PART TWO. GOODBYE, MY LOVE

Mr. Spinks was my last call before I returned to Chicago. He was a little man wearing, as always, a grey coat with black calico sleeves. His sharp eyes, looking out of pinched-up wrinkled features, peered at me suspiciously and with deep distrust. It was far from a warm welcome, considering that he had been buying soap from my firm for years.

I waited impatiently while he fiddle-farted around his store, picking up articles then putting them down again and occasionally looking doubtfully at the few bars of soap he had left from his last order.

The first words he uttered immediately irritated me. 'To tell you the truth, Mr. Varley…' (I cannot stand people who preface what they are going to say with the words 'to tell you the truth'. The implication is that they usually tell lies, but on this occasion they are going to tell the truth.) He continued, 'My customers don't care much for the James Kirk products, but if you will give me a special discount I will consider giving you an order. TheShandon Bellsand theJuvenilebrands of your toilet soap are asked for sometimes. I could give you a small order for them, providing you give a good discount. You see, your prices are too high for the folks of Toledo.'

Anxious to catch the next carrier to Chicago, I was in no mood to spend the next couple of hours bargaining for a piddling little order. 'I'll have a word or two with my employer about your discounts, Mr. Spinks, and let you know his answer next time I'm in Toledo,' I said. Before he had time to answer I was out of the door and making my way as fast as I could to Arthur Selwyn's wagon and laughing at the thought that the mean bugger would be without soap for his customers for the next two months.

Mr. Selwyn's wagon, with its three passengers, was just moving off when I came alongside his house and I had to hail him to stop. Removing my cap and making an exaggerated bow to my fellow travellers, a middle-aged married couple and a young girl, I climbed aboard and seated myself by the girl.

When I meet people for the first time I'm always a little apprehensive, talk fast and try to get a laugh to start with. A salesman has to appear confident otherwise his customers will be dubious of the goods that he is selling. You have to get on top right from the beginning and keep it like that from then on.

There was no response from the married couple to my overtures, so I concentrated my attentions on Miss Dara Tully, the young lady sitting beside me. She was a stunner, about seventeen years I guessed, and, unlike a lot of English people, not distant and reserved. With a captivating gaiety and a sharp sense of humour, she giggled and laughed at all my jokes.

Wavy chestnut hair, held back by a twist of broad pink ribbon, framed a face glowing with youthful vitality. Her hazel eyes twinkled in teasing merriment when she revealed teeth as creamy white as fresh milk in a smile which brought forth seductive dimples to her cheeks. There was a shapely pair of ankles beneath the cloak wrapped around her legs and an open-sleeved silk blouse with pearl mosaic buttons outlined firm little breasts which had a pert, upward tilt.

As we sat side by side chattering and laughing like old friends, I discovered that not only were my jokes being appreciated as they got more saucy, but her flesh was also responding to the intimate pressure of my leg against her thigh. It is my experience that when it comes to intimacies between the sexes the flesh never lies. The tongue can speak falsehood in abundance, but the flesh can only reveal the truth of the senses under the skin.

Come the evening, when my hands held her firmly around the waist as I helped her down from the wagon for our first overnight stop and she fell against me with her arms around my neck, the signs were clear-she was ripe and ready for 'it'. By the time we got ourselves disentangled 'it' was getting embarrassingly hard inside my trousers. With encounters like this one there was, after all, something to be said for the life of a travelling salesman. Although a twenty-five-year-old married man, who could blame me for falling for the temptation of a pretty young girl with beckoning eyes.

In the darkening twilight after our supper I invited her to help me to search for more wood for the fire. She rose to her feet without a word and like someone in a trance allowed me to lead her by the hand to a patch of grass surrounded by thick leafy shrubs.

As she lay on her back looking up at the stars above us I made my first tentative move. Unbuttoning her blouse I made free play with her firm young tits with the nipples pressing into the palm of my enfolding hand; they became firmer and larger when my lips nibbled at them. It wasn't long before my tongue was between the luscious lips of her mouth and my hand was travelling lightly over the soft full flesh of her thighs which opened out as soon as I touched them. As I said, she was ripe and ready for 'it'.

The slight swell above her cunt with its fine curly hair felt as warm and smooth as a dove's breast and when I cuddled it in my hand it arched upwards like a cat's back when stroked. Gently fingering the nub under this 'Mount of Venus', I brought her passions to a head. She was gasping for breath as the intensity of her pleasure increased. In no time at all, my trousers were off and I was between her pliant legs with a lusty cock throbbing hard to get inside her. The warm, moist vent clasped him firmly when I thrust him forcefully up her as far as he could go.

Pushing hard up against me, she wiggled frantically and getting her hands on my back pulled me to and fro until I was having a hell of a time just trying to keep my cock inside her. For the first time in my life a girl was screwing me-I didn't like it. By the time she reached a climax my cock was beginning to droop and was losing interest in the proceedings. This was something right outside my expectations, although I must admit that, up to then, my only experience had been with my wife, Maude, who always lay like a placid cow when I got on top of her.

Up till the time I met Maude my life had been confined to the farm, working from early morn until nightfall. We had the land, but not the means to work it properly or to stock it with cattle. Barely scraping a living, we struggled on year by year making slow progress in enlarging our herd of cattle. There were very few opportunities for me to meet girls, or for social activities. I was nineteen when I attended my first barn dance and then it was only by accident that I did so.

After delivering a load of hay to a farmer about twenty miles from my home, a wheel shaft cracked just as I had started on the return journey. Getting the shaft repaired took three days and on the third night I was invited across to a nearby farm to a barn dance where I met Maude. She was patient with my ignorance of dance steps. I was clumsy to begin with but soon got the hang of it as I have a natural rhythm in my limbs. Drinking a lot of cider before the dance got under way loosened my legs and helped me to overcome my shyness in strange company. To get to the point quickly, Maude suggested a breath of fresh air would cool us down as we were both sweating after three or four dances. Being unaccustomed to alcohol, the cider had dulled my brain and I have only a vague memory of Maude loosening the buttons of my breeches and her guiding my cock into her. It was my first fuck and to this day I cannot recall anything about it.

Waking up with a splitting head the next morning, I set off home, giving no thought to Maude and what had happened the previous night. Apart from the fact that she was a big, plump eighteen-year-old girl, I couldn't bring to mind any features of her face and wouldn't have recognized her if we had met again the following day. The good God says, 'Take what you will-but pay for it.' And believe me, I have been paying dearly for that drunken fuck ever since.

Three months later, two very angry parents turned up at our farm with Maude to announce that I had fathered a baby onto their daughter. My upright parents, after recovering from the shock of this news and learning further details of how it happened, made it plain to Maude's folks that I would do what was right and marry their daughter.

Confused and embarrassed by the outcome of some event that was but a blur in my memory, I stood dumbfounded, unable to grasp what they were saying. This big, clumsy lump of a girl was a total stranger to me and yet both her parents and mine were discussing dates and places for a wedding when Maude was to become my wife. Someone who was to share the intimacy of a bed with me for the rest of my life. It was like a nightmare from which I longed to awaken, relieved that it was only a dream after all.

Turning to Uncle Andrew, my mother's brother, in the faint hope that out of his great wisdom some other solution could be found to solve this problem, achieved nothing. He sat with head bowed, taking no part in the discussion about arrangements for the wedding, gazing into the fire as if the sparks from the burning logs were of more interest than the talk going on around him. I had more respect and confidence in my Uncle Andrew than any other man alive. He was the source of my education and knowledge of the world and had taught me to appreciate good books and the wisdom that was to be found within their covers. Although physically broken by a chest complaint that brought on frequent fits of coughing, he hadn't spared himself in giving me an education that was to stand me in good stead for the rest of my life. My faith in him was limitless and that was why I devoured every book he gave me and studied hard under his tuition, yet in my hour of greatest need he remained silent and withdrawn.

I didn't know what to think. Was this man who loved me as if I was his own son leaving me to a fate too horrible to contemplate? It was only after the wedding when cold reason took over that I saw clearly that there was nothing he could do to stop this marriage which was to be ill-starred right from the beginning. As he explained to me many weeks later, we each of us must be responsible for our own actions, and it is not excusable to claim that we were drunk at the time. I now realize that it was my undoing, drunk or sober, to take what was offered to me.

Before the wedding I was taken to meet the minister who was to perform the ceremony. To my surprise he berated me, giving me no opportunity to defend myself; calling me a fornicating sinner was one of the milder accusations he threw at me. Working himself up into a fury, he informed me that I was an immoral, unprincipled, depraved, degenerate sinner whom God would never forgive. He demanded that, for the sake of the well-being of my soul in the future, I get down on my knees there and then to pray with him for my escape from the fate of Hell's flames when I died.

Deeply disturbed by the force and power of his oratory, I approached my uncle to seek his more enlightened views on my so-called heinous sins. When he heard what the minister had said to me he laughed himself into such a fit of coughing that I began to fear for his health and reason. It took him nearly half an hour to recover his breath and get some colour into his face which had gone deadly pale after his bout of coughing.

