It was late in the afternoon when Lory set out to visit Rabbi Baruch. His house was beside the sea and only a little more than five miles from the convent where Lory had lived since she was orphaned at the age of eight. She had been to visit the Rabbi on many occasions, both by herself and in the company of the Mother Superior. Most of the times her purpose was to engage the Rabbi in a game or two of chess, a pastime which was not in vogue at the convent. This day she had just learned how to bake a raisin and nut sweetloaf, and she wanted to surprise the Rabbi with a sample.
Lory walked with that brisk pace that only eighteen- year-old girls seem to have, and, in no time, she was to the King's Road. She had not gone along this road for a mile when she encountered three young men whom she recognized to be farm lads from north of the convent.
"Looke-here, 'tis the lass from the convent," one of the lads said with a slurred voice.
"If she is from the convent, then she must be a nun, and if she is a nun, then she must be a virgin," another said.
"Then it be Sister Mary Virgin that we meet all alone here in the wilderness," the first lad said.
"Perhaps it be that Sister Mary Virgin has a thurst and will join us in our celebration," said the third lad, holding out a half full wine bottle.
Lory brushed past them. "No, thank you." She pressed on to continue her journey.
"'Tis perhaps that we're not good enough for Sister Mary Virgin to drink with," said the second lad as they trailed along behind Lory.
She said nothing.
"Well, 'tis certain that you are not good enough for her, Freddy. It has been several weeks since you have seen the inside of a church," the first lad said.
"If I'm lucky, it will be several more weeks that'll be be the next time that I see the church. However, if the church be filled with the likes of Sister Mary Virgin, maybe I'll change my mind," Freddy said.
"I wonder if nuns be like other girls. It is said that girls become nuns because they don't have anything under their habits," the third lad said after taking a swig from his bottle.
"But this one is not wearing a habit, just a dress like an ordinary girl," observed Freddy.
"Then either she has the charms of a girl and is an ordinary girl, or has them not and is a nun," the third lad said, plucking a Lory's dress.
She slapped him in the face. He returned the blow, sending her tumbling to the side of the path. She lay on the ground, and the three farm lads stood over her.
"Looke-here at the legs that she has," the first lad said. As a result of her tumble, Lory's skirts had come sliding up over her knees.
"Perhaps Sister Mary Virgin would be more apt to drink with us if she were less virgin," suggested the third lad.
Lory tried to regain her feet, but Freddy was quickly upon her, pinning her down. One of the others was pulling up on her dress.
"No, not that way. Untie her belt first," someone instructed.
Lory still struggled; she could feel all their hands holding her down and pulling at her clothing. She felt the belt give way and the dress being pulled up over her breasts and covering her face. She could taste the green-dyed wool; it muffled her cries and absorbed her tears. She could feel them all over her, and she heard a voice assert: "I'm to be first. It was me that she struck, and I've got first call at her."
She felt his weight on her for a moment, then all was gone. It was as if the world had gone to dead silence, and the only things that existed were the tears that stung her eyes and the shivering that she felt throughout her body. Then she felt the dress come off her face, and she was looking into the face of an old man.
"There, there, child, You need be cryin' no more. I chased 'em off. They all be gone," he said, trying to comfort her. She didn't respond, but kept whimpering and shivering. The old man pushed the strands of golden hair from her face, helped her to a sitting position, and gently pulled her dress down to her waist.
"You have nothing to fear. I'll not harm you, child," the old man said. He sat in the dirt beside her, put his arm around her shoulder, and pulled her towards him. "Child, you cry all you want. Let it all come out. Old Master Silas won't let any harm come to you. You just cry it out," he said softly. It was almost a whisper.
Something in Lory broke, and the tears came out in a flood. She clung to the old man, and he held her, rocking her back and forth gently. After several minutes the tears stopped. She just clung to the old man in silence.
"You'll have to stand to get the dress on properly," he said, releasing her. Lory was still naked from the waist down. He helped her stand and pulled her skirts down. "My home is but a short walk from here Come, we can get you cleaned up."
