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Originally posted by Castellon
Not all of them have been so "Noble" though.
True, but I am sure Isabella would argue that she was very noble. Even as she sat down in Hell next to her old confessor, Tomas de Torquemada....
The king sat at a small, drab table. There was only a single candle lit, throwing more darkness than light across the room as it swayed back and forth. Outside the palace, the rain had stopped, though the clouds continued to blot out the moon and stars. No light shone from the heavens upon Madrid tonight, as the splendor of God's beauty refrained from expression in the land of Castile. Or so the king surmised.
On the table in front of Juan was the old comedy The Birds. The words of Aristophanes stared mutely at Juan from the dusty pages of the tome. The voice of the old, dead poet failed to bridge the gap of time and space to reach the present. The life that could be breathed in the text could only come from one source, and she was gone. Juan winced as he recalled her voice from that time so long ago when he first heard the lines of the play given voice by a woman.
Is there a god behind me?
Prometheus's famous line from the play echoed through his mind in the voice of his beloved. But her memory was a painful one. So painful, that he almost did not hear the knocking upon the chamber door.
"My dreaded king, the Prince of Granada is here to see you."
"Send him in."
Carlos entered the small room, carrying with him a bottle of wine. Juan barely glanced at him.
"I thought you might like to share a drink with me."
The king shrugged, which Carlos took as a sign to sit across from him. In the process, he noted the play in front of the king.
"You seem awfully somber for someone reading classic Greek comedy."
"This was the first play we ever read together. We sat in a library together and she read the last part of it."
Carlos opened the wine at the mention of his sister.
"She never told me very much about the time you spent together before your marriage. She would just tell me about how much she loved you."
There was a lengthy pause as the wine breathed for them.
"You did not approve of her interest of me, did you?"
"No. At the time, I thought it was just a bit of fun for you, and I did not want to see my sister used in that way. I figured as the king you would marry for politics and leave my sister as a fallen woman with a bastard child."
"I will not deny that I found her very attractive when I first met her. The power of lust was quite strong. But when I began to spend time with her, I found myself enjoying our conversations, even if there seemed to be no hope of getting past her virtue."
Carlos put the bottle of wine to his lips and took a long pull from it. He handed it to Juan who did likewise.
"I will be honest with you. I did not approve of you until that day when myself and the brave, but slightly naive, Duque de Toledo took the nobility hostage. When everything became clear, I realized that you were a good man. She was always very good at judging people."
"She was everything to me, and now I have nothing."
Carlos arched his brow while taking the bottle for himself.
"That is not true. Even with her gone, we are still brothers. Her death does not change that. And you have little Enrique. We are family, even if the one we love has gone from us."
Juan stood up from the table, taking the collection of Greek plays in his hand. He paced for a few moments, while Carlos absorbed what comfort was offered by the wine. Juan found himself in front of the candle, watching the wax drip slowly. Its light did little to comfort him.
As Carlos watched in horror, the collection of Greek comedies was placed over the flame of the candle. They easily caught the flame and slowly gave up their existence into smoke.
"What, in the name of our Lord and Savior, are you doing?"
Juan did not glance at Carlos, his eyes focused on the burning plays in his hand.
"They remind me of her."
It took a few minutes for the sacrifice of the comedies to be complete. A pile of ash surrounded the candle and a horrid stench of burned paper and ink filled the room.
"Do you feel any better, my brother?"
Juan sat down once again.
"No, but I feel everything a little less."
"Then perhaps you would join me in the room of my nephew. I was going to look in on him for a moment before retiring."
Juan did not move.
"No. He reminds me of her."
On the table in front of Juan was the old comedy The Birds. The words of Aristophanes stared mutely at Juan from the dusty pages of the tome. The voice of the old, dead poet failed to bridge the gap of time and space to reach the present. The life that could be breathed in the text could only come from one source, and she was gone. Juan winced as he recalled her voice from that time so long ago when he first heard the lines of the play given voice by a woman.
Is there a god behind me?
Prometheus's famous line from the play echoed through his mind in the voice of his beloved. But her memory was a painful one. So painful, that he almost did not hear the knocking upon the chamber door.
"My dreaded king, the Prince of Granada is here to see you."
"Send him in."
Carlos entered the small room, carrying with him a bottle of wine. Juan barely glanced at him.
"I thought you might like to share a drink with me."
The king shrugged, which Carlos took as a sign to sit across from him. In the process, he noted the play in front of the king.
"You seem awfully somber for someone reading classic Greek comedy."
"This was the first play we ever read together. We sat in a library together and she read the last part of it."
