Here. Have another slice.
Very well. A sliver. How about this one? But, surely, a dollop of whipped cream to top it, yes? Life’s simplest pleasures, as they say. And this particular torte is only made available this one month, when the last of the plums are brought in. Very seasonal. It positively tastes of a late summer’s day, does it not?
Ha! I understand. Always just a smidge. . .
You were asking?
No; none are sold before their time.
How long, you ask? You mean, for the plinth to be fully developed?
The average duration stands right now at just under twenty years. Each plinth is considered “complete” only when the Ostesces naturally expire, which generally occurs at the point when the larynx is fully collapsed – of its own accord, naturally – and the host can no longer breathe. Interestingly, hosts can survive every other osteal bend and break, but for this one. It is generally their swan song, the final transmogrification to occur. To be sure, the sequence of transformation and the shapes each host ultimately takes is never repeated. Wholly organic, really, and as unique as is every individual so blessed with the ability to absorb the suffering and be physically molded by it. Each and every resulting plinth is therefore utterly unique, and positively imbued with. . . ah. . . how should I say it? Tangible affliction. They are shaped – literally – by the transference of all negative sensory experiences of our people. This renders the plinths quite mystical. Quite priceless. Wouldn’t you agree?
By today’s value standards, the price is practically a bargain, compared to what our ministers were able to ask of the nobles and later on the merchants who were granted privilege of purchase. There are fascinating entries in our ledger books as to what over time has all been made in payment: gold, jewels, spices, even mining rights, as I recall. But, given the history, the rarity, and the magical powers these plinths are rumored to possess – legends abound, trust me – it is a small price we ask for an œuvre d’art of such, hmm, let’s call it magnitude.
And I have heard, this one will be especially lovely. An exemplar. I congratulate you pre-emptively!
Sure. I’ll take a little more coffee.
Thank you, no.
Now, a little more of the backstory. Forgive me, do, if I repeat what you have already been told, or read. Presently, only twenty-two plinths are known to exist – still exist, to be more precise. All secreted away by their owners, kept out of the public eye. Plinths that pre-exist our system of documentation have for the most part gone by the wayside, lost to history, to the elements. Violent circumstance, fire, degenerative collapse, willful destruction, much as any antiquity has ever met its demise. Likewise, it cannot be helped, that while the initial procurement of a plinth was always a carefully culled transaction between the committee and those who qualified to make the purchases, the sorry realities of subsequent ownership no doubt levelled and turned to dust not a few of these plinths in their varied, shadowed enclosures the world over. From impoverished and unappreciative heirs to the ruinous wake of local skirmishes, wartime conflict, housefires, and other, random destruction based on negligence or deliberate sabotage, all take their toll.
So, if you would allow me to tell you a story about what we call a jewel of a very special kind? There is an opalized length of vertebrae housed in our archives, the only one known of to date, here or elsewhere. It consists of seven small bones, fitted together like jigsaw puzzle pieces. The center bone itself has been bent, and at such a tight angle, as to be at a perfect ninety-degrees. It is a gem of such beauty, I can get choked up just thinking about it. Imagine the depths of exquisite suffering its host must have internalized, to have manifested this level of osteal transmogrification. . . The opalized specimen, our researchers have dubbed it the Spina Aurorae. If it is what we think it is, it suggests that Ostesces may have been among the god-like beings purported to have lived on this planet eons ago, in some of evolutionary cycle pre-dating our own, so-called origins of life, a theory generally relegated to tall tales of gargantuan Promethean forefathers and star seekers who travelled here from distant constellations, to scatter the seeds of life on this planet, perhaps live out an entire existence. . .
Yes, indeed! A rather darkly romantic theory.
What was that? Yes! I love it. Romantically dark. I knew you two would be perfect. Sir, my I offer you a cigar?
Anyway, where speculation stops short as to the opal’s origins, is the specific question, as to whether or not the jack-knifed vertebra was formed that way, or externally broken and neatly healed, or if – as we prefer to believe it – it was transformed by way of a sort of empathetic osteal response. No other such specimen, opalized or fossilized, has ever been found. Given the grandeur of the one specimen that we do have, our scholars believe other such artifacts were likely sought out, excavated, and either hidden or placed with ancient collectors, scientists, what have you, ages and ages ago. Perhaps the gems were spirited off this planet by celestial travelers, descended from the originators. As for us and our eras of existence as we all know them, scattered mentions in ancient writings suggest the osteal phenomenon was carried forward into our cycles over time, but kept secret to safeguard its continuation. Man has had always been possessed of a discomfiting propensity to erase the extraordinary, would you not agree? Only at the tail end of the Middle Ages, did our forebears begin to officially document the ‘gift,’ and their incremental occurrences. From the mid-1500’s onward, we kept detailed hand-written notes, on vellum parchments and later in bound ledgers, to record the evidence and track the presence of this condition, as well as the residual legacies of our gifted ones, their resulting plinths. What our researchers eventually dubbed Hyper-osteomalacia was implemented as our separatist, societal cornerstone. It is where the history of my people fully merged to identify with the phenomenon and its host carriers, who we with great reverence named Ostesces, after the old French word for “hostess.” This is what separates us from, well, any other society we know of.
Um, yes. . .
No. I am not sure I know what you are asking. . .
They are all women. Young women, generally in the early bloom of adulthood.
