The Naked Bull

“Vashon,” she said, a lover’s spent whisper.

“I’m still here” he replied in the dark of the fire.

“Do you believe all witches are evil?”

Vashon swallowed, begged time to ponder, but he was suddenly dry. He dreamt of water. Freshwater, the cool wet dirty taste of fish piss river water. Any water, any answer.

“I don’t know all witches, only one. And from that shadow, the Devil himself would turn.”

Issaquah found this worthy, this dance of tongues.

“And yet, here you are. You truly are fearless.”

“My father would argue reckless. Poulsbo would agree.”

The witch glanced just then beyond Vashon’s shoulder, then to her lover’s eyes, then went on.

“Of course, the very first witch was your God Himself, you know. And why not? Did he not create and set into motion the very spheres whose gravity tugs at our souls and guides our forever disappearing footsteps?” she swallowed more brandy for measure and memory “And if you or I were to perform this miracle before the inquisitors would we not be burnt at the stake with no more than the accusation of an ignorant gnarled finger choosing another demon or another from the crowd of many?”

Vashon reached in his pocket for his mother, and her religion and how he had hated the many ways that sanctimonious church had beguiled her.

“If all is written and our steps are guided, then what use are heaven and hell?” he said, “These are punishments and rewards for acts we commit by choice, yes?”

“For such as you, yes,” she said as though reading from an ancient parchment somewhere within the fire “When Eve seduced you to eat of the tree of knowledge, setting into motion the great circle of mankind, releasing us from the bond of ignorance and Eden itself, did you ever wonder at her plan?”

“Who can know the intent of a woman, yes? Perhaps it was love, or ego, or that she just wanted to fuck.”

Issaquah huffed.

“Is that what you believe I was after when I sought you in Pamplona? For a fuck? Or why I have summoned you here? To lick my crotch?”

Vashon made no reply.

Issaquah turned to him.

“Vashon, look at me.”

He turned his head, realizing he had been staring at a bloody empty chair the whole time, oblivious, as if carrying on some internal dialogue with his demon. He met her gaze and was once again smitten by her great beauty, her impeccable countenance; Strong, unmoving. He felt a sort of kinship just then.

Vashon loathed fear: he would not accept it of himself and refused to suffer it in others. But now he saw for the first time something else, something tragic, almost needful.

“Vashon, Mukilteo is a dream, my dream. A dream I created. And now you are part of this bright defile.”

“I have my own dreams, lady. And I have not completely forgotten time.”

“Oh, but we do dream together, you and I, my Naked Bull,” she said, and then, growing thoughtful, added “Time. Yes, quite to the crux. It should be of no concern to you what I would do with a mermaid for I have given experience. The question is, what would you do?”

Vashon rested, the mental onslaught taxing. He realized his muscles had been taught for some time, and so he stood, stretching his legs and taking a few steps. This felt good, he couldn’t remember having taken a breath for some time. Issaquah walked to the small table and tray holding the decanter. Picking up the glass Vashon had not cared for in Pamplona, she offered it again to him.

This time he did not refuse.

Then, raising it to his lips, he sought her eyes, and sipped slowly, for the first time wondering where they were going.

“Haven’t much considered it. They do not exist. Not in the oceans I swim.”

“Your oceans?” she said “Well said my man! Our worlds are not so different. You are a traveler, an outcast by your own design. I will give you a taste of my exile, to compare our fair misery. Then you will know of how we differ not, for I once told you I was a long way from home. You recall, my love?”

“I remember. When I saw you here tonight, I guessed you had meant Mukilteo.”

“Oh, no my love. It is far, far from this place. This is but a summer home for me, one might say in your vernacular. And though one might say metaphorically I have spent many a summer here, I discovered Mukilteo quite by accident, or Sumner might argue, by a neglected prophecy, long ago. Before the white men came; before your great Emerald city was a mere logging camp with a shitty little name: Duwamps. Seriously! What type of idiot names a city Duwamps?” she said, allowing her words to sink in, waiting for Vashon to ask the inevitable question, which he did.