Carlos opened the wine at the mention of his sister.
"She never told me very much about the time you spent together before your marriage. She would just tell me about how much she loved you."
There was a lengthy pause as the wine breathed for them.
"You did not approve of her interest of me, did you?"
"No. At the time, I thought it was just a bit of fun for you, and I did not want to see my sister used in that way. I figured as the king you would marry for politics and leave my sister as a fallen woman with a bastard child."
"I will not deny that I found her very attractive when I first met her. The power of lust was quite strong. But when I began to spend time with her, I found myself enjoying our conversations, even if there seemed to be no hope of getting past her virtue."
Carlos put the bottle of wine to his lips and took a long pull from it. He handed it to Juan who did likewise.
"I will be honest with you. I did not approve of you until that day when myself and the brave, but slightly naive, Duque de Toledo took the nobility hostage. When everything became clear, I realized that you were a good man. She was always very good at judging people."
"She was everything to me, and now I have nothing."
Carlos arched his brow while taking the bottle for himself.
"That is not true. Even with her gone, we are still brothers. Her death does not change that. And you have little Enrique. We are family, even if the one we love has gone from us."
Juan stood up from the table, taking the collection of Greek plays in his hand. He paced for a few moments, while Carlos absorbed what comfort was offered by the wine. Juan found himself in front of the candle, watching the wax drip slowly. Its light did little to comfort him.
As Carlos watched in horror, the collection of Greek comedies was placed over the flame of the candle. They easily caught the flame and slowly gave up their existence into smoke.
"What, in the name of our Lord and Savior, are you doing?"
Juan did not glance at Carlos, his eyes focused on the burning plays in his hand.
"They remind me of her."
It took a few minutes for the sacrifice of the comedies to be complete. A pile of ash surrounded the candle and a horrid stench of burned paper and ink filled the room.
"Do you feel any better, my brother?"
Juan sat down once again.
"No, but I feel everything a little less."
"Then perhaps you would join me in the room of my nephew. I was going to look in on him for a moment before retiring."
Juan did not move.
"No. He reminds me of her."
Juan is in dire need of someone to give him a good swift kick in the ass and the "do you think you're the first person to lose someone he's loved?" speach right about now. If he doesn't snap out of this wallowing sea of self pity soon, he might as well do everyone a favour and throw himself out of the nearest tower...
There's an emotional reader response for you!
God how I hate the way he's throwing away everything that he has worked for, and is destroying everything that once meant something to her. He's a grown man, for heaven's sake! Is there nothing of good that he can take and hold on to? He is almost dispicable in the way he is intentionally making her sacrifice utter worthless.
*spits on the ground he walks on*
Poor Carlos. A noble and valliant effort...rebuffed. If I were him, I'd be getting right pissed off.
Which all goes to show you that you're writing this just perfectly.
BTW, nice touch bringing The Birds back in.
There's an emotional reader response for you!
God how I hate the way he's throwing away everything that he has worked for, and is destroying everything that once meant something to her. He's a grown man, for heaven's sake! Is there nothing of good that he can take and hold on to? He is almost dispicable in the way he is intentionally making her sacrifice utter worthless.
*spits on the ground he walks on*
Poor Carlos. A noble and valliant effort...rebuffed. If I were him, I'd be getting right pissed off.
Which all goes to show you that you're writing this just perfectly.
BTW, nice touch bringing The Birds back in.
Wow, What a great line. I loved it.
Juan throwing the book in the fire because it reminds him of her, and the fact that he says his son also does.
I hope that does not forshadow any action towards his son.
Originally posted by Castellon
I hope that does not forshadow any action towards his son.
I, for one, fully expect that it will. But then, we've come to expect as much from the cruelly manipulative Secret Master, haven't we?
Really, MrT, simmer down!
Oh, and if you have not ever read it before, go and read a good translation of The Birds. Considering your and LD's remarks regarding Canadian government, Aristophanes words will sound very familiar.
Hmm, wait and see. Of course, the king's inaction towards his son might prove to be almost as bad as any action.
Me? Cruelly manipulative? Why, I have no idea what you are talking about...
I think we are all in agreement about the difficulty with the problem of long periods of time between posts and maintaining an idea that can grow through subtle phrases to create the effect you want. Maybe several posts on Africa before switching back to Madrid? It’s as you say a difficult problem to overcome.
Now what is going to happen to Juan? You’ve set it up to allow you to go in any direction you want so I won’t try to guess.
