way I was going to be saved from my noxious marital duties! He made several fruitless attempts to do what is proper before he exclaimed in a rage, “The Devil is in this somewhere! This is witchcraft! Someone’s put a curse on it!”
Something humorous rose like a bubble within me, and I was too slow in hiding my face. He saw the twitch at my mouth and turned on me suddenly, his eyes now wide and blazing.
“You are the witch! You, just like the other! Well, I won’t be cheated again. I’ll beat that smile off you, you sly little slut!” He crossed the room and picked up the riding whip that lay on the linen chest, and strode back to grab me by the arm. “You need training, wife,” he said, with a flicker of that cold smile of his, “and I’m going to break you in properly.”
I won’t go into the nature of his training, except to say that it was very painful. But it was then that I began to learn several new and unpleasant things about Master Lewis Small. The first was that he was excited by blood. As he inspected his work, he began to shake with lust. For a moment he paused, his eyes flicking me over in the same way that a snake inspects a mouse it is about to devour. Then all at once he renewed his attack, and when he had at last finished, without even a word, he opened the window shutters to hear the ribald congratulations of his friends, that strange icy smile stretching the bottom half of his face out of shape. After that he wrapped himself up in the coverlet and turned over to sleep.
That night he slept as if nothing at all had happened, snoring horribly, as I sat up in bed weeping. And over and over again, I asked myself, Why me, why me? Why did he have to travel so far to find me and spoil my life, when there are dozens of girls in this town alone he could wed, girls with bigger dowries, girls with golden hair? Why would a rich man like him need a girl from the country? In answer to my unspoken thoughts I seemed to hear a sighing sound in the stillness of the room. The darkness seemed full of undiscovered grief.
The next morning Small sat up in bed fully refreshed, though I did not feel so well myself. But it seems that fate had decreed that I had made an insufficiency of discoveries. That was the way it was with Small—always something new. As I hid my face from him, he said coolly, “A wife’s duty is to rise early and serve her husband. Sloth is a deadly sin. A woman should never add willful sin to her own naturally foul being. Must I use discipline to keep you from your own wickedness?” When I had staggered up he leaned over in bed, and picked up the whip from the floor, where he had dropped it beside him the night before.
“Now,” he said, calmly, with a pleasant smile, “in token of your future obedience, I want you to kneel and kiss the rod and thank me.”
“No,” I whispered, backing into the corner. I wasn’t going to let him near me so easily this time. I’d fly at him and scratch his eyes out if he came at me again.
“No?” he said, never raising his voice. “Do I need to break you? Or will it be sufficient for me to tell you what happens to disobedient wives? I am a very lenient husband, for I do not wish you to lose the son you are doubtless carrying after last night. But were I not so thoughtful, I might break both your legs. It’s been done before, you know, and the man who did it was praised for a gentleman, because he arranged with a surgeon to set his wife’s legs before he did it. But of course, then she could not serve him, could she?” he asked, fondling the whip. My skin crawled with horror.
“But I am a Christian, a civilized, forgiving man. I’ll overlook this disobedience if you mend your ways. You’ll live very well. Other women will envy you. But if you persist—do you know how many ways there are to discard a willful woman? I’ll have you declared mad, if you displease me with your rebellion. By the time you’ve been chained in the dark a few
Something humorous rose like a bubble within me, and I was too slow in hiding my face. He saw the twitch at my mouth and turned on me suddenly, his eyes now wide and blazing.
“You are the witch! You, just like the other! Well, I won’t be cheated again. I’ll beat that smile off you, you sly little slut!” He crossed the room and picked up the riding whip that lay on the linen chest, and strode back to grab me by the arm. “You need training, wife,” he said, with a flicker of that cold smile of his, “and I’m going to break you in properly.”
I won’t go into the nature of his training, except to say that it was very painful. But it was then that I began to learn several new and unpleasant things about Master Lewis Small. The first was that he was excited by blood. As he inspected his work, he began to shake with lust. For a moment he paused, his eyes flicking me over in the same way that a snake inspects a mouse it is about to devour. Then all at once he renewed his attack, and when he had at last finished, without even a word, he opened the window shutters to hear the ribald congratulations of his friends, that strange icy smile stretching the bottom half of his face out of shape. After that he wrapped himself up in the coverlet and turned over to sleep.
That night he slept as if nothing at all had happened, snoring horribly, as I sat up in bed weeping. And over and over again, I asked myself, Why me, why me? Why did he have to travel so far to find me and spoil my life, when there are dozens of girls in this town alone he could wed, girls with bigger dowries, girls with golden hair? Why would a rich man like him need a girl from the country? In answer to my unspoken thoughts I seemed to hear a sighing sound in the stillness of the room. The darkness seemed full of undiscovered grief.
The next morning Small sat up in bed fully refreshed, though I did not feel so well myself. But it seems that fate had decreed that I had made an insufficiency of discoveries. That was the way it was with Small—always something new. As I hid my face from him, he said coolly, “A wife’s duty is to rise early and serve her husband. Sloth is a deadly sin. A woman should never add willful sin to her own naturally foul being. Must I use discipline to keep you from your own wickedness?” When I had staggered up he leaned over in bed, and picked up the whip from the floor, where he had dropped it beside him the night before.
“Now,” he said, calmly, with a pleasant smile, “in token of your future obedience, I want you to kneel and kiss the rod and thank me.”
“No,” I whispered, backing into the corner. I wasn’t going to let him near me so easily this time. I’d fly at him and scratch his eyes out if he came at me again.
“No?” he said, never raising his voice. “Do I need to break you? Or will it be sufficient for me to tell you what happens to disobedient wives? I am a very lenient husband, for I do not wish you to lose the son you are doubtless carrying after last night. But were I not so thoughtful, I might break both your legs. It’s been done before, you know, and the man who did it was praised for a gentleman, because he arranged with a surgeon to set his wife’s legs before he did it. But of course, then she could not serve him, could she?” he asked, fondling the whip. My skin crawled with horror.
“But I am a Christian, a civilized, forgiving man. I’ll overlook this disobedience if you mend your ways. You’ll live very well. Other women will envy you. But if you persist—do you know how many ways there are to discard a willful woman? I’ll have you declared mad, if you displease me with your rebellion. By the time you’ve been chained in the dark a few
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