Chaos in Paradise Read online

  “How can I love anyone as much as you?” he says, shaking his head in awe.

  “So have you purified me?” I ask.

  The expression on his face turn is startled. “Why would you say that?”

  “Isn’t that what they do to bad women here?”

  “Not and fuck them afterwards,” he reminds me.

  “Oh, then I guess I’ll remain a common whore, doing vile and illegal acts.”

  I run my hand down his back, then feel the hair on his nude thigh. Makes me tingle in my cunt. His cock is soft and his balls squishy beneath them, but fondling them, I sense his organ pulse.

  “You’re going to be ready for more soon,” I suggest.

  “Twenty minutes, maybe.”

  “Oh, I say now,” I tell him, thinking I’ll go right down and find one delicious nut to caress with my mouth until his erection is standing at attention again.

  “Not now,” he silences me kindly, placing a finger over my lips. “I just need to hold you.”

  Despite the way our bodies are crushed together, perspiration clinging, hair wet, crotches oozing liquidly coupled, I’m feeling loved, every rift in us healed, strangely healed. I think Keven needed to punish me as much as I loved being punished. His calm is even more real. Even his eyes seem to be at peace.

  Chapter Seven

  “So, you’re doing this one yourself, my priest?” Knowland says, grabbing me by the shoulder and pulling me around.

  “Maybe it’s time not to worry about it anymore.”

  “Your woman is having a good effect on you, perhaps?”

  “Maybe?”

  “I see you’re turning close-lipped on me.” His eyes shoot like darts.

  “No, I’m just not in the mood to bare my soul.”

  “All right by me, just don’t go easy on this little tart. Her fiancé is pretty wracked by this slut’s confession.”

  “And I bet there’s more to confess.”

  He’s surprised by my curt words. “You’re looking as surly as I’ve ever seen you. A good look for the Brannoch priest before a confession and purification, a lot like your father. Just don’t get compassionate, lad. The other priests have been giving good purifications while you’ve let your conflicts turn you soft.”

  “I don’t think there will be a problem anymore,” I tell him. I’m sure of it. I don’t really understand why, but Teagan has made a lot of things make sense. And the robes of my office aren’t weighing quite so heavily on me now. I have a lot of sins to listen to today and I’m not even worried that there is no one to listen to mine.

  ***

  The streets are filled with people. I’ve never seen such crowds in the North. Mariel told me it gets like this on confession day, everyone seems to come to market. I suppose that’s practical—kill two birds with one stone. Everywhere I turn I’m bumping into people with baskets of summer fruit. The plums and apricots have been plentiful this year, and there are now peaches looking like the soft rosy faces of children bouncing against each other inside these overflowing cartons. There is joy and sadness on the faces. I think the women should be particularly sober today, at least those with sins to confess, but there seems to be as much laughter as there is fear. I wonder what it would be like to bare my soul for a strange man of such stature as the Brannoch priest. I wonder if I’d just laugh in his face at the absurdity of this ritual. I imagine that is why I’ve stayed away from this spectacle since I’ve been here. Oh, then too, I sometimes get this funny feeling that if I come to market on this day, my crimes will be written all over my whorish body and I’ll be arrested, suddenly made accountable for my actions in the Utopian manner.

  I’m here today only because I want to speak for Mariel, that is if I can get that close to her priest.

  There’s a crowd of people at the great chapel door, and one by one I see women slip through the entrance. Some are laughing, other have grim faces. I trust their broad ass ends will be screaming with heat by the time they have been purified. Will they feel that same tightness I’m feeling now from Keven’s leather as they walk home beside their husbands? Will their walk be proud then, or will they continue to hang their heads penitently?