Joe
Darkness was falling upon the jungles and swamps in Louga. There were no clouds in the sky, but the thickness and height of the canopy ensured that dawn would occur earlier and dusk, later. With a suddeness that caught Francisco off guard, Kurtz stopped.
"We camp here tonight."
The Africans put down the ivory and hunting implements from their backs and deployed to construct a rudimentary camp. Kurtz and Francisco put down their equipment and sat down, going easy on their aching feet. For a few moments, they rested in silence as Watumbo and the others worked. Then, Kurtz reached into his baggage and withdrew a small book. It had leather binding, which was slowly separating from the paper it was to cover. He also managed to recover a small inkwell and a quill, sitting them upon the ground. After browsing inside the small book, Kurtz dipped his quill into the ink, and began to scribble upon a page.
"You keep a journal?"
Kurtz paused silently, not looking at Francisco. Then he continued to scribble for a few more moments.
"No, it is not a journal."
"Oh."
Kurtz continued to scribble for a few more moments before speaking.
"It is a book of poetry."
"You write poetry?"
"Yes. It gives me a sense of aesthetics out here in this wilderness."
"Isn't it rather odd to write poetry under these conditions?"
"Perhaps. But I also know it is one of the few sources of light in this dark land."
Francisco looked at Kurtz with a bit of skepticism.
"A source of light?"
"Of course. Not literal light. I mean light in the civilization sense of the term. You know, how we are learned, decent people compared to this inhospitable land."
"I understand you now. Got anything good written?"
"A few things. I am almost finished with this poem."
"Can I hear it?"
Kurtz paused.
"I'd prefer if you didn't. Not until it is finished."
"Of course. That makes sense. But I would like to hear it sometime."
Kurtz continued to scribble as Francisco looked wistfully around himself. He was clearly on edge, though no danger was present. He stood up and paced for a moment, then he sat down again. Kurtz found Francisco's behavior distracting to his current endeavor.
"What is the problem, Francisco?"
"I am not sure...."
"Come now, Francisco. You know we are not in danger."
"I...I do not know if I should say."
Kurtz put down his ink and quill and looked at Francisco.
"Come on. You can tell me. What could possibly be so serious out here?"
Francisco paced some more before speaking.
"I miss the company of women, if you catch my meaning."
Kurtz began to chuckle.
"I do not think this is funny, Walter."
"My dear Francisco. You are worried about such a minor thing. Of all the things you could be worried about, you worry about the easiest to remedy."
"What do you mean?"
Kurtz grinned.
"I'll show you when we get back to the trading post. But you have to promise it will be our little secret."
Francisco's spirits were visibly lifted, and he stopped pacing.
"Sure, Walter. It will be our little secret. But I made need some of that secret pretty soon."
Kurtz recovered his ink and quill and continued to write. He smiled as he thought of the secret he would share with Francisco. It had been awhile since he had indulged the secret himself.
He wondered how she had fared since he had last seen his little secret, but he wondered only fleetingly.
"We camp here tonight."
The Africans put down the ivory and hunting implements from their backs and deployed to construct a rudimentary camp. Kurtz and Francisco put down their equipment and sat down, going easy on their aching feet. For a few moments, they rested in silence as Watumbo and the others worked. Then, Kurtz reached into his baggage and withdrew a small book. It had leather binding, which was slowly separating from the paper it was to cover. He also managed to recover a small inkwell and a quill, sitting them upon the ground. After browsing inside the small book, Kurtz dipped his quill into the ink, and began to scribble upon a page.
"You keep a journal?"
Kurtz paused silently, not looking at Francisco. Then he continued to scribble for a few more moments.
"No, it is not a journal."
"Oh."
Kurtz continued to scribble for a few more moments before speaking.
"It is a book of poetry."
"You write poetry?"
"Yes. It gives me a sense of aesthetics out here in this wilderness."
"Isn't it rather odd to write poetry under these conditions?"
"Perhaps. But I also know it is one of the few sources of light in this dark land."
Francisco looked at Kurtz with a bit of skepticism.
"A source of light?"
"Of course. Not literal light. I mean light in the civilization sense of the term. You know, how we are learned, decent people compared to this inhospitable land."
"I understand you now. Got anything good written?"
"A few things. I am almost finished with this poem."
"Can I hear it?"
Kurtz paused.
"I'd prefer if you didn't. Not until it is finished."
"Of course. That makes sense. But I would like to hear it sometime."
Kurtz continued to scribble as Francisco looked wistfully around himself. He was clearly on edge, though no danger was present. He stood up and paced for a moment, then he sat down again. Kurtz found Francisco's behavior distracting to his current endeavor.