“Is it your magic that keeps you alive? Or have you discovered the fountain of youth here?” he asked

“Yes, my love, exactly! Though not here first. No, no. Mukilteo came later. Much, much later. When the world of men had all but forgotten the first bride of Adam and was much too busy with politics and religion and who should die and for what good reason. Hah! Reason and humanity! Balance those on your tongue if you care to try!”

The witch gathered her thoughts, then began anew.

“But I speak now of the demon that animates this beauty, that which I am, much as the one you discovered within you tonight,” she said. Vashon felt exposed then, with thought to protest. But the demon was there, though he had only just acknowledged it, and always had been. And now that it was free it spoke to him; exposed truths in whispers and words where there was no need to question, only attend.

Her voice, her testament, was beyond reproach. Vashon fought to remain the skeptic, yet there was a truth to her tale his soul could not deny.

“At long last I confront you again, my husband. For I am as old as the Earth; as fair and as dark as the sun and the moon that warms and amazes and then leaves one in darkness. I have as many names as would anyone who has experienced each and every culture and custom, language and faith, every smile and tear that any face of man has ever produced and the reason therefore, from the very moment that mankind stepped outside of ignorance and became aware that he was naked and stupid and lost.

“I have walked the Earth since Earth there was. Picking up pieces, teaching at times and, indeed yes, learning the dark arts from any shaman or brujo I came upon, for the flesh is weak and gives in readily for a mere night’s pleasure. I learned many ways to extend the physical existence. Sometimes in the same body, at times in another.”

“All this for immortality?” asked Vashon “There are worse things than death, to be sure.”

Issaquah looked hard at Vashon, her face displaying the look of intrigue he had not witnessed on her until now.

“Yes, quite! You are wise beyond your years,” Issaquah quivered, a shiver in her spine. “Death is a mercy, is it not? A haven that has eluded me since the dawn of creation. You, on the other hand, can amount a great mountain of spiritual debt, karma, as it were, in the short span of a lifetime, then escape the hangman for the gallows.”

“Then hell, and heaven?”

“Oh yes, the price of the heavy heart, weighed Anubis,” she said, “Fodder for another conversation,” she sipped at her brandy, savored the mental waltz, the traipse through the high country. “Do tell me the answer to your riddle, my love. You have come this far, do not stop now. Share with me that which might be worse than oblivion”

Vashon contemplated this. The answers abounded, yet there were those that cut most near to the bone. Before he could begin, she added, “Do not bother with guilt, which we both will agree is emotional masturbation, even when necessary and therein dignified,” she said.

“Four nails, wrists and ankles, yes?”

“Yes. Precisely,” Issaquah agreed “Please, do go on.”

Vashon sat up, taking the bait. There was so much to say to someone who truly listened.

“Then I would say, first and foremost, to be abandoned utterly. To be forgotten, ignored by those you truly love and believed in your heart of hearts returned the gesture.”

“Oh, but your words would pull tears from Sumner’s eyes.”

Vashon left this undisturbed.

“Worse still, disillusion; a hero brought down and exposed for his pitiful self.”

“Yes, yes! Oh, but where is the old bastard?” agreed the witch, sitting up from her lounge, moving ever closer to the edge of her seat. Vashon noticed the fire dwindling and a sudden chill in the air. He rose and tossed two more fags in, grabbed the poker and maneuvered them into position, then turned and looked down at the brandy in his glass. She waited, expecting, desiring what might come next. Vashon did not disappoint.

“I must throw old age on the fire,” he said finally, bringing a satisfied smile to her yet again as he went on.

“To become old and of no use. A disgusting hindrance, to be endured, to pray that you give up the ghost before being spoon-fed another toothless mouthful, a loved one or stranger wiping a flatulent ass.”

