![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jhameiaTitle: The Reconciliation of Cloris and Lisander
Genre: Sequel to Aphra Behn's The Disappointment; 17th century; satire
Theme: Little relationship problems; hilarity
Comments: Originally meant to be a little side project. Most of the references some people might be able to recognize from Milton.
Glad it coincides with the general coming of summer. Merry Beltaine to other pagans out there!
Oh, and it's a little long. It's 15 pages in the format I've got here, Times New Roman 12.
I.
She stomped into the chapel, startling the young-ish priest from his contemplation of a bench which had a stain on it.
"Aren't you supposed to be watching sheep?" came the cultured inquiry. "Farmer O’Connor might get angry if he knew you abandoned his sheep."
"He's Irish," she said, as if that was all that mattered.
"Mm."
She seated herself in a chair close to where he was standing, not wishing to disturb his contemplation of the stain.
"And what, may I ask, has caused this mood of general upset?"
"He tried."
"Who, and tried what?"
"Lisander. You know. He tried to - do it."
Brother John gave Cloris a flash of a smile. "Do what?" he asked innocently.
"John," she whined. "You know what. Why do I have to tell you?"
He sighed. "Very well. And?"
"And he didn't."
"O-ho." Brother John beckoned to Cloris. "Come, child, let's have some tea."
Cloris secretly hated tea, but she went anyway because there was no other way she could talk to Brother John. And it was safe with Brother John, fortunately. He had taken a vow of celibacy, and anyway, he was known for inclinations towards pederasty.
At the back of the church was the kitchen with a sturdy table and chairs, into one of which Cloris flung herself into. She curled herself up into the chair, hugging her knees to her chest.
As he put the kettle on the boil, he said, "so when did this happen? Or rather, not happen?"
She shrugged. "A few days ago."
He scowled. "And you didn't tell me? Cloris, you could have-"
"I know. I know," Cloris held up her hands to stop him, but saw the clear mix of disapproval and concern on his face. "I know!"
"Then why didn't you-"
"Becauseitwasn'timportantatthattime," she gritted.
The scowl didn't leave his face, but he threw the leaves into the kettle. "And?"
"And what?"
"What. Happened. That. Night."
She gave him a jejune moue. "He. Well. I don't know."
"What? What does that even mean?"
"He... well... that is to say, we were going to, but then, uhm..."
"Cloris..." John signed again in exasperation. "What have I told you-"
"We didn't! He didn't. That is to say."
John poured the tea into the small teacups on the table. "That is to say...?"
So Cloris said in one breath, "Thatistosayitwasgoingtobereallygoodbutitwasoverforhimbeforeitbeganforme." Then she took a deep breath and two big tears of disappointment welled up in her eyes.
John took a moment to process what she had just said. "Oh. My."
"Yes. Yes. You just sit there, I had nearly, you know, lost my virginity, if it weren't for, well, that, and you can just sit there and say oh you." Her tears rolled down in earnest now. "Whyyyyyy?"
"At least he didn't-"
"I know! But still! He was supposed to!"
John passed her a handkerchief. He was the only person in the entire village known to carry around a clean handkerchief. She wiped her tears and he asked, "so what did you do?"
"I left him."
"Left... him?"
She took a quick deep breath. "All right, I ran away. I didn't know what to do." She sniffled.
John rolled his eyes disbelievingly. "Oh for heaven's sake, Cloris!"
"But it just - you know! Wasn't what I expected! All - cold and clammy and-"
"Still! You should not have run. He is a man."
"Eve ran away from Adam!"
John glowered, knowing where that idea came from. "Just because Milton wrote a version of Genesis does not - make - it - true."
"You say that because you're a royalist."
"Perhaps. But the man is a writer. And all writers are inveterate liars." John lifted his tea to his lips with an indignant look on his face. "Plato's exact words."
Cloris reached for her tea and muttered into her cup, "Plato spoke Greek, not English."
"What was that?"
"Nothing," Cloris said quickly. "Nothing at all."
"And you came to me for advice? You're not being very receptive to it, are you?"
"Because you haven't given me any."
"Oh. Well, here's my advice: go back to him."
"WHAT?" Cloris started up in her chair, spilling tea all over herself. "WHAT?" she shrieked.
"You heard me, Cloris. You owe him that, at the very least."
"I am NOT going back to him!"
"What? Why not?"
"After what he did to me!"
"Oh, for crying out loud. You want him, he wants you; get over it, get back to him and get on with it."
Cloris gave him an injured glare.
"And don't give me the evil eye, either."
"Well, bully for you."
As she stomped out of the church, Brother John stood at the door, fingering his cheek, particularly the angry red mark right in the middle.
"Maybe," he said thoughtfully, "she isn't that kind of girl at all. I'm glad I don't get involved with women."
II.
The youth entered the hovel cautiously, pushing aside a sheaf of herbs hanging down from the ceiling. Contrary to the stories he had heard, the place was peculiarly well-kept, better than most homes he knew - but an old lady who lived by herself surely would have the time to keep clean...
He swung around at the sound of purring, expecting something to jump at him. Instead, a cat was resting peacefully on the windowsill, eyes closed and paws tucked under itself, enjoying the springtime sun.