"What is the problem, Francisco?"
"I am not sure...."
"Come now, Francisco. You know we are not in danger."
"I...I do not know if I should say."
Kurtz put down his ink and quill and looked at Francisco.
"Come on. You can tell me. What could possibly be so serious out here?"
Francisco paced some more before speaking.
"I miss the company of women, if you catch my meaning."
Kurtz began to chuckle.
"I do not think this is funny, Walter."
"My dear Francisco. You are worried about such a minor thing. Of all the things you could be worried about, you worry about the easiest to remedy."
"What do you mean?"
Kurtz grinned.
"I'll show you when we get back to the trading post. But you have to promise it will be our little secret."
Francisco's spirits were visibly lifted, and he stopped pacing.
"Sure, Walter. It will be our little secret. But I made need some of that secret pretty soon."
Kurtz recovered his ink and quill and continued to write. He smiled as he thought of the secret he would share with Francisco. It had been awhile since he had indulged the secret himself.
He wondered how she had fared since he had last seen his little secret, but he wondered only fleetingly.
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Secret Master's got a secret...and I'm betting it's one he's going to share with us in the not-too-distant future. I know I'm curious.
So Kurtz writes poetry? I'm thinking that Francisco is going to be a trifle disappointed if he does get to hear some because it's almost guaranteed to be in German (well...isn't it?).
So Kurtz writes poetry? I'm thinking that Francisco is going to be a trifle disappointed if he does get to hear some because it's almost guaranteed to be in German (well...isn't it?).
Who says he won't be mightily disappointed by Col., I mean Sr. Kurtz' secret? Or should I say: disgusted?
An interesting variety of guesses. Considering the historical context, either would be repugnant to proper Castillian gentlemen. Of course, Castile has already fought one war because of the Wlak and impied sexual relations...
We might just find out today what secret Kurtz holds...
You know, that explains why some many poets wear glasses. It's extremely harmful to the eyes reading and writing under poor light conditions...
A very good story. The secrets are of course bound to be bountiful in a Secret Master AAR. Aren't they?
My apologies to everyone. There will not be an installment until Monday at the earliest.
It seems the A-Team Curse found me. There was flooding last night and I did not get home until very late. As I am leaving town in about 5 minutes, I will not be able to post until I get back.
And I had a good installment planned too....
It seems the A-Team Curse found me. There was flooding last night and I did not get home until very late. As I am leaving town in about 5 minutes, I will not be able to post until I get back.
And I had a good installment planned too....
Francisco hated the jungle much less when he was speaking with Kurtz. What had seemed arduous and unpleasant with "Miguel" was pleasant and fun with Kurtz. They had been moving through the jungle in the enternal hunt for ivory for a few weeks, and Kurtz was leading them back to the trading post. The Africans were burdened with as much ivory as they could carry. They carried their burden with dignity and pride, and this pride seemed to infect the generally jovial mood of Kurtz.
Then, with little warning, they broke through the brush and stood in the clearing of the trading post. The high towers of ivory silently marked their entrance with grimness, anticipating the addition to their burden carried by the Africans. Francisco found himself surprised at the abruptness of their arrival, but he did not issue a complaint. Instead, he continued his never ending dialog with Kurtz.
"Is there anything we need to do, now that we have arrived?"
"No, Francisco. The darkies will take care of the ivory and supplies."
"So, we will be off again once they are done?"
"We might, but we can delay our departure if you need to take care of some business."
Francisco arched his brow as he saw Kurtz grin.
"What business would I need to take care of?"
Kurtz began to chuckle and shake his head, until Francisco's eyes widened at the sudden realization.
"Oh, you mean that business. Well, yes, I could use a bit of that secret of yours."
"I thought so. Come, let us take care of our business today, and in the morning we will set out."
Kurtz led Francisco over to a group of hovels on the eastern side of the trading post. As Kurtz wandered to the particular hut he was looking for, he greeted all of the Africans in a friendly way, accepting their deference as a matter of course. When he arrived at the hovel of his choice, he politiely knocked upon it. Of course, the noise was muted because of the poor quality of materials, but within a moment, an African woman had appeared. She was only as tall as Francisco's shoulders, with skin that absorbed every bit of noonday sun that hit it. Her hair was just as dark, though it had a glossy look to it, producing a sort of refracted glow. Her eyes were big as they gazed with reverence upon Kurtz. Her lips formed the innocent smile of a younger girl still taking her first steps into womanhood.