  Along the stone walk leading to the chapel on the hill, the crowd begins to part and much of the rumble of conversation ceases. The priests are coming from their sanctuary in the woods, moving among the people, holding their hands out for those that want to touch them. Their robes are hardly of the majesty that I read of in Cabot’s ancient books. These are ivory white, but old. More like capes than full robes, they cover only their shoulders, hanging down in back and in the front with two long swaths of once rich fabric that reach to their knees. It is enough to designate their status. Otherwise the priests wear brown leathers underneath—an interesting juxtaposition of priestly raiment and the garb of the common man. I’m struck by the patience I see in their eyes, the quality of virtue that seems to accompany them. They must have been bred for this, then I recall that priests are born in this world. Unlike the priests of centuries ago, they may or may not have been touched by God. They have a gritty side I find quite sexual. Of course they would, since these holy men are not celibate.

  The five move steadfastly through the crowd toward the chapel, the last one up the rise seems distinctly apart from the other four. He walks with a determined gait. As his face appears from behind the others, I noticed his keen eyes peering from an alarmingly handsome and purposeful face. He looks as though he has the authority of a king, or an ancient president, or some grand lord like this world has not seen in hundreds of years. I see all this without a second of recognition. Then, for an instant, his eyes meet mine head-on and reality bites me like a rabid dog, leaving me stunned. I freeze. The blood runs cold in my veins. This is my lover, Keven.

  The robe he wears is trimmed in green, otherwise there is nothing to distinguish him from the other priests. Yet, I quake to the marrow of my clattering bones fearing the worst. I know he recognizes my face in the split-second our eyes lock, but he passes me without a change in his solemn expression. His hair is as tousled as when he left me several hours ago, and his face remains as grim as when I first found him waiting for me in my house. I watch him from behind as his hefty woodcutter’s boots trod along the stone path kicking up dust and causing broken pebbles to slide down the hill behind him.

  His shoulders sway with a power that has already climbed inside me a dozen times.

  With a breathless whisper my lips come close to the ear of the tradesman standing next to me. “Who is the man in the green and white robe?”

  He looks at me suspiciously.

  “You from the South or something?

  “I am new, yes.”

  “That is the Brannoch priest. They say he’s hearing a case of pre-marital infidelity today.”

  “The Brannoch priest?” I mumble to myself, though the tradesman thinks I’m still talking to him.

  “He keeps the peace in the North, a man to be revered.”

  “And does he have a wife?” I blurt out, even surprising myself to say it.

  The man smirks, like I’m thinking of becoming that wife—a stupidly ludicrous idea for a vulgar newcomer. “I’ve heard it said that this Brannoch has no lust.” He snickers. “Or then, maybe it’s just that he lusts after men.”

  I feign a shocked look and make my way beyond the burly man toward the chapel. The priests have already entered.

  From some distance yet, I spot Mariel in the crowd with her lanky young fiancé behind her. His face smolders with anger, and his two hands press on my lusty friend’s shoulders. When he pushes her toward the chapel door, she balks, then casts him a meaningful look as though she is wooing him away from his anger with a gentle seduction.

  I can’t hear him speak, but I watch as he mouths, “Go now!”

  Seeing Mariel slip inside the chapel, I move my way between the throng, fighting to get to the door. This crowd is immovable and at such a standstill, I almost think they are locking hands a
gainst me. I’m feeling tousled and torn apart, but I finally make my way to the front, and though I’m sure it is some crime just for me to go inside, I boldly move beyond a door so massive it strains me to open it. I’m not sure now why I’m doing this. My world has been so shaken from its foundations I don’t know whether to cry or scream. To know the man I love has lied to me for months makes me wonder if this isn’t some bizarre dream—any moment I’ll awaken from a restless sleep and realize that it is my mind making up nightmares and the world of my dark fears is playing tricks on me. I find no such relief.

  If I see him, what will I say? My purpose is to speak for Mariel. But how can I now? How can I do anything but confront him with the lie?

