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 26th 2011

5 notes |#

Gisela was seriously ill. She was feverish. Her father’s medicus, an old man who was easily overwhelmed and usually drunk, sent for the witches. Gerbert d’Aurillac, her spiritual teacher, shook his bald head. It behooves the girl to go if she must go, he said. His face had no expression though he loved the child. Gerbert was filled with the promise of paradise. The idea of Gisela leaving to join the angels seemed to fit her angelic nature. Imagining her all grown up, with bad skin, rotting teeth, aches all over that would show in her walk, woes that would affect her aura, hurt him. – The witches came. There were two of them,  red-headed twins. They brought tinctures and mixed fresh maggots, palm oil and mangled small creatures, some dried, some dripping with blood, into a bowl to which they then set fire, screaming and muttering loudly, so that Gisela in her high fever stirred and reached out for someone. One witch took her hand and bent down to the girl. The other one danced around the room, holding the bowl up above her head. Gerbert, by the window, shuddered, his mouth contorted. The witch began to twist faster and faster while her twin was talking to Gisela, mumbling to her, marching old holy words straight through the child’s ear into her skull, where they entered the bloodstream and looked for the enemy. The monk’s fingers twitched in the same rhythm and he found himself falling into a trance. He knew it would be dangerous to witness the witches brewing and dancing but there was an energy in it that he’d missed badly since he’d been asked to educate the young princess. Gerbert didn’t even notice when the hags stopped, tucked the girl in, rubbed the concoction on her lips and left for the unseen place they’d come from. Gisela healed quickly thereafter: the fever fell that same night and she asked for solid food the next morning. She had no memory of what had happened but when she bounced on one leg across the meadow in the castle yard, she chanted a little melody that hadn’t been heard in church, an odd melody that made Gerbert’s ears prick up because he sensed the uncanny in it. 

#6/100 Days 2011. Photo: 13th century anatomical illustration showing the circulation of blood, by Theodoric Borgognoni (1205–1298)

Posted at 11:01pm and tagged with: Gisela, Gerbert, witch, blood, healing, angels, paradise, uncanny,.

Gisela was seriously ill. She was feverish. Her father’s medicus, an old man who was easily overwhelmed and usually drunk, sent for the witches. Gerbert d’Aurillac, her spiritual teacher, shook his bald head. It behooves the girl to go if she must go, he said. His face had no expression though he loved the child. Gerbert was filled with the promise of paradise. The idea of Gisela leaving to join the angels seemed to fit her angelic nature. Imagining her all grown up, with bad skin, rotting teeth, aches all over that would show in her walk, woes that would affect her aura, hurt him. – The witches came. There were two of them,  red-headed twins. They brought tinctures and mixed fresh maggots, palm oil and mangled small creatures, some dried, some dripping with blood, into a bowl to which they then set fire, screaming and muttering loudly, so that Gisela in her high fever stirred and reached out for someone. One witch took her hand and bent down to the girl. The other one danced around the room, holding the bowl up above her head. Gerbert, by the window, shuddered, his mouth contorted. The witch began to twist faster and faster while her twin was talking to Gisela, mumbling to her, marching old holy words straight through the child’s ear into her skull, where they entered the bloodstream and looked for the enemy. The monk’s fingers twitched in the same rhythm and he found himself falling into a trance. He knew it would be dangerous to witness the witches brewing and dancing but there was an energy in it that he’d missed badly since he’d been asked to educate the young princess. Gerbert didn’t even notice when the hags stopped, tucked the girl in, rubbed the concoction on her lips and left for the unseen place they’d come from. Gisela healed quickly thereafter: the fever fell that same night and she asked for solid food the next morning. She had no memory of what had happened but when she bounced on one leg across the meadow in the castle yard, she chanted a little melody that hadn’t been heard in church, an odd melody that made Gerbert’s ears prick up because he sensed the uncanny in it.  #6/100 Days 2011. Photo: 13th century anatomical illustration showing the circulation of blood, by Theodoric Borgognoni (1205–1298)