Francisco's eyes darted to the parts of her that were exposed in non-European fashion. Her breasts were soaking up the sun's rays just as the rest of her was. This was certainly shocking to him, though his eyes continued to hover in the same place. His sight was only interrupted when she moved to Kurtz and embraced him, speaking something incoherent, but with much enthusiasm. Kurtz accepted her tender embrace calmly. She moved to kiss him, and he allowed her action. When she broke the kiss, she eagerly grabbed his arm to take him inside the hut. Kurtz resisted, and began speaking in a broken form of her native language. He pointed at Francisco and spoke some more. Her face lost its smile, and she appeared to protest. Kurtz silenced her and spoke some more. Her face looked downcast as he spoke. Then, he turned to Francisco.
"You like what you see?"
"Well, she seems relatively attractive. I would say you have good taste in women, Kurtz."
"Well, it is the best we can do out here. She is not a proper European woman, but she is as attactive as a darky can get. So, do you want her?"
"You would lend her to me?"
"Of course. What's a darky between friends, eh? Just go on in and take care of your business. Just don't take all night, since I could use some relief myself."
"Fair enough, Walter."
Francisco extended his hand, and the girl relunctantly took it. She lead him into the hovel. After some time, Francisco found his relief in the arms of the African girl.
Francisco felt a smile creep across his face, but it was muted by her lack of one. It was mildly disconcerting to Francisco that she had not smiled since she had laid her lips upon Kurtz.
Then, with little warning, they broke through the brush and stood in the clearing of the trading post. The high towers of ivory silently marked their entrance with grimness, anticipating the addition to their burden carried by the Africans. Francisco found himself surprised at the abruptness of their arrival, but he did not issue a complaint. Instead, he continued his never ending dialog with Kurtz.
"Is there anything we need to do, now that we have arrived?"
"No, Francisco. The darkies will take care of the ivory and supplies."
"So, we will be off again once they are done?"
"We might, but we can delay our departure if you need to take care of some business."
Francisco arched his brow as he saw Kurtz grin.
"What business would I need to take care of?"
Kurtz began to chuckle and shake his head, until Francisco's eyes widened at the sudden realization.
"Oh, you mean that business. Well, yes, I could use a bit of that secret of yours."
"I thought so. Come, let us take care of our business today, and in the morning we will set out."
Kurtz led Francisco over to a group of hovels on the eastern side of the trading post. As Kurtz wandered to the particular hut he was looking for, he greeted all of the Africans in a friendly way, accepting their deference as a matter of course. When he arrived at the hovel of his choice, he politiely knocked upon it. Of course, the noise was muted because of the poor quality of materials, but within a moment, an African woman had appeared. She was only as tall as Francisco's shoulders, with skin that absorbed every bit of noonday sun that hit it. Her hair was just as dark, though it had a glossy look to it, producing a sort of refracted glow. Her eyes were big as they gazed with reverence upon Kurtz. Her lips formed the innocent smile of a younger girl still taking her first steps into womanhood.
Francisco's eyes darted to the parts of her that were exposed in non-European fashion. Her breasts were soaking up the sun's rays just as the rest of her was. This was certainly shocking to him, though his eyes continued to hover in the same place. His sight was only interrupted when she moved to Kurtz and embraced him, speaking something incoherent, but with much enthusiasm. Kurtz accepted her tender embrace calmly. She moved to kiss him, and he allowed her action. When she broke the kiss, she eagerly grabbed his arm to take him inside the hut. Kurtz resisted, and began speaking in a broken form of her native language. He pointed at Francisco and spoke some more. Her face lost its smile, and she appeared to protest. Kurtz silenced her and spoke some more. Her face looked downcast as he spoke. Then, he turned to Francisco.
"You like what you see?"
"Well, she seems relatively attractive. I would say you have good taste in women, Kurtz."
"Well, it is the best we can do out here. She is not a proper European woman, but she is as attactive as a darky can get. So, do you want her?"
"You would lend her to me?"
"Of course. What's a darky between friends, eh? Just go on in and take care of your business. Just don't take all night, since I could use some relief myself."
"Fair enough, Walter."
Francisco extended his hand, and the girl relunctantly took it. She lead him into the hovel. After some time, Francisco found his relief in the arms of the African girl.
Francisco felt a smile creep across his face, but it was muted by her lack of one. It was mildly disconcerting to Francisco that she had not smiled since she had laid her lips upon Kurtz.
Native Uprising kills Kurtz and Francisco over this.
Only in the mind of the Secret Master can a trivial event become pages and pages of posts
Duuk
Only in the mind of the Secret Master can a trivial event become pages and pages of posts
Duuk