'You look like a whipped cur,' he commented when he got himself composed. 'I'm disappointed in you, Elmer. After all the teaching and philosophical talk I have given you over the years that you should let a ranting minister of religion disturb you and fill you with concern for the destiny of your own soul.'

Seeing the misery in my face, he changed his tune. 'Alright, I'll give it to you straight. God gave you a cock so that you could fuck, in the same way as he gave you a mouth so you can eat your food. Everything has a place and a function in this life of ours.'

He stood pondering on what he was going to say next then, speaking very slowly, 'Running through all living matter is a life-force which has to be used for everything we do. Don't make the mistake of calling it pure or impure because it's neither; it dissipates its power in a great diversity of forms and in none is it entirely good or bad, for there are no absolutes in this world of ours. It is up to each and every one of us as to how much of this life-force we use for whatever we have got in mind and, believe me, we have very little control over what goes on in our mind. The mind is just as mysterious as the rest of the universe and that goes for your ministers of religion as well as everyone else. God only knows what goes on in their minds when they are not telling the rest of us what we must and must not do. I'll bet they have just as many shameful thoughts as you and me.'

He turned toward the house. 'When you get into your head, Elmer, that you are no better or worse than most everyone you will have just about got it right. Look on the bright side; everything is changing all the time; bad times don't last for ever, nor do good times. Every day there is something to laugh about-if you look for it-and every day brings a new challenge. If you face up to each challenge you will become stronger in mind and body. Don't let life get you down, remain undefeated by its trials and tribulations; laugh in adversity, for life is only testing the strength of your will and character.'

Marriage to Maude wasn't as bad as I feared. She was as strong as a horse and a willing worker in the house and on the land. Being a farmer's daughter, she knew what was needed and got on with it without complaint. She hardly ever spoke to anyone. It was the same when we got to bed. With her knees wide open she would wait in silence for me to enter her. She would make no movement as I panted and pushed on top of her. Impassive and patient she would wait for me to finish then turn on her side and go off to sleep.

I longed for her to show some interest in what we were doing and consulted with an older and more experienced man as to what I could do to rouse her. He told me to try caressing her private parts before mounting her. I tried it dozens of times but it had no effect on her. She was devoid of any sensitivity and sensual feelings.

I know all women are not like her because once when I was away from home the opportunity came for me to try my caresses on a girl. Although she got all hot and worked up, she wouldn't let me put it in because she was determined to remain a virgin until she got married but, from the way she sighed and went all slack in the legs, I knew my fingering had made her come. To make up for not letting me have it, she milked me with her hands like you do with a cow, pulling away at my cock until the spunk shot out of it. It's alright that way, but it is better when you can get it between a woman's legs.

To get back to Dara. Her ardent, passionate wiggling under me took me by surprise. I had often day-dreamed of meeting a girl like this, but was totally unprepared for it when it happened. A new experience, however pleasant and flattering, takes a little time to assimilate, but my cock soon became stiff and hard at the view of her private parts as I lifted her ankles and placed them on my shoulders. Leaning over her brought the cool, soft cheeks of her bottom up against my thighs. The burning lust came back into my body and I thrust my cock deep into the warm, moist cunt with powerful strokes. There were sweet overtones of joy and satisfaction in her sighs as she submitted willingly to my masterful possession of her limbs. Balancing myself on stiffened arms, she took my whole weight on her buttocks when I came hard down on her with an excited aggressive cock that savaged and ravished her tender parts. It was like an explosion when the spunk, bursting to be released, spurted with force from my cock. I cried out in the gripping intensity of my feelings as my hips rocked to and fro on the backs of her thighs.

When my emotions subsided and she was once more flat on her back with her legs between mine, I felt empty and lonely and yet exulted because I had risen to heights of passion that I had never thought possible. The back-lash of my storming emotions hit me and I shuddered repeatedly. Dara, cuddling my head in her arms as if I was a baby, showered my face with warm gentle kisses, bringing me to a sleepy stillness as I lay across her listening without thought to the murmur of her loving words.

During the days that followed I was to learn a great deal about Dara. She could be self-assured and assertive and, at other times, meditative and withdrawn. In our loving embraces she would be either exciting and stimulating or dewy-eyed and submissive, encouraging me to ravish her with all my masculine strength. There was never a dull moment in her companionship as I fell in with her varying moods of teasing vivacity and dreamy meditation. In those quiet moments she was ready to discuss any subject providing I took it seriously.

Money was of no importance to her and she spent it freely. I had none to spare and had been living most frugally as I had promised myself and my father that I would save enough to stock our farm with all the beef cattle we needed. This was the sole purpose of my coming to Chicago and taking up the work of a travelling salesman. The harder I worked the more commission I earned. The more commission that came my way, the more cattle we bought. During the last three years sufficient money had gone into the farm to turn the tide and bring new hope of prosperity for my family in the near future. I estimated that within two years I would be able to return home and work the land myself.

Once a month the opportunity came to visit my family and my two children, Daniel and Mary, when I would hand over to my father the money saved since my last visit.

The world with all its troubles and problems rarely penetrates the thoughts of lovers but I couldn't escape from the obligations to my family and the financial responsibilities that were mine, and mine alone, nor had I any wish to do so.

When I informed Dara of the situation I was pleased that she took it in her stride. Nothing daunted that girl and it seemed that nothing was going to stop her loving me. Within hours of our arrival in Chicago she had installed us in a furnished room on Lakeside as Mr. and Mrs. Varley. She handled all arrangements herself and paid for them while I was in consultation with my employers about the orders placed with me.

'We have now got a home,' she announced when I arrived at the eating house where we had agreed to meet each other before parting at midday. 'Where?' I asked.

'On Lakeside. It's only a furnished room, but cosy with a large, comfortable bed.' She grinned mischievously then whispered, 'Tonight you will get the best loving you ever had. Oh, Elmer, I'm so happy and it's all due to you. It's hard to believe that we have just met. I feel as if I've known you for years. Do you think everyone is as happy as this when they fall in love?' she sighed, 'I hope so, it's wonderful.' Then, with a penetrating, questioning look, 'Do you feel the same way, Elmer? Oh, please say yes. I'll kill you stone dead just where you stand if you dare to say no!' Then with a giggle, And, what's more, I will never forgive you or speak to you ever again.'

When I attempted to answer her she put a finger across my mouth saying, 'No, tell me tonight when I have got my arms and legs around you in that big soft bed.'

'What about the rent?' I asked anxiously.

The waiter interrupted to place before us our meal of beef steak, German fried potatoes and cabbage which Dara had ordered and asked him to serve as soon as he saw me arrive.

When he had gone back to the kitchen she leaned forward over the table. 'Don't worry about the rent, Elmer. Please don't spoil it for me. I've got enough money for the rent and food. Don't ask any more questions like that, not today anyway. Now eat your food and let's not get too serious about anything. There will be lots of time to talk seriously, if you want, during the next few months.'

I needed no further bidding as I was ravenous, having had little to eat all day.

After we had finished eating our buckwheat pancakes I suggested collecting my personal effects from my present lodgings on the way to our new abode.

Dara would have none of it. 'No, Elmer, let's not waste time. I want to get back to our Lakeside nest and get into that bed.'

The room was on the second floor of an old house facing the lake. It was twilight when we arrived and it was only when Dara applied light to the two candles on the mantelpiece above the fireplace that the details came into view. It was indeed a well-furnished cosy room and in complete contrast to the drab lodgings I had occupied for the past three years. The rich pink cover on the bed matched the curtains of the latticed window, giving the red carpet a lovely warm glow to everything else in the room. There was a wash stand with a large china bowl with a jug of water in it and, underneath, a slop bucket; two comfortable leather armchairs and two high wood stools, a corner cupboard and an oak dressing table with mirror near the window. But it was the table in the middle of the room that caught my attention first. It was littered with packages of food, bags of fruit, pots, pans, china and cutlery. I rushed out after paying three months' rent in advance to buy what we might need,' Dara said, all breathless with excitement and added almost apologetically, 'and I didn't have time to clear it away. If you'll set a light to the logs in the fireplace I'll get these things stored into cupboards, then make you a mug of coffee and cut you a slice of fruit cake to go with it.'

Seeing me looking at the window, she took me by the hand, and pulling me towards her, said, 'Come and look; there's a lovely view of Lake Erie and the ships.'

While I was admiring and making suitable comments she clung on to my arm. 'Say you like it, Elmer, say you like our home. It is a cosy room, isn't it?'

Putting my arms around her and kissing her warmly on the lips, I reassured her that she had done wonders in such a little time and that we would both be happy together in such a cosy room. Then, eyeing the bed, I said, 'Reckon that bed is just about the right size for you and me.'

For my pains, I was rewarded with a kiss and another on the neck and an exclamation, 'Oh, I do love you, Elmer!'

Later, after we had drunk our coffee with only the light of the log fire flickering in our faces, we shared one of the large armchairs, kissing and cuddling. We didn't really need the fire for the night was warm despite a cool breeze coming off the lake. Dara got off my knees after a little while and, announcing that it was time for bed, began to undress. When she was stripped she came and stood before me, searching my eyes in the hope of reading my thoughts. For the first time since we met she was a little shy and slightly unsure of herself and looking for my approval. All our loving up till then had been on the grass with her skirt up around her waist. This was the first time I had seen her completely naked. Her smooth finely textured skin was without a blemish from top to toe. She had no need to be concerned; the beauty of her form and features, the tender curvature of the cheeks of her bottom and the fleshy luxury of her rounded thighs were breathtaking. I just sat there fascinated and enslaved.

