The Year's Best Fantasy and Horror. Fifth Annual Collection
- Автор: Датлоу Эллен, Виндлинг Терри
- Год: 1992
- Язык: английский
- Год: St.Martin’s Press
- Жанр: Ужасы
Электронная книга - «The Year's Best Fantasy and Horror. Fifth Annual Collection». Краткое содержание книги:
She came to her senses and found that she was still standing. Thin spills of blood streamed down her body, pooling on the floor. She touched her stomach. The raw wounds stung but she could not help but run her fingertip along the lines of braille. She read one sentence and could hardly believe that such abomination could possibly exist let alone be described. Her whole body was a record of atrocities so rare and so refined that the mind revolted from the truth of them. How could things like this be permitted to exist in the world? She felt dizzy and could read no more.
“I’m still alive. I’m still alive,” was all she could say. At last, she fell but L’Index was there to catch her.
“Welcome to the Encyclopaedia,” he said, salting her wounds so that they burned exquisitely. “Now you are Entry 207—The Meat Chamber.”
She nodded, recognizing herself, and he led her out of the room and down an unfamiliar corridor. She could feel herself losing consciousness. There was something she had to ask him. That was all she could remember.
“The Chateau,” she said, slurring her words. “Who owns the Chateau?”
“Can’t you guess?” L’Index said.
He brought her into the ballroom, where they were all waiting for her. Hundreds of people were waiting for her. She smiled weakly and said, “What now? Can I please sit down?”
“These gatherings happen only rarely,” L’Index said. “The entire Encyclopaedia is not often assembled together in one place and so our lives take on true meaning only at these moments. I can assure you that what is about to follow will transcend all your previous experiences of physical gratification. For you, this will be the ultimate, most beautiful defilement. I promise.”
He sat her down in a heavy wooden chair.
“I envy you so much,” he said. “I’m only the Index, you see. The mysteries and abominations of the flesh are denied to me.”
He pulled a strap across her arms, tugged it tight and buckled it.
“What are you doing?” she said. “Is this the Punishment Chair? It’s not, is it?” She began to panic now as he clamped her ankles to the legs of the chair. The Encyclopaedia was arranging itself into a circle again. Footsteps sounded down the corridor.
“This is the Chair of Final Submission/’ L’Index said. “Goodbye, my love.”
And he clamped her head back.
“Oh no,” she said. “Wait. Don’t ...”
A clumsy bolt and bit arrangement was thrust into her mouth, chipping a tooth and reducing her words to infantile sobs and gobblings.
The footsteps advanced and the Encyclopaedia parted to make a passage. Shiny steel chinked slyly in a leather bag. L’Index leaned over and whispered in her ear.
“Remember, you may always consult me ...”
She bucked and slammed in the chair but it was fixed to the floor by heavy bolts.
“Oh my sweet,” L’Index said. “Don’t lose heart now. Remember what you were: alone, lonely and discontented. You will never be lonely again.” His breath stank of peppermint and sperm. “Now you can pass into a new world where nothing is forbidden but virtue.”
A bag snapped open. A needle was withdrawn. It rang faintly, eight inches long.
“Give yourself up now to the world of the Braille Encyclopaedia! Knowledge shared only by these few, never communicated. Knowledge gained by sense of touch alone.”
And she finally understood then, just before the needles punctured her eardrums. Her bladder and her bowels let go and the odors of her own chemical wastes were the last things she smelled before they destroyed that sense also. Finally her tongue was amputated and given to the angel to play with.
“Now go,” L’Index said, unheard. There was sadness in his voice. His tragedy was to be forever excluded from the Empire of the Senseless. “Join the Encyclopaedia.”
Released from the chair, The Meat Chamber stumbled into the arms of her fellow entries in the Braille Encyclopaedia. Bodies fell together. Blind hands stroked sensitized skin. They embraced her and licked her wounds and made her welcome.
She screamed for a very long time but only one person there heard her. Finally she stopped, exhausted.
And then she began to read.
And read.
And read.
THE POISONED STORY
Rosario Ferre
Rosario Ferre is a Puerto Rican writer whose first book, Papeles de Pandora, was praised throughout Latin America. She is also the author of two books of essays; a collection of poetry, Fabulas de la garza desangrada; and a novella, Maldito amor. In 1991, the University of Nebraska Press brought out Ferre’s excellent collection The Youngest Doll and Other Stories in an English translation. “The Poisoned Story” comes from this collection, and was also published in Green Cane Juicy Flotsam, a recommended anthology of short stories by Caribbean women published in 1991 by Rutgers University Press.
Ferre, an avid reader of folk and fairy tales, has also published four books of children’s tales based on stories told to her as a child by her nanny. In her essay “The Writer’s Kitchen,” she relates how, after the failure of her first writing attempts, she completed her first successful story, “The Youngest Doll,” by drawing upon these oral narratives of childhood. In the following story, Ferre draws upon the classic fairy-tale theme of conflict between stepmother and child, with a nod to the Arabian tales of A Thousand and One Nights.