The Bestiarum Vocabulum (TRES LIBRORUM PROHIBITUM)

by Dean M. Drinkel

  To the sound of music, blowing on the wind, they exited.

  Others would soon follow...

  ***

  St. Edmunds Priory, located near the Pont Neuf, Paris, July 1789

  “I will do anything you ask of me oh Lord. Forgive, please, forgive.”

  Sister Miriam basked in the sunlight as it shone through the stained glass window, illuminating her features. Whilst she revelled in it, she was drowning in guilt. Her thoughts betrayed her. She stared at the small statue of Christ. The pain, the agony, the misery carved into the darkened bronze. She knew she should be frightened but she felt something else...aroused.

  A quiet cough came from behind her. She crossed herself, bowed her head and rushed to the back of the chapel.

  “Mother.” Miriam kissed the outstretched hand of the elderly nun half-concealed by the shadows.

  “I come with bad news.” She rested a hand on the young novice’s shoulder.

  Miriam sighed. “He’s dead.”

  Mother Superior looked heavenwards. “He is being serenaded by the Heavenly Choir.” There was no emotion.

  “You have such a way with words.” The waves of grief began to wash over her.

  The man they were referring too was someone who had been lying unconscious in their infirmary for the past three days. He had been rescued from a blazing fire. His chances were slim from the beginning, his body covered in the most hideous of burns. Even if he had been nursed back to a rude state of health then the remaining years of his life would have been difficult to say the least.

  “Probably for the best,” Miriam fought to stem her tears.

  “Indeed.” Mother Superior nodded. “I thought I’d tell you personally. I’ll leave you to reflect, to pray for his soul.”

  Sister Miriam waited until she was alone. Only then she collapsed onto the nearest pew. Impossible to keep the agony and rage inside her anymore. She sobbed and sobbed, her frail body shook. But then, after a couple of minutes, she was able to get a grip of herself and control herself.

  She knew what had to do.

  From her sleeve she took a handkerchief, wiped her face. She stood, straightened her habit, headed for the infirmary.

  “Miriam.” Sister Mary looked up. Her hands were covered in blood, she was trying to clean them in a bowl of water but the contents looked more than dirty.

  Groans of misery surrounded them all.

  “Why so many people?” Miriam enquired.

  “Haven’t you heard?” Another nun stated as she rushed past. “There is rioting on the streets. The End of Days are upon us.”

  Mary shook her head and smiled thinly. “We could do with your assistance.”

  Miriam leant out touched her friend’s hand. “Later, I promise.” She had reddened, which was making her already puffy cheeks worse. “There someone...something I have to do first.”

  “He’s in the private chapel.” Mary blushed too.

  Miriam bowed, wound through the chaos and havoc that was breaking out everywhere it seemed.

  Once inside the chapel, she shut the door behind her. She knew time was of the essence, a luxury she couldn’t waste. It wouldn’t be long before they’d come and take his body away for burial.

  There he was.

  Concealed under a brilliant white sheet, laid out before the altar. She approached reverently, took a deep breath and pulled the sheet back a little.

  “Sweet Jesus!” She whispered.

  What was happening here? His body was decomposing very quickly. Was she already too late then? She yanked away the rest of the sheet, revealing all of him, stuffed the handkerchief into her mouth. She gagged. The stench was almost unbearable...that scorched flesh...no, she couldn’t falter. She’d come so far.

  If God was with her, she only needed a few minutes. So she hoped. She looked at the man again. She touched his neck, still warm but cooling, even if the parched flesh was...yellowing?

  Sister Miriam stepped out of her habit, pulled up a stool, stood on it, then clambered over him, placed one knee either side of his body. Naturally, she was a virgin but she had it on good authority that what she was about to attempt was feasible, not impossible by any means.

  She grabbed the man’s penis, began to pull it backwards and forwards and – perhaps – miraculously, it hardened. Momentarily she thought she had been lied too, but no, it had been the truth. Once the organ was fully erect, she opened her legs and gently lowered herself onto it, biting her lip as it broke something inside, groaning as it went fully in.