When she saw the effect she had on me her confidence and high spirits came back to her with a rush and she began to dance sinuously, wooing me with squirming hips and thighs. She raised her slender arms and reached up as if she was delicately caressing something above her head with her finger tips.

I gasped with mixed emotions of lust and admiration when her firm, creamy breasts with their erect rosy nipples tilted upwards as she leaned over backwards.

As I hurriedly started to divest myself of all my clothing, she came over to me and sank to her knees as I sat on the edge of the armchair, with the intention of helping me remove my stockings, but her eyes were distracted at the sight of something else.

'What a lovely soft cock,' she exclaimed as she swooped on it with eager fingers, cuddling and caressing it and showering it with kisses. When it started to rise and stiffen she curled a finger around its base, and with her other hand, gently held its head with the tips of her fingers.

Bedazzled by its sudden growth, she whispered, isn't it a whopper!' It seemed as if she was asking me to join her in her admiration of my swelling cock.

Removing the yellow ribbon from her hair, she tied it in a bow around the base of my cock and, when it jerked upwards at her touch, she frowned in mock admonition. 'Don't be impatient, you naughty boy.' Then, giving it a light kiss on its tip, 'You won't have long to wait before you will get all you want; but do that again; I like to see you jerk so strongly.'

Squatting on her heels she waited expectantly. Joining in the fun, I jerked it again. Giggling and clapping her hands, she cried out for more. 'Again. Go on. Again and again.'

I kept it up, jerking it until I tired of the game. I made a move towards the bed but she held me back, grabbing my cock with one hand and pushing me back in the chair with the other. With the fingers of both her hands firmly curled around it she pushed the head between her luscious lips and rolled it in the hollow of her tongue.

Removing it from her mouth she adjusted the bow of yellow ribbon so that the ends hung on each side of my balls and, with a parody of solemnity announced, As your Royal Sovereign Queen, I appoint you Honourable Knight of the Yellow Ribbon. Arise Sir Elmer Cock.' And then sternly, 'Don't ever dare to fly my ribbon at half-mast.'

It was as if my cock had ears for, on this imperious command, it stood up straighter and stiffer than ever.

After gracefully rising from the floor, she climbed onto the bed and lay full length on the pink overspread. Lying on her side she looked at me with challenging, mischievous eyes. The auburn hair disarrayed around her smooth creamy shoulders had a coppery sheen which reflected the blushing glow from the log fire. The hips curving up voluptuously from her slender waist framed the dark triangle of hair that screened the delicious vent I was about to enter.

As I approached her with stiffened cock I reflected how neat a girl is in her private parts in comparison to what normally hangs dangling between a man's thighs. Seeing the ribbon tied around my cock as I got between her open legs I was about to remove it when she pleaded, 'Please, leave it where it is, darling. It will tickle my fancy when you get on top of me.' And, adding plaintively when she saw the look of doubt on my face, a long drawn out 'Please…'

I couldn't deny her anything at that moment and, when her soft full thighs opened wide to reveal the spongy pink mouth of her cunt, my loins surged with brutal lust and I plunged my thick, sturdy cock deep into her. There is no pleasure in the whole wide world to equal the feel of the clasping moist inner flesh of a cunt as it yields to accommodate your swollen, hard cock in a warm clinging embrace.

All the dilly-dallying with yellow ribbon had built up within me a passionate urgency that came to a head with a few powerful thrusts. I groaned out loud in relief as the spunk gushed from my cock. Dara's seductive movements underneath me soon brought me back to a rampant heat. Urgency now gave way to pleasure and, remembering her joy at seeing my cock twitching, I jerked it once or twice inside her. The effect was instantaneous; she laced her fingers around my neck and brought her lips to mine in a passionate kiss. Between kisses she pleaded for more.

When I began to tire I asked her to try to do something similar to me by using the muscles around her cunt, promising her a loving kiss for every time she did it to me. There was only a slight twitch to begin with but, as the movements became stronger, I felt my cock being gripped and made it quiver inside her cunt. It was a titillating, provocative and stimulating sensation and I was only too happy to show my appreciation with a loving tongue kiss each time it happened.

When she weakened in her movements, I took over this gentle sensuous stimulation with my jerking cock and so we dillied and dallied with each other for over an hour. Feeling the quickening of my senses, I got my hands underneath her buttocks and, clasping the soft cheeks of her bottom, I fucked her in an unhurried manner. She rose up to meet me and got into rhythm with my movements. The pace increased and caught us up in an excitement which made us cling to each other with a rapturous intensity.

With eyes closed and teeth clenched, her head thrashing from side to side, her hands gripping my shoulders frantically, she rose to a climax of emotion just as the seed from my loins spurted into her. The spasms of tremors that shook us gradually lessened and we lay entwined seeking comfort and gentle caresses. I heard myself saying over and over, 'I love you, I love you, Dara. I love you.'

Getting no answer, I raised myself up to look into her face. Her lips were pale and slightly open and the long silky eyelashes were glistening with tears.

Are you alright, my darling?' I asked anxiously.

She opened her eyes, giving me a tender, loving look through the tears. She sighed, 'I cannot move. I want time to stand still so that I can go on feeling like this for ever and ever,' she murmured more to herself than to me.

I kissed her gently on the lips then rolled over onto my back to stretch my legs out as far as they could go. I loved Dara, the cosy room and our bed; I loved the whole world and all its people. It was a state of bliss where there were no yesterdays or tomorrows.

The light from the morning sun was filtering its way through the fabric of the curtains when I awakened slowly from a deep sleep. With a feeling of utter contentment I stretched out my legs then turned to look at Dara. She was facing me, hair tumbling all over the pillow, her lips parted like a baby in slumber. My movements must have disturbed her for she looked at me with guileless wide eyes for a while, then came a sunny dimpled smile.

As she nestled in my arms I couldn't help asking myself which was the real Dara: was it the seductive enchantress who bewitched me in the glow of the firelight or the artless childlike creature now seeking the warmth and loving embrace of my arms?

Although I knew she was no virgin from the way she welcomed my cock that first time we got stuck into each other on the grass, any curiosity about her past got lost in the storming emotions she aroused in me. Enamoured with her winning ways, I never gave it a thought, but now I was asking myself had she loved someone else with the same abandonment that she was loving me? Was I the exception of did she often bare her fleshy delights to any man who took her fancy?

Thinking back, I remembered that she had been an easy conquest- too easy-indeed she was more than willing and in the first intimate union of our flesh she had screwed me. The more I thought about it the more the suspicion grew that the truth of the matter was that she belonged to any man who could satisfy her hot itchy cunt.

My breath was coming in uneasy gasps as I stared at the ceiling and my finger nails were digging into the palms of my hands. A storming rage thundered through my head cutting out all thought and reason. In my frenzied imagination I could see Dara in the most intimate positions with another man.

Suddenly my flesh couldn't stand having her near me any longer and I savagely pushed her from me. Startled, she looked at me, hurt and bewildered.

'What is it, Elmer?' she asked in a small voice. 'Why are you glaring at me like that? What have I done?'

'Who were you with before you took up with me?' I growled threateningly.

Impatient at the tense silence that followed my outburst I shouted, 'Well, out with it. Come on, tell me,' then added, 'I know I am not the first man to get between your legs.'

The blood was pounding in my head and I cursed her with all the filthy words that I had ever heard. I knew she couldn't hear what I was saying for she lay all curled up with her knees nearly touching her chin and her hands pressed to her ears. That only made me more angry and I shouted louder and my swearing and cursing went from bad to worse as I grabbed her hands and pulled them away from her ears.

Kneeling over her I yelled, 'Tell me, you dirty rotten slut, who's been fucking you?'

Turning her face away from me I saw her lower lip trembling and she gulped before answering me in a low, dispirited voice. 'I am sorry, Elmer. I would have liked to have kept myself for you, but how was I to know that we would meet some day?'

She gulped again. 'Please don't stop loving me. I cannot live without you!'

'Who was it?' I yelled. 'How often did he fuck you?' 'It was a farmer who employed me as a dairymaid when I was but fifteen.'

'Did he rape you?' I demanded to know. 'Or did you lift your skirts up for him?'

T lifted my skirts up for him twice,' she answered in a weary voice as she rose to a sitting position.

'You are nothing but a randy cunt, aren't you?' I insisted as I shook her backwards and forwards by the shoulders. When I had finished shaking her, she faced me with unseeing eyes and whispered, 'Yes, if that's what you want me to be.'

'Is there anything else?' I asked and, when she shook her head, I got out of bed, pulled on my trousers and said in a cold voice, 'I don't believe you. You're a bloody liar. I'll bet there is a lot more to it than what you are saying. It is obvious that you learnt a great deal about men somewhere.'

I got the rest of my clothing on and, before I slammed the door behind me, said, 'Go back to your farmer, you randy bitch.'

