The Beasts: A Winter's Tale

There was the wonder of the Blacks as the war went toward is end, which did not mean our troubles were at an end, and in our little house, there was the wonder of the Volsungasaga, which took me to another place, a different if not entirely better realm.

Volsungasaga

"THE TALE BEGINS," said Regin. "Hreidmar was my father's name, a mighty man and a wealthy: and his first son was named Fafnir, his second Otter, and I was the third, and the least of them all both for prowess and good conditions, but I was cunning to work in iron, and silver, and gold, whereof I could make matters that availed somewhat. Other skill my brother Otter followed, and had another nature withal, for he was a great fisher, and above other men herein; in that he had the likeness of an otter by day, and dwelt ever in the river, and bare fish to bank in his mouth, and his prey would he ever bring to our father, and that availed him much: for the most part he kept him in his otter-gear, and then he would come home, and eat alone, and slumbering, for on the dry land he might see naught. But Fafnir was by far the greatest and grimmest, and would have all things about called his.

"Now," says Regin, "there was a dwarf called Andvari, who ever abode in that force, which was called Andvari's force, in the likeness of a pike, and got meat for himself, for many fish there were in the force; now Otter, my brother, was ever wont to enter into the force, and bring fish aland, and lay them one by one on the bank. And so it befell that Odin, Loki, and Hoenir, as they went their ways, came to Andvari's force, and Otter had taken a salmon, and ate it slumbering upon the river bank; then Loki took a stone and cast it at Otter, so that he gat his death thereby; the gods were well content with their prey, and fell to flaying off the otter's skin; and in the evening they came to Hreidmar's house, and showed him what they had taken: thereon he laid hands on them, and doomed them to such ransom, as that they should fill the otter skin with gold, and cover it over without with red gold; so they sent Loki to gather gold together for them; he came to Ran, and got her net, and went therewith to Andvari's force, and cast the net before the pike, and the pike ran into the net and was taken. Then said Loki—

"'What fish of all fishes,

Swims strong in the flood,

But hath learnt little wit to beware?

Thine head must thou buy,

From abiding in hell,

And find me the wan waters flame.'

He answered—

"'Andvari folk call me,

Call Oinn my father,

Over many a force have I fared;

For a Norn of ill-luck,

This life on me lay

Through wet ways ever to wade.'

"So Loki beheld the gold of Andvari, and when he had given up the gold, he had but one ring left, and that also Loki took from him; then the dwarf went into a hollow of the rocks, and cried out, that that gold-ring, yea and all the gold withal, should be the bane of every man who should own it thereafter.

"Now the gods rode with the treasure to Hreidmar, and fulfilled the otter-skin, and set it on its feet, and they must cover it over utterly with gold: but when this was done then Hreidmar came forth, and beheld yet one of the muzzle hairs, and bade them cover that withal; then Odin drew the ring, Andvari's loom, from his hand, and covered up the hair therewith; then sang Loki—

"'Gold enow, gold enow,

A great weregild, thou hast,

That my head in good hap I may hold;

But thou and thy son

Are naught fated to thrive,

The bane shall it be of you both.'

"Thereafter," says Regin, "Fafnir slew his father and murdered him, nor got I aught of the treasure, and so evil he grew, that he fell to lying abroad, and begrudged any share in the wealth to any man, and so became the worst of all worms, and ever now lies brooding upon that treasure: but for me, I went to the king and became his master-smith; and thus is the tale told of how I lost the heritage of my father, and the weregild for my brother."

So spake Regin; but since that time gold is called Ottergild, and for no other cause than this.

But Ada had said that this was not merely a story, but a truth. And could it be that, in times long past, when the world was so fresh no permanent stamp had been placed upon its denizens, men were as mutable as streams, and turned from otters to pikes to dragons, to yes, even wolves. Had not Mr. Darwin spoken of such a thing, that men had been apes who had been fish? But what if there was a time not only when the ape became the man, but when the man, if he wished, could go back to even the fish, could rise up and be the bird? Was not the meaning of the new science that everything was locked into everything?

