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From: Malinov <malinov@mindless.com>
Subject: {ASS} Flagrante Delicto
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Flagrante Delicto
by Lord Malinov
~~~
The incident had been one of our local legends. Forty years ago,
Joseph Trent, a quiet serious fellow by all accounts, walked
down Twenty Fourth Avenue, the town's main business strip in those
days, and stopped a fellow named Randolph Courlain. According to
witnesses, Trent looked Courlain in the eye, pulled out an old
revolver and shot Courlain through the heart. The bullet went clean
through the body and shattered the window of Migro's Furniture Store.
People screamed and ran into the busy street, stopping traffic.
Trent laid the gun down next to the dead man and pulled out his
wallet. When the fellow who owned the store with the broken window
came running out to see what had happened. Trent said calmly, "I owe
you for the window. Tell me how much." The owner gave a figure and
Trent wrote him a check. The police waited for him to sign the note
before they put cuffs on him and took him away.
I went to the library and read through the string of articles in The
Herald which chronicled the event. Trent refused to say anything
about the murder, except to enter a guilty plea. He wouldn't speak
to his lawyer, his minister or his family. Trent just waited for
judgment, stoic and calm. No relationship could be established
between Trent and Courlain. No one had ever seen them together. It
seemed to me that the investigation had been rather cursory, I guess
because there was nothing to prove. They had a murder, a murderer
and a hundred eye witnesses. Trent was duly executed, hung by the
neck until dead. Some writers speculated about mob connections and
political corruption. Nobody knew.
Maybe forty years ago people knew something about Trent's motive that
no one wrote in the newspaper. I don't know.
I'm an avid reader. I long ago exhausted the resources of our small
public library, and I have neither the resources nor the opportunity
to get into the city often enough to supply myself with the written
fodder my habit requires. A few years back, I found another source
of books and I started my career as a literary vulture. I go to
estate sales and buy boxes of books for three dollars, six dollars,
even ten dollars if it's a big box. I drag my carload of boxes home
and sift through the treasures, splitting them into three piles. One
is for me, the books I'm going to read. There are probably three
books, on the average, in every box deemed interesting enough to feed
my appetite, a bargain at the price. I sort out the serious books,
texts, learned treatises, stuff like that and donate them to the
library. The rest I give to Elizabeth's sister who runs an antique
junk shop off the highway. People who stop by Sally's will buy
almost anything and she needs every penny.
Two weeks ago, I pulled open a big box which I had wrangled for four
fifty and retrieved an old family bible, bound in thin black leather
with faded gold letters embossed on the front. I'd been talking, a
few days before, with Emma at the library about local family
histories and she told me these old bibles were one of the best
sources for that information. This scripture had been presented to
Irene Walker in eighteen twenty two. That didn't mean anything to
me, except that maybe Jess Walker over at the water company might
want to take a look at it. Later, I realized that Irene Walker was
Kathleen Withers' great-great-grandmother. Kathleen Withers became
Katy Trent, wife of Joseph Trent.
Before I placed the bible in a fourth pile, the show to Jess over at
Mills Station pile, I flipped the pages. People sometimes keep
things in books and I am a curious soul. A black dry rose discolored
several pages in Kings. A lock of yellow hair tied in a tiny pink
ribbon was settled in the midst of Isaiah. A grey dance card from
the Governor's Ball, filled in with scrawls of a dozen different
names had been stored in the prophecies of Haggai. Six letters
marked a place in John. The first five were folded together, one
atop the other.
~~
Katy,
I dreamed of you last night, pink blossoms in a bower,
shards of silver moonlight reflecting off the pond. The vision of
your lovely smile sparkles in my thoughts. Everything about today
seems grand and fascinating, all because of you.
I have thought seriously about the things you said yesterday. I will
do nothing to lose you and anything to keep you, but I don't think
there is any reason why we must sacrifice the precious minutes we
steal away. Surely we can dare to capture a few moments of happiness
without risking the honors and duties of respectable living.