Calling at my lodgings to collect my soap samples, I went on to one or two local calls, my mind dead and my voice answering mechanically any queries directed at me by the dealers when they were giving me their orders. The next morning, after a restless night, I set off for Milwaukee area where I was due to call on a number of customers.

It was as if I had closed off most of my mind, leaving a small part to deal with the business of selling soap to the few stores in that area, for I had little feeling and observed nothing of my surroundings. My speech, actions, responses, were automatic and without thought. The mind of a healthy normal individual cannot remain inactive for very long and after my last call in mid-afternoon, the thoughts and emotions came flooding back into my mind.

To begin with it was nearly all emotion with very little clear thinking. Torn apart by jealousy I was like a raving lunatic as I walked along a lonely track across meadow land. Luckily there were only trees and brushwood to see my contorted face and to hear my groans and loud outbursts of anger. Bedevilled in turn by uncontrollable fits of blinding jealousy and raging fury, then slowly descending into depths of maudlin self-pity and sickened by shame as my memory recalled the vile, obscene words I had shouted at Dara. Reason, God's greatest gift to mankind, overcame my storming emotions, bringing tolerance and common sense to my tortured mind.

What right had I, a married man with two children, who was more than eager to bed a beautiful seventeen-year-old girl, to condemn the same girl for an indiscretion that occurred at least two years before we met and fell in love with each other? The only excuse for my despicable jealousy was that, having fallen in love for the first time in my life, I wanted complete, unsoiled possession of my beloved; past, present and future. Jealousy, that dark destructive side to love, had exploded into a thousand poisoned thoughts to shatter all my tender feelings for the girl I loved. Even her fervent desire to please me had been suspected as the actions of a predatory lustful female.

Driven by guilt, regret and shame, I journeyed on to Chicago in a fever of anxiety and impatience to reach Dara and make amends for my cruel behaviour. The sun was setting when I arrived in Chicago and in the still twilight of the evening I ran to the house where Dara had rented the room. Our home, she had said, but now I was on the threshold I hesitated, wondering if I had forfeited the right to free access to Dara and the cosy room. Surely after subjecting Dara to the foulest obscenities, slandering her with filthy accusations and then leaving her alone in her misery for two days and nights, it would be the height of arrogance to presume that I would be welcome. Drawn by my great need for a reconciliation, I crept up the stairs quietly and timidly knocked on the door. Receiving no answer after my second knock, I ventured to open the door and enter.

The dead silence of the darkened room was intimidating and I was about to leave, thinking Dara was out, when I heard a slight movement from one of the armchairs. Peering through the dim light I could just discern a shadowy figure curled up in the chair.

Putting a light to one of the candles on the mantelpiece, the glimmer illuminated a most pitiful figure. A picture of Dara that was to torment my conscience for many a day. Her doleful face was tear-lined. Eyes heavy with despair looked at me blankly and then closed with uncaring weariness. Looking around the room I could see that the rumpled bedclothes and everything else in the room was just as I had left it. I was to learn later that she had moved from the bed to the chair and had sat there, curtains drawn, for the whole of the time that I was absent.

The bile from my stomach rose in self-disgust at the realization that I had been the cause of all this misery. But this was no time for me to wallow in shame and mortification, and I applied my mind to bring things to rights. First the fire, which I relit to warm the room in the hope of bringing some life back into the still, quiet figure in the armchair. Next some hot food.

Searching the cupboard I could find nothing suitable but three eggs which I put in a pan of water and set to boil on the fire. The thought came to me that she would need more than food to revive her and I dashed out to 'The Dog's Head', a nearby tavern, returning with a bottle of brandy. I removed the hard-boiled eggs from the fire. Getting a spoon from a drawer, I attempted to spoon some of the brandy between Dara's lips. Only half of it went down her throat, the rest dribbled down her chin and onto her blouse. What little she swallowed began to take effect. The colour came back into her cheeks and after a little while she opened her eyes. Her fingers explored my face as if to confirm what she was seeing.

'Elmer, darling,' she whispered. 'Is it really you?'

Overcome with emotion, I was on the verge of tears and could only nod my head in affirmation. When I turned away with the intention of collecting the boiled eggs, she cried out and clutched my jacket. 'Don't leave me. Please don't leave me, Elmer!'

'No, I won't leave you,' I reassured her. 'No, never again.' And then added in a soothing tone, 'I'm just preparing some eggs for you to eat.'

When the eggs were shelled I lifted her onto my lap as I sat in the chair, then coaxed her to swallow small portions of the warm egg. After she had eaten the eggs we just sat there, she occasionally weeping and cuddling up to me with eyes closed, and me with my arms around her in a close, loving embrace.

Sometime later the weeping ceased and she slept fitfully for about an hour. Awakening, she put a hand on my face saying, 'Kiss me, Elmer,' and before I had time to kiss her, 'I'm hungry, Elmer, very hungry. Is there anything to eat?'

Knowing there was nothing to eat, I got her onto her feet.

'Can you walk around the room, Dara?'

She was fairly steady on her feet so, after we had walked twice around the room, I proposed that we go to the tavern and have a pint of ale with a large meat pie. She put her arm through mine, looked up at me and smiled. 'Oh, Elmer, you're back, aren't you? I'll do anything you say, only don't leave me alone. Stay with me. Promise.'

Giving her a gentle hug, I promised never to leave her again and, opening the door, said, 'Now, come on, let's get a hot meat pie down us and then we will both feel better.'

Outside the tavern we nearly fell over a horse trough built specifically on the landlord's instructions so that he could take unruly drunks by the scruff of the neck and hold their heads under the water until they sobered up or passed out.

Inside the tavern it was warm and alive with bustling activity and chattering groups of people. We had only got half way through our pies when a grey-whiskered, broad-shouldered giant of a man approached us in a friendly manner and in a voice rich and fruity with good humour boomed, 'You're new to the neighbourhood, aren't you? Welcome. I'm Vladimir Aksakov. What your name?'

'Elmer Varley,' I replied, shaking him by the hand as I rose to my feet. And this is my woman, Dara.'

The warm tavern, the food and the brandy had revived her spirits to the extent that she gave him one of her dazzling smiles. Vladimir obviously had an eye for a pretty girl. He couldn't take his eyes off Dara and, in the hope of getting more such smiles, spread himself across the other side of the table.

'Pies good?' he asked.

We nodded.

'They would be better with some of my vegetables in them, but the landlord won't listen to me. “Meat pies are meat pies,” he says. “If they want vegetables they can have them separate, but not in my pies.”

He shook his head sadly and sighed. 'He is a stubborn man, is Harry-Won't listen to me.'

Bringing his tankard up to his mouth, he swilled half his drink down his throat with one swallow, leaving a row of beer beads hanging from the hairs of his moustache. He went on about his fruit and vegetable stall that he manned every day further along Lakeside and expressed the hope that Dara would patronize his stall. Talkative and entertaining, he tried a number of times to draw Dara into the conversation, but without success. She was too busy eating her pie.

I could see the look of disappointment on his face because he wasn't having any effect on her and, laughingly, I said in a friendly voice, 'It's no good, Vladimir, she only has eyes for me. She is a one man girl and I'm the lucky man.'

He gave me a searching, quizzical look then, seeing the grin on my face, threw back his head and roared with laughter. The thunderous guffaws that followed had everyone looking in our direction seeking the cause of the uproar. My remarks were not that funny, but I was pleased that he had taken the rebuff in the right spirit.

I found myself weighing him up. It was his eyes that caught my attention first. Pale grey, tolerant and calm, and in complete contradiction to the thunderous laughter and loud talk. I sensed that behind all that boisterous behaviour there was a thoughtful, patient man. When we became acquainted I was to discover that he was indeed a very patient man especially when pursuing a woman with the purpose of seducing her, which probably accounted for his many successes with even the most virtuous of women.

I always remember my uncle saying, 'Never push a patient man too far, for when he does lose his temper all hell is let loose and there is murder in his eyes,' and I made a mental note to steer clear of Vladimir if he should ever lose his temper.

For the rest of him, he had a mass of wolfish grey hair, a bulbous nose protruding from a large expressive face that was constantly changing from clowning pathos to exhilarating humour; a big, cuddly, amiable Russian bear with bulging arms, strong enough to crack your ribs in a mighty hug.

During the ensuing months Vladimir and I became firm friends and, although he still hankered after Dara, I sensed she would come to no harm from his attentions. She complained to me more than once about him buzzing her rear with his great big hand while she was buying vegetables from his stall. I told her to stand well clear of him when she was at the stall and to treat it all as a game of 'catch me if you can'. She must have taken my advice as I heard no further complaints about Vladimir fondling her bum. Indeed, when the three of us were in 'The Dog's Head' together, she began to take his flattery and lecherous looks with a certain amount of indulgence and good humour and often retaliated with teasing remarks about the women she met at the stall who simpered and giggled every time he spoke to them.

Vladimir would shrug his shoulders and deny that there was anything improper going on; they were, according to him, 'just good customers'.

'Oh, yes,' Dara would reply with a laugh. 'They're good customers because they know where to go when they're randy for theirgreens.'