It wasn't black.
The orange tabby opened ordinary yellow eyes at him, blinked disdainfully and went back to its nap.
Finally, his eyes alighted on a squatting figure in the corner or the room, next to a small cauldron over a small fire. The concoction in it bubbled neither ominously nor cheerfully, but whatever was being cooked smelled good.
He cleared his throat, nervous of her reputation.
"The food is almost ready," the hedge-witch told him. "Bring me three bowls from that table, and we'll eat."
"I'll not bother you long-"
"Three bowls." The old woman stumped to a windowsill, plucked a leaf off a potted plant, stumped back to the pot and threw in the leaf.
Lisander shrugged, feeling no help for it, and went to fetch the bowls. He knelt next to her, handing her bowl after bowl. She called the cat to her with a piercing sound, and it came running; she filled the first bowl and placed it on the ground in front of it. The second bowl, she filled and placed it in front of him, and the third she filled for herself. As she poured, he fetched a small loaf of bread, broke it in half and ate silently with the old woman, watching her with nervous eyes.
When they were done, she said in her raspy voice, "what brings you to the hut of this old witch, hmmm?"
He nearly squeaked, recoiling. Mag was formerly the village midwife, although in recent years, she had gained the reputation of a witch. Brother John scoffed at the superstition, chalking it up to her old age and herbal knowledge. But she still made Lisander nervous, because there were just some things she knew that she shouldn't know...
"I have a - friend who has - a problem..."
"Hm." She tore at her bread and chewed thoughtfully. "And what would this problem be related to?"
"The - uhm, the manhood."
"The manhood, eh? It's not often I get customers asking me to cure their manhood. Usually I'm the one ruining it." She cackled.
Lisander gulped. "Well, it's my friend's problem," he said defensively.
Old Mag smiled genially. "When did this problem come about?"
"A few days ago."
"Mmhmm..." she seemed to go into herself. "And how did it come about?"
"Uh..." Lisander gulped. "He - didn't tell me."
What could he say? Things had been going well but suddenly the forces of passion left him weak? That envious gods decided to make him suffer for some unknown crime? That Cloris-
"Does this have something to do with the shepherdess girl?"
"What! I mean - How, uh, how would I know?" Lisander cringed inwardly. How did she know?
"Girl comes running past my home all crying and upset - you think this old lady can't guess why? Only young men make girlies cry that way."
He began to feel guilty, not for the first time. Cloris running away from him had brought severe doubts of her affection to his mind, but the more he thought about it, the more he kept denying he wanted her, which was a lie. She didn't invite him to her pasture.
Of course, she hadn't said no either.
"So it does," the old woman said, hmphing. "So what happened to you?"
"Ididn'tsayitwasme."
Mag rolled her eyes. "I don't deal with dishonest lads."
"Ireallymeanttosaythatjustasitwasabouttogetgood-" he cut himself short, his face burning. He couldn't believe he was discussing such matters to an old woman, but as it happened, he couldn't think of anybody better to talk to.
Mag gestured with her hand encouragingly, although she seemed to do it out of perverse pleasure than any actual helpfulness. "And then?"
"And then nothing," he snapped.
"If nothing happened, why are you here?"
The woman was a witch, he decided. "That is to say..."
"She nodded sagely. "Yes...?"
"Well..."
"Go on..."
He gave her a look that spoke volumes of his irritation.
"I'm sure you can finish that sentence. You're young. You youth can do anything."
"Um-"
"Short of controlling yourselves, that is."
"Hey! I resent that!"
"Why, was I wrong?"
"Well..."
"See?"
"You're not being helpful."
"Don't deny an old lady her little pleasures." She cackled.
"All right!" he exploded, frustrated at the situation. "I did not accomplish what I meant to do."
"Men never do," Mag sighed.
"That's an unfair statement!"
"Not when it matters. So what did you fail to accomplish?"
Lisander wanted to retort, because he didn't want to reply and he felt the need to defend his sex, but neither retort nor reply were forthcoming.
"Hmmm..." Old Mag tapped her chin thoughtfully, regarding him the way a farmer would regard a fat cow.
"Umm..."
"You tried to seduce her," she accused.
"I! .... yes." His shoulders slumped in defeat. "Well, I failed, if it counts for something," he said moodily.
"So what did she do?"
"She ran away."
"Smart girl."
He rolled his eyes. Women.
"And now you're impotent because of it."
"No! Uh, yes." He seemed to sink lower, and he ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know what to do."
"That's what you get for thinking with what's between your legs, not between your ears."
The mentioned ears began burning. She did not just say that! "What should I do?" he pleaded. "Is there any antidote I could take to cure it?"
"No."
"What do you mean?" He began to panic.
"It's a perfectly natural thing. Don't worry about it."
He gaped at her - she couldn't be that cruel. "What do you mean, don't worry about it! It's caused nothing but humiliation, and you're telling me not to worry about it!"
"Yes, because it's natural." Mag began poking at her fire. "You're young. Sometimes your body doesn't do what your mind tells you to do. Mostly because you are taking orders from the thing between your legs, but you'll learn not to as you grow older."
"So I'm stuck with this until - until my body decides to listen to me?"
Old Mag smiled amiably at him. "Something like that."
