The Beasts: A Winter Tale

[ChrisGibson]

T E N

T H E
F A M I L Y


There is more wisdom in your body than in your deepest philosophy.

-Friedrich Nietzsche



Peter Keller looked, frankly, annoyed when Marabeth entered his office. He had known she was coming, He had to. His offices were downtown six blocks away from her apartment in the white tower by the courthouse, the old building with the marble façade on the first floor and the old elevator with its brass doors that rolled up sedately to the seventh floor. There was a secretary to warn him, the bitch who asked her if she had an appointment and seemed wary when Marabeth had said she was his cousin. And of course, Joyce had told him that she would have to know. He couldn’t have been surprised. And yet, he was, and here it all was, this old thing between them.
“Hello, Marabeth.”
Peter loved her brother. He adored Kristian. He loved Jim when Jim had no one. He was the oldest cousin. She the second oldest, but he was the head of the boys of that generation. He was relaxed and easy around them, always watching out for them, always chiding Myron for being stupid, and then chiding the others for calling Myron stupid. He was the responsibility of the family and she respected him.
“Peter,” Marabeth began, “I need to talk to you.”
She had been about to say, “We need to talk,” but this sounded much too confrontational.
She respected Peter, but she could never get past the idea that he did not like her, that he did not, quite, approve of her, that she was an annoyance to him, and she was getting that from him right now.
“Yes,” he said in a clipped tone. “I thought we might.”
Must he sit on the other side of the desk like that, in that suit, staring at her, looking annoyed as he scribbled over papers. And, seriously, Joy was screwing him? Out of all her cousins? But then, out of all her cousins it made sense, Marabeth realized.
“Well?” Peter looked up at her, folding his hands together, looking, even in his patience, annoyed. Or was that just her imagination?
And then she realized she didn’t really know what she had to say. That was it, all the way over here in the car, and Joyce was waiting downstairs for her, she had told herself Peter was her cousin, and so she didn’t need to prepare anything to say, but right now he was like the principal and she found herself more uncertain than she wanted to admit. She actually didn’t know what she wanted to tell him. She had planned to confront him and now, in this moment, it seemed like what she should do is make an offering.
“Would you like to read the book? Pamela’s journal?”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because… I thought you’d like to know.”
“What’s there to know?” He tilted his head looking, frankly, like an asshole.
“Oh, my God, I can’t believe my best friend is fucking you.”
“What?” Peter snapped, and rounded the desk. “Shut up.”
He closed the door to his office, reflecting that if he’d had any sense, he would have asked his cousin to do this when she came in.
“I can’t fucking believe it.”
“This is my office, Marabeth,” Peter hissed, making shushing sounds. “My assistant’s out there,” he whispered.
“Why does your secretary give a shit who you’re fucking? She doesn’t even know who I am. Let alone who Joyce is. Joyce must see an entirely different side of you, the side that isn’t arrogant and disapproving and looks at me like he’s smelling something funny.”
“Not that’s it’s your business, Mara, but maybe she just sees me?” Peter said.
“Maybe unlike you, who does everything she can to chase her own independence and not give a fuck about this family—congratulations for being able to get away—she actually bothers to look at me enough and see what’s there.”
“Well,” Marabeth said.
“Well, what?”
“Tell me how you really feel.”
Peter said nothing and Marabeth said, “I know you’ve always resented the fuck out of me, and I thought that was why, but at least you said it. It only took forty years.”
“I don’t think I entirely meant it.”
“I think you did,” Marabeth said, “which is awkward because the next set of werewolf babies you make will be my godchildren. I mean, no way Joyce isn’t gonna want that. But—”
“You need to not talk about that again.”
“But the only thing I want to know is why you Change and I don’t. That’s the thing I haven’t figured out yet. I could have gone my whole life never knowing, and from what you’re saying, Aunt Maris and Aunt Claire didn’t change either. And I have to understand what was going on.”
“What do you mean?” Peter said. “All the men in our family…” he walked to the door, put his ear to it almost comically and then came back.
“All of us are… that way.”
“Werewolves,” Marabeth said.
“I’m going to ask you to stop saying that.”
“And the pills you take, that Kris thinks are his crazy pills and his alone, you all take. Like you and Jim and Myron, and eventually your kids. Only you don’t take them all the time because you like to lock yourself in the basement and turn into a wolf to get away from your generally anal retentive nature.”
“Yes,” Peter said. “I am, your brother is. Your father was, your grandfather Uncle Jimmy was, and Friederich was. The men, for the most part.”
“Not all, though.”
“No,” Peter said. “I haven’t figured it out, but some of us don’t.”
“Jim,” Marabeth guessed.
Peter nodded. “Jim never has. And Kate’s boys. But the men in our family are, for the most part…. Men make the Change. Women? No.”
There was a look on Marabeth’s face, and now Peter stopped.
“What?” he said.
“You don’t know.”
Was it surprise? Was it, Peter wondered, triumph even.
“You really don’t know,” Marabeth said.
“What… don’t I know?’
“Pamela—”
“Was some type of witch.”
“Was a wolf.”
Peter blinked at her.
“Um, the wolf got your tongue there. Bad joke,” Marabeth shook her head. “Pamela changed at will. At any time. Friederich changed at will as well, but only at the time of the full moon, or so it seems. He wasn’t like you at all. Something happened when we came to America. The Change does not skip over the women. It is in us as well. It is in me. Only I don’t know how to unlock it, and you don’t know how to control it. Pamela and Friederich were wolves who maintained their minds and knew how to control what they did and when they changed.”
Peter continued staring at her, and Marabeth said, “Now, do you want us to start working together, or do you still want to pretend you know everything, and I’m just the worthless cousin you can’t stand?”