Vladimir, with a good show of indignation, then pretended to be shocked at her reference togreens, and changed the subject rapidly.

On an evening shortly after Christmas, he opened up to tell us why he had emigrated to America. But, as he was about to satisfy our curiosity on this matter, his words were drowned in an outburst of deafening raucous laughter coming from a group of men near us.

As the uproar increased we all stood up to see what was going on. A villainous looking brute with a battle-scarred face had his foot on a man's belly as he lay prone on the floor and was pouring ale into the victim's open mouth. When the ale began to dribble from the man's mouth the foot would come hard down into his guts to make it come spewing up again like a small fountain. No doubt very funny to the onlookers, but painful to the man on the floor who was pretending to enjoy taking the part of the victim in this horse-play, but I could see the pain and anxiety in his eyes every time the foot dug deep into his guts.

'Who is the man with the heavy foot?' I asked.

Vladimir scowled. 'That animal arrived here from Buffalo about two years ago and is now feared and hated by nearly everybody because he has bashed into a bloody pulp every man he has fought so far. A ruthless, dirty fighter who will stop at nothing in a brawl. After knocking a man out cold he will kick him viciously until someone pulls him away.'

He took a swig of his ale, wiped his moustache with the back of his hand. A boozy, loud-mouthed ruffian of the worst type. That's what he is. Boasting when he has had a few drinks that, drunk or sober, there isn't a man in Chicago who can stand up to him for more than five minutes.

'You asked who he is?' he said. Turning to me, 'His real name is Bruce Brecon, BB to the toadies who are his constant companions, but to the folk around here he is better known as the “Buffalo Bruiser”. It is whispered that he is a secret member of the “Know Nothings", an anti-immigrant political party. In other words he is against people like you and me, Dara. So look out. As for myself, I'm a member of the “Free Soilers", a party pledged to campaign for free soil, free labour, free speech and free men.'

I looked at the 'Bruiser' and then at Vladimir, comparing the two. 'But surely, Vladimir, with your strength and weight you would be more than a match for him?'

'I try to avoid brawling and trouble,' he answered slowly. 'A long time ago I killed two men in Russia and had to flee to America. That must not happen again. I've got a wife, nine children and my own vegetable and fruit business. I've got a lot to lose if I kill an American and, believe me, that's just what would happen if I fought with the “Buffalo Bruiser”. As it is I've got the measure of the man. He only picks on those who are afraid of him. I've outstared him many a time-there's no likelihood of him ever challenging me to a fight.'

Leaning forward so no one near could hear me I asked, 'How did you come to kill two men in Russia?'

'There's no need to whisper,' he thundered back at me. 'It's no secret. I've told a number of people. It stops them wanting to fight me and that's fine by me. My family lived in a village about one-hundred-and-fifty versts north of the port of Vernoleninsk on the Black Sea coast.' He broke off to explain that one-hundred-and-fifty versts is about a hundred American miles.

'The village was part of a very large estate owned by a nobleman, a former captain of the Imperial Guard. His Excellency, Count Ivanovich Gorchakov, was looked up to by his peasants as a father with a mystic authority. He was an autocrat who had the absolute power of life and death over his serfs, for they were his property to do with as he wished. Everyone on his estate had to pay him a “soul-tax” just for being alive and having the privilege of being hismoujiks, or, as you would say in America, serfs. Choose any word you like, they all mean the same thing: human beings who are considered by their owner as no more important than beasts in a field.'

Vladimir gave me a long, hard look. 'It is the same in this country with the black slaves in the south. Don't you agree?'

I could only nod my head and tell him that I was an abolitionist.

'I am glad to hear that you have the same views as myself. Last year I had the privilege of attending a meeting where I heard two candidates for the Senate, Stephen Douglas and Abraham Lincoln, debate the question of black slavery. I much preferred the Republican, Lincoln's attack on the institution of slavery to the mild opinions expressed by Douglas.

'But to get back to my life in Russia. My father, although a serf, was an educated man, the leader and spokesman for thegromada, the village council. He was a wealthy man in comparison to other serfs, with his owndroshky, a carriage he had inherited from his father. My sister and I were the only two children of my parent's marriage. At the time that I am talking about she was fourteen and I was eighteen. She was a quiet, shy girl and very beautiful with the blushing purity of a young maiden just beginning to blossom into womanhood. His Excellency cast a lustful eye on her soon after his wife died in childbirth and sent his guards to collect my sister and two other maidens to form the beginning of what was to become a harem of a dozen village girls.

'I shall never forget the look of terror on my sister's face as she was dragged by the arms from our home. My father and I tried to stop the guards as they were pulling her through the door. As we struggled outside the house we were felled to the ground by their cudgels. The shock of losing her daughter affected my mother so deeply that she just faded away until she looked like a bag of old bones. She was dead within two months.'

Some tears began to well up in Vladimir's eyes. Dara leaned forward and offered him her handkerchief. He sighed, overcome by the memories of the past and, after wiping his eyes, continued with his story.

A month after my mother's death, my sister was brought before His Excellency for the “sin” of allowing herself to become pregnant. She was obliged to crawl towards the man who had ruined her, kiss the hem of his coat and ask for His Excellency's forgiveness for her crime and then banished to the snowy wastes of Siberia for ten years. Transport was too much of a luxury for serfs and, along with hundreds of other serfs who had offended their masters, she had to walk the whole way to Siberia.

As more and more girls were taken to replace those that our nobleman had tired of, or who had become pregnant, there was much grumbling among the peasants and one or two foolish fathers went to the big house to protest forcibly about the loss of their daughters. For their impertinence, their naked backs were whipped into a bloody pulp and then salted. Feelings rose so high in the village that my father feared there would be an uprising and bloodshed. He had no faith in money and, over the years, had bought a considerable amount of gold and silver jewellery whenever he could afford to do so. Digging up his cache of jewellery hidden under the floorboards, he placed it all in a small wine cask and sent me off in thedroshkyto a trustworthy friend who lived in a small town forty miles south of our village. I was instructed to leave the cask with this friend and to lodge with him for at least five days before returning to the village.

'He obviously wanted me to escape the punishment that would be dealt out most harshly to all who were involved in any way with an uprising. My father had read the signs of a revolt with the instinct of a leader who is as one with his people. At dusk, two days after my departure, all the men of the village, armed with scythes and cudgels and other weapons, half of them drunk withQvass, assembled outside my father's house and demanded that he lead them up to the big house for a talk with His Excellency. They stood in sullen silence unmoved by my father's appeal for them to wait until he had had a private word with our nobleman, but they would have none of it, insisting that the Count be told that night that he could ravish no more girls from the village for from now on none would be allowed to go to the big house.

'They hustled my father before them saying, “You are ourhetman, you will speak for us.” He had no option but to lead them to the big house. In grim silence they followed, holding their smoking torches above their heads. The Count had seen their approach and, with the confident arrogance of the true aristocrat, stood at the top of the marble steps that led up to the entrance to the house. When all the serfs were assembled in front of the house, my father came forward and, with one knee resting on the bottom step, addressed the Count.“Batiushka, we ask your forgiveness for disturbing you at this hour.”

“What do you want, you filthy scum? Down on your knees, every one of you,” the Count screamed. Without a moment's hesitation they sank to the ground like dumb beasts of the field at nightfall. With a sneer on his face, he looked at them and then at my father. “Well! You stupid oaf, what have you got to say for yourself?”

' “Begging your pardon, Your Excellency, I speak not for myself but for thegromada. These unworthy serfs who kneel before you would have me inform you that they will allow no more of their daughters to be taken for your pleasure.”

'On hearing these words, the Count's features twisted into a snarl and he launched into a great tirade of abuse against his ungratefulmoujiksas they bowed their heads lower as if to escape from the heat of his rage. Rushing down the steps, he cracked his whip across my father's back and then, plunging into the crowd of bowed serfs, he scattered them like frightened sheep in all directions with his flaring whip.

'I learned all this from my father on my return. The silent, brooding log huts of the village warned me that something dreadful had happened. No one stood at the doors of theirisbasto welcome me.'

Dara interrupted Vladimir to ask what anisbaswas.

'Anisbas,'he snapped back at her impatiently, 'is a one roomed, filthy hovel that the serfs call a home.'

'And what's abatiushka?'asked Dara.

Batiushka means father, and in the case of the Count it means a father figure with absolute authority. Now let me continue. But before I do, I need some more ale,' he said, looking at me meaningfully.

I soon replenished his tankard and, after taking a swig at it, he continued with his story.

'My father told me of how, after leading the serfs back to their homes, about ten or more of them, disappointed that nothing had been achieved that evening, returned to the big house and set it alight with their torches. No lives were lost, but the house was burned to the ground. The Count called on the Military for help and, the day after I arrived back from my journey south, the soldiers came and rounded up all the men and imprisoned them under armed guard in a large barn. The Count was now living in the outbuildings while men worked frantically to rebuild his house.

'I was the first to be called out of the barn and brought before His Excellency. Abasing myself, I crawled to him, kissed his boots, and proclaimed my innocence as I had been absent from the village at the time of the uprising.'