He sat down, looking back towards the fire. Issaquah, satisfied Vashon was well in the trenches with her, continued her tale.

“You may be amused, but it was not for myself, not at first. For there were a very few mortals, a number I yet have fingers to count, who I grew quite attached to. You laugh, but I do own a heart, dark at times, yes. But a heart just the same. And after watching so many wither and die, leaving me alone yet again. Yet, by the time I discovered the secret of the mermaid, in a land called Edu, what you now call Japan, I had grown quite fond of this particular vessel, this version of myself. And so, with my new-found enchantment, I decided to reside in it for as long as, humanly (quick grin) possible.”

“So, you are saying mermaids somehow make you immortal?”

“Vashon, I am immortal, as are you though you do not remember. The meat of the Ningyo merely preserves this body that you, and I, are infatuated with. If I am to walk amongst mankind, then why not as this? There are many things I am unable to savor in my ethereal form, which I have grown quite fond of, the taste of brandy, the feel of flesh. And these strange emotions that elude my eternal self, though at times more vexing than joyful, as you must agree, I have become quite supremely addicted to.”

“And Mukilteo. Why here?”

“Yes, again yes. You follow my thread well, my love of old. I expected no less,” she said, and poured herself more brandy and drank. Vashon admired her supple throat as she swallowed, jealous of the glass that touched her lips. He sat down in his chair. Issaquah sat in the congealing gore of the other, completely aloof, so deep was she in her tale.

“But first allow me to intrigue you, whet your appetite as it were, with a caricature of my existence, or the tale of Mukilteo will lose all context.”

Vashon settled back to listen. He watched her grow animated, near giddy as she had at long last found her audience. She appeared a person who had wanted to tell her story for eternity and had at long last discovered a worthy listener. And so, she began.

“Let us not begin at the beginning. A tale of remembrance for another when you came back to me,” she searched fervently in his eyes, confident it was not there, not yet “For that would take lifetimes to reiterate, nor indulge in every detail of my journey for the same reason. But as I must introduce myself properly, I will instead begin when the animals that would be one day known as man crawled out of his reeking and infested cave saw me. I had possessed the flesh at random, ever since my original form withered and fell away.

When I appeared to these creatures, I was not the woman you see before you, but another less womanlike, more animal, yet alluring to these savage apes. I would not, at first, allow them to touch me, which confused and incited them. Frustration is a primal emotion. You might have enjoyed life then, my love, for feelings were then worn, as you say, on the sleeve. There was no hiding behind modesty or social etiquette; there were no delusions of morality or remorse. Only the cold hard truth on the end of a fork. Taste it, chew it, Vashon! Is the blood of brutal honesty not delicious? How I have choked, laughing at the masks of mankind.”

Vashon found a contradiction in her patronizing mockery.

“And you? Shall I count all those I have witnessed in our short time together?”

“Short time? Oh, but yes! More pleasures of the flesh, the constantly shifting sand of appearances, facades, the art of the many faces. This is an acquired talent, yes? The bedclothes of the truth and the lie, and all the flesh that wiggle between.”

The witch’s arms whirled in the light of the fire.

“Stop me if I digress, would you, my love? I have so much to say while I have you, this time around.”

Vashon acquiesced. Issaquah sipped, then went on.

“They worshiped me, as they worshiped wind and rain, fire and water. And pain, and pleasure. In this there was the evolution of the ego which could be considered pure survival, in other words, optimism. Without this you would never drag your ugly ass out of bed or raise a fork to your mouth. For what would be the point? But I had that fire, that burning lust for what not one living being understood but admired and sought as men have throughout the millennia: Emotion, passion, understanding and strength. I had teeth, Vashon, and the spine to use them.”