While I read these tales of transformation, sitting in my chair, I hear a voice, almost in my ear. It is not strange to me except at first I take it for a sprite, or for a spirit.

“Pamela,” it calls to me in that husky accent of Bavaria, “Pam-EEla,”

It sings to me again and again until I know his voice, feel his hands, feel the regions between my thighs going moist as they have not for some time. My nipples rise as the voice sings, “Pamela, my love, come to me,”

The covers of the bed, which have been smooth, rise up to indicate the form of a long tall man underneath, and I hear him singing, “You deserve to be fucked, my child. You deserve it. Come to me.”

I see no form, but blow out the lantern and come, almost hypnotically to the bed, lifting my gown, climbing under the cover, the heat of his breath, the downy warmth of his skin, his muscles, the hair up and down his body is real enough. His wet, eager kisses on my throat and breasts, between my thighs, are real enough, and Hagano is making love to me. All night he loves me to the point of exhaustion. I had not known Friederich for some time, and I had not seen Hagano. In fact, I had almost dismissed him as a fantasy. I had felt, for some time, dry as a virgin. But when I woke in the morning, I was virgin no more.

ADA SAYS, “THE DASHBACHS, they have a fine house, do they not?”

“They do.”

“And money. Victor Dashbach is getting old, and Katherine is not yet married. Do you not think your father deserves a fine house? Would you not like to live in something fine and lovely?”

“What are you saying?” I ask.

“I think I have said it.”

And so things are put in the works. Friederich, with quite a bit of money from protection and from the woodmill, who in early middle age is still very handsome, still quite strong, is a good match for Katherine who is getting no younger. He never speaks to her, but to her father, and lastly he speaks to me.

“Do you mind it?” Friederich asks me.

And there are so many feelings in me. I am twenty now, and unmarried, and not planning on marriage, and Friederich is, after all my father. I had insisted on this. He was the one who said we could come to a new country as new people. But this girl, this Katherine who is, after all, really my same age, I cannot bear to think of her believing she is my mother, or my superior, especially as we will live in the same house, for I do plan to live in that house, and to rule it.

And so I go to my knees. I unbutton Friederich’s trousers and take him into my mouth while he groans and claws the walls. I suck him to the back of my throat until he explodes in my mouth. I swallow his seed and then, while this great big man, my first lover, still lies gasping against the wall, I rise and I say, “Do what you wish, but always understand that the mistress of that house and this family will always be me.”

It is May of 1918, and the marriage is an austere one in Saint Ursula’s. Friederich is not young and Katherine is not merry. The families are there and from the church, in the last stately old coaches, or in the boxy little automobiles, we all rumble down the cobbled so that first Katherine and Friederich, and then Mr. Dashbach, and lastly myself enter into the Dashbach House which today, you know as Strauss House, your home.

Marabeth was shaken by the knock at the door. She’d forgotten anyone was coming, and then, wasn’t he supposed to buzz to get in? Was this a secured building or wasn’t it? But she wasn’t mad. She was humming to herself, and it wasn’t until she was about to answer the door that she knew it.

When she opened the door for Jason McCord, the song was playing in her head, and though she’d never heard the tune, she knew the words.

So he said she might abide,

and that he would not refuse

so she said she might abide

and he would not refuse

he says to her, he is right fain that they

have but one bed;

she nowise turned away therefrom,

and laid her in his arms…

She remembered the words, vaguely, jumbling together from the story she had heard, no read. Of Pamela… of Pamela…

“Marabeth, you look great,” Jason said, coming into her living room.

His smile was wide and he was handsome and she wanted to touch his red hair, wanted to go out and have a great night with this tall man she hardly knew. Hardly knew after all they’d shared.

“Marabeth, are you alright?”

“Alright?” she said.