MORE TOMORROW

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a big confrontation between Peter and Marabeth! Hopefully they can work out their differences for everyone else’s sake. Great writing and I look forward to more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

It is the confrontation that I imagine they have been waiting forty years to have. It's a lot of arguments like that in this story.

 

[ChrisGibson]

Peter Keller looked, frankly, annoyed when Marabeth entered his office. He had known she was coming, He had to. His offices were downtown six blocks away from her apartment in the white tower by the courthouse, the old building with the marble façade on the first floor and the old elevator with its brass doors that rolled up sedately to the seventh floor. There was a secretary to warn him, the bitch who asked her if she had an appointment and seemed wary when Marabeth had said she was his cousin. And of course, Joyce had told him that she would have to know. He couldn’t have been surprised. And yet, he was, and here it all was, this old thing between them.
“Hello, Marabeth.”
Peter loved her brother. He adored Kristian. He loved Jim when Jim had no one. He was the oldest cousin. She the second oldest, but he was the head of the boys of that generation. He was relaxed and easy around them, always watching out for them, always chiding Myron for being stupid, and then chiding the others for calling Myron stupid. He was the responsibility of the family and she respected him.
“Peter,” Marabeth began, “I need to talk to you.”
She had been about to say, “We need to talk,” but this sounded much too confrontational.
She respected Peter, but she could never get past the idea that he did not like her, that he did not, quite, approve of her, that she was an annoyance to him, and she was getting that from him right now.
“Yes,” he said in a clipped tone. “I thought we might.”
Must he sit on the other side of the desk like that, in that suit, staring at her, looking annoyed as he scribbled over papers. And, seriously, Joy was screwing him? Out of all her cousins? But then, out of all her cousins it made sense, Marabeth realized.
“Well?” Peter looked up at her, folding his hands together, looking, even in his patience, annoyed. Or was that just her imagination?
And then she realized she didn’t really know what she had to say. That was it, all the way over here in the car, and Joyce was waiting downstairs for her, she had told herself Peter was her cousin, and so she didn’t need to prepare anything to say, but right now he was like the principal and she found herself more uncertain than she wanted to admit. She actually didn’t know what she wanted to tell him. She had planned to confront him and now, in this moment, it seemed like what she should do is make an offering.
“Would you like to read the book? Pamela’s journal?”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because… I thought you’d like to know.”
“What’s there to know?” He tilted his head looking, frankly, like an asshole.
“Oh, my God, I can’t believe my best friend is fucking you.”
“What?” Peter snapped, and rounded the desk. “Shut up.”
He closed the door to his office, reflecting that if he’d had any sense, he would have asked his cousin to do this when she came in.
“I can’t fucking believe it.”
“This is my office, Marabeth,” Peter hissed, making shushing sounds. “My assistant’s out there,” he whispered.
“Why does your secretary give a shit who you’re fucking? She doesn’t even know who I am. Let alone who Joyce is. Joyce must see an entirely different side of you, the side that isn’t arrogant and disapproving and looks at me like he’s smelling something funny.”
“Not that’s it’s your business, Mara, but maybe she just sees me?” Peter said.
“Maybe unlike you, who does everything she can to chase her own independence and not give a fuck about this family—congratulations for being able to get away—she actually bothers to look at me enough and see what’s there.”
“Well,” Marabeth said.
“Well, what?”
“Tell me how you really feel.”
Peter said nothing and Marabeth said, “I know you’ve always resented the fuck out of me, and I thought that was why, but at least you said it. It only took forty years.”
“I don’t think I entirely meant it.”
“I think you did,” Marabeth said, “which is awkward because the next set of werewolf babies you make will be my godchildren. I mean, no way Joyce isn’t gonna want that. But—”
“You need to not talk about that again.”
“But the only thing I want to know is why you Change and I don’t. That’s the thing I haven’t figured out yet. I could have gone my whole life never knowing, and from what you’re saying, Aunt Maris and Aunt Claire didn’t change either. And I have to understand what was going on.”
“What do you mean?” Peter said. “All the men in our family…” he walked to the door, put his ear to it almost comically and then came back.
“All of us are… that way.”
“Werewolves,” Marabeth said.
“I’m going to ask you to stop saying that.”
“And the pills you take, that Kris thinks are his crazy pills and his alone, you all take. Like you and Jim and Myron, and eventually your kids. Only you don’t take them all the time because you like to lock yourself in the basement and turn into a wolf to get away from your generally anal retentive nature.”
“Yes,” Peter said. “I am, your brother is. Your father was, your grandfather Uncle Jimmy was, and Friederich was. The men, for the most part.”
“Not all, though.”
“No,” Peter said. “I haven’t figured it out, but some of us don’t.”
“Jim,” Marabeth guessed.
Peter nodded. “Jim never has. And Kate’s boys. But the men in our family are, for the most part…. Men make the Change. Women? No.”
There was a look on Marabeth’s face, and now Peter stopped.
“What?” he said.
“You don’t know.”
Was it surprise? Was it, Peter wondered, triumph even.
“You really don’t know,” Marabeth said.
“What… don’t I know?’
“Pamela—”
“Was some type of witch.”
“Was a wolf.”
Peter blinked at her.
“Um, the wolf got your tongue there. Bad joke,” Marabeth shook her head. “Pamela changed at will. At any time. Friederich changed at will as well, but only at the time of the full moon, or so it seems. He wasn’t like you at all. Something happened when we came to America. The Change does not skip over the women. It is in us as well. It is in me. Only I don’t know how to unlock it, and you don’t know how to control it. Pamela and Friederich were wolves who maintained their minds and knew how to control what they did and when they changed.”
Peter continued staring at her, and Marabeth said, “Now, do you want us to start working together, or do you still want to pretend you know everything, and I’m just the worthless cousin you can’t stand?”