“I learned and understood the forces of nature which are as the beach and tide of your God, and the nature of man, which was, and is, his sandcastle. And I watched as mankind left the cave and built the mighty walls and Ziggurats and Pyramids and lived and died and promised and lied and became nothing more, century after century, than what he originally was: A pathetic, untrustworthy creature, destined to failure and ruin. A bastard child perpetually sobbing to the infinite sky to give him more than he already had. And was life itself not enough? I remember a time when flesh was no more than a dream. Now this? And at every turn, no matter how many times I crawled to my feet, or raised the bowl to my mouth, I became more disillusioned with all that I beheld.”

Vashon voiced an itch.

“And your problem was? You speak as a child, or a woman who has everything and still wants more.”

Issaquah’s eyes rambled side to side, the interruption a mosquito, though quite to the crux. Her face exploded.

“My God! My problem was my fucking God! Where in hell was he? Was I so disgusting? So repulsive that even the sky that I fell from…” she dribbled as she shook, her open eyes envisioning a wretched, wicked time. Vashon cast his eyes away, allowing the woman a brief moment of weakness. Issaquah gathered herself and arched her back, Vashon watched as her breasts indulged their simple curtain.

“After a time, they came to me to save them, for I had knowledge far beyond anything, any understanding that was available at that time, or this, for that matter. And those that did not seek help sought to destroy me, for had I not become a deity on Earth? And is mankind not measured by the Gods he dispenses and replaces with himself?” she said and paused.

Vashon had been sipping his glass, watching her, assimilating all she was disseminating. She picked up the decanter and held it aloft. He held out his glass and she filled it, then continued her tale.

“I smelt their fear and knew their filthy thoughts, yet held them up one by one just the same, being half flesh and blood and feeling the pain that all men and beasts felt and so helped them and was known as a seer, a healer, a “good witch.” Yet my eyes grew black with the sight and smell and noise of man.

Early one morning, not so very long ago, as the wheel turns, I lay in my tent, traveling the silk road.

I was held in high regard for my healing skills, as well as my abilities to divine the weather, the presence of danger, which enabled me to travel far and wide at my whim. You and I are not so very different, are we? The caravan was made up of, among others, Japanese merchants, returning to Edu. We were escorted by Roman mercenaries, a defense against the constant onslaught of bloodthirsty bandits.

I shared my mat, when this body had need, with a particularly virile legionnaire. He was strong and, for his day, attractive, though his hairy back disgusted me. He was as dumb as an anchor. But as his tongue was busy attending to my needs, we had little to talk about. Strange, I do not remember his name, only the shape of his cock. Whenever erect it tended, to an obscene degree, to his right side, which I thought strange, as he was surely left-handed. I inquired about this once, as the oddity tasked me. His answer was as simple as his mind: his right hand was softer, as he used his left to hold his horses’ reins and wield his sword. It always has been about the little things, yes?

The Japanese called me ‘Miko,’ their word for shaman. As I was the only one who spoke their language, for I speak all the tongues of man, we enjoyed many conversations, and I learned all I could of what I did not already know of their culture. Mankind never ceases to amaze me with your innovations, be they scientific or superstitious.

One man, Shiatoru, whose blood I now wear, seemingly the youngest, impressed me with his character. The way he spoke or held his tongue, something you call tact, which most humans are in short supply of, then as now. I could see his soul, see that he was much older than his young body and face portrayed. I inquired about this more than once. He was most elusive, but once I cornered him alone, he was quite unable to withstand my artful interrogation. I touched him in places he had never been touched, made him feel things he had never felt, and when he could stand it no more, I stopped and asked his age one final time. Quivering, on the verge of his first woman-initiated orgasm, he confided he was over two centuries old. Imagine that, a two-hundred-year-old virgin! Have you ever heard anything so miserably tearful?”

Vashon frowned, imagining the hell of such epic abstinence.

“Then I learned the legend of the Ningyo and the reality as well. For he had indeed eaten the meat, though he had been warned against it, and had watched his family, his wife, his children all grow old and die before him, while he remained young. The people of his village became suspicious and then, fearing sorcery, drove him away. He became a traveling merchant, never staying anywhere or with anyone for any length of time, not unlike myself. For we do get bored easily, you and I, yes?”

