Jeux
d’avril
Cleїs and her guests were seated at an
enormous round table. All were women in their twenties and thirties, but they
were dressed in extravagant silk creations of an earlier, pre-revolutionary
era. The clothes shimmered with precious metals, the revealed flesh bedecked
with ivory pearls and fine golden latticework. The place settings sought to
compete with the calm elegance of the Ancien
Régime and the youthful high spirits of the women. Champagne had already
been served, and now the waiting men brought silver tureens of kedgeree, and
from behind each seat gently ladled the golden, steaming rice mixture onto
spectacular plates. At the same moment, with even greater delicacy, they pinned
a paper fish to the back of each dress; all that is, save the host’s. The
princess could hardly contain her laughter as the men completed the task, and
had to press the heavy champagne flute against her lips to avoid alerting her
companions to the trick.
Frank shut the French windows. The
shrill humour of the ladies distracted him from his painstaking annotation of
the details of Katt. He had promised Cleїs
a result by Sunday, and indeed on Sunday he had taken the crucial step. He had,
however, recognised the princess’s love for the marmalade cat, and so spared
her the experience of seeing him bleed it out into the nutriment. He stirred
the black liquid. The two cat bodies curled around each other and turned like
yin and yang: the one vividly orange, the other a yellowing grey. He removed
the grey now, dropping it into a wheelbarrow and covering it with a tarpaulin
in case the princess or one of her guests should come onto the balcony.
Experiments with insects had assured
him that the new cat would waken, but he was unsure when this renaissance would
happen. Beetles took on average 30 hours to show signs of life. He assumed the
number of cells in the subject was the deciding factor, and a cat had far more
cells than a beetle. However, the blood systems were completely different, and
the beetle had an exoskeleton that could delay the absorption. It was now
approaching 1 pm on Thursday. Frank had to admit that he was experiencing the
discomfort of impatience. The orange island turned slowly and lodged against
the side of the tank. Frank made a note of the time in his log and returned to
the main room.
The laughter had subsided, which was
calming. Frank liked silence.
Human silence.
Frank needed the tiny sounds of the
massive progress of geological time: the creaking of continental plates, the
shifting of ancient dust, the turning of bacteria in old wood. Arctic wind and
waves and Sami whispers.
Now he heard a female voice uttering
quiet open vowels in a language which belonged to no nation. He glanced into
the dining room and found it deserted; the plates still splashed with kedgeree
and the champagne still hissing in the flutes. He moved towards the withdrawing
room and found the source of the voiced breath. One of the women seemed to be
praying to her pearls, which slipped like a rosary between her fingers, and
then, unlike a rosary, between her parted lips. Meanwhile the others stroked
her hair, breasts and shoulders as Cleїs kissed her dark triangle and then
parted the lower lips with her tongue. The gentle penetration seemed a signal
to the others, who now let fingers slide into the finest brocade and hence to
the cunts and asses barely concealed beneath.
Frank felt cleansed by the limitations
and sincerity of the physical acts he witnessed. They were simple and pure:
decorative even; nothing like the pagan rutting of his parents on the
permafrost. Neither were they like his own brief but intense ecstasies,
obtained as he accepted the burning semen into his porcelain body, and felt his
own cooling between his flat stomach and the surface against which he was
pressed.
He turned his back on the confection
of pink and pearl. His mood was lifted, even spiritual, and he took a long
mouthful of slightly fizzing champagne before returning to the balcony. The cat
rubbed itself against his leg and mewed its hunger. Frank lifted his marmalade
child and looked deep into its still, seeking eyes. He knew he should note the
time of awakening, but it would now be but a rough estimate. The final part was
much, much more important. What he needed was in the withdrawing room, and he
was not to be delayed by respect for the acts of wild tribadism that were
taking place within. Keeping the cat firmly pressed to his chest he stepped
over the writhing bodies and gently used his free hand to move a slender foot
from the door of the cabinet which held the cameo.
Cleїs was amazed to feel her face
being firmly pulled away from the spread buttocks of her prize guest, although
that place was instantly invaded by the tongue of another daughter of the
aristocracy. Cleїs sat utterly still and unaware of the sounds and movements
behind her as Frank silently placed the cat upon her naked lap. She let her
hands rest against each flank as he revealed the cameo; and as he did the cat
curled and slept in her arms.
“Vous
aurez votre petite fille,” he whispered. She smiled. The lovers beyond
sighed their assent in a unison shudder of satisfaction, like a terrible,
rumbling, feline purr.