"My life is ruined!" Lisander dramatically dropped his head to the ground, groaning.
"Pooh. It'll come back. Usually when you don't expect it. A little like love, except that you'll hate it."
"Hate what? Love?"
"No." Old Mag scowled at his obtuseness.
Lisander lifted his head a little. "So is that your advice?" he demanded. "Simply wait for it to come back?"
"Well, yes, that's the sum of it."
He made another sound of frustration.
"Oh, stop that," she said irritably. "She didn't cut any of it off, did she?"
"Mag!"
"As long as it's all there, it'll come back."
He lay very still on the floor for a while, hoping subconsciously that the old woman could come over and comfort him, and tell him it was all right, because women were good for that, but she didn't and after a while his conscious thoughts turned to Cloris.
Rolling over, he saw her picking up a basket from the floor slowly on account of her bad back. "What do I do about Cloris?"
"What about Cloris?"
"I don't know. Shouldn't I do something?"
"Hrmph. What if she doesn't want to see you anymore?"
"But she can't do that!" he gasped, having never thought about it.
"Of course she can. Who says she can't?"
"But... but I'm the one she loves! She can't not want to see me anymore!"
Old Mag gave him a look that spoke volumes about what she thought of that.
"All right. All right. Then what?"
"First, you stop thinking with your dong. Then, you go back to herding your own sheep. Mind your own business."
"But what about her?"
"You'll just have to wait."
"For?"
Old Mag rubbed her temples. Why, she wondered, did she always have all these young people come to her hut asking stupid questions? She struggled to remember, in the misty webs of her own fading memory, whether she had done the same thing.
"If she really wants you as you say she does," she told him, "she'll come to you."
"She loves me." He didn’t say that with as much conviction as he would have a few days ago, however.
"Bah, what do you young people know about love. Get out of my hut, Lisander, and get back to your sheep."
"So... she doesn't love me?" He began to feel a heaving of disappointment deep inside him.
She shot him a glowering scowl that was so frightening he bolted up from the floor and out the door.
"Hmph." Old Mag stumped over to a chair, eased herself into it and began knitting.
III.
Cloris watched the young man who was sitting despondent on a little knoll not too far away from the little grove she was hiding in.
She turned away to hide behind the tree she had been watching from and took a few deep breaths, pressing her hands over her heart as if she could make it stop thumping so hard. "I can do this. He's only a man, after all. It will be simple. All I have to do is start the conversation." She cleared her throat. "'Hello, Lisander, how are you?'" she said in a sweet voice. "No. No, that won't work, it sounds like I'm mocking him." She cleared her throat again. "'Hi, Lisander, how are you today?'" she said again, in a lighter voice and batting her eyelashes. "No. No. That's so... ridiculous. I'll look like a fool." She sighed heavily, sinking down against the tree and hugging her knees to her chest. "What am I going to *say* to him? I can't possibly pretend nothing happened."
A lamb scampered up to her, bleating right next to her ear and jolting her. "Ssh! Sssh! He'll notice I'm here!" she hissed at the lamb, clamping her hands down on its muzzle, which only made it bleat louder. "Hush! Ssh!"
Lisander swung around on his rock, shouting, "Who's there?" He heard a gasp and leapt up, brandishing his sturdy crook.
Cloris' nose peeped out from behind the tree trunk closest to him. "It's just me." On her hands and knees, she poked her head out to look at him, not knowing what to expect. She lowered her lashes, then quickly looked away in embarrassment.
"Oh." He lowered his crook, turned away from her and sat back down on his rock.
She scrambled up onto her feet and carefully made her way up the knoll, fingers knotted behind her back anxiously. "Hello," she said, leaning forward to see his face.
"Hi." He did not turn around to face her.
She squatted on the ground next to him, biting her lower lip.
"It was a nice day, wasn't it?" she asked desperately, falling back on the age-old small talk.
"Yea. But the sun's going to set in a while."
"It shouldn't be too cold, it's summer."
"No, it won't be, and the fireflies will come out."
"That's nice. That'll be nice, won't it?"
"Yes. Quite nice."
It was very tense in that pasture, even though the two sheep herds joined forces in frolicking.
Somewhere further away, a young priest and his protégé were watching.
"What's happening, Brother John?"
"Cloris and Lisander are just talking."
"Why?"
"Puberty."
"I dreamt it was firefly mating season," Lisander said awkwardly at last.
"Really?" she responded shyly. "What happened?"
"A bullfrog came and ate the fireflies."
"Oh."
He cringed at the disappointment in her voice. "Well, then it went away," he amended. "And the fireflies kept dancing."
"What a terrible addendum," she accused.
"I'm sorry."
"You should be."
He coughed, then made room on his rock. "Would you like to sit?" he asked.
She nodded and sat next to him. Both of them blushed at the proximity.
"Smooth," Brother John murmured from his vantage point. He shielded his eyes from the rays of the setting sun.
"Are you sure they can't see you?"
"They can't even see each other. Stop worrying."
Cloris chewed on her lower lip.
"Are you - are you going to the May Day fest?" Lisander asked, startling her.
"Next week?" she squeaked. She cleared her throat. "Yes."
"That's - that's nice."