Vashon sat, and listened.

“I became companions with him and taught him to be a decent lover as well. I needed something of him, beyond sex, though beyond said he could not see. In my bed, as he lay sweating and satisfied, I suggested he take me back to his village, to show me where they had caught the mysterious fish. He screamed in horror at first, believing he would be burned alive should he ever show his face. But little by little I wore him down, stroke by stroke, convincing him that after all those years, there could not possibly be anyone still alive that remembered him. And so when we reached the coast, I left my Romans, much to their dismay and sailed to a land I had never seen in the garb of a human, the land of the rising sun.”

Vashon thought of Elliott just then and figured he must be wondering what had happened. But this would not be the first time he had left his comrade hanging, and so left it at that. It was late, the fire and the brandy were mesmerizing, the witch’s tale entrancing. And then there was Issaquah herself. She never seemed to tire, never had to piss, never wanted to eat. Even if half of what she said about her eternal being were true, it was a human body she inhabited with human needs.

“Again, I must take some rather large leaps throughout my journey. Our travels over the silk road, across the Sea of Japan, and through that archipelago on our way to my Shiatoru’s village was indeed an epic in itself. Another time perhaps, for I am so looking forward to more nights with you, my Naked Bull.”

She waited for Vashon to give some reaction. He sat still, returning her gaze, committing to nothing. Noting his defiance, she gave a dismissive puff of air through flared nostrils and pushed on.

“It did not take long for Shiatoru to locate the descendants of his long dead family and to convince them, with my advice, that he was a distant relative of theirs, come to visit. His resemblance was telling, his knowledge of the family tree unquestionable. I, to make matters simple, was his wife, and as I kept my face down, and my clothes on, was accepted without question.

The village and its folk were serene as watercolor on rice paper. Yet it was not without menace: Chinese pirate ships frequented the waters and came onshore occasionally to take what they needed: Animals, rice, water, women and men at times. Though never enough to cause a war, as if the villagers had that ability. They always left the place intact, mostly, for they knew they would return again in need. The men would grumble and curse, the woman and children cry. A garden tended by sheep. I had seen it all before, so many, many times.

Day after day Shiatoru would go out with the men, insisting he would work for our food, while I played obediently and performed the chores of the good wife, in this way learning, through the constant banter of the womenfolk, of their simple ways, their hopes and dreams, gods and demons. I was much amused to even hear tales of myself, my terrible appetite for children, their spells to ward me off.”

Vashon interjected just then.

“Was any of it true? Were you, are you, the demon they feared?”

Issaquah chose her next words with her plans for him well in mind. Of this, Vashon had no doubt.

“I judge you on the grounds that you are a man, and men are weak and most unworthy of my audience. I suffer their presence only to suit my appetites. However, I allow that you do display some redeeming value and have been, thus far, worthy company. Make no mistake my love, for I am a despot and choose my companions wisely. I would only ask that you give me the same measure, and listen to my petition, for I rarely offer it. Then you may decide me demon or goddess.”

“I’m still here,” he repeated.

Issaquah continued.

“After gaining the trust of his extended family, Shiatoru began, gently and in passing, to make inquiries concerning our main objective, the elusive Ningyo. He informed me that they indeed had seen them, though rarely, caught in their nets. They were always released unharmed as they were considered bad omens, and to find one washed up on shore portended a violent and destructive storm. He asked them if they had ever considered keeping one, of eating it. They looked at him as if he were crazy, and there the conversation ended.

But I had come too far to be denied. As each day passed and I experienced the turning of the great mortal wheel, as I watched the old ones bent and toothless, blind or deaf, my impatience grew. Shiatoru recognized this and began to worry, for am I not an unpleasant bitch to be around when I do not get what I want?”

There was a warning there in the look she gave Vashon just then.

This was not wasted on him.