“Are you sure you want me here?” Joyce said.
“Yes,” Peter and Marabeth almost shouted from where they sat at Marabeth’s dining room table.
Then Peter said, “But you don’t have to stay.”
“It’s just that you don’t have to go,” Marabeth said.
Peter turned around and said, “I fully acknowledge that you have a life with other things to do than sit here and watch us is what I’m saying.”
“Well, then I need to acknowledge that too,” Joyce said, getting off the couch. “I’m going to make a run to the store and then I need to lay in my own bed.”
She said to Marabeth, “Do you need me to pick you up anything?’
Before Marabeth could answer, Peter said, “That’s the very definition of not acknowledging you have other things to do than be around us.”
“He is right,” Marabeth admitted reluctantly.
“Well, okay.”
Joyce stood up, put her purse over her shoulder and kissed Marabeth, hugging her. She looked at Peter and he said, “Is it awkward if I get a kiss too?”
“Considering the fact that the two of you have been sleeping together it would be awkward if you didn’t,” Marabeth said.
Peter and Joyce’s hug and kiss was awkward though, and Marabeth said, “I guess that’s my fault for being in the room.”
“I got the kids tonight,” Peter said.
“And you don’t want to shock them with this new floosy.”
“That’s not it at all,” Peter said. “It’s more like I don’t want to try to make you think I’m looking for a step mom. So, I understand if you don’t want to—”
“If you’d like me to come over, I will.”
“I would, actually,” Peter said. “But I’d never dream of—”
“Why don’t you call me when the two of you are done,” Joyce said, tapped him on the shoulder, and walked out of the apartment.
“Wow,” Peter said.
“Yeah,” Marabeth said.
“I haven’t met anyone like her.”
“”That’s what I say all the time.”
But Marabeth was used to Joyce and now she said, “So you’ve got the whole family right down here.”
“I’ve got to,” Peter said. “All of our cousins, all of the descendants of Friederich Strauss. Like, Mary only had a daughter, and she’s a Keller like me, but now her last name is Anderson. If she has a boy he’ll be an Anderson, but I need to know if and when he makes the Change. We can’t lose sight of our family, of the Gene, or whatever it is, no matter how many generations pass or what the last name is. Great Aunt Claire only had two kids because her husband died so young, and she never married again. Just twins, Fred and Katherine. Katherine only had daughters, so all of her descendants have different last names, but when a boy pops up, we have to know.”
“Dan and Andy,” Marabeth murmured.
“Tina’s kids.”
“I don’t really know them that well,” Marabeth said, “but they’re teenagers. I mean, Andy’s going to college, right?”
“Right.”
“And they’ve both got a little star on their names.”
“They never went through the Change,” Peter said.
“Oh?”
Then Marabeth said, “Uh!”
“What?”
“Derek didn’t either. Their first cousin. None of the men in Claire’s… No, that’s not true, none of the men in Claire’s daughter’s line,went through the Change. Let me see something.”
Peter waited, watching Marabeth look over their family tree, the tip of her tongue darting from between her lips.
“Either there’s something very special about Claire,” Marabeth said, “Or very special about Cousin Katherine, or….”
“Yeah?”
“The Change or the… Gene or… whatever you want to call it, doesn’t pass through two successive female generations.”
“That’s what I thought,” Peter said. “I mean, that’s what it looks like. That branch of the family is the only one descended from Friederich’s daughter, and through a granddaughter.”
“Either it passes out,” Marabeth said. “Or it becomes what it was. Something that has to be awakened, something more controllable.”
“Right,” Peter said. “Which, if I didn’t have boys would be a bit of a relief. At least, it seems, we can drop our guard on that branch of the family.”
“But none of this is science,” Marabeth said. “It’s all guesswork. The idea that if I had a daughter, then my grandson would be… not normal, but…”
“Latent,” Peter said. “I call it latent.”
“That’s a good word.”
Peter grinned, “And it’s still all speculation.”
“Yeah,” Marabeth half agreed, “but not that much speculation. And after all, if this thing was that uncontrollable, if there were that many werewolves walking around, then what about Friederich’s brothers and sisters, or his cousins. You realize we don’t know anything about other Strausses, anything about where he came from?”
“You’ve got a point. Say, if it’s not too much trouble, could you bring the journal by and I could copy some of it?”
“You can take it,” Marabeth pushed it toward him. “I mean, I want it back, but print what you need.”
“You’d trust me with it?”
“Yeah,” Marabeth shrugged. “But you have to go. I need to get in the shower and find something to wear, not necessarily in that order.”
“You got a hot date tonight?”
“As a matter of fact,” Marabeth answered, “I do.”