Vladimir broke off to explain, 'I am not ashamed to admit that I abased myself to save my skin, for I knew that retribution with a vengeance was about to fall on all the heads of those who had taken part in the uprising. As it turned out, it was a retribution that was appalling even by Russian standards.

All that morning men were led out of the barn to be tortured and beaten until they confessed their guilt or informed on their neighbours and friends. I could hear their screams and shrieks of pain and I sent up a silent prayer of thanks that my father, in his great wisdom, had arranged for me to be absent at the right time. Before midday the guards had the names of the twelve men who had fired the house with their torches and wasted no time in bringing every living soul from the village to the walled courtyard of the big house. Mothers with babes in their arms, the old and the infirm, were all huddled together in family groups cowed and fearful.

'There was a large tree in the centre of the courtyard and its spreading branches were used to string up by their wrists the men who had set fire to the house. They had been stripped of their clothes and, with their toes just touching the ground, they hung from the branches writhing and trembling with fear. Their mystic father, the all powerfulBatiushka, approached them holding a half empty bottle in one hand and a glass full of wine in the other. Behind him were the guards with their whips. He filled his mouth with wine, with a disdainful gesture, signalled the guards to choose a victim for their whips. The air was rent with shrieks as the naked men twisted and turned against the knotted leather whips which cut deep into their flesh. After a time some of them passed out, unable to bear the cruel treatment any longer, but their bodies, criss-crossed with deep, bleeding cuts, continued to jerk and swing around as the whips lashed around them. They were bleeding profusely and pools of blood began to form beneath them. The Count ordered that buckets of water be thrown over their heads to revive them. Satisfied that he had got them sufficiently alive to feel pain again, he set the guards at them with their cudgels. The blows were not hard to begin with, just sufficient to raise bruises where the flesh was not already torn by the whipping. The men hung from the tree branches limp and exhausted by the cruel punishment they had undergone. Feeble little moans escaped from their lips from time to time.

'Once more, buckets of water were splashed over their heads as the Count strolled amongst them sipping his wine. He kicked at the hanging, bleeding bodies and then looked into their glazed eyes to see if there was still some life left in them and then had a quiet word with the guards, who took up their cudgels to commence their grim task again. They had obviously been told to break as many bones as they could with their heavy cudgels. As they swung the cudgels with all the strength of their arms, they sweated in their efforts to crack as many bones as possible.

'The women and children and the rest of the men who had been brought out of the barn to witness this brutal, savage massacre, stood in shocked silence as they looked at the dead, broken bodies hanging from the tree. I heard some of the women scream when they heard the bones crack under the blows of the cudgels but now there was only dumbfounded shock as they faced the bloodied, crumpled, broken bodies with gaping mouths.

'His Excellency, well satisfied with the punishment he had meted out so far, called the rest of the men to come forward and kneel before him. “Your guilt was not as great as those who fired my house but you all took part in the uprising and must be punished. My sentence is ten lashes of the whip on all of you, except yourhetman. I have something special for Aksakov as he was the leader of the uprising. Proceed with the whippings,” he commanded the guards.

'All this happened many years ago and yet there are times when I awaken in the middle of the night to the terrible sound of lashing whips and piercing shrieks of men hanging from a tree.

'When all the men had received their ten lashes, they were all assembled in the centre of the courtyard. My father was then stripped completely naked and placed with his back up against the massive trunk of the tree. We all stood waiting in hushed silence for the Count, who, during the latter whippings, had retired to the house for refreshments. After a few minutes he appeared, dressed in the full uniform of the Imperial Guard. He drew his sword with its razor-sharp curved blade, strolled over to my father and slashed him across the lower part of the belly with the point of his sabre. The bloody gash across his skin opened into a wide, obscene mouth and a pinkish grey tongue of gut slithered out and hung between his thighs.'

As Vladimir took a swig of ale I glanced at Dara. Her eyes were screwed up tight with horror and her hands were clasped over her ears. Nevertheless, Vladimir went on talking as if he was in a trance.

'The Chief Guard, a bull-necked brute in a grey tunic, stepped out, grabbed the gut and nailed it to the tree trunk. Picking up his whip, he lashed my father across his shoulders. Up till that moment I don't think he felt any pain, but the cut of the whip made him cry out loud and spin round and he stumbled and fell on his back. There was now about seven feet of the intestine stretched out between his belly and the tree. They raised him to his feet and whipped him again, making him move further from the nailed end of the gut. There was stark fear in his eyes as he looked at the fifteen feet of intestine extending out from him and he groaned when he tried, with spread out fingers, to close his split belly. The cutting whip lashed out again, flicking his legs to make him stumble further from the tree to release what was left of his innards. Over twenty feet of his entrails lay glistening before him like a straightened snake. His knees buckled under him and his degutted body collapsed backwards onto the cobbles of the courtyard. There was no more life left in him; his spirit had fled from his tortured body and he lay with his mouth gaping open like his disembowelled abdomen, his unseeing eyes reflecting the green-hued light from the leafy branches above him.

I stood there stunned, an unfeeling detachment freezing my reason and emotions and one part of my mind recording all that the eyes could see and storing it in my memory. I must have blacked out after that, for I have only a blurred recollection of how I got home. When I came to, the contents of my stomach were vomiting out of my mouth as I lay on the floor near my bed. I have no memory of doing so, but I must have climbed onto the bed fully clothed and fallen into a deep sleep. Awakening at noon the next day, I had only one thought in my mind-my father's death must be avenged. Although during the following weeks I appeared normal on the surface, my thoughts were occupied with scheming and planning on how I was going to kill not only the Count but also his Chief Guard, the one who had whipped my father. It needed careful planning for I intended to survive their deaths so that for many years after I would have the satisfaction of having struck back at the absolute ruthless authority above me-unscathed. It would be no victory for me if I was caught after their deaths and then tortured until I, too, had died. The plan to kill them and escape from Russia gradually formed after three months of careful observation of the daily movements of my enemies.

Awakening one morning at dawn with the conviction that this was the day for the killing, I sharpened my knife on a smooth, wet stone and taking great care that I wasn't seen by anyone I crept into a wood where, for the previous two days, the Count with his Chief Guard walking behind him, had spent the mornings shooting birds that flew up before him. I had to wait four long hours before I heard them entering the wood.

'Penetrating further into the copse, I quickly climbed a tree whose branches covered the now familiar track they had taken on previous shootings. The Count passed and then pressed his way through some brushwood. Twenty paces behind him trudged the Chief Guard, carrying provisions and two extra guns. When he came alongside the tree I dropped onto his shoulders and had a hand over his mouth and my knife in his throat before his head hit the ground. Sweeping the sharp edge of my knife two or three times across his throat, I made sure that he was dead before crawling on my belly through the brushwood. Making as little noise as possible, I crept up to the Count, just as he was raising his gun to take aim at a bird. The gun went off with a bang as I slid the knife from ear to ear across his upward-stretched throat. I don't know what got into me but, with a maniacal grin on my face, I savagely sawed into his neck until his head was connected to his body only by the spinal bones and the skin at the back.

'It took me but an hour to drag both bodies to a swamp, push them under the thick mud and cover the bloodied tracks where they had been with fallen leaves. At home I stripped off my bloodstained clothes, tied them into a bundle, washed myself thoroughly and donned my best smock and coat. Holding my horse by its bridle, I walked through the village, stopping occasionally to gossip and inform those who were interested that I would be away for a few days as I had business to attend to in the south.

'Once the village was behind me and out of sight, I whipped my horse into a gallop and arrived at the house of my father's friend in the early afternoon. Collecting the small cask of jewellery, I explained that there was no time for me to dine with him as I had to be at the port of Vernoleninsk that day to ship the jewellery abroad. He very kindly offered to exchange one of his fastest horses for mine, an offer I could do no other than accept as my own horse was in no state to ride the rest of the journey. At a river crossing further along the road I stuffed the jewellery into copious pockets inside my coat, dropped the empty cask and bloodstained clothing into deep water and rode on.

'Arriving at Vernoleninsk late in the evening, I took a room at an inn and stabled the horse. Wolfing down a quick meal of meat and vegetables, I then sought the harbour taverns for sailors whose ships were about to leave the port. I was lucky, for the second man I approached told me that his ship, with a mixed cargo, was bound for France and was due to sail on the tide at dawn. In answer to my question as to the possibility of his captain taking a passenger with no questions asked, he winked and put his finger to his nose. He then put out his hand, palm upwards. I took the hint and for ten roubles learned that the captain did take aboard, frequently, unknown passengers and charged them two hundred roubles whatever the length of the journey. The sailor gave me to understand that the information was in confidence as the captain arranged these transactions with great secrecy but was unaware that certain members of the crew knew what he was up to. Secrecy was very necessary as there were police spies everywhere. Other enquiries led me to a jeweller who was just about to retire to his bed when I called on him. We bargained a little before I got two hundred roubles in exchange for some jewellery. Going back to the inn, I wrote a letter to my father's friend telling him where he could collect his horse, paid the innkeeper what I owed him for board and stabling, and informed him that the horse would be collected within the week.