He picked up her basket and led her towards his house. Lory wanted to thank him, but the words stuck in her throat and would not come out. She let herself be led to the small stone cottage. There she was set before a roaring fire.
"Are you hungry?" he asked. She shook her head, no. She stared at the fire and thought of the three farm lads. She began to shiver again. The old man noticed it.
"Ah, child, you have had a bad experience, and you be all discheveled and mussed. Let Old Master Silas help you." He blew he dust off an old bottle and poured some of its contents into a large mug.
"Drink this," he ordered. Slowly, she drank the strong, dark liquid.
"Now off with your clothes," he instructed when she had finished the brandy. She did not move. She stared into the fire, seeing the faces of the farm lads.
"Let me help you. Stand now, child," he said and helped her to her feet. Slowly, her took off her clothes, one piece at a time. At her camesole he hesitated for a moment, then lifted that too over her head. He dropped each item into a large caldron of water that was half on the hearth and half in the fire. She stood naked before the fire. He dipped a rag into the hot water and handed it to her.
"Wash yourself, child," he said, but Lory just stood there holding the rag. Freddy's face was before her in the flames.
"Ah, poor child. 'Twill be alright. 'Twill be alright," he assured her. He took the rag from her hand and started washing her himself. He started at the top of her shoulders and gently rubbed her with the hot, dripping cloth. She felt the heat draw the tension from her. She felt his hand; she felt the cloth wash all the dust from her; and she felt cleansed. Then he was drying her with a towel. He was patting the little drops of water from her breasts when she awoke as if from a dream. She caught his hand with hers.
"Thank you, Master Silas. You have washed me, and you have dried me, and you have taken away all the bad that I felt," she said.
"'Twill be alright," he said again. "Dry the rest of yourself." He handed her the towel. While he was doing this, he went to a chest and returned with a brush. "This be a fine brush for you to brush your hair. Long ago I bought it for ..." His voice trailed off. He handed her the brush, then busied himself on the other side of the room. Then he returned to hand her another mug of brandy. "Drink it all down, child. 'Twill do you much good," he said. After she did so, he ushered her to a bed in the corner, pulled back the quilts, and made her lie down. "A bit of rest, 'twill do you much good," he said as he pulled the covers to her chin. She could feel the scratchy, rough cloth against her skin.
She watched as he strung a line before the fireplace. He wrung out her clothes and began to hang them on the line. The hot air of the room, the soothing warmpth of the brandy, and the comfort of the thick quilts combined to make Lory very drousy. She knew that she was falling asleep, and she did not resist it. She welcomed it.
Lory felt something moving across her stomach. She cautiously half-opened one eye. There, on her stomach, stood a tiny man dressed in fuzzy, green cloth. He was struggling with a flat, smooth stone of about the size of a goose egg. His arms strained under the load. He deposited $his burden on her lower abdomen where there were already several similar stones. He sat on his stone. Lory could see that he was breathing heavily. Then he noticed that Lory was awake and staring at him. He winked at her, arose, and jumped to the ground. He hurried off into the underbrush.
Lory then noticed that her arms were spread apart and lashed at the wrists to the stumps of cut saplings. Her legs, too, were parted and tied. She tried the ropes and found that they were secure. She was not, however, uncomfortable. It was warm, and the grass beneath her made a soft cushion. She looked around. She found that she was in a small meadow. There were a number of oak saplings scattered about the clearing. At the edges of the clearing was a forest of large trees and dense underbrush. She watched the spot where the little man disappeared, but there was no sign of him.
Then, on the other side, she felt something strike her softly on the hip. She tured her head and saw another man, slightly larger, who had just dumped a wheelbarrow load of small stones against her. The man was about a foot tall. He was dressed in the same kind of cloth as the first one, but wore a tall, pointed hat with a wide brim. He took off his hat and, from inside it, took out a rag which he used to wipe his brow.
"What are you doing?" Lory asked.
He ignored her, again wiped his face, then returned the rag to its place. He picked up the handles of his wheelbarrow and walked off into the woods. The forest was closest on the wheelbarrow man's side, not more than eight feet away.