MORE TOMORROW, AND TOMORROW MORE OF THE BOOK OF THE BLESSED

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a great portion! I am glad Marabeth and Peter are at least talking. Hopefully this leads to them being able to tolerate each other. Excellent writing and I look forward to more of both stories tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Yes, and tomorrow night, more of everything.

 

[ChrisGibson]

Before Marabeth goes on her date, she takes some time to continue with the journal of Pamela Strauss...




THE BOOK OF PAMELA STRAUSS


IN THE DAY I am reading, and in the night I am reading, though through the day I go with Ada to help her with childbirths. Then we see only horse carts and the men to shovel their shit from the street. We take a carriage up the cobbles of Kaiser Wilhelm Street, and then around the corner to Dimlerstrasse. There, the beer factories a backdrop to them, are a line of proud houses. Rounding the corner we pass a sizable plot of land with a little chapel and a small school on it.
“That is where the Negroes are building their church,” Ada says. “They are going to put a school up as well. I have heard some say it will rival Saint Ursula. I cannot say.”
All the way down Dimler, dwarving the houses, is the steeple of a great church, white stone, with high steps going up the porch. This is the German Catholic church, Saint Ursula, and down the road is the German Lutheran Church, Saint Paul the Apostle. But right now we stop in front of one of the tall elegant townhouses. We come up the flight of steps and Ava knocks on the door. It is a fine house, and the door has a cut glass border all around it. A maid in black white lace apron opens the door. She is Irish I am told later, and she says, “Mistress has been waiting for you.”
I take in the high ceilings, the high stair that goes up to the next level where the lady of the house, Mrs. Dashbach, far too old to have a child, is struggling in labor.
“I told her when she first came to me,” Ada said, “that I could make it as if the child never were. God forgives all, I said.”
In the great bedroom that overlooks the street, in a great canopied bed, Mrs. Dashbach struggles in labor. Only her daughter is present, for it is not fit for men to be present in labor.
“You do not have to be here, Child,” Ada says.
“I will not leave my mother,” says Katherine.
She is tall, but very slender, blond, pale. Her accent is utterly American. Ada nods and says, “Good girl. Go fetch water then, would you?”
It is a bloody labor, a labor of hands rolled up and arms covered in blood. In the end, a baby is delivered, small and weak, and given to his weak mother.
“Pamela, you go downstairs and take tea with Miss Dashbach,” she says, nodding to Katherine, and we both depart. Downtairs, in the kitchen, the servants make tea and we drink it in the parlor with Katherine’s father. We are not through half the cup when Ada comes into the parlor, her face drawn, and she says to Mr. Dashbach, “Victor, you must see your wife. You son has died.”
Katherine goes up with her father, and Ada says to me, “I knew when I saw it that the baby would not live.”
“What do we do?’
“I can call on the Steiglers, but I will do it after we leave. We must…” Ada is choosing her words carefully, “stay here a while longer. I am going up. If you would, ask the servants to bring cold water.”
We stay until Mrs. Dashbach is flush, until she hallucinates, and her face goes from pale to white to green, until her heart seizes, and she dies in the bed. As Ada closes her eyes and sings to the dead mother, I understand that this is what she was waiting for. I stay with Katherine while Ada cleans up. On the old telephone, Katherine rings her relations and as it darkens, we climb into the handsome cab and ride down the road, first to Steigler and Steiglers to tell them of the mother and child they must pick up, and then to Saint Ursula’s to light candles. I am filled with sorrow for the death of the woman and her baby, but—and a little ashamed of this—filled with wonder at the beauty of their house and the entirely different beauty of this church in the early evening, with it’s marble floors and high pillars and stain glass windows. How are those black people, those colored people with their little school house of a church ever to surpass this wonder? I light candles at the exquisite feet of the Mother of God, her eyes lifted up, her hands outspread. Up until now I have barely been in churches. Now the Mother is something cosmic, ancient, and infinitely sad. Sad she seems, sad enough and wonderful enough for all that I have experienced this night.