Why doesn't he just ask me? Cloris wondered.
Why can't I just ask her? Lisander wondered.
He scratched a knob on his crook idly.
Suddenly they both swung to each other.
"So-" "Uhm-"
Catching themselves short, Lisander cleared his throat and Cloris blushed, turning away.
"What the hell was that?" John muttered.
"Sorry," Lisander said awkwardly.
"No, go ahead."
"No... I - I meant, you know-" he cleared his throat again, as if doing it would help the words come out more easily "-for the other day."
".... Oh."
There was a tinge of embarrassment added to the tension in the air between them.
"And I do mean it," Lisander said quickly.
More embarrassed silence.
Lisander drew a deep breath, thinking that it was probably time to take his sheep back to Finnegan's pasture, the farmer's Irishness notwithstanding. He was about to stand up when he felt Cloris' hand shyly touch his.
"Okay," she whispered.
He stared at her hand for a long time.
John tsked. "What's going on, Lisander, it's not a spider, come on."
Lisander put his other hand on top of it. "Okay," he said.
Cloris sat, quiet and contemplative as she watched the twilight. Lisander was also quiet, not wanting to ruin the moment, but also still aware of their last encounter. It had been a hard lesson.
But still -
He winced. Cloris was holding his hand and she nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder, making him want to... stand up and walk away as soon as possible. But to stand up would be to face embarrassment again, if she ran away again.
"What's wrong-"
"Nothing," he replied, too quickly for her to believe him.
"Are you sure?"
He wished she wouldn't talk like that. It was her voice that got them in trouble in the first place. Or maybe her body. Yes, her body - no, wait - who was he kidding? It was his fault. Meg's words echoed in his head. Stop thinking with the dong. He could do that. Couldn’t he?
"Yes. Yes, I'm quite sure." He stood up abruptly, determined to wait at least until May Day.
Confused by his sudden change of mood, she also stood up and brushed off her skirt. He began walking and she moved to follow, but tripped on a pebble. Half-shrieking, she fell into his bewildered arms and since he was no less surprised, they both went tumbling down the knoll.
In a tangle of arms and legs, Cloris managed to ascertain that she was on top of him, his chin buried in her bosom which she lifted herself up from very quickly. "Are you all right?" she inquired, watching him sputter out bits of grass.
"Yes," he gasped, feeling her thigh neatly lodged between his legs over a very sensitive spot.
"Are you sure?" she sounded so much more concerned, lifting herself onto her knees.
"God, Cloris, no!" he groaned, dropping his head backwards and his nails digging into the ground.
Panic and concern mounted her side, as did the flurry of questions before she realized there was something hard pressed against her thigh. Immediately, she froze.
In a whisper, "is that what I think it is?"
He nodded, still wincing in embarrassment and - pain.
"Oh. It's... it's not the same as it was before... is it?"
He gave her a wide-eyed look of incredulity, as if he couldn't believe she said it, and she blushed at having asked such a stupid question. She rolled off to the side, leaning on her forearm even as she kept her other hand on his chest.
"Sorry."
He made a gnarled sound, not quite able to articulate himself, and kept his eyes studiously pointed at the sky.
She made a move.
"Can I touch-"
"What! Why!" His head snapped up at her, eyes bulging now.
Her hand paused, hovering. She pouted. "I... was just curious."
"Now?! Why NOW? Why do you have to be - why are you laughing?" he demanded.
She kissed him lightly on the lips. "Nothing."
His answering gaze gave her a self-satisfied glow within.
"Do you need help?" She nodded towards the bulge in his trousers.
"I think... I think I'll keep it for now. I sort of missed it. - No, don't look disappointed!"
"I'm not - not disappointed.'
"You're not a very good liar."
She pouted again.
"I'll kiss you, though. That is - if you want. I won't mind if you don't want to."
Her eyebrows knitted into a little frown, and he realized she hadn't moved her hand at all.
He rolled his eyes. "Oh you fickle girls. Give you an inch and you take a mile."
"At least we ask for the inch first," she told him, feeling braver now.
"Well... that's... not the - point!" he yelped as her hand closed down on his most sensitive areas. "Get your hand out of my trousers, Cloris!" He bolted up and moved away from her hand.
Peals of giggles erupted from her. "That," she told him with a mischievous grin, "is tit for tat."
"No that's not! That's cruel!" He curled up in chagrin, realizing that that was exactly what he had done to her - the difference being that she would never suffer from impotence. Rueful and harassed, he said, "You win."
Her nose tickled the back of his neck. "Okay." She leant on him, laying her arms on his upper arm and leaning forward. "Can I have a goodnight kiss anyway?"
"Is that what you wanted?" He looked up at her. "Sound like a lot of trouble-"
She pressed her lips down on his, and he forgot all about protesting. They tumbled downhill a little further, unaware that they were physically falling, transported in their passion as they were, until at last they stopped and broke off, breathing loud in the night, holding hands.
"Paradise within happier far," he sighed.
"Mmm. I think that's a misquote."
"I'm not misquoting anything. Just saying how I feel."
"Oh."
It was very quiet in that pasture, except for the occasional grunt and bleat from the sheep.
"I have a question."
"Yes?"