  Miriam followed the instructions she had been given. Began to move her hips, backwards and forwards, from side to side. She knew she wasn’t going to receive any love in return, but that wasn’t the point of this exercise. Absurd, she knew she looked. Her breasts were pert, her nipples hard.

  She threw back her head. Suddenly her flesh and brain were overcome with such a powerful sensation that if it hadn’t been for that handkerchief then she would have screamed to high heaven. Between her legs it was soaking, her heartbeat quickened.

  The good sister waited for a couple of moments before climbing off. The man’s penis was shrinking, its hardness wilted, spent.

  She dabbed several fingers inside her, pulled them out, studied the contents: amongst the blood and her own juices, she saw that his corpse had been capable of ejaculation – even in death. Her ritual was a success!

  Swiftly, she stepped back into her robes. Re-covered the corpse.

  Her body began to tremble.

  More guilt swept over her. Jesus, what had she done?

  She turned her head, the Icon of St Edmund stared back at her.

  Someone was trying the door-handle. Miriam made sure that there was no visible evidence of what had just transpired, calmly went to the door. She undid the lock.

  “Sister?” A novice, her eyes wide. Miriam wasn’t sure of her name so nodded, covered her face (as if in grief) and rushed along the corridor towards where the nuns’ cells were housed. She ran into her own, slammed the door behind her. She knelt down before her own relic (it was said to be a shard of the True Cross, purchased during her youth whilst in Damascus) and began to recite the Lord’s Prayer as an atonement.

  Once concluded, she hitched up her habit, began to rub between her legs, she could still feel the head of that man’s penis inside her.

  “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” She whispered.

  Tucked away in a stone crevice, behind her relic, she found the small cattail whip.

  Naked, she stretched out the leather strips and began speaking in a strange, guttural, foreign, tongue. She flicked her wrist, slashed at her back, then her legs, her stomach, her breasts, between her thighs. It didn’t take long for both the tears to flow from her bright green eyes and the blood pour from her olive skin. Those black letters which had been tattooed onto her flesh at such an early age began to vibrate, to move of their own accord. She knew she was alive. It was approaching, she tasted the grit of the sand.

  Sister Miriam collapsed in agony to the ground. She let out an almighty shriek. Her body exploded into a thousand black scarabs which scuttled along the stone of the nun’s cell, frightened were they of the accursed Earth,

  At the window, an owl stared through, night had fallen.

  Somewhere in the distance, by the Pont Neuf, a man with a painted face picked up his musical box and began to play, the crowd began to dance...

  ***

  Nazi Headquarters, located near the Pont Neuf, Paris, August 12th 1944

  “Bring that bitch in.”

  “Your wish is my command.” The guard clicked his heels together and marched out.

  The man, seated at his desk, turned and looked out of the window. What in God’s name was it that his beloved Fuhrer found so alluring about this city? It was nothing but a drab, dirty, grey cesspool – and as for that stinking river!

  The door opened, the sound of boots upon the highly polished floor. He looked at the Swastika hanging there on the wall, next to
the portrait of his glorious leader. How he longed to be home, back in Bavaria, the countryside...

  “Sir?”

  He silently counted to three, turned back.

  “Oh my Lord,” he muttered.

  “Is something wrong?” The guard asked, somewhat bemused.

  He was waved away. “Leave us...please.”

  The guard hesitated.

  “Look at her Dietrich. She’s pathetic, malnourished, soul-less. What harm can she possibly do to me? To anyone?”

  Dietrich eventually acquiesced, marched to the door. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”

  The man stared at the woman who stood before him. It was difficult believing it was she who had entranced him only a year or so before. What had happened to her? She was once so beautiful but now? A wretched creature certainly.

  He motioned to an empty chair. “Please, sit down.”

