Other Kingdoms by Richard Matheson

Author:Richard Matheson
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
Tags: 1910-1936, England, Americans - England, Fantasy fiction, Fairies, Contemporary, Magic realism (Literature), General, Romance, Fantasy, Romantic suspense fiction, Great Britain, Suspense, Great Britain - History - George V, Historical, Americans, Fiction
ISBN: 9780765327680
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2011-03-01T00:35:23+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

Good God. The first two words to emerge from my smitten head. Our child? Somehow that seemed to alter everything. Where had fury gone? What rant was remaining? None. I stared at her in stricken muteness.

Then I said—I muttered, “Our child?”

“Alex,” she said. Was that a smile despite the tears? “We’ve … coupled quite a number of times. Without protection of any kind. Does it surprise you that I finally became with child?” (I believe the word “pregnant” wasn’t in common use back then.)

“Well—” My brain was, by now, completely flustered. “You—” No words took shape. Then, suddenly, the retort sprang. “If you knew that you were—carrying my child, how could you attack me that way?”

“Alex,” she said, her voice losing strength again. “What makes you think that I … attacked you?” The word, apparently, much pained her.

“Well, who else could do it?” I demanded. “Who else has that kind of power?”

She only gazed at me. As though she knew that the answer was already mine.

I guess I slipped up. I should have pursued the angry questioning. Instead, I asked (naïvely, I suspect), “They have such power?”

“And more,” said Magda.

Holy Christ, I thought. Now everything was being thrown back in my face.

“But the exhaustion,” I said, close to protesting now. “The loss of memory. The coldness. The horrible voices. I’d done everything I could to protect me. The primrose pieces around my bed, my pallet. The cast-iron pan. The ashes in the windows. All to stop them. Nothing worked! How could it be faeries, Magda?! How could it be?!”

“Not faeries, Alex,” Magda said. “Just one.”

Oh God, I thought. She almost had me convinced.

But I forged on. Trying desperately to vindicate Ruthana. “Two nights straight?” I persisted, “That hideous old woman doing this to me?!” I pointed forcefully to my beleaguered groin.

Her next words threw me totally.

“Take off your clothes,” she said.

I was unable to reply, my mouth hanging open. Then I managed to rage, “I’m in no condition!”

“Alex,” she cut me off. “I’m not suggesting lovemaking. I want to put some salve on your wounds.”

“Oh,” I said stupidly. Teenagedly. I simply knew no better at the moment.

Thus, obediently, probably sheepishly, I took off all my clothes, assisted by Magda, and stretched out, naked as a battered jaybird, on the kitchen table while Magda retrieved a small jar from a cabinet and undid the cap. “Now,” she said. The way she said it—so businesslike—made me think for a moment or two that the salve-spreading was somehow a dreadful encore to the attacks.

Then as the whitish cream—more than a gelatinous salve—was spread across my chest by Magda’s gentle fingers, I felt the pain diminishing noticeably. And when she applied it to my genitals, my know-nothing organ responded—as it usually did—with no discernment whatever regarding what had happened to it. Magda repressed a smile. “I thought you said you were in no condition to—?” she said. I was in no mood to be teased. “It’s just a reflex,” I mumbled. It sounded absurd.

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