract a lady of quality from her own kind. The most I could ever hope for—the very most—was perhaps to serve her in some way.

  “Three weeks later she was back, looking somewhat distraught. ‘I want it to come off,’ she said. ‘It must be removed.’ “My fingers trembled as I worked at cutting her free—a much simpler task than the previous one.

  “‘You’ve left him,’I said. ‘Won’t he follow?’

  “‘No, you’re quite wrong.’There was a haunted look to her eyes which chilled me to the bone. ‘It’s not that. I was too mistrustful. I love him too much to withhold from him the very thing he desires. I must give myself to him—wholly and completely. I need him, you see. And he needs me—yet like this I cannot give him the kind of love he has to have. I’ve been selfish. Very selfish. I must go to him …’

  “‘Are you mad?’ I cried, forgetting my position. You’ll become like him—you’ll become—’

  “‘How dare you! How dare you preach to me? Just do your work, silversmith. Remove the collar!’

  “I was weak of course, as most of us are when confronted by a superior being. I cut the collar loose and put it aside. She rubbed her neck and complained loudly that flakes of skin were coming away in her hands.

  “‘It’s ugly,’ she said. ‘Scrawny. He’ll never want me like this.’

  “‘No—thank God!’ I cried, gathering my courage.

  “At that moment she looked me full in the eyes and a strange expression came over her face.

  “‘You’re in love with me, aren’t you? That’s why you’re so concerned, silversmith. Oh dear, I am so dreadfully sorry. I thought you were just being meddlesome. It was genuine concern for my welfare and I didn’t recognize it at first. Dear man,’ she touched my cheek. ‘Don’t look so sad. It cannot be, you know. You should find some nice girl and try to forget, because you’ll never see me again after tonight. And don’t worry about me. I know what I’m doing.’

  “With that, she gathered up her skirts and was gone again, down toward the river. The sun was just coming up, since she had arrived not long before the dawn, and I thought: At least she will have a few hours more of natural life.

  “After that I tried to follow her advice and put her out of my mind. I did my work, something I had always enjoyed, and rarely left the shop. I felt that if I could get over a few months without a change in my normal pattern of existence, I should be safe. There were nightmares of course, to be gone through after sunsets, but those I was able to cope with. I have always managed to keep my dreams at a respectable distance and not let them interfere with my normal activities.

  “Then, one day, as I was working on a pendant—a butterfly requested by a banker for his wife—a small boy brought me a message. Though it was unsigned, I knew it was from her and my hands trembled as I read the words.

  “They simply said, ‘Come. I need you.’

  “Underneath this request was scrawled an address, which I knew to be located down by one of the wharves, south of the river.

  “She needed me—and I knew exactly what for. I touched my throat. I wanted her too, but for different reasons. I did not have the courage that she had—the kind of sacrificial courage that’s produced by an overwhelming love. But I was not without strength. If there was a chance, just a chance, that I could meet with her and come away unscathed, then I was prepared to accept the risk.

  “But I didn’t see how that was possible. Her kind, as she had become, possessed a physical strength which would make any escape fraught with difficulty.

  “I had no illusions about her being in love with me—or even fond of me. She wanted to use me for her own purposes, which were as far away from love as earth is from the stars. I remembered seeing deep gouges in the silver collar, the time she had come to have it removed. They were like the claw marks of some beast, incised into the trunk of a tree. No wonder she had asked to have it sealed. Whoever, whatever, had made those marks would have had the strength to tear away any hinges or lock. The frenzy to get at what lay beneath the silver must have been appalling to witness—experience—yet she had gone back to him, without the collar’s protection.

  “I wanted her. I dreamed about having her, warm and close to me. That she had become something other than the beautiful woman who had entered my shop was no deterrent. I knew she would be just as lovely in her new form and I desired her above all things. For nights I lay awake, running different schemes over in my mind, trying to find a path which would allow us to make love together, just once, and yet let me walk away safely afterward. Even as I schemed, I saw her beauty laid before me, willingly, and my body and soul ached for her presence.

  “One chance. I had this one chance of loving a woman a dozen places above my station: a woman whose refined ways and manner of speech had captivated me from the moment I met her. A woman whose dignity, elegance, and gracefulness were without parallel. Whose form surpassed that of the finest silverwork figurine I had ever known.

  “I had to find a way.

  “Finally, I came up with a plan which seemed to suit my purposes, and taking my courage in both hands I wrote her a note which said, ‘I’m waiting for you. You must come to me.’ I found an urchin to carry it for me and told him to put it through the letter box of the address she had given me.

  “That afternoon I visited the church and a purveyor of medical instruments.

  “That evening I spent wandering the streets, alternately praising myself for dreaming up such a clever plan and cursing myself for my foolhardiness in carrying it through. As I strolled through the backstreets, stepping around the gin-soaked drunks and tipping my hat to the factory girls as they hurried home from a sixteen-hour day in some garment manufacturer’s sweatshop, or a hosiery, I realized that for once I had allowed my emotions to overrule my intellect. I’m not saying I was an intelligent young man—not above the average—but I was wise enough to know that there was great danger in what I proposed to do, yet the force of my feelings was more powerful than fear. I could not deny them their expression. The heart has no reason, but its drive is stronger than sense dictates.

  “The barges on the river ploughed slowly against the current as I leaned on the wrought-iron balustrade overlooking the water. I could see the gas lamps reflected on the dark surface and thought about the shadow world that lived alongside our own, where nothing was rigid, set, but could be warped and twisted, like those lights in the water when the ripples from the barges passed through them. Would it take me and twist me into something, not ugly, but insubstantial? Into something that has the appearance of the real thing, but which is evanescent in the daylight and can only make its appearance at night, when vacuous shapes and phantasms take on a semblance of life and mock it with their unreal forms?

  “When the smel
l of the mud below me began to waft upward, as the tide retreated and the river diminished, I made my way homeward. There was a sharpness to the air which cut into my confidence and I was glad to be leaving it behind for the warmth and security of my rooms. Security? I laughed at myself, having voluntarily exposed my vulnerability.

  “She came.

  “There was a scratching at the casement windowpane in the early hours of the morning and I opened it and let her in. She had not changed. If anything, she was more beautiful than ever, with a paler color to her cheeks and a fuller red to her lips.

  “No words were exchanged between us. I lay on the bed naked and she joined me after removing her garments. She stroked my hair and the nape of my neck as I sank into her soft young body. I cannot describe the ecstasy. It was—unearthly. She allowed me—encouraged me—and the happiness of those moments was worth all the risks of entering Hell for a taste of Heaven.

  “Of course, the moment came when she lowered her head to the base of my throat. I felt the black coils of her hair against my cheek: smelled their sweet fragrance. I could sense the pulse in my neck, throbbing with blood. Her body was warm against mine—deliciously warm. I wanted her to stay there forever. There was just a hint of pain in my throat—a needleprick, no more, and then a feeling of drifting, floating on warm water, as if I had suddenly been transported to tropic seas and lay in the shallows of some sunbleached island’s beaches. I felt no fear—only, bliss.

  “Then, suddenly, she snorted, springing to her feet like no athlete I have ever seen. Her eyes were blazing and she spat and hissed into my face.

  “‘What have you done?’ she shrieked.

  “Then the fear came, rushing to my heart. I cowered at the bedhead, pulling my legs up to my chest in an effort to get as far away from her as possible.