"How are we going to tell the herds apart in the morning?"
Genre: Sequel to Aphra Behn's The Disappointment; 17th century; satire
Theme: Little relationship problems; hilarity
Comments: Originally meant to be a little side project. Most of the references some people might be able to recognize from Milton.
Glad it coincides with the general coming of summer. Merry Beltaine to other pagans out there!
Oh, and it's a little long. It's 15 pages in the format I've got here, Times New Roman 12.
I.
She stomped into the chapel, startling the young-ish priest from his contemplation of a bench which had a stain on it.
"Aren't you supposed to be watching sheep?" came the cultured inquiry. "Farmer O’Connor might get angry if he knew you abandoned his sheep."
"He's Irish," she said, as if that was all that mattered.
"Mm."
She seated herself in a chair close to where he was standing, not wishing to disturb his contemplation of the stain.
"And what, may I ask, has caused this mood of general upset?"
"He tried."
"Who, and tried what?"
"Lisander. You know. He tried to - do it."
Brother John gave Cloris a flash of a smile. "Do what?" he asked innocently.
"John," she whined. "You know what. Why do I have to tell you?"
He sighed. "Very well. And?"
"And he didn't."
"O-ho." Brother John beckoned to Cloris. "Come, child, let's have some tea."
Cloris secretly hated tea, but she went anyway because there was no other way she could talk to Brother John. And it was safe with Brother John, fortunately. He had taken a vow of celibacy, and anyway, he was known for inclinations towards pederasty.
At the back of the church was the kitchen with a sturdy table and chairs, into one of which Cloris flung herself into. She curled herself up into the chair, hugging her knees to her chest.
As he put the kettle on the boil, he said, "so when did this happen? Or rather, not happen?"
She shrugged. "A few days ago."
He scowled. "And you didn't tell me? Cloris, you could have-"
"I know. I know," Cloris held up her hands to stop him, but saw the clear mix of disapproval and concern on his face. "I know!"
"Then why didn't you-"
"Becauseitwasn'timportantatthattime," she gritted.
The scowl didn't leave his face, but he threw the leaves into the kettle. "And?"
"And what?"
"What. Happened. That. Night."
She gave him a jejune moue. "He. Well. I don't know."
"What? What does that even mean?"
"He... well... that is to say, we were going to, but then, uhm..."
"Cloris..." John signed again in exasperation. "What have I told you-"
"We didn't! He didn't. That is to say."
John poured the tea into the small teacups on the table. "That is to say...?"
So Cloris said in one breath, "Thatistosayitwasgoingtobereallygoodbutitwasoverforhimbeforeitbeganforme." Then she took a deep breath and two big tears of disappointment welled up in her eyes.
John took a moment to process what she had just said. "Oh. My."
"Yes. Yes. You just sit there, I had nearly, you know, lost my virginity, if it weren't for, well, that, and you can just sit there and say oh you." Her tears rolled down in earnest now. "Whyyyyyy?"
"At least he didn't-"
"I know! But still! He was supposed to!"
John passed her a handkerchief. He was the only person in the entire village known to carry around a clean handkerchief. She wiped her tears and he asked, "so what did you do?"
"I left him."
"Left... him?"
She took a quick deep breath. "All right, I ran away. I didn't know what to do." She sniffled.
John rolled his eyes disbelievingly. "Oh for heaven's sake, Cloris!"
"But it just - you know! Wasn't what I expected! All - cold and clammy and-"
"Still! You should not have run. He is a man."
"Eve ran away from Adam!"
John glowered, knowing where that idea came from. "Just because Milton wrote a version of Genesis does not - make - it - true."
"You say that because you're a royalist."
"Perhaps. But the man is a writer. And all writers are inveterate liars." John lifted his tea to his lips with an indignant look on his face. "Plato's exact words."
Cloris reached for her tea and muttered into her cup, "Plato spoke Greek, not English."
"What was that?"
"Nothing," Cloris said quickly. "Nothing at all."
"And you came to me for advice? You're not being very receptive to it, are you?"
"Because you haven't given me any."
"Oh. Well, here's my advice: go back to him."
"WHAT?" Cloris started up in her chair, spilling tea all over herself. "WHAT?" she shrieked.
"You heard me, Cloris. You owe him that, at the very least."
"I am NOT going back to him!"
"What? Why not?"
"After what he did to me!"
"Oh, for crying out loud. You want him, he wants you; get over it, get back to him and get on with it."
Cloris gave him an injured glare.
"And don't give me the evil eye, either."
"Well, bully for you."
As she stomped out of the church, Brother John stood at the door, fingering his cheek, particularly the angry red mark right in the middle.
"Maybe," he said thoughtfully, "she isn't that kind of girl at all. I'm glad I don't get involved with women."
II.
The youth entered the hovel cautiously, pushing aside a sheaf of herbs hanging down from the ceiling. Contrary to the stories he had heard, the place was peculiarly well-kept, better than most homes he knew - but an old lady who lived by herself surely would have the time to keep clean...
He swung around at the sound of purring, expecting something to jump at him. Instead, a cat was resting peacefully on the windowsill, eyes closed and paws tucked under itself, enjoying the springtime sun.
It wasn't black.
