The University of Corporeal and Ethereal Studies by Wolfgang Edwards

Author:Wolfgang Edwards [Edwards, Wolfgang]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BookBaby
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Prisoner from Beyond

When I was a child my eldest sister told me that if a butterfly lands on you and you make a wish, the wish comes true.

Twelve years later, on a grassy ridge overlooking a valley, I reached out to a passing butterfly with wings the colours of rain. It landed upon my hand and I asked it for sunshine.

The fluttering little rain shower contemplated my palm for a moment, crawled across my fingers and took off toward a nearby patch of flowers.

Rays of sunlight stabbed through clouds in the late summer sky the day my art project reached its second phase. The naturalists’ almanac promised a sunny day and it was half-right, to the distress of the nervous Curator Kezkatu. We stood along a ridge overlooking a bowl-shaped valley, watching the morning sun shy behind cloud cover as it floated toward its zenith.

Dean Merkea made as much noise as possible, impatiently taking out his pocket watch, clearing his throat with a displeased grumble. His horrid little rat-dog yipped and the man cooed and reassured it with blubbering, doting affection. I cringed, knowing he could not see my expression, only the thick lacework down the back of my checkered dress and the gentle bone comb holding my hair up to relieve me from the heat.

Knee-high wild grass tickled at the gentlemen’s stiff, unused excursion boots. Beneath my skirt I wore leather moccasins tight over my leggings to protect me from rude insects.

“Kezkatu, this new exhibit had better meet or surpass my expectations. I warned you the board would not approve funding such an expensive project for your department. I stuck my neck out, voting in your favour when the other board members were split evenly.” Dean Merkea growled himself out of breath. His tiny monster added a bark for emphasis.

The Dean’s portly midsection and thick, reddish jowls perfectly matched his fierce, weighty temperament. Three sweaty chins overlapped one another in rolls of pink discomfort. I tried to admire the hedonistic decadence of his big, broad form, but could not as I got to know the person within. He reminded me of “Sunk,” a watercolour depicting a bloated, gluttonous corpse drifting among fish, its face still blushing from drink, a bottle clutched in hand, eyes and mouth open in disgust. Bitter scorn to the last. I doubted Dean Merkea had ever seen the brutally morbid artwork or he might have turned a deeper red at the likeness. He reserved all his affection for the nasty, spoilt dog, which he was always cradling with a single massive arm, leaving only contempt for the rest of the world.

I would not denigrate the dog for its outward appearance anymore than I would its master. It was endearing that the little creature was the product of centuries of breeding, resulting in something like a golden, curly-haired, demonic weasel. What made it so loathsome was its hateful way of snarling and snapping at anyone except Merkea. At least they suited one another.

The curator – my

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.