  She didn’t answer, just kept that cold stare upon her face. Her features stone. Hands clasped together in front of her body. She was shivering even though the temperature was relatively mild.

  The man got up, went to a small table, where some coffee and cups lay. He picked up the pot.

  “This is the real stuff. Imported. I can have some food brought in if you’d prefer?”

  She didn’t speak. With the cup and saucer in his hand, he approached, reached out to touch her, but she flinched.

  “We were friends once, weren’t we?”

  “This is a strange way of showing friendship,” she whispered, almost inaudible.

  He went back his seat, sat, put the cup and saucer down on his desk. “I understand your anger but you have to understand, a man of my position...” He clapped, pointed to the empty chair. “Come, sit down, what harm can it do?” Her posture suggested she was going to remain standing but after a couple of moments, she did as ordered.

  “Why am I here Heinrich? What do you want?”

  The Nazi leant forward. “I decided to rescue you.”

  She smiled, but there was no mirth. “Why do I need rescuing?”

  Heinrich chuckled. “I would have thought that was obvious.”

  The woman shrugged. “Won’t this get you into trouble with your friends in Berlin? Rescuing a Jew, that’s a serious offence isn’t it?”

  He picked up the cup, took a sip, savoured the taste. “I was in trouble the moment I first laid eyes on you Hester. Anyway, you’re not a Jew, even if you have pretended to be.” He paused for a second. “Let’s not argue, it took me a long time to find you, even with my powers of...persuasion.”

  Hester took a deep breath. “I’m not entirely sure I’m happy that you did.”

  Heinrich frowned. “Surely this place is better than the camp?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. There are similarities, the aroma for one. Anyway, it is a very different world we both find ourselves in now, don’t you think?”

  “Of that, we both can agree.” He swirled the dregs of his coffee, swallowed them quickly. “I was sorry to hear about your father. In the end there was nothing I could do for him.”

  The lack of emotion she displayed spoke volumes.

  Heinrich got up, walked around his desk, sat down on the leather couch under his Swastika. She touched her face, her shaven head, somewhat frowning as she did so - as if she was suddenly surprised by her own appearance, just as he had been.

  “You were once so beautiful,” he explained.

  “This is the real me, underneath the fine clothes, the make-up. Take it or leave it.”

  He rubbed his hands together. “So be it.” He went back to his desk. “I said I was going to rescue you and I will.”

  “But how do you propose to do that? You can’t smuggle me out of this office, they’ll shoot us both on the spot.”

  “Indeed they will. But oddly it is precisely that I wish to talk about.” From under the desk, he opened a drawer, pulled out a revolver, placed it on top of his ink-blotter.

  Hester’s eyes, once so bright but now a duller green, widened. “What game are you playing?”

  “This isn’t a game. Well, perhaps it is in some perverse way. The rules are simple. I want you to shoot me. Shoot me dead, right here between the eyes.” To accentuate his words, Heinrich prodded his own forehead.

  “And why would I do that?” Hester asked.

  He leant back in his chair, steepled his fingers. “This city is killing me, I’m dying inside. I keep asking and asking but they won’t let me leave. Not until the job is done they say, but who knows when that will be. I like to keep my options open.”

  “Kill yourself then. So many of your countrymen are doing it, follow the trend. Open your mouth, put that pistol inside, pull the trigger.”

  Heinrich sighed. “If only it was as easy as that.”

  “Why are you over-complicating the situation? I can show you how damned uncomplicated it is.”

  He rubbed his hands together. “That’s the spirit, but I don’t want you to show me, I want you to do it. Killing myself would be a coward’s way out and we both know I’m not a coward. I have the medals to prove it.”

  Hester motioned to the door. “Then get that goon out there to it for you, I’m sure he would be more than happy to put something in your mouth.”

  The Nazi laughed. “I wager you’re right, but he’s not the one for me. I don’t want him to pay for my mistakes.”

  She frowned. “But you’re happy for me too?”

  His laugh became a thin smile. “They think you’re a Jew...what does it matter?”

