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Viewer discretion: Some sexual content.
Please read Return (I) here.
Return (II)
I enter the library and find it to be lit by a huge brazier. On a table are laid out some typical Tuscan meats and cheeses and several large round loaves of bread sit on a tray covered by a damp cloth. In a large crystal decanter, I find a dark, red fortified wine that smells of wooden casks and ancient stone cellars. I sample the delicious fare and soon find myself curled up in a huge armchair with an antique volume of Dante’s Inferno in my hands. I read slowly and haltingly, attempting to appreciate the rich metre and language of Italy’s ‘divine’ poet. At the start of the third ‘Canto’, I read the following words:
‘Through me lies the road to the City of Grief.
Through me lies the road to woe everlasting.
Through me lies the road to the souls that are lost.
Justice impelled my mighty architect:
The power divine, and primal love and wisdom
surpassing all, have here constructed me.
Before I was created, nothing was
save things eternal…I shall last forever.
Abandon hope, all ye who enter here!’*
After this I seem to doze with those ominous words echoing in my mind.
The last light of day fades from the heavily curtained windows and I am startled awake by an unseen bell which jingles gaily, calling me to dinner. I leave the library through the large double doors and enter the main hall of the house where a long table has been set and served. Costanza is standing nearby and, as I enter, she motions for me to sit in the honoured position at the head of the table. I approach the table and Costanza draws near to me.
“Tonight we must speak of many things, but first you must eat and drink.”
I can feel her cool breath on my cheek and then she surprises me by leaning in and kissing me on the cheek. Her lips too are strangely cool and there is something musty and damp in the strange perfume that rises from her body. It reminds me of the wine I had sampled earlier. Her lips part slightly and, I am not certain, but the tip of her tongue seems to glance my cheek, sampling. I stand awkwardly and she draws away.
“This is traditional greeting in Tuscany, to kiss the guest who will sit at the table,” she tells me and beckons such that I may sit. She too sits across the corner of the long table from me. She indicates the various dishes that are laid out for me and invites me to indulge my appetite. She does not eat but sits and seems to study my every movement as I sample the various plates and return for second helpings of some. Her luminous, dark, liquid eyes never waiver from me except when she turns to retrieve her own glass of some ancient dark red wine from which she seems to draw great enjoyment. I return her gaze and study her occasionally while savouring the food and it occurs to me that those eyes are like glass eyes, fixed and unblinking and I begin to resist the temptation to look at her full in the face. Once I have concluded my meal, she takes a sip of her wine and begins to speak.
“Dearest cousin,” she begins, “it is the greatest honour you have given to this house and the family name to come here and help. As you now know, this is a very ancient family. Like all families that have lived for so many centuries, there sometimes comes what we call the ‘crisi ereditaria’ or the hereditary crisis. This is when the family has no one in the direct blood line who may continue to manage the patrimony and continue the family. We have found you.”
She stops and samples her wine, smiling slightly. Listening to her words, I am struck by the deep vibrancy of her voice and it seems so strange coming from a woman of such a light frame. To avoid gazing into those strange eyes, I sip again from my own wine.
She resumes her speech and recounts in some detail the size of the estate, it’s business dealings and I am stunned to hear the approximate worth of the whole, a figure more likely to be associated with a small country.
“There are some options,” she continues, “to resolve this crisis. I have no husband and one is that you become my husband and we continue the family. Another option…”
I interrupt her.
“Costanza, are you suggesting that we…we make a family?” She nods simply. “But we are cousins, isn’t that against the law?”
“No, dear cousin, it is not. The Italian state allows for some dispensation in situations where the family has no heir and you and I are of sufficient distance to allow that to happen.”
I look at her, perplexed, confused and feeling terribly uncomfortable.
“The other option,” she returns to her speech, “is that you stay and be heir to the family while you live.”
“But I cannot do either of these things, Costanza. I have a life of my own in America and I wish to return to it. I wish there was some other possibility.”
She sips her wine again. “I would like very much for you to stay with me, dear cousin, I think I could be very affectionate to you,” she says. She reaches out to me and takes my hand. Hers is cool, small and thin in mine. I look at her, almost pleading, for her to change the subject but then those strange immobile eyes are on me again and I seem to forget what I wanted to say. I gaze down the length of her thin arm, at her slim build, at that strangely ancient, beautiful face, and I find myself wondering how old she is. There seems to be no mark of age upon her. I guess 35 years old, but something doesn’t seem right.
The evening passes in this pattern of strange conversation until late. Costanza accompanies me to a richly appointed bedroom. Again she kisses me on the cheek and then turn and leaves me, softly disappearing on the faintest whisper of a step. The wine has gone to my head and I am jet lagged. I quickly undress and slip between the luxurious sheets. Moments later I am in a sound and dreamless sleep.
I awaken with a start to the gentle rustle of silk on skin.
The bedroom is large and dark with only the feeblest moonlight illumination filtering through the shuttered windows. Shadows move upon shadows and I am unable to distinguish shape or depth. A faint tremor passes up my spine. My voice is raucous with sleep as I whisper to the shifting shadows, “Who is there?”