The orange tabby opened ordinary yellow eyes at him, blinked disdainfully and went back to its nap.
Finally, his eyes alighted on a squatting figure in the corner or the room, next to a small cauldron over a small fire. The concoction in it bubbled neither ominously nor cheerfully, but whatever was being cooked smelled good.
He cleared his throat, nervous of her reputation.
"The food is almost ready," the hedge-witch told him. "Bring me three bowls from that table, and we'll eat."
"I'll not bother you long-"
"Three bowls." The old woman stumped to a windowsill, plucked a leaf off a potted plant, stumped back to the pot and threw in the leaf.
Lisander shrugged, feeling no help for it, and went to fetch the bowls. He knelt next to her, handing her bowl after bowl. She called the cat to her with a piercing sound, and it came running; she filled the first bowl and placed it on the ground in front of it. The second bowl, she filled and placed it in front of him, and the third she filled for herself. As she poured, he fetched a small loaf of bread, broke it in half and ate silently with the old woman, watching her with nervous eyes.
When they were done, she said in her raspy voice, "what brings you to the hut of this old witch, hmmm?"
He nearly squeaked, recoiling. Mag was formerly the village midwife, although in recent years, she had gained the reputation of a witch. Brother John scoffed at the superstition, chalking it up to her old age and herbal knowledge. But she still made Lisander nervous, because there were just some things she knew that she shouldn't know...
"I have a - friend who has - a problem..."
"Hm." She tore at her bread and chewed thoughtfully. "And what would this problem be related to?"
"The - uhm, the manhood."
"The manhood, eh? It's not often I get customers asking me to cure their manhood. Usually I'm the one ruining it." She cackled.
Lisander gulped. "Well, it's my friend's problem," he said defensively.
Old Mag smiled genially. "When did this problem come about?"
"A few days ago."
"Mmhmm..." she seemed to go into herself. "And how did it come about?"
"Uh..." Lisander gulped. "He - didn't tell me."
What could he say? Things had been going well but suddenly the forces of passion left him weak? That envious gods decided to make him suffer for some unknown crime? That Cloris-
"Does this have something to do with the shepherdess girl?"
"What! I mean - How, uh, how would I know?" Lisander cringed inwardly. How did she know?
"Girl comes running past my home all crying and upset - you think this old lady can't guess why? Only young men make girlies cry that way."
He began to feel guilty, not for the first time. Cloris running away from him had brought severe doubts of her affection to his mind, but the more he thought about it, the more he kept denying he wanted her, which was a lie. She didn't invite him to her pasture.
Of course, she hadn't said no either.
"So it does," the old woman said, hmphing. "So what happened to you?"
"Ididn'tsayitwasme."
Mag rolled her eyes. "I don't deal with dishonest lads."
"Ireallymeanttosaythatjustasitwasabouttogetgood-" he cut himself short, his face burning. He couldn't believe he was discussing such matters to an old woman, but as it happened, he couldn't think of anybody better to talk to.
Mag gestured with her hand encouragingly, although she seemed to do it out of perverse pleasure than any actual helpfulness. "And then?"
"And then nothing," he snapped.
"If nothing happened, why are you here?"
The woman was a witch, he decided. "That is to say..."
"She nodded sagely. "Yes...?"
"Well..."
"Go on..."
He gave her a look that spoke volumes of his irritation.
"I'm sure you can finish that sentence. You're young. You youth can do anything."
"Um-"
"Short of controlling yourselves, that is."
"Hey! I resent that!"
"Why, was I wrong?"
"Well..."
"See?"
"You're not being helpful."
"Don't deny an old lady her little pleasures." She cackled.
"All right!" he exploded, frustrated at the situation. "I did not accomplish what I meant to do."
"Men never do," Mag sighed.
"That's an unfair statement!"
"Not when it matters. So what did you fail to accomplish?"
Lisander wanted to retort, because he didn't want to reply and he felt the need to defend his sex, but neither retort nor reply were forthcoming.
"Hmmm..." Old Mag tapped her chin thoughtfully, regarding him the way a farmer would regard a fat cow.
"Umm..."
"You tried to seduce her," she accused.
"I! .... yes." His shoulders slumped in defeat. "Well, I failed, if it counts for something," he said moodily.
"So what did she do?"
"She ran away."
"Smart girl."
He rolled his eyes. Women.
"And now you're impotent because of it."
"No! Uh, yes." He seemed to sink lower, and he ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know what to do."
"That's what you get for thinking with what's between your legs, not between your ears."
The mentioned ears began burning. She did not just say that! "What should I do?" he pleaded. "Is there any antidote I could take to cure it?"
"No."
"What do you mean?" He began to panic.
"It's a perfectly natural thing. Don't worry about it."
He gaped at her - she couldn't be that cruel. "What do you mean, don't worry about it! It's caused nothing but humiliation, and you're telling me not to worry about it!"
"Yes, because it's natural." Mag began poking at her fire. "You're young. Sometimes your body doesn't do what your mind tells you to do. Mostly because you are taking orders from the thing between your legs, but you'll learn not to as you grow older."
"So I'm stuck with this until - until my body decides to listen to me?"
Old Mag smiled amiably at him. "Something like that."