But there is more sorrow to follow, much more than that private grief of the Dashbachs. No sooner are they buried, then, as the summer comes to an end, rumors that have shaken Germantown come true, and Germany goes to war with Britain. For a time things with us are mildly safe, but it is when America enters the war that people who have, until now, been respectful and apparently envious of us, come through our streets, throw rocks through our windows, dare to come up to houses and deface them. Some of us do not want to antagonize. Others, proud as ever, come out with their guns. The life we knew becomes impossible. The Morning Star, our German newspaper, is fast going out of business. Parents pull their children out of the schools, even out of Saint Ursula’s. The Schlaudeckers German Shepherd is shot and someone kicks the Freidbach’s dachshund to death. Ah, but I knew people were evil. This has never been far from my mind. Then, suddenly, where there was violence on our street, the Americans, the Anglos, the whoever is after Germans, are leaving us as alone.
Those who antagonized us are being found dead, with their throats ripped out by wolves. I go on the patrol as well. Suddenly money, either for gratitude or in hopes of protection, comes into the pockets of Friederich and it no longer makes since for us to live in the Keller house. We get a little house on Decker Strausse which is now called Decker Street. Kaiser Wilhelm is now Williams Street and Suddenly Dimlerstrasse, Dimler Avenue. A part of me is enraged at how quickly we gave up ourselves to prove to these lesser men that we are just as American as they. By now, the war Frau Inga had predicted was full blown, and in the middle of 1917. a letter came from Wurzburg with the familiar script of Hans, Frau Inga’s caretaker. It said that Frau Inga, at a good age, had died in her sleep, and Ada counted back the days to when Hans wrote it had happened and said, “All that night I was troubled for Mama, All that night.”
Ada did not speak for three weeks.

Though I was far from being a little girl, I needed some comfort in those days. The papers told us that the world was falling apart, and the papers that I loved, our German papers were no longer in business. We could scarcely leave Germantown for the hatred thrown on us, and we were not entirely safe in our own houses. This was when I learned that hate was the way of the world, and people would hate whatever they could for whatever reason.
In that time, oddly enough, the people who faired well enough were the Blacks. Ada told me how, long ago, even before the Germans and then alongside them, the Blacks had settled along the river in land that touched what was Germantown now, and land that was on the otherside of Buren Boulevard. She had not believed they would be able to build a splendid church. I had seen in New York, lovely Black churches, but they were Protestant ones. The number of Black Catholics usually did not warrant or afford a large church, but suddenly, in the midst of the war, on the barren plot they’d bought, the foundation was dug, and up from it, a church began to grow. The foundation was dug not only by the Blacks, but by the Irish who lived in Rockriver, and the plans were done by the Herr Hans Bueller, infamous for the tower house he lived in, and his Black mistress, a Creole woman called Etienne. He did not work on it alone, but with Alphonse Lacreaux. We all knew the name, for he lived in a brick house near downtown where few colored people lived, and in those days of the war the colored Catholics were—entertaining was not the word, but—mystifying.
We talked of them over dinner and left them in peace, but took them in curiosity and awe. Once, one of the Schlaudecker boys had walked past the emerging church, shouting something about niggers, but, and this is a surprising time given the age we lived in when even white people did not like each other, it simply would not be borne. It was as if the residents of Germantown had seen enough hatred in their direction and would not see it in another. And no matter what tales of meek blackness have come down through the years, the residents of Saint Agatha parish did not take such insults lying down.
Most of them had come from Louisiana, New Orleans and thereabouts. Later I would learn that some had come from that mysterious Caribbean island, Haiti. First there had been the Blacks, and then had come the Sisters of Providence to teach them. The little church had been theirs, the little house their convent. The school had gone up next, and once taught, children were baptized. Then had come the folks from New Orleans, and once or twice the bishop had sent a priest to the parish, but the nuns and congregation had politely sent him back, requesting a Black one. They did this again and again until they got one and now they had five.
When I had first come to Germantown, only the small school, the convent, and the little church were taking up a sizeable plot of land. Now the new church rose in lovely pink brick and white concrete arches. Now, jewel like, came the stain glass windows, the delicate dragonly patters of the rafters, the spire rising high. The nuns in their black, rosaries at their sides, were an unreadable and silent flock of sober caramel faces. One would have had to be sober to undertake the life of a Negro nun.
And then, in the midst of the worst of things, when our houses were being defaced by the people who called themselves true Americans, there appeared the members of Saint Agatha’s, with guns, walking the streets.
“What in the world are they doing?” Ada’s daughter, who was pregnant with her first wondered. “Do you think they will attack?”
“You do not understand the lay of things,” Ada said, shaking her head. “It is only the other white people who have bothered us. They are not attacking. The Negroes are protecting.”
“They are staking their claim,” Friederich understood. “By protecting Germantown they are saying that no one can attack us, their neighbors. But they are wolves like us. By protecting Germantown, they are letting every white man, including ourselves, know that it is theirs. All,” Friederich marveled, “without saying a word.”
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.

