100 Days And Nights 1000 Years Ago

Rapidly written micro fictions accompanied by medieval motives found or created in the wayward course of researching a new novel about the dark ages—a part of the 100 Days 2011 project.

June 12th 2011

16 notes |#

Gisela felt terrified by fairy tales about other princesses. None of her girlfriends at the convent shared this torment. She was the only true princess among them. The tales were much easier on the average high born and on the commoner. They were hard on witches and wicked stepmothers. She prayed that God would not turn her into a wicked stepmother. She wouldn’t mind some of the magical powers of witches though. A charm to get out of work. A charm to hide a pimple or make it appear as a birth mark. She blushed, not because of the heresy of her thoughts but because she felt how meagre and limited her fantasies were: get out of work? Hide a pimple? As a witch, she could do better than that: make her grumpy father a happy man. Answer mother’s prayers. Turn the whole convent into a fun fair. Bring the heathens to their knees so that they took the body of the Lord in their foul mouths and drank His instead of their enemies’ blood. Laugh into the face of an evil witch who gave you a poisoned apple. Swim at the bottom of a lake and shake hands with the wild green man who lived there. – The abbess was wicked and wise at once. Everyone knew she slept with the choirmaster: this happened every day after Nocturns when nuns and novices made ready for bed and were dozy from lack of sleep and the day’s hard work. Gisela knew because her cell lay at the end of the corridor leading to the abbess’ quarters and because, at some point of their lovemaking, the abbess and the choirmaster would chant together in high tones. Muffled, supposedly, by the heavy bedspread given to the abbey by her own father showing himself and her mother surrounded by naked angels with trumpets. Perhaps the bedspread itself was charmed and made them do whatever they did? It surely was good for them and for the whole convent: when the choirmaster was away, the abbess’ face turned gray and she seemed suddenly aged. She was moody then and unfair, a wicked stepmother. Whatever the singing sorcerer gave her was a powerful potion.

#23/100 Days 2011. Photo: drawing by Taffimai: “The Delicacy Of Hands.”

Posted at 12:51pm and tagged with: abbess, convent, fairy tale, gisela, love, potion, sex, stepmother, witch, Taffimai,.

Gisela felt terrified by fairy tales about other princesses. None of her girlfriends at the convent shared this torment. She was the only true princess among them. The tales were much easier on the average high born and on the commoner. They were hard on witches and wicked stepmothers. She prayed that God would not turn her into a wicked stepmother. She wouldn’t mind some of the magical powers of witches though. A charm to get out of work. A charm to hide a pimple or make it appear as a birth mark. She blushed, not because of the heresy of her thoughts but because she felt how meagre and limited her fantasies were: get out of work? Hide a pimple? As a witch, she could do better than that: make her grumpy father a happy man. Answer mother’s prayers. Turn the whole convent into a fun fair. Bring the heathens to their knees so that they took the body of the Lord in their foul mouths and drank His instead of their enemies’ blood. Laugh into the face of an evil witch who gave you a poisoned apple. Swim at the bottom of a lake and shake hands with the wild green man who lived there. – The abbess was wicked and wise at once. Everyone knew she slept with the choirmaster: this happened every day after Nocturns when nuns and novices made ready for bed and were dozy from lack of sleep and the day’s hard work. Gisela knew because her cell lay at the end of the corridor leading to the abbess’ quarters and because, at some point of their lovemaking, the abbess and the choirmaster would chant together in high tones. Muffled, supposedly, by the heavy bedspread given to the abbey by her own father showing himself and her mother surrounded by naked angels with trumpets. Perhaps the bedspread itself was charmed and made them do whatever they did? It surely was good for them and for the whole convent: when the choirmaster was away, the abbess’ face turned gray and she seemed suddenly aged. She was moody then and unfair, a wicked stepmother. Whatever the singing sorcerer gave her was a powerful potion. #23/100 Days 2011. Photo: drawing by Taffimai: “The Delicacy Of Hands.”

May 31st 2011

1 note |#

In her mind, Gisela composed a list of things to do every day, but she could not come up with more than three items and they all related to fowl: Using that good energy of the morning to sing with the birds. Saying hello to the snappish chicken in the yard even if they don’t talk back. Waving at the sparrow hawk over the field behind the king’s garden. – Then she wondered why. “Sing for me, little one,” her mother used to say. Her two older brothers seemed mute and deaf when they were with her: she didn’t even seem to register with them. It was only natural that she should join a convent as soon as she could hold a needle. The sparrow hawk was the most mysterious of the three. She imagined how the wind liked to ruffle his feathers. How he could go anywhere if he wanted to, how he didn’t take orders from anyone… It was odd and magical that anything flew through the air at all! How much foresight the creator had shown to give people something to look at in all directions. To provide song even for the trees and hills, to let everyone have a mood and to paint freedom on the sky with the flight of a raptor. “It’ll give you an edge in the world,” her mother said, “and it’s the same convent I went to: they’ll recognize me in you and the mother superior is a good friend.” – “But it’s all work, no play,” said Gisela. Mother said that nowhere needlework was taught as in Dargun: the place was so far from anywhere, all they had was craft and prayer. Surely they sang, Gisela thought, just different songs, not bird song but god song. A higher form of singing for sure. She peeped: “tshilp, tshilp, tshilp.” One had to peep while one could peep.


#11/100 Days 2011. Photo: Sparrowhawk. ( © Koninklijke Bibliotheek)

Posted at 9:36pm and tagged with: bird, brothers, convent, freedom, gisela, milan, mother, play, prayer, sparrowhawk,.

In her mind, Gisela composed a list of things to do every day, but she could not come up with more than three items and they all related to fowl: Using that good energy of the morning to sing with the birds. Saying hello to the snappish chicken in the yard even if they don’t talk back. Waving at the sparrow hawk over the field behind the king’s garden. – Then she wondered why. “Sing for me, little one,” her mother used to say. Her two older brothers seemed mute and deaf when they were with her: she didn’t even seem to register with them. It was only natural that she should join a convent as soon as she could hold a needle. The sparrow hawk was the most mysterious of the three. She imagined how the wind liked to ruffle his feathers. How he could go anywhere if he wanted to, how he didn’t take orders from anyone… It was odd and magical that anything flew through the air at all! How much foresight the creator had shown to give people something to look at in all directions. To provide song even for the trees and hills, to let everyone have a mood and to paint freedom on the sky with the flight of a raptor. “It’ll give you an edge in the world,” her mother said, “and it’s the same convent I went to: they’ll recognize me in you and the mother superior is a good friend.” – “But it’s all work, no play,” said Gisela. Mother said that nowhere needlework was taught as in Dargun: the place was so far from anywhere, all they had was craft and prayer. Surely they sang, Gisela thought, just different songs, not bird song but god song. A higher form of singing for sure. She peeped: “tshilp, tshilp, tshilp.” One had to peep while one could peep. #11/100 Days 2011. Photo: Sparrowhawk. ( © Koninklijke Bibliotheek)