Next Lory heard someone approaching on the other side. She turned her head to watch two men struggle with a long, cylindrical shaped rock. It was a hand span long and two fingers thick. When the men were a few inches away, they put down their burden. She could see that one of the men was the man she discovered earlier on her stomach. He gave her another wink and picked up a short wooden ladder. It was made of whittled twigs lashed together. He leaned it against Lory's side, just below her left breast. The other little man placed a similar ladder against her side at the waist. They picked up the rock and carried it to the ladders. The winker went up the first step and waited. Then the other man went up a step and stopped. They continued this procedure until the stone was at the heighth of the top of the ladders. Then the winker heaved his end of the stone over the last rung and let it rest under Lory's breast. He climbed up, went over to the other man, and helped him lift his end onto Lory's body. They then carried the rock to the pile and put it on top of the other stones. As soon as they put down their load, the second man scampered down his ladder and shuffled off into the forest. The winker lingered behind, watching Lory watching him. He slowly walked towards his ladder. He stood on the top rung and, grinning a toothless grimace, reached out and grabbed Lory's teat. He gave it a gentle shaking; the nipple filled his tiny hand. He winked, then was gone. It seemed to Lory that it was quiet for a long time. She started to doze off again when she was startled by what seemed to be a pin prick in her leg. She saw another little man, this time one dressed in red and pudgier than the others. He had what appeared to be a walking stick and was using it to poke her in various places along the leg. In his other hand he had a piece of slate. Every once in awhile he'd tuck his stick under his arm and make a note on the slate with a piece of chalk which was otherwise stored on top of his ear. Lory watched as he walked around her and climbed up one of the laders. He clambered on top of her and walked down her thigh to the knee. He turned around and walked back, pacing off the distance from the knee to the end of the hip bone. Again he made a note. He used his walking stick to measure her width, just under the breasts. She was two and a half walking sticks wide, Lory calculated. He leaned the walking stick against her breast and kneeded the flesh on the underside with both hands. He frowned and made another note. Then he climbed between her breasts and walked to her shoulder. He stood there for several minutes probing with the the stick. More notes. He walked out to her wrist and paced back the distance to her shoulder. The man with the fuzzy, red clothing stood on her shoulder making notes and what appeared to be calculations.
"What are you doing?" Lory asked.
He ignored her.
Lory slowly filled her lungs with air and, with a great huff, gave the little man a blast of breath. The startled man nearly fell over backwards. The waking stick fell to the ground. He hurried to the ladder and climbed down.
Lory could feel the coolness of the slate which rested near her collar bone. After a few minutes the red-dressed man stood at her armpit and reached across her shoulder to retrieve his slate. Lory could feel the scruffiness of his coarse clothing. She watched him walk away in the direction of the wheelbarrow man.
After awhile, the red-dressed man returned with a half dozen other men, all of whom were dressed in green. The group stood about a yard away. The red-dressed man was pointing to her with his stick and gesturing to the others with his free hand. Lory couldn't hear anything. She thought: perhaps they don't speak. The red-dressed man appeared to be giving an animated speech in gestures. He kept pointing to various parts of Lory. While this "speech" was being given, the first green-dressed man and his assistant joined the goup. Then others came out of the woods to join the gathering. There were more than a dozen green-suited little men listening to--or perhaps it was watching--the pudgy, red-dressed man. Finally, his harangue was done. The winker threw up his arms in a gesture of resignation. Then he turned to Lory, held both hands out, palms up, cocked his head to one side, raised his hands an inch or so, and arched his eyebrows. Apparently decisions were being made about her which were not to be his responsibility, and he was indicating his helpless disagreement with whatever the red-dressed man decided.