Life has treated you hard. Your husband, kind and respectable though
he may be, doesn't give you the love you deserve, the passion and
attention any woman deserves. I can't believe anyone would deny you
the right to be loved. I don't know. But I love you. I can't give
you up.
You have my promise: We shall exercise the greatest caution. We will
take no risks. We will maintain every appearance of respectability,
watching every turn, every hint, every clue. We will show no notice
when we pass on the street. We will give no one any cause to suspect
the love we share.
I would rather sing this ecstasy you have given me from every
mountain top. But I will lock the joy inside my heart, if that is
the only way I can have you.
Love, Randy
P.S. Burn my letters, as I have burned yours. It is the only way.
~~
Katy,
I tremble in anticipation, imagining the joy tomorrow might bring.
Even as I write these words, I shudder in the fear that this vision
of paradise, this shimmer of hope, is nothing more than a mirage
which will vanish as I reach my hands out to touch your soft cheek.
In the three weeks I have known you, since we met in the park, I
have thought of nothing else. Your beauty electrifies me. Your
voice excites me. Sweet memories of the your gentle breath as you
lent me a kiss still perfume my dreams. Katy, my love, I have never
been so taken by a woman in all my life.
We shall be cautious. No one will ever know. I wish, with every
fiber of my being, we could dispense with our secrecy and be in love.
I wish you had never met the tired fellow with his accounts and his
stamp books. I wish . . . tomorrow were here.
Love, Randy
~~
Katy,
The ecstasy of your body runs rampant through my soul. Your beauty,
your flesh, your beauty, your breasts and your hips and your kiss and
your love. If only time had stopped and left me there, deeply
planted in your pink furrow, teasing the gleam in your eye and your
moans. I can smell your damp cunt, the rich scent of you, lavished
so lovingly over my prick and my lips and I wish I could linger
forever in the sound of your delights.
Every image of your body, so naked, so perfect has burned into my
mind and I tease myself in remembering, lift my dick hard in the
thoughts, pure simple memories of your thick reddish nipples on the
swells of your tits, the round hills of your bottom, the curl of your
golden fine hairs. I hunger, madly, my Katy, my love.
Love, Randy
~~
Katy
I cannot bear the disappointment, Katy, love. I have never known
anything so painful in my life, coming so close to you, ready to
devour you with one more step and a pounce and then suddenly finding
the door bolted and shut by pure chance. Aargh. The mad rage echoes
in my cry through the entire valley of this tiny town. Part of me
wanted to insist the boy was nothing, he was too young, to stupid to
notice our coming and going, but I knew at the same time that you
spoke best. I would know no caution for myself. For you, I will
even sacrifice your embrace.
I know I am just cursing the wind when I wish things were different.
I love you so badly, Katy. My soul tears with each heartbeat. I
cannot bear to go on without you, even while I know that I will never
have you.
I would sacrifice everything, for just one kiss.
Love, Randy
~~
Katy,
Your plan is so bold. Can you really be serious?
I know I should not ask such things. I should take whatever you
offer me. But I don't want you to think you must start taking risks
to placate my impatience, when we gain far more in biding our time.
I trust your judgment. If you don't tell me otherwise, I will be at
your house at one. Back door. No one will see me.
Love, Randy
~~
The last letter was in a sealed envelope. The name, "Joseph," was
inscribed on the front. I felt a little guilty as I tore open the
paper.
~~~
Joseph,
I am sorry you opened the door. I would have done anything to stop
you from seeing me that way. Anything, I guess, except what I should
have done. It was all wrong.
I should have learned from your example. You are so strong in
everything. I failed you. I am sorry.
If you'll have me back, if you'll forget what you've seen, if you'll
let me go back to being your wife, I will obey you in all things. No
one will ever know the shame I have brought upon you. I will never
fail you again.
Kathleen
~~
On the page where the letters were found, the following passage was
underlined. The stain of tears smeared the ink in places.
~~~
"He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at
her."
~~~
Malinov
--
Power belongs to those who dare. . . Sapere Aude
--
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