MORE ON WEDNESDAY

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a very interesting portion! I had forgotten a lot of Pamela’s story so it was good to go back to that and see what she went through. Great writing and I look forward to more in a few days.

 

[ChrisGibson]

Yes, I love Pamela's sections and looking at old Germantown as well as her strange life. I'm glad you had fun. Thank you for reading.

 

[ChrisGibson]

PAMELA CONTINUES TO READ THE VOLSUNGASAGA AND PLOTS AND PLANS FOR THE SURVIVAL OF HER FAMILY


"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.

MORE TOMORROW

 

[CharmedFan28]

Things get more and more complicated for Pamela! It sounds like she isn’t too happy about her father’s marriage. Another great portion and I look forward to more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Well, it is true. Pamela seems none to happy about the upcoming marriage. And she certainly takes a very unorthodox way to show her displeasure.

 

[ChrisGibson]

TONIGHT, MARABETH'S DATE WITH JASON MC CORD BECOMES MORE THAN SHE BARGAINED FOR



Marabeth was distracted 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 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 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 were 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.”




MORE AFTER SATURDAY

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a surprising turn of events! I am not sure if Jason is Jason or Hagano or both. I am very interested to find out and I look forward to more in a few days!

 

[ChrisGibson]

It's all very.... mindbending at the moment, and I'm not sure Marabeth or Jason knows either.

 

[ChrisGibson]

E L E V E N

THE
BLOOD
DRINKERS



There are no beautiful surfaces without a terrible depth.

- Friedrich Nietzsche



There was a knock on Laurie’s door,
When he answered it he was surprised to see:
“Lynn. Lynn!”
Laurie recovered himself. Vampire or no, he had to find a way to admit the woman having his baby into the house filled not only with vampires, but with the woman he loved.
But Lynn said, “No, Laurie. That’s alright. I… I’m going to stay out here. I have something to tell you.”
Laurie nodded and came out into the hall, closing the door behind him. He felt for a moment like he was just a man again in a normal world, not a vampire with a nest of blood drinkers filling his apartment. But he had never been normal. It had only been a pose for Lynn. And now she knew the truth, or at least the beginnings of it.
“Lynn, there’s so much to tell you,” Laurie said. And so much for you to see. And so much for us to arrange. After all, we’ve got a baby coming into this world and—”
“Laurie,” Lynn interrupted him.
“Yes?”
“Let me speak.”
“Laurie, we don’t have to worry about any of that.”
“Okay,” Laurie shook his head, his brows furrowed, waiting for clarification.
“We don’t… I don’t need you to be a part of the baby’s life.”
“Oh, Lynn, please don’t say that.”
Laurie almost lunged forward, remembered that the modern woman didn’t care for such things. Tried to stand back.
“Maybe you’re not ready to see me yet, and I understand that, but that kid’s going to want a father.’
“No he isn’t,” Lynn said. Then, “No he or she wouldn’t. It… It doesn’t matter. This is… a lot harder to tell you than I thought.”
Lynn hands twisted together and she frowned.
“There are so many things I thought I’d never do. Never go through. Laurie, listen. There isn’t going to be a baby.”
Laurie blinked.
“What do you mean?’
“I mean there isn’t a baby. Not anymore.”
“What are you—are you?”
Laurie flushed, and his dark eyes were wide with concern.
“You had a miscarriage? Are you alright? Tell me what you need?”
She could have left it at that. Her head told her she should have, but she said, “I didn’t have a miscarriage. I had an abortion.”
While Laurie’s face changed over this, Lynn wondered how a Republican who was apparently, at lest one hundred seventy years old would react to that. She wondered if she should have said something else. She couldn’t imagine having done anything else. It was all too strange. This baby by a vampire who was her grandfather. Or something like that. This baby would have connected them forever, and connected her to a world she couldn’t bear to look at. She couldn’t look at those photographs of family members she should never have known about. She could not look at Lawrence Malone preserved in sepia.
“I need you to leave,” Laurie said in a dead voice.
“I understand,” Lynn said.
She wanted to give him the speech about how it was her choice and this was her body and they were in the twenty-first century. She wanted to explain that if she had come to him before, he would never have let her do it. She wanted to say how she couldn’t imagine carrying this child for almost a year and giving it up, and she certainly couldn’t imagine raising it. She wanted to say how relieved she was. She wanted to stand on her tiptoes and kiss him on his cheek. She knew better.
Instead Lynn said, “Goodbye Laurie.”