Soon the whole goup walked into the woods on her right side. In a few minutes they returned to form a line from the woods to her. They began passing rocks along the line, each handing the rock to the man next closest to Lory. In this manner they were able to transfer a large number of rocks in a short time. In perhaps an hour, the pile stretched along her right side from ankle to waist. As the pile grew larger, it began to get higher than the level of her body, and it began to bury parts of her. Then they stopped. The man with the wheelbarrow returned with a cask of water, and they all gathered around it for a drink. After taking their refreshment and lounging about on the grass for a quarter of an hour, they returned to reform their line.
Lory could feel a dryness in her throat. "May I have some water?" she asked. They ignored her.
The new line snaked around her foot and went towards the inside of her thigh. The little men were beginning to cover her leg from this other side. She noticed that the rocks that they were now using seemed to be wet and have little bits of moss clinging to them. Lory thought: they must be taking them from a creek.
After another hour, they had her right leg completely covered from foot to knee. They had continued to pile the rocks until they covered to a deapth of three or four inches. Then another break was taken.
When they went back to the meadow to drink from the water cask in the wheelbarrow, the winker stayed behind. When he was alone, he walked between her thighs and stood at their juncture. He pried her open with both his hands and peered inside. He leaned down and stuck his head in. He kept pushing her further apart and sticking himself in. Lory could not see much of him. She was afraid that he was going to crawl right inside her. She thought: he must be in at least as far as his shoulders. Then Lory could see that he was using one hand and a shoulder to hold her open. His other hand was reaching inside her. She thought that she could feel his hand moving inside her.
Suddenly, there was a great rumbling and shaking; the ground itself seemed to be moving. Lory wondered: could this be the kind of thing that I had read about called an earthquake? It seemed that the tremors increased for a time and then were of a constant, large magnitude. Finally, all was still.
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Lory awoke. By the glow of the fire, she could make out the wrinkled features of the old man laying on top of her. Lory lay very still, unsure what to do. It was several minutes before she realized that Old Master Silas was asleep. He was naked and sprawled over her; the quilts lay to one side; his head was on her shoulder; whisps of his thin, grey hair tickled her cheek. Slowly, she pushed him aside and slipped out from under him. She let herself slide to the floor. Old Master Silas didn't awaken.
She stood before the fire. Only one deeply charred log and a bed of coals remained of the once roaring fire. It still radiated considerable heat. Lory washed herself vigorously to cleanse herself of the old man's seed. Then she just stood before the fire, her arms crossed on her chest, staring at the coals. There was nothing there but glowing embers. She slowly dresed herself. Only the sleeve that had been facing away from the fire was still slightly damp. The hot cloth felt good. It was as if she were putting on a bit of the fire itself.
Dawn was just beginning. Lory picked up her basket and added the old man's brandy bottle to its contents; the bottle was still a quarter full. Silently, she closed the door to Old Master Silas' cottage and walked along the path to the King's Road.
She walked until he came to a place where the road diverged inland to avoid a high, rocky place which percipicely overlooked the sea. She left the road and went to the top of the cliff. She faced both the sea and the morning sun. This was not the first time that she sat in this spot; it was her favorite resting place in the distance between the convent and Rabbi Baruch's house.
Lory suddenly realized that she was very hungry. She had five small loaves for Rabbi Baruch. She decided to sacrifice one of these to her hungar. She sat in the sun, eating her raisin and nut loaf and sipping Old Master Silas' brandy.
With her hungar abated, she wondered what she should do. After pondering the alternatives, she decided to do nothing, that is to say, she would visit Rabbi Baruch as if today were the only day of her journey, and then she would return to the convent late this afternoon. The Mother Superior will assume that she had stayed overnight at Rabbi Baruch's house, which is what she had intended to do originally. With luck her misadventure would remain her secret.
Lory thought: it would have been much simpler if I had been born ugly. Ugly and fat. Then I wouldn't have to worry about men. To be young, pretty, and thin is a curse. Everyone tells me how lucky I am to be so pretty. I wonder if it will ever bring me luck.
She picked up her basket and began the remainder of her journey to Rabbi Baruch's house. She tried to remember the poem that ended, "C'est la vie, mon amie, c'est la vie," but only that last line echoed in her head.
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. Feb. 2000; Oct. 2001