BEYOND THE PALE
Speyer on the Rhine, 1477
Flash Fiction Story
By E.C. Traganas
The freshly-painted
stockade fence was not the issue. Fences of all shapes and sizes had often
adorned houses in the area, adding a quaint, well-tended charm and sense of
security to the prosperous market town of Speyer, and this particular fence,
painted in cheerful stripes of green and white, was especially attractive. But
the fence had suddenly become an acrimonious barrier pitting neighbour against
neighbour, and a community that had for so long lived in harmony now found
itself cleaved in two with bitter hatred.
A crowd of onlookers had gathered
outside the grounds of the gayly-coloured timbered house tucked away near the main road
leading up from the quayside. All along the fence were pinned drying bouquets
of roses and baby’s breath, sachets of lavender, stale bread buns and rotting
sausages, and worst of all, soiled men’s braies, grimy hoses and women’s linen
breast bands. The stench from the decomposing food was offensive to passers by,
but the staid, elderly members of the community were scandalized by the public
display of unmentionable undergarments.
“This
is an outrage!” Hans the miller shouted with indignation. “It is a month now.
The newlyweds have not even stepped out of their cottage to remove these
loathsome tokens.” He spat out the word with puckered distaste.
“Let them be, Hans,” said
Jürgen the butcher’s son. “It is what we do here. It’s just in jest, eh? You
remember how we plastered your own door when you and Greta were married, don’t
you?”
“I will remind you that
we were out and about the very next day like respectable people. Everything was
already cleaned up and presentable,” Hans huffed.
“Well, maybe the two need
more time,” Jürgen replied twisting his mouth wryly. “What’s the matter wi’ you,
eh Konrad!” he shouted upwards at the shuttered second story window. “Can’t get
it up yet, can ye?” The assembled crowd burst into bawdy, cackling laughter and
began pelting the shutters with the rotten sausages and hard rolls.
“Enough!” cried the town’s
mayor. “You are to disperse immediately, for the sake of decorum and decency.
Give the newlyweds some privacy. The bishop and I will decide how to proceed
with this.” Some of the townsfolk loitered about cracking lewd jokes while
adolescent boys began playing tug o’war with the grubby braies.
“Leave!” screeched the
bishop with a terrifying rasp, flailing his staff at the cowering delinquents.
“Your Eminence,” whispered
the mayor. “One month is excessive. I suggest we take matters into our own
hands and get to the bottom of this.”
The bishop was nodding in assent,
his double chin puffing up and down with authority. “Tonight, then,” he
replied. “Let the townspeople retire first.”
After sundown, as the town crier
made his rounds near the village square, the two dignitaries approached the
fence of the house at the edge of the road, commanded the bailiff to break open
the lock, and solemnly waltzed onto the premises with imperious pomp and
increasingly prurient thoughts in check. “Children, it is the
mayor and myself,” the bishop announced as they ascended the wooden staircase.
A sliver of light was shining from under the door at the top of the landing. “We
are concerned about you. May we come in?” There was no answer from within.
The mayor nodded to his bailiff, who
on cue turned the handle to the door that slowly opened to reveal the scene
before them. “Konrad Hetzeldorf, is that you? No, what, hey? This is no man! This is an imposter,
an impersonator—a female, a wily, wanton daughter of Eve! And what is that,
that thing…that piece of leather on the bed next to you, eh, you filthy
whore? It’s a prosthetic phallus, isn’t it? Bring it here, bailiff.” Konrad sat
up in bed and was frantically trying to cover her exposed breasts with a
bedsheet. Else her companion was by now shrieking hysterically.
“Satan, away wi’ thee! In
the name of God, in the name of God…” the bishop blubbered open-mouthed.
“Bailiff, seize him, er—her!” the mayor ordered. “Evil
fornicators! Sodomites! Bind her. Bind them both. Cover them up, the hussies.
They shame us all!”
“God have mercy, have
mercy upon us,” the bishop repeated with eyes shut tight as in a trance. The
startled women were cuffed and paraded to the public stocks in their flimsy
shifts and clapped behind wooden boards with the leather appurtenance nailed
above them. Within minutes, the town crier was loudly proclaiming the execrable
scandal that had befallen their once sedate and respectable municipality.
And suddenly, a community previously
so divided was now unanimously united in collective fury and indignation. “‘Tis an abomination!” Hans
cried, echoed by Jürgen and the chorus of enraged brethren in that now
close-knit neighbourhood. Hans grabbed a switch of birch branches and began to
assail the sobbing women with righteous outrage while Jürgen ran up
breathlessly producing a wicker basket.
“Here!” he shouted to the
crowd while bombarding the criminals with ripe apples. “See what Eve herself
hath begotten! Let them eat these, the strumpets!” The rowdy crowd was by now
out of control.
“It seems there’ll be no
trial for these sinners,” the bishop observed.
“Indeed, it is out of our
jurisdiction. The people have decided,” the mayor assented with a sign to the
bailiff. Amidst ear-splitting cries and jeering insults, the women, who were by
now badly bruised and semiconscious, were dragged under torchlight down to the
wharf and fettered together back-to-back. With a splash, the weary bundle was
noiselessly deposited into the waters of the dark Rhine that roiled and bubbled
savagely with reptilian hunger, and was seen carried far away bobbing up and
down in the faint silvery gleam of the cleansing moonlight.
The new day dawned with rosy
peacefulness and hope as the community emerged to resume their workaday lives
secure in the knowledge that the universal natural order of things had once
again been restored.
E.C. Traganas - Author of the
critically applauded debut novel Twelfth House, E.C. Traganas has
published in Möbius, Ibbetson Street Press, The
Penwood Review, Agape Review, Ancient Paths, and
numerous other literary journals. Shaded Pergola, her new work of short poetry which features her original
illustrations, was recently published by Tropaeum Press. A resident
of New York City, Ms. Traganas enjoys a varied career as a Juilliard-trained
concert pianist & composer, activities that have earned her accolades from
the international press.
https://www.elenitraganas.com
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