"My life is ruined!" Lisander dramatically dropped his head to the ground, groaning.
"Pooh. It'll come back. Usually when you don't expect it. A little like love, except that you'll hate it."
"Hate what? Love?"
"No." Old Mag scowled at his obtuseness.
Lisander lifted his head a little. "So is that your advice?" he demanded. "Simply wait for it to come back?"
"Well, yes, that's the sum of it."
He made another sound of frustration.
"Oh, stop that," she said irritably. "She didn't cut any of it off, did she?"
"Mag!"
"As long as it's all there, it'll come back."
He lay very still on the floor for a while, hoping subconsciously that the old woman could come over and comfort him, and tell him it was all right, because women were good for that, but she didn't and after a while his conscious thoughts turned to Cloris.
Rolling over, he saw her picking up a basket from the floor slowly on account of her bad back. "What do I do about Cloris?"
"What about Cloris?"
"I don't know. Shouldn't I do something?"
"Hrmph. What if she doesn't want to see you anymore?"
"But she can't do that!" he gasped, having never thought about it.
"Of course she can. Who says she can't?"
"But... but I'm the one she loves! She can't not want to see me anymore!"
Old Mag gave him a look that spoke volumes about what she thought of that.
"All right. All right. Then what?"
"First, you stop thinking with your dong. Then, you go back to herding your own sheep. Mind your own business."
"But what about her?"
"You'll just have to wait."
"For?"
Old Mag rubbed her temples. Why, she wondered, did she always have all these young people come to her hut asking stupid questions? She struggled to remember, in the misty webs of her own fading memory, whether she had done the same thing.
"If she really wants you as you say she does," she told him, "she'll come to you."
"She loves me." He didn’t say that with as much conviction as he would have a few days ago, however.
"Bah, what do you young people know about love. Get out of my hut, Lisander, and get back to your sheep."
"So... she doesn't love me?" He began to feel a heaving of disappointment deep inside him.
She shot him a glowering scowl that was so frightening he bolted up from the floor and out the door.
"Hmph." Old Mag stumped over to a chair, eased herself into it and began knitting.
III.
Cloris watched the young man who was sitting despondent on a little knoll not too far away from the little grove she was hiding in.
She turned away to hide behind the tree she had been watching from and took a few deep breaths, pressing her hands over her heart as if she could make it stop thumping so hard. "I can do this. He's only a man, after all. It will be simple. All I have to do is start the conversation." She cleared her throat. "'Hello, Lisander, how are you?'" she said in a sweet voice. "No. No, that won't work, it sounds like I'm mocking him." She cleared her throat again. "'Hi, Lisander, how are you today?'" she said again, in a lighter voice and batting her eyelashes. "No. No. That's so... ridiculous. I'll look like a fool." She sighed heavily, sinking down against the tree and hugging her knees to her chest. "What am I going to *say* to him? I can't possibly pretend nothing happened."
A lamb scampered up to her, bleating right next to her ear and jolting her. "Ssh! Sssh! He'll notice I'm here!" she hissed at the lamb, clamping her hands down on its muzzle, which only made it bleat louder. "Hush! Ssh!"
Lisander swung around on his rock, shouting, "Who's there?" He heard a gasp and leapt up, brandishing his sturdy crook.
Cloris' nose peeped out from behind the tree trunk closest to him. "It's just me." On her hands and knees, she poked her head out to look at him, not knowing what to expect. She lowered her lashes, then quickly looked away in embarrassment.
"Oh." He lowered his crook, turned away from her and sat back down on his rock.
She scrambled up onto her feet and carefully made her way up the knoll, fingers knotted behind her back anxiously. "Hello," she said, leaning forward to see his face.
"Hi." He did not turn around to face her.
She squatted on the ground next to him, biting her lower lip.
"It was a nice day, wasn't it?" she asked desperately, falling back on the age-old small talk.
"Yea. But the sun's going to set in a while."
"It shouldn't be too cold, it's summer."
"No, it won't be, and the fireflies will come out."
"That's nice. That'll be nice, won't it?"
"Yes. Quite nice."
It was very tense in that pasture, even though the two sheep herds joined forces in frolicking.
Somewhere further away, a young priest and his protégé were watching.
"What's happening, Brother John?"
"Cloris and Lisander are just talking."
"Why?"
"Puberty."
"I dreamt it was firefly mating season," Lisander said awkwardly at last.
"Really?" she responded shyly. "What happened?"
"A bullfrog came and ate the fireflies."
"Oh."
He cringed at the disappointment in her voice. "Well, then it went away," he amended. "And the fireflies kept dancing."
"What a terrible addendum," she accused.
"I'm sorry."
"You should be."
He coughed, then made room on his rock. "Would you like to sit?" he asked.
She nodded and sat next to him. Both of them blushed at the proximity.
"Smooth," Brother John murmured from his vantage point. He shielded his eyes from the rays of the setting sun.
"Are you sure they can't see you?"
"They can't even see each other. Stop worrying."
Cloris chewed on her lower lip.
"Are you - are you going to the May Day fest?" Lisander asked, startling her.
"Next week?" she squeaked. She cleared her throat. "Yes."
"That's - that's nice."
Why doesn't he just ask me? Cloris wondered.