  Entering the chapel, I’m surprised to feel a chill hit my face like a blast of winter. Staring about the cold chancel, I look for some sign of where to go, but all I see is another woman hurriedly making her way toward a corridor at the far side of the room. In my confusion, my eyes are drawn upward, to the ceiling rising above me like a canopy. Like the sky, it’s embedded with gold stars and the planets, suggesting celestial mysteries unfolding within this grand church. I think I see those stars above me move. Shaking my head, I shake away the dizziness and look toward the church in front of me. I can just barely see beyond glass doors to the narrow sanctuary, making out the alter some distance down the aisle of benches.

  Not knowing what else to do, I finally follow the path of the disappearing woman, wondering if I’ll find what I’m looking for.

  ***

  The priest’s chair in this confessional is damned uncomfortable. I’ve been complaining to Knowland for years and he just laughs smugly. I think he said once that if I’m going to be a holy man, bodily discomfort shouldn’t bother me. He’s always been an ass.

  The girl Mariel is on her way wearing the penitent woman’s cloth draping from her shoulders. My father should have given up this practice since the sinful woman only looks more sexual wearing these miserable rags. But then, maybe I can take on the attitude of my father. He never let these small things disturb his equanimity or his judgment. I shouldn’t let it get to mine. I do believe in this ritual to keep the peace, if for no other reason.

  Teagan saw me. I’m trying to forget that, but it’s fucking impossible. She was shocked, just as shocked as I was to see her. I should have expected it sooner, but then I kept believing we were living in a world of our own apart from the rest of my life, and the two would simply not meet. I can’t think about her now, I have to focus on my job.

  Mariel Ducheal is a slight one, hardly more than a girl. Though as she enters the confessional I see that her breasts are enough to press against the thin smock. As she kneels before me and lowers her head to the bare ground at my feet, her body moves inside the fabric as though it fits like a glove. She does little to disguise the sexual rhythms of her naturally sensuous body. I give her a blessing as she kisses the dirt.

  “You have a confession, Mariel Ducheal?”

  “I do, Father,” she says, and she rises so I can see her face. Her hands lie limply in her lap as she sits back on her heels. I can hardly see her tremble. I doubt she’s remorseful at all. “I have sinned against my fiancé, and have reported my crime to him.”

  “Explain yourself.”

  “I slept with another man.”

  “Do you realize the importance of this crime?”

  “I do, Father, and I’m prepared to pay for it.”

  “Are there any other crimes you need to confess?”

  She looks at me oddly, surprised by the question.

  “If there is more, Mariel, you’d better tell me now. Once you marry the sin becomes more glaring. To hold back you threaten your purification.”

  She considers for some moments. I have seen this kind of display before and know there’s something behind it. It’s time to be blunt.

  “Tell me now, Mariel,” I insist seeing the faltering look in her eye. I give her the message with extreme kindness, but I give her no way out. I’ve practiced this for thirteen years now and do it well.

  “I have truly been unfaithful only once, but in my heart there are a thousand times I have desired to be willful with my body. I came on the farmer myself, not he on me, as my fiancé might think. I was eager for the man to have sex with me. Oh, Father, I thought I could beat this depravity, but I think my loins long for the purification as much as the sex. I do need that to take away my sin and hope that it will be enough to keep me faithful to my husband.”

  “Is that all?” I ask. Her eyes already tell me there is more.

  “No. No it’s not.” She looks down at the ground while I gaze up to the sky, thankful to see some blue through the skylight. I wish I could feel the breeze on my cheek, this booth is stuffy.

  “Father, I have a friend.” She hesitates, but doesn’t need any prompting to begin again. “A woman from the South that tells me tales about her life there. I must confess these are wicked tales. She’s known many men in many ways, and loves the act of purification for the pain itself. I wonder if I am that kind of woman?”

  “She tells you of her sexual relations?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what do you do when she does this?”

  She blushes. I already know what she’s going to say, not because I’ve heard it before but because in my mind’s eye, I see the scene of her with this woman.