There was a knock on Kruinh’s door and the old vampire did not say come in because they were all his children and he knew they would.
“You look like a kicked dog,” he joked when Laurie entered.
Lawrence Malone closed the door with his back and jammed his hands into his pockets.
“Tell me,” Kruinh ignored the lavish appointments of the guest bed room and beckoning to Laurie.
And then the dark haired man did what he rarely did. He suddenly let out a howl and threw himself on Kruinh, weeping. He was weeping so hard that the door cracked, and Dan stuck his head in, but Kruinh shook his head. He could already see that Levy was with him, Good Lord. Dan closed the door behind him and Kruinh said, “Tell me or… Share with me.”
Laurie sniffled and nodded his head and Kruinh thrust his hands into Laurie’s hair and lay back while he held the other man. He absorbed all of the sorrow of the last few days and the last few minutes, his face shocked by the last revelation.
“Oh, no,” he sighed. “Oh, Lawrence.”
He held him tighter remembering a time when the vampire did not only look like a handsome and in command thirty year old, but when he had in fact been a boy who had lost much and was new to this world and Kruinh was one of his only comforts.
“Oh, my child,” Kruinh murmured. “It will all be better in the end.”




THERE was a knock on Levy’s door, but before he had a chance to remember it wasn’t his door, it opened and in came the girl from last night. Not Loreal, she was gone, but the girl with the tea colored hair and big eyes. She was pretty. She looked fun and kind of wise. Her eyes and movements were older than the rest of her, and she smelled good. He was pretty sure she was a vampire.
“What time is it?” Levy blinked into the light.
“You’ve been asleep a while. Kruinh sent me to wake you up.”
Levy looked around the nicest room he’d ever seen. He could take things in stride, so he didn’t seem terribly impressed, but the white carpet, the huge windows, the huge room, the stereo in the wall, the weird expensive art not to mention the silence, no one screaming on the other side of the wall, no one fucking upstairs, his mother not shouting, it was all more luxury than he’d ever known.
“I though this was that guy Laurie’s house.”
“It is,” Anne said, “but Roma est, ubi Caesar est.”
“I don’t speak Italian. No,” Levy snapped his fingers. “That’s Latin.”
Anne nodded.
“And I still don’t speak it.”
“It means Rome is where the emperor is. And Kruinh is the emperor, and so this is his home.”
As Levy climbed out of bed he said, “Kruinh is the little black guy?”
“He doesn’t often get called that, but yes.”
“And he’s your king?”
“King, ruler, father, head of our house.”
“Nice!” Levy said, coming out of the room behind Anne. He was still very much impressed, and when they came down the great hallway, through the living room and dining room and into the kitchen, Levy saw Laurie looking professional and tall and really amazing despite—yes—a certain sadness. And then there was Dan and the blond guy with the big eyes and curly hair and, frying eggs, which seemed most un kingly, was Kruinh.
As Kruinh turned around and began to slide eggs onto a plate, he nodded to Levy, and instantly, the boy went down to one knee, gave a deep bow and intoned, “Your Majesty.”
The blond guy, Sunny, snorted, and Dan murmured, “What the hell?” and when Levy looked up, Kruinh had something like a lopsided smile on his face, though his eyes looked genuinely confused.
“Good morning, Levy.” he said, blandly, while the boy sprang up.
Kruinh looked at the rest of them and said, “Why can’t you ever do that?”
“We could start,” Laurie murmured. “If it please you.”
“It would please me if you didn’t behead any more people and leave their corpses for me to clean up,” Kruinh said.
“Now eat up,” he said to Levy. “I suppose you need to shower, and then we’re about to leave.”
Levy nodded, and when Kruinh perceived that he didn’t understand, he added, “You’re coming with us.”
“Oh!” Levy’s eyes went wide and he reminded himself to stop salting the egg.
“Are you kidnapping me and taking me to your lair?”
“Am I… what?” Kruinh almost spat in disgust.
“We’re babysitting you, kid,” Dan said.
“Baby…”
“It turns out the place where Chris and Lewis went isn’t far from where we live. Is actually where I grew up,” Dan said.
“Lassador, Ohio,” Kruinh pronounced. “So there’s really no need for us to stay in Chicago when you could be closer to your friends.”
“Well, you know,” Levy said, “I really only met them right before I met you, so technically you’re all my new friends.”
“He’s got a point,” Dan said.
“Is Dan gonna watch me?”
“We’re all going to watch you,” Sunny said.
“I gotta go to work,” Dan said.
“You work?”
“If I want to eat,” Dan said.
“But you don’t even have to eat. None of you do.”
“More pancakes?” Kruinh held out the plate
Anne forked two and put one on Sunny’s plate while he nodded, and then Levy said, “So I’m going to be staying in Dan’s lair?”
“If by layer you mean loft apartment, then yeah,” Sunny said.
“Cool. Are you guys gonna turn me into a vampire too?”
Kruinh looked at the boy coolly and said, “You’re going to be a lot of work, aren’t you?”