Why can't I just ask her? Lisander wondered.
He scratched a knob on his crook idly.
Suddenly they both swung to each other.
"So-" "Uhm-"
Catching themselves short, Lisander cleared his throat and Cloris blushed, turning away.
"What the hell was that?" John muttered.
"Sorry," Lisander said awkwardly.
"No, go ahead."
"No... I - I meant, you know-" he cleared his throat again, as if doing it would help the words come out more easily "-for the other day."
".... Oh."
There was a tinge of embarrassment added to the tension in the air between them.
"And I do mean it," Lisander said quickly.
More embarrassed silence.
Lisander drew a deep breath, thinking that it was probably time to take his sheep back to Finnegan's pasture, the farmer's Irishness notwithstanding. He was about to stand up when he felt Cloris' hand shyly touch his.
"Okay," she whispered.
He stared at her hand for a long time.
John tsked. "What's going on, Lisander, it's not a spider, come on."
Lisander put his other hand on top of it. "Okay," he said.
Cloris sat, quiet and contemplative as she watched the twilight. Lisander was also quiet, not wanting to ruin the moment, but also still aware of their last encounter. It had been a hard lesson.
But still -
He winced. Cloris was holding his hand and she nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder, making him want to... stand up and walk away as soon as possible. But to stand up would be to face embarrassment again, if she ran away again.
"What's wrong-"
"Nothing," he replied, too quickly for her to believe him.
"Are you sure?"
He wished she wouldn't talk like that. It was her voice that got them in trouble in the first place. Or maybe her body. Yes, her body - no, wait - who was he kidding? It was his fault. Meg's words echoed in his head. Stop thinking with the dong. He could do that. Couldn’t he?
"Yes. Yes, I'm quite sure." He stood up abruptly, determined to wait at least until May Day.
Confused by his sudden change of mood, she also stood up and brushed off her skirt. He began walking and she moved to follow, but tripped on a pebble. Half-shrieking, she fell into his bewildered arms and since he was no less surprised, they both went tumbling down the knoll.
In a tangle of arms and legs, Cloris managed to ascertain that she was on top of him, his chin buried in her bosom which she lifted herself up from very quickly. "Are you all right?" she inquired, watching him sputter out bits of grass.
"Yes," he gasped, feeling her thigh neatly lodged between his legs over a very sensitive spot.
"Are you sure?" she sounded so much more concerned, lifting herself onto her knees.
"God, Cloris, no!" he groaned, dropping his head backwards and his nails digging into the ground.
Panic and concern mounted her side, as did the flurry of questions before she realized there was something hard pressed against her thigh. Immediately, she froze.
In a whisper, "is that what I think it is?"
He nodded, still wincing in embarrassment and - pain.
"Oh. It's... it's not the same as it was before... is it?"
He gave her a wide-eyed look of incredulity, as if he couldn't believe she said it, and she blushed at having asked such a stupid question. She rolled off to the side, leaning on her forearm even as she kept her other hand on his chest.
"Sorry."
He made a gnarled sound, not quite able to articulate himself, and kept his eyes studiously pointed at the sky.
She made a move.
"Can I touch-"
"What! Why!" His head snapped up at her, eyes bulging now.
Her hand paused, hovering. She pouted. "I... was just curious."
"Now?! Why NOW? Why do you have to be - why are you laughing?" he demanded.
She kissed him lightly on the lips. "Nothing."
His answering gaze gave her a self-satisfied glow within.
"Do you need help?" She nodded towards the bulge in his trousers.
"I think... I think I'll keep it for now. I sort of missed it. - No, don't look disappointed!"
"I'm not - not disappointed.'
"You're not a very good liar."
She pouted again.
"I'll kiss you, though. That is - if you want. I won't mind if you don't want to."
Her eyebrows knitted into a little frown, and he realized she hadn't moved her hand at all.
He rolled his eyes. "Oh you fickle girls. Give you an inch and you take a mile."
"At least we ask for the inch first," she told him, feeling braver now.
"Well... that's... not the - point!" he yelped as her hand closed down on his most sensitive areas. "Get your hand out of my trousers, Cloris!" He bolted up and moved away from her hand.
Peals of giggles erupted from her. "That," she told him with a mischievous grin, "is tit for tat."
"No that's not! That's cruel!" He curled up in chagrin, realizing that that was exactly what he had done to her - the difference being that she would never suffer from impotence. Rueful and harassed, he said, "You win."
Her nose tickled the back of his neck. "Okay." She leant on him, laying her arms on his upper arm and leaning forward. "Can I have a goodnight kiss anyway?"
"Is that what you wanted?" He looked up at her. "Sound like a lot of trouble-"
She pressed her lips down on his, and he forgot all about protesting. They tumbled downhill a little further, unaware that they were physically falling, transported in their passion as they were, until at last they stopped and broke off, breathing loud in the night, holding hands.
"Paradise within happier far," he sighed.
"Mmm. I think that's a misquote."
"I'm not misquoting anything. Just saying how I feel."
"Oh."
It was very quiet in that pasture, except for the occasional grunt and bleat from the sheep.
"I have a question."
"Yes?"
"How are we going to tell the herds apart in the morning?"