'With police spies everywhere you couldn't trust anyone so I waited on the quayside all night and, at dawn, just as the ship was about to cast off, I boarded it and handed over the two hundred roubles to the captain who placed me in a bunk in the cabin of the first mate with whom, no doubt, he had an arrangement to share the two hundred roubles. From Marseilles I was able to board a boat to London where I stayed for over a year before sailing for America. I didn't waste my time in London, for I lodged with a former professor of Moscow University who taught me English as the English speak it and who also introduced me to the best of English literature.'

Vladimir stood up and looked around as if surprised to find himself in the tavern, then looked back at me. 'Russia lies heavy on my heart tonight. That terrible barbarous country will haunt me all my life,' he said and, without another word, left us sitting there.

Shortly after his departure we retired to our room for the night. Neither of us spoke as we undressed and when we got to bed we lay side by side in silence. I guessed that Dara, like me, had been profoundly shaken by the account of the barbarous cruelty that went on in Russia.

After tossing and turning for an hour or two, I got out of bed, stirred up the fire and put more logs on it. I was sitting in one of the armchairs gazing into the fire, meditating on man's inhumanity to man, when Dara slid out from under the bedclothes and came and sat on my lap.

Neither of us had any clothes on as we always slept in the nude. Although the room was warm from the fire, we cuddled up close to each other and soon the pressure of her luscious soft bottom began to stiffen my cock. Dara, feeling it getting hard underneath her, got astride me. Sitting on my knees she played with it until it swelled so large I thought it would burst. Raising herself she moved onto it, guiding it skilfully into the hole between her thighs and then see-sawed her hips backwards and forwards until the cloudy lust-fluid gushed from me. I lay there thinking what a lovely relaxed way this was of being screwed by a girl.

Her wriggling hips aroused me for a second time and I lifted her up in my arms, grabbed a cushion and lurched over to the bed. Placing the cushion under her belly I mounted her raised buttocks doggy fashion and, bringing my hand around her front, steered my cock into her. The sensual feeling of the tender female flesh tucked well into my loins was all I wanted for a while. Seeking more rounded soft flesh I brought my left hand across her shoulders and down onto her right breast. Getting a firm hold on it, my other hand came up under her and fastened onto her other one. Raw animal lust gripped my body as the erect nipples pressed into the palms of my hands. I wanted to dominate this body beneath me until it was in complete submission to my unbridled savage lust. With an animal strength that wouldn't be denied, I haunched her hips higher and strove to get up her as far as my throbbing cock could penetrate. Then, like a man possessed, I rode her hard with deep, brutal thrusts, heedless of how much I might be hurting her. The pace of my stabbing cock increased. Suddenly every muscle in my body was transfixed in a rigid grip of passion that had me crouched over her with teeth clenched in the pain of the intensity of my feelings. When the last drop of my raging lust spluttered out of me, I collapsed over her back panting like a wounded animal that could go no further. I lay there drained of all aggression with a mind empty of thoughts of Russian atrocities and bullies like the 'Buffalo Bruiser'. Dara, generous to a fault in her loving, I hoped would intuitively understand and forgive me for handling her so roughly. I had returned from the tavern in agonized anger over the terrible cruelties going on every day in this world of ours and with these emotions bursting to be released had blown them off in unbridled lust.

The days went by as days and weeks do. Our evenings with Vladimir were intermittent as I was often away travelling. There is some truth in the saying that 'absence makes the heart grow fonder' for always on my return I got a most ardent welcome from Dara. As soon as I got through the door she would rush into my arms and shower me with kisses. Girls can be very generous with their kisses when they are in love. Pressing her little belly hard into me brought the usual response. Flinging our clothes off, we would leap onto the bed to lie well stuck into each other for an hour or two. After a little sleep we would rise, dress and go off to 'The Dog's Head' to listen to Vladimir's outrageous stories while we drank our ale and ate our meat pies. As far as I was concerned, and I'm sure it was the same for Dara, it was the happiest period of my life.

The evening before Good Friday at The Dog's Head' was a night I was to remember for the rest of my life. Everything seemed to be as usual when we arrived-with one exception. Vladimir wasn't there to welcome us and, to make matters worse, the 'Buffalo Bruiser' and his friends were there kicking up a hell of a din with their foul obscenities and raucous laughter.

From what I could gather, they were on a spree and had been drinking in two or three taverns gathering up more hangers-on at each ale house before coming on to 'The Dog's Head'. The 'Bruiser' was insisting on everybody buying him a drink because it was his birthday. Even total strangers were being pressed to buy him a drink. If anybody hesitated he stuck his chin out and gave them a mean look until they got him a drink. Then as they were about to take a swig of their own drink he would slap them as hard as he could on the back with the result that they had ale all over their faces as they struggled to keep on their feet. When this happened the noise of shouting and laughter was deafening.

After a while I became aware that Dara and I were receiving a lot of attention from the 'Bruiser' and his cronies. Without Vladimir's bulk to protect us I became a little apprehensive and whispered in Dara's ear that we should go before trouble came our way. Swallowing what was left of my ale I was about to rise when the 'Bruiser' suddenly appeared at our table and grabbed Dara by the hand. Dara leaned back and tried to pull away from the firm grip he had on her and cast a despairing glance in my direction.

Taken by surprise and totally unprepared for what was happening, I rose slowly to my feet. Getting a firmer grip on Dara's hand he pulled her forward until their noses were nearly touching.

'Yo're a real pretty gal-ain't yo' just,' he said in a thick drunken voice. 'We've 'ad a bet that yo' cain't refuse me a little kiss seeing that it's ma birthday.'

One of his friends chose that moment to shout, 'Come on, BB, get on with it or yor'll lose yo' bet an' yor'll be buying drinks all round.'

It came to me that the 'Bruiser' was taking advantage of Vladimir's absence to play free and easy with Dara. Assuming, I suppose that I would be too afraid to object to him taking liberties with my girl. As he made a move to plant a kiss on her lips and she quickly averted her face, my hackles rose and, without giving the matter any further thought, I pushed him in a sudden outburst of blinding red hot anger. The talk and noise died away when he fell over backwards and there was a deathly hush all over the tavern. With murder in his eyes, he got up slowly from the floor and his coarse, unshaven face suddenly loomed up before me. He reached out and grabbed me by the front of my jacket. As we stood, eye to eye, it came to me that he was taller and broader than me and certainly a lot tougher than I ever could be.

Amazed and alarmed at this sudden turn of events, I felt my stomach tense with fear. His bloodshot eyes glared straight into mine. He has had too much to drink, I thought; maybe if it comes to a fight his inebriation will slow him down.

Suddenly he threw back his head and roared with laughter. 'So yo' wanna fight, hey? Yo' must be crazy, hey?'

I didn't answer. The last thing I wanted was a fight, especially with a murderous brute who would stop at nothing once he got started. And then there were my employers. If it ever got back to them that I had been involved in a tavern brawl then I would be out of work. I sent up a despairing prayer: God have pity on me and get me out of this mess.

The 'Bruiser', confident of his superiority and strength, gazed at me with contempt and then blew out a derisive farting sound between wet lips, spraying my face with spittle. Flustered and outraged, I aimed a blow at his head with a clenched fist. He blocked it with his elbow and pushed me to the floor. I would undoubtedly have been kicked in the head as I lay there but for the intervention of the landlord who came between us and took the full impact of the 'Bruiser's' vicious kick on his legs. With raging fury, the landlord, a big tough man, well able to look after himself, brought his elbow hard back into the 'Bruiser's' belly making him crouch over gasping for breath. 'Out back, both un yo'. No brawling in my tavern.'

The next thing I knew I was being pushed and pulled through the door and onto the cobbled back yard. Everybody in the tavern followed, pushing and making bets as to whether I would still be on my feet after a minute with the 'Bruiser'. Surrounded by a crowd eager to see blood and yelling 'Ring! Ring!' I fronted the scowling face of my opponent. While men pushed against each other to form a ring, with slow deliberation he proceeded to take off his coat, neckerchief and shirt, displaying a battle-scarred chest and bulging muscles on his arms. When I followed suit, he watched me with a smirk on his lips, confident that he would soon have me once more on my back and could this time kick my head in without any interference from the landlord.

'He's got a skin like a woman,' he scoffed when he saw me stripped to the waist and, without any warning, came at me with flying fists. I was quicker in the eye and lighter on my feet than he and had no difficulty in hopping out of the way as he stumbled past me. Turning round he growled, 'Stand up and fight like a man, yo' white livered skunk.'

With a snarling curse he rushed at me again. This time his flailing fists struck me about the head with thudding blows that nearly knocked me senseless. I was deafened on one side when his fist struck hard on my ear. Mouth cut and blood flowing from my nose, I was reeling about in all directions. All around me there was a roaring sea of faces, yelling at me like demons out of hell.

Someone stuck out a foot and I tripped and fell to my knees. Determined to avoid a kick to the head by the 'Bruiser', I twice struggled quickly to my feet but was knocked down each time by sledgehammer blows to my face. When he beat me down a third time I made my way on my hands and knees towards the crowd of spectators who ringed us, hoping to find some way of getting away from this merciless battering.