That song was playing in her head, and she did not know the woman’s voice that was singing it. Now she remembered the words were from the story of Signy and Sigmund, how the sister had come to her brother in the night in the form of another to produce the child of their vengeance.

She shook her head.

“I am alright,” she said, “and I’ll be better when I get a good meal in me and shake off all this family business.”

“The journal?” Jason suggested.

“Yes,” she admitted, going into the closet for her coat. “The journal and then some other things. But, let’s go. Other Things can wait.”

Is this a pomme frite?Jason asked. “When you have it at a restaurant where they serve burgers with fried eggs on them?’

“Don’t disrespect the burger,” Marabeth said, cutting into it, “It’s a thing of beauty.”

“I can’t believe you cut a burger.”

“It’s a big burger and I’ve got a tiny mouth.”

Jason stopped himself from saying, “Not from what I remember,” but Marabeth’s eyes sparkled at him and she said, “You dirty bastard.”

“What?” Jason threw up his head going red.

“I know what you were thinking.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Marabeth took a bite from half the burger and murmured, “Oh, God,” and then sat there contemplating it before she said, “And who knows, if you’re good maybe you’ll get to see what my mouth can do again.”

Jason shook his head, red faced and ready to laugh. He took a sip from his coke and said, “You don’t have any shame do you?”

“No. Shame is greatly overrated. And oddly enough. I have less of it now that ever.”

“Can that be a good thing?”

Marabeth shrugged. She knew what she looked like in this red dress, strapless against her white skin, her almost black hair falling over her shoulders. She felt like she hadn’t in years.

“I never felt this way.”

She began to hum and Jason said, “What is that song?”

And though she had never sung it before, immediately she sang:

So he said she might abide,

and that he would not refuse

so she said she might abide

and he would not refuse

he says to her, he is right fain that they

have but one bed;

she nowise turned away therefrom,

and laid her in his arms…

Jason was grinning at her almost wolfishly and he said, in a German accent, “Marabeth, my love, come to me,”

At first she thought he was joking, but then she thought, Why would he joke like that? Marabeth looked at Jason, grinning as he leaned across the table to touch her hand, a glint in his eyes and he continued, in a rough and quiet Bavarian accent:

“You deserve to be fucked, my child. You deserve it. Come to me.”

“Hagano?” she whispered.

“Yes,” Jason tipped his hand, his German accent thicker now.

“And no.”

“Where is Jason?”

“I’m right here,” Jason suddenly said. He was still holding her hand, but his accent was gone and she was… not as disconcerted as she should be.

“Where is Marabeth?” Jason said. “You looked like you’re having a moment again. And that’s allowable.”

Jason sat back.

“I mean, I know what it’s like to lose a parent, and the same way. So you take as many moments as you need to and—”

“Jason,” Marabeth interrupted, “You’re going to think this is strange, but I’m not sure if you are you, or if you are a ghost.”

Jason tried to look as if this made sense, and Marabeth said.

“I know. I’m probably cracking up.”

“Your father?” Jason guessed.

“No, no,” Marabeth shook her head.

“He may not even technically be a ghost. A spectre. A man. Called Hagano. I don’t know. I know it sounds crazy.”

Jason shook his head and put down his napkin.

“It doesn’t,” Jason said. “It doesn’t sound crazy at all. If you don’t know who I am my dear Marabeth, why don’t you find out tonight in the dark, when I give you the wolf kiss after I fuck you?”

And when Jason spoke she could not tell if his accent was American or German, and if his look was that of Detective McCord who had plowed her in Pamela’s library or of Hagano who had plowed Pamela. But she knew, as she felt herself going wet, her nipples rising, that something was happening to the both of them.

Under the table Jason took her hand and brought it to his dick, hard through his pants, pulsing.

“Es ist zeit zu gehen,” he murmured as he guided her hand to stroke him.

And though Marabeth had never learned German, she took out her checkbook and rose with him to leave the rest of their food untouched, for she understood what Jason had said.

“It’s time to go.”