MORE TOMORROW

 

[CharmedFan28]

Great to hear from some other characters in this portion! I am still curious about the whole Marabeth and Jason situation but I enjoyed the start of this chapter nonetheless. Excellent writing and I look forward to more tomorrow!

 

[ChrisGibson]

Yes, when I was adding all the new parts together and revising the book, this is the way the sections fit together and I thought, that's kind of a cliffhanger, but I didnt really do it for the purposes of being cliffhangy. Jt's sort of like the episode of Penny Dreadful for Ethan and Dorian Grey start to have sex and then the next episode has nothing to do with it.

 

[ChrisGibson]

When Levy asked Laurie if he had locked his apartment, the tall man replied, distractedly, “Enough.”
“What does that even mean?” Levy whispered.
No one answered. He marched right beside Dan and behind Kruinh. Sunny and Anne were behind him and soon they all entered that silent elevator and it zoomed up, and then stopped. Laurie pushed a button, and the elevator flew higher and now opened, and suddenly Levy was hit by the complete cold. As they stepped out onto the roof, even without looking over the parapet that surrounded them, Levy could sense the largeness of the white sky and city below.
Dan turned around and said, “I need you to not scream or be terrified.”
“That,” Levy began, raising an eyebrow, “is not promising.”
“We’re about to go home.”
“Did you take a helicopter?” Levy looked around.
“Not quite,” Kruinh said, handing Levy a thick face mask and then, while the boy put it on, Anne made sure it was secure and Kruinh took out what he carried with him and began to drape it over Levy, securing it at the boy’s hips and at his shoulder so that it was like a very thick blanket tied to his body.
“Keep your face down, in his shoulder. Wrap your hands around Dan’s waist.
“I got you man,” the chocolate haired vampire said.
“Oh,… shit…” Levy realized something.
“Don’t be afraid.”
“I’m gonna throw up.”
Laurie shook his head and touched Levy’s head. “This is going to be so quick, you’re not gonna have time to throw up.”
Kruinh and Anne methodically attached Levy’s legs to the back of Dan’s, his torso to Dan’s, his arms around Dan’s, bolted the heavy cloak like thing about them, even fixed Levy’s head to Dan.
“We’ve done this before,” Kruinh said, “Though rarely in such cold air.”
Kruinh said it climbing up to stand on the parapet of the building right beside Sunny, and then, just like that, he fell off. Sunny waved, and then casually fell of the building and both times Levy stopped himself from screaming.
“It’s best if you guys go now,” Laurie said to Dan and Levy, “Instead of being the last ones.”
Levy wanted to ask what had happened to Kruinh and Sunny, why he had not seen them again. He wanted stalling time, a little more instruction, but now he noted that Dan really was strong, that Dan Rawlinson moved, with him strapped to his back, as easily as anything, and now Dan stood on the parapet and turned around facing Laurie and Anne so that Levy was also facing them.
“See you guys in Lassador,” he said, and without turning around, Dan fell back. As Levy Berringer’s stomach lurched and his bowel’s lightened, Laurie and Anne were replaced by a rapid flight of descending similar stories, and then a rocket rise in the air and a shwish of blue, grey and green as the air whistled past Levy before he blanked out into blackness.

MORE TOMORROW

 

[CharmedFan28]

That was a short but excellent portion! I know Laurie is sad now but from what I remember he ends up ok in the end. Great to see more vampire powers at work! Great writing and I look forward to more tomorrow!