After a moment, in which I hear only the beating of my own heart, comes the reply, “It is I, Costanza.”
A shadow detaches itself from the darkness and takes the form of the tall, thin woman; I feel the edge of the bed sag slightly as she sits. Caught in the faint light, I distinguish the silhouette of her form covered in a light shift and the bright, sharp reflection from her dark eyes as she turns toward me.
“Eric,” she says, “I am afraid you…”, her voice is deep and clear in the silent room and I hear the faint lisp as she trails off and then rejoins, “You must stay here…please”.
“Costanza, you know I can’t…”, and I stop, shocked, as the covers draw back and she slips into the bed beside me.
“There is much cold this night,” she says in soft explanation. I feel her draw toward me in the bed and my awkwardness is complete. I lie in rigid silence and feel the coolness of her body close to me. She smells of rose-water and something else almost hidden; a damp, earthy smell of something stale and old. She moves gently and presses her lips to my cheek in a kiss and I feel her tongue glide out and touch the skin. Her lips are cool and a chill crawls down my neck.
“Costanza! What are you doing?”
“It is just play, Eric, for I am very fond of you, dear cousin. Do you not like play?”
Despite myself, I begin to feel aroused by her presence so close to me and I sense the heat of embarrassment rise to my face. She shifts in the bed and her chilly hand reaches out, coming to rest on my back. She pulls herself closer. Her nose touches the end of my nose and her breath becomes my breath. I feel her coolness seep into me as she presses her breasts to my chest and her belly against mine. I am nearly frantic with conflicted feelings and I am sure that she can feel the heat rising from me, but still I lie immobile as though transfixed.
She moves again, quickly this time, and nips gently at the side of my neck.
“Come and play with me, dear cousin,” she says, laughing, “or I will bite you again!” Her laugh is deep in her throat and sounds surreally like the purring of a cat.
Still I am unable to move; torn between the desire to possess her and the desire to leap from the bed to free myself from this situation.
When it comes, it comes without warning.
She lashes out. One moment, I feel her mouth against my neck, the lips parted in demonic triumph and cold teeth pressed against my flesh. In the next, my mind goes blank in surprise as her teeth slice cleanly into my neck releasing a spurting fountain of blood, my blood, into her mouth. I feel my body twitch in a mock attempt at escape but she holds me tight, shifting her body over mine. Her other hand slides between my legs, grasping tightly. I am powerless as I feel her mouth working at the wound in my neck, drawing the blood into her. I begin to lose consciousness quickly. My breath catches in a brief moment of ecstatic release and I am doomed.
That story has clearly reached it’s end.
Will I stay in Italy as heir to the family estate? Of course, I will. How could I ever leave my dearest cousin, Costanza? I think I will stay with her for a very, very, long time. And if you are ever in Italy, please come to visit us.
We’d love to have you.
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*Alighieri, Dante 1948 The Divine Comedy, L. G. White (translator), Pantheon Books, NY. pp. 4-5.
hahaha! That was fun. This is actually the ‘public’ version of the story – the original, before some fairly serious cuts, was much sexier but I wasn’t sure how far I could push the line – it’s already pushing a fair amount, I think. I am never quite certain, when I get in a mood like this, how much readers will support before a situation can become offensive. That’s one reason why I made Costanza into a fourth or fifth degree cousin – I’m not sure, but marriages at that distance may be legal (?). And I’m also uncertain of the line between ‘sensuality’ or perhaps ‘eroticism’ and something else which is more base or blatant. I don’t mind pushing the line but I don’t want to cross over without even noticing it.
Hope you enjoyed it, I had good fun writing this one. Cheers! :o)
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This is amazing, one of the reasons that i have been struggling with my writing is that i am unsure about some of the sexual content, but sometimes the story calls for it, stickman, your writing is always adictive and inspriring, there is no need to edit out the sexy parts, if it is important to the story then you mustn't leave it out.
i would love to read the original version of this.
dont censor yourself, you truely are a fantastic writer xx
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Posted by missmarie
on 2008-02-07 07:12:07
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Truly fantastic Stickman!
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Posted by alleen
on 2008-02-07 22:33:31
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This is exquisite. I think i know something about Costanza but i'll keep it to myself...
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Posted by smileforthecamera
on 2008-02-09 16:02:33
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Bravo!
I love vampire stories.
I could picture all of this.
You are a very talented story teller Stickman, and I am not stroking your ego.
You really have an interesting way of putting ideas together.
I have heard of Dante, now I want to read him- great quote.
Italy's Divine Poet..I loved that.
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Posted by DifficultSoul
on 2008-02-11 11:38:49
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Ah yes, very well done! I understand your dilemma as I feel it is very difficult to write eroticism without it becoming vulgar. However, you seem to have the delicate touch one needs to write about sex and passion. I'm not sure I do.
Again, well done stickman...I very much enjoyed the story, very much!
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Posted by smilinirisheyes
on 2008-02-11 12:46:42
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Beautifully written, stickman. Next time push the line.
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Posted by Pauligan
on 2008-02-12 04:35:05
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| Views: 124
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