  “Perhaps I will have some of that coffee.”

  “I can tell you’re beginning to warm to the idea, good, good.” He poured a second cup, placed it on a saucer and took it to her.

  Hester took a sip, then another, then another. “I’d almost forgotten what this could taste like.” He moved to the edge of his desk, leant up against it, crossed his arms.

  “Why do you want to die Heinrich? And don’t blame this city, there must be more to it than that.”

  Just for a moment, his composure faltered. He looked lost, confused and bewildered. He went to the window, stared out. “We first met on that bridge, do you remember?” His composure appeared to have returned.

  “I look back at that time fondly.”

  “Do you really?”

  “We were very much in love.”

  Suddenly he rushed over to her, fell to his knees, grabbed her hand, a gentle squeeze, careful not to break it. She seemed so frail. “There was nothing I could do, forgive me? I didn’t know they were coming for you until it was too late. By the time I reached your apartment you were gone, I searched and searched but came up empty.”

  She put a finger to his lips. “I’m here now.”

  He stared into those eyes, now that she was out of that place, was the brightness returning? That olive skin which once seemed so alive, so passionate, now seemed so pallid...so dead. Of her ginger hair – there was no sign, grey stubble covered her head. He wiped away his own tears.

  “Yes, you are.” He whispered.

  “Tell me the real reason behind your sadness Heinrich, be honest with me.”

  “I can’t go on living like this. Even if we win the war, and we will by the way, who would want to live in a world we created? There are too many of us with blood on our hands, dirt under our nails, shit in our pores. The horrors we have witnessed. It’s too much, far too much. We are not normal, not anymore.”

  Hester frowned. “But I don’t understand. You have everything to live for, you have everything you could ever have wanted. You control most of this city, most of the country, most of Europe for goodness sake!”

  The Nazi shook his head madly. “There is something I don’t have. Not properly anyway.”

  “What?”

  “I thought that would be obvious: you.”

  Hester got to her feet, moved away from him. “You are a powerful man Heinrich, you can have any woman you ever wanted. There would be many who wouldn’t need asking twi
ce.”

  “They are not the ones I want.”

  Hester didn’t respond, stared at the gun. “And this is the only way for you?”

  “I’ve made up my mind. When I heard you had been found, the pieces fell into place. It has to be this.”

  “Then I will give you what you want, Heinrich, what you really want.”

  She headed to the desk, picked up the weapon.

  “It is quite heavy, please be careful.”

  “Where do you want me to do it?”

  He got up. “By the window. I want to see the bridge, I want to see the river. I want to remember.”

  She followed him, pulled his chair out of the way. “On your knees.”

  He did as Hester ordered. “Be gentle.” He put his hands behind his back, opened his mouth.

  “Any words for posterity?” She enquired.

  He shook his head but then said, “I will never forget this Hester, I love you so much.”

  Heinrich closed his eyes. She cocked the pistol. A gunshot. He fell forward. Something hit the desk, then the floor. The sound of the door opening, Dietrich shouting.

  Is this what death was like? Chaos. Insane chaos.

  He felt something, no many things, crawl over his face, his body. He started to scratch and scratch, to hit out, he was covered in something – something moving!

  Heinrich opened his eyes, mentally checked himself over. Turned, saw the last of the scarabs disappear into the gaps between the floor and the wall.

  Dietrich helped him to his feet, he dusted down his uniform. He was confused, then realised.

  “What happened?” His guard asked. “Where has that filthy bitch gone?”

  Heinrich brushed away his words and his help, fell into his chair. What the hell had happened? Where had she gone? He had no answers to those questions? Nor to the accordion music that he could hear playing somewhere within the building like a stuck record.

  The Nazi put his head in hands and began to scream and scream...

  ***

  “Hang on a second, I don’t understand the point that you’re trying to make? What the hell is this all about?”

  The man slammed the book shut. “I guess it doesn’t really matter then, does it? Not really.”