  “I become intimate with my body, my fingers doing things that make me rush with the most …” she stops afraid to tell me the truth. “I give myself pleasure,” she finally gasps, and then bows supplicantly at my feet.

  “Rise up!” I order. Such affectation makes me angry.

  “Do you desire this woman?”

  “Oh, father I do! Most passionately.”

  “Have you made love to her?”

  “Only in my mind.

  “That is all?”

  “Once, yes, she brought her lips to my privates and helped me finish. In truth, she has been more reluctant than me.” I’m surprised how easily she tell me these things.

  “What is the woman’s name.”

  “Must I?”

  “The disclosure you make here is no joke. You do this not just for yourself and your future husband, but for Utopia.”

  “But her name is not important. What would be the point?” Her eyes plead with me. “Would you arrest her?”

  “Mariel, what happens from here is not your worry. But you can be sure that no harm will come to your friend.”

  She thinks a moment longer and licks her lips like a naughty child. She is hardly more than a child, at least in appearance. I think her innocence has put her in jeopardy more than anything. “Her name is Teagan,” she says. “She came from the South eight months ago and now lives in a house near the beach.”

  My eyes close as I prepare for the final blessing. “Is that all?” I manage to ask.

  “That is all,” she says.

  I look on her seeing such blessed artlessness. She’s a simple girl.

  “Do you want to marry your fiancé?” I ask.

  “Oh, Father, I do!” She sounds so passionate, and I think sincere.

  “You are sure?”

  “I am, truly.”

  I almost feel my throat constrict as though I’ll choke on the words, but then they manage to appear with surprising ease. “Your association with the woman, Teagan, will end today. I’m sure her influence on you has contributed to your crimes. Your fiancé will be notified and any further contact with the woman will be construed as a sign of hypocrisy and will be dealt with harshly.” She looks shocked. I think when it comes down to reality, the consequences for evil in Utopia are always met with profound horror. “Your purification will be rendered immediately. Your crime requires that you be bound and a lash applied to your nakedness for an indeterminate time, followed by twelve cuts of a cane. My aide will take you to the purification chamber where you’ll remove the shift and wait for me prostrate on the ground. This is a most solemn moment for you a
nd a defining one. If I should believe that you are not ready for your marriage, to remain in Utopia might require a retraining I’m sure you’d find difficult to endure. Think about that carefully.”

  She bows for me again. The word “retraining” scares her because she knows what it means, if not literally, certainly every little girl in the North has been threatened by the mysterious camps that were once the repository of the most wicked infidels. I scare her purposely, that is my role. Usually I can count on these fallen virgins to mend their ways with just that threat. But with this one, I honestly have doubts. It’s here I think this Utopia of ours is no utopia at all, but a war zone where the human heart wars with reason, and contained sexuality breeds more sin that it saves.

  She exits the confessional in tears, while I prepare myself for my first purification ritual in years. There’s a knock on the door. “Father,” I hear the young priest speaking quietly.

  “Yes.”

  “There’s a woman to see you.”

  “She’ll have to wait.”

  “I’m sure she’ll refuse. She’s here with me now—a plucky one. Says her name is Teagan.”

  “And what is her purpose?”

  “To speak for Mariel Ducheal.”

  I open the door seeing Teagan standing beside my priest, Andres. Her chest heaves with an erotic feel that makes my cock climb inside the leather of my pants—though I’m sure it’s not a sexual passion on her part. Her eyes spew at me angrily.

  “There is no allowance for such things,” I tell them, looking from one to the other.

  “Your women are convicted with no trial at all?” Teagan seethes.

  “They convict themselves,” I say. My heart pounds nervously in my chest, while outwardly I’m sure there’s no sign of it.

  “And you’ll whip her?” she asks.

  “I can’t tell you the nature of her purification, Teagan.” I find myself caressing her name. Looking at her, I strain to maintain my command. Andres is awed by this unprecedented conversation. “Would you leave us for a moment,” I ask him.