Words were spluttering from my mouth; I didn't know if I was begging for mercy, cursing or praying as I was lifted to my feet by some on-looker who had no intention of allowing me to escape between his legs. Through misty eyes I saw the 'Bruiser' with swinging fists rushing towards me once more. Ducking just a split second before those fists could reach my face, I had the satisfaction of seeing the 'Bruiser' unable to pull up in time, go over the top of me and into the crowd. Striking out left and right with his clenched knuckles, he brought yells and cries of anguish from three or four men who fell struggling in a heap. The man who had lifted me to my feet got the worst of it and lay under the other men, knocked out senseless. I took the opportunity to wipe the sweat and blood from my face and retire to the other side of the ring of faces to await the 'Bruiser' while he struggled to his feet.

He had his back to me while he harangued the crowd with abuse and curses. Gathering up what little strength I had left in my limbs, I ran across and struck him in the back of the neck with tremendous force. He fell into the crowd once more. This time a number of them got their boots into him before he could get to his feet and quickly disappeared behind the backs of other men.

There must have been some vicious kicks inflicted on him because he was in obvious pain when he got to his feet, tenderly holding his hands over his ribs in a crouching position. I rushed him once more but he saw me coming and butted his head hard into my stomach knocking all the breath out of me. A strong blow to the side of my head finished me off and I fell painfully onto the ground. He was on me in a trice pinning my arms against the cobble stones as he sat astride me. He started to butt my face with his forehead, but ceased almost immediately when someone pulled his head back by the hair. His bucking up and down like a horse trying to unseat its rider brought forth roars of laughter from the crowd.

I didn't know what was happening but the 'Bruiser' seemed to know what was going on because there was a big grin on his face.

I could see a way out of my predicament as my mind began to clear. The next time he bucked I brought my knees up sharply under him and had squirmed out from underneath him and onto my feet before he realized what was happening. I could now see why the 'Bruiser' was bucking up and down. Dara had come to my rescue by jumping onto him and pulling his hair. Her skirt had ridden up onto her back and, each time the 'Bruiser' bucked, her round pink buttocks rose, bringing into view the dark hairs between the top of her thighs. A girl upended is not showing herself at her best but the view can send men mad with desire. With her bare haunches getting an airing it was pandemonium as the men scuffled with each other to get a better view. It was a disturbing and enticing sight to many of the men. One of them was slapping her bare rump and another, with raw lust in his eyes, was pulling one of her legs and I had to lean over and punch him in the face before he would release his hold. As soon as he did so, I pulled Dara off her perch and onto her feet. I didn't know what to do next as all round us were men just aching to get their hands on her. It was at that very moment that the 'Bruiser' was rising from the cobble stones that I spied Vladimir forcing his way through the crowd. Thankfully, I pushed Dara into his arms.

Turning quickly I was just in time to take some vicious punches from the 'Bruiser' on my arms. Sparring watchfully, I took him by surprise with two lightning blows on his sore ribs. Eluding a swinging right aimed at my head, I ducked under his arm and ran across to the other side of the ring for a breather. There were yells of derision from the spectators for what they thought was my cowardice. What little strength I had in me was draining from me fast. Fearing those boots kicking me senseless, I was desperate to finish the fight and an idea as to how this might be done came into my head. I was banking on him rushing at me as he had done when he fell into the crowd. Sure enough, he did just what I hoped for; shouting, 'Come out and fight like a man,' and letting out a hoarse deep roar he charged across the ring. I went out to face him with my arms hanging by my sides. Ducking down swiftly I grabbed his ankles and, with my head between his legs, tipped him arse over head. He landed with a sickening thud behind me.

The back of his head must have hit the cobbles for he lay like someone dead. I was whacked out and, as I staggered back and forth with exhaustion. I hardly had the strength to wipe the blood from my face. The blows I received on my ears had deafened me, leaving only a muffled roar in my head. My eyelids were closing into thin slits as the bruises around them swelled. I had reached the limit of my endurance and my knees were buckling under me when hands grabbed me and lifted me shoulder high to carry me like a conquering hero around the yard.

Too tired to raise my chin from my chest, I felt like a cloth doll as I was swung around on the men's shoulders and, when they tired of their rejoicing at the defeat of the 'Bruiser' and brought me down again, I collapsed in a crumpled heap onto the cobble stones. I have no memory of what happened next but it seems that Vladimir, with Dara's help had carried me back to our room and washed and anointed salve to my wounds. Dara coaxed spoonfuls of brandy between my swollen lips. Then Vladimir undressed me and put me to bed. And there I stayed for two days, blind, deaf, aching all over and unwilling to move.

On the third day, after a good night's sleep, the bruises ached less and I was able to see and hear Dara a little as, with big anxious eyes, she clucked over me like a worried hen. She nursed me back to my normal healthy self with tender cuts of meat and thick chicken soup. In less than a week I was on my feet and ready for work again.

On our next visit to 'The Dog's Head' some days later, we learnt that my opponent, like me, had also taken about a week to recover from the fight. It was thought that the 'Bruiser' had cracked his skull when he fell onto the cobbles, for he lay in a coma and no one could get a word out of him for nearly five days. He was a shaken man when he did eventually get out of bed and, within a few days, had left for Philadelphia. No doubt he was too shamed to face the scorn of the men of Chicago. What was more important to me was that my employers gave no sign that they had heard anything about the fight with the 'Bruiser'.

Some weeks later Vladimir introduced us to a Dr Lionel Shepherd. A tall, thin man with light grey hair that hung down to his shoulders like a lion's mane. We were having a drink in 'The Dog's Head' at the time and I gathered from the conversation which followed that the doctor was about to open a health institution on Lakeside nearabouts where Vladimir had his fruit and vegetable stall.

He was an impressive figure, wearing a white shirt with a high-winged collar that rose up from a dark blue cravat and a black tail-coat. His deep rich voice, elegant manners and scholarly appearance commanded respect and attention from all who were in his company.

On learning that I was in the soap business, he asked if he could call on me as he had something of importance to discuss that might prove profitable to both parties.

Eager, curious and excited, Dara and I sat in our room the following evening awaiting the doctor's call. That's the effect he had on most everyone. You couldn't help feeling, in his presence, that every time he was about to speak you would hear something of grave importance.

When he did arrive, he got down to business straight away. He had, he said, a formula for a medication soap that was an excellent remedy for many skin complaints. The ingredients were a mixture of common herbs that could be obtained without any difficulty. Would my employers, James S. Kirk amp; Company, be prepared to manufacture the soap according to his formula under contract, he asked, and confine the supply of this soap to him alone?

I agreed to put the proposition to my employers and added that, provided the order was large enough, I could see no problems which were likely to arise in the execution of such an order under contract. He thanked me most politely, impressing on me the need for secrecy in this matter, then invited Dara and me to join him in a drink at the tavern.

As I had thought, my employers were only too pleased to enter into a contract to supply the doctor with his medication, the first delivery to commence after a month, by which time the doctor estimated he would be ready to open his health institution. I was not to see the opening of the institution because, a week before it was due to open, I received an urgent message from my mother calling me home as my father was seriously ill. Although I dropped everything that I was busy with at the time and set off immediately, my father was dead before my arrival at the farm.

The shock of my father's death so numbed my brain that it was only during the funeral did I appreciate that his passing was going to completely change my life from then onwards. I would have to take over the farm, finish my work as a salesman for James S. Kirk and, what was more important than anything else, say goodbye forever to Dara. And what's more, do all of these things within a few days as it was impossible for my wife to cope with all the work of the farm.

After informing my employers that I couldn't continue my work as a salesman, not even for another day, I made my way to the rooming house at Lakeside to spend my last night with Dara. I shall never forget the look on her face when I told her what had happened to bring about the utter finality of this last time we could be together.

All the colour went out of her face as she put her hand to her mouth. With wide-open eyes she just stared at me as if she was unable to comprehend what I was saying. I tried to look away but that wide-eyed stare of hers brought my words to a stuttering halt and held me spellbound. She swayed and I brought my arms around her and held her close.

It seemed as if eons of time went by before she pulled away from me saying, 'Well, if this is going to be our last night together, let's make it a happy one-something to remember. We won't talk about you going.'

She came back to me and, putting her arms around my neck, looked up at me. 'Elmer, darling, don't say goodbye in the morning. Get out of bed while I'm still asleep and just go.'

Her mood suddenly changed. 'What would you like to eat? We have got chicken and slices of cooked beef. While I'm preparing the meal, go out and get a bottle of wine.'

After our supper we talked for hours about all sorts of things, never once touching on my departure in the morning. There was no passion or joy in our loving when we got to bed. Most of the night we just clung to each other under the bedclothes as if we were trying to shut out the harsh realities that would come with daylight.

… The years go by. The farm prospers. I have adapted myself to a different lifestyle, but there is an empty space in my heart that only Dara could occupy. When I get low and depressed I go to the barn where I have secreted away an unsigned letter I received from Dara shortly after we parted. Reading the letter lifts my spirits and when I put it back in the little tin box I seem to hear her voice coming to me through the mists of time and space, whispering the words that ended her letter: 'Goodbye, my love.'

Загрузка...