Eighteenish, thereabouts. Nineteen, mostly. One was twenty-one when she was brought in, that would be back when I was just a child. I remember her.
Onset of, er, a novitiate’s monthly, um, days as you might call it often triggers the empathetic events, but it can take several years before a host is identified and confirmed, for one, because the signs are so hard to detect at first; and later on, because most are kept hidden away by well-meaning but ignorant family members, loved ones who struggle to adjust to their situation, which is their obligation to hand over their gifted youngster. Ostesces have – thankfully – generally been located, verified, and confirmed in time to immediately replace their predecessors, thus keeping the, er, transferences of communal pain more or less unbroken.
What do you mean? Oh, I get it. You mean, were there ever periods of time with no host in place? Where we hurt?
We have only ever experienced two such gaps, but they were exceedingly brief. It is too critically important to have an Ostesce installed in the Sanctuary at all times, and the few instances we had to scramble to find one, the ministers have always had small armies of volunteers (ardent supporters ready to hand over their very own daughters were they so blessed), to locate the next one. Our people understand the import of the situation.
The absolute absence of trauma evolved us and solidified our culture quite organically. Once our forefathers recognized the capabilities of the Ostesce, and once they learned to more quickly identify the carriers of this ability, the parameters of our society were quickly laid. Next, was to formulate our social structure, to best implement all the good that could be done for the many by the one. We sealed our cultural identity by establishing ourselves as a closed society, for though the phenomenon by which we live could conceivably benefit everyone the world over, our academicians, who studied this at length, who even met in secret with peers from other nations, concluded over two centuries ago, it was decidedly not for everyone.
Yes, you could say it is – up to a point – a belief system. But it does, to be honest, affect every aspect of our society. This ‘thing’ rules us; it guides us.
True. I have heard it summarized that way by others. But where our people evolved let’s call it differently, is by way of our core psychological makeup, for having lived in absolute and unbroken comfort and harmony for many hundreds of years, thanks be to our vestal and blessed Ostesces. Our collective state of being has been in place so long, we are leagues from even considering doing things any other way.
One gets used to it, is the simple man’s way of putting it.
Now, we have only made the plinths available to outsiders since the late 16th century. 1588 to be precise, which is the year of the first recorded such transaction. Was to a Romanian Prince. That one, and the next half-dozen or so I believe, were acquired by highly select members of foreign nobility we could trust, bon vivants who had an adequate level of appreciation and open-mindedness, who could be sworn to secrecy, who also had the means to purchase them. Those plinths have resided in opulent shadow for centuries, housed in secret rooms and offsides niches of remote summer palaces, secluded hunting lodges, even a few houses of worship. Not a one was ever on display in any room to which the so-called general public had access, a stipulation we have always mandated in writing, even enforced by way of agents whose only job it is, to track the locations and general accessibility of the plinths. I do know of a good number of plinths which were gilded or silvered, a popular, old-world embellishment with which we have no complaint. It does, in fact, help preserve the artifacts, them being made of bone, much in the same way a saint’s relics might be chased in silver or gold for purposes of display for veneration. I do know of two – or is it three? – plinths which serve as the actual altar bases in private chapels, one of which was entirely encrusted with jewels. What a breathtaking objet d’art that must surely be!
Yes, it might seem rather ironic at the outset, but we venerate the Ostesces to a level that, to us as with their subsequent owners, such embellishment, such use, seem only fitting.
You see, it invariably came about, commerce being king, that it became a necessary evil to offer the plinths for sale to elite collectors outside of our communities. Foreigners, like yourselves. The Elders concluded this to be a way to infuse our Lilliputian economy with much-needed foreign capital, to replenish our province’s proverbial coffers, so to speak. The plinths, since the beginning, have been consigned for sale in sums equivalent to many millions of pounds, or yen, or dollars as it were – whatever you choose as a fiscal reference – so they have served our general estate wonderfully well for a very long time, in addition to the living service their hosts have bestowed upon our citizenry.
Everyone wins, yes?
Well, everyone wins depending on how you look at it, I suppose. It is how we choose to look at it. It is how we ask you to look at it, as our next investor.
Yours will only be the eighteenth officially consigned plinth – and the first one to cross the Atlantic! A rather exciting prospect for us it is, to know that one of our plinths will – provided all goes smoothly today – find a home upon the terra firma of a North American continent. I suppose, you could say, we are branching out, yes?
I might add, we were quite impressed with your application. Thrilled, actually, that you will be the owners of this next one. The levels we perceive you both to exist at, both fiscally and let’s call it esoterically, are essential in our having singled you out.
Oh, I wouldn’t say so.
Correct. Everything is going quite according to schedule. With this one, we are at year nineteen, just shy of what appears to be the average duration of a host. Based on what I observed last week, I am thinking yours is almost ripe, as we like to call it. In other words, due to expire within the year. Then, it is only a few months’ time wherein we cure the remains. At that point, as soon as payment is rendered in full, the plinth will be on its way to you. It is a relatively simple process, considering the amount of money that changes hands, and considering the significance of the artifact itself.
You could say, as in keeping with our way of life, it is a completely painless a transaction, a white glove delivery all around. I read in your application; you intend to have yours situated with an alabaster tabletop? Beautiful. A simply brilliant idea! It will take the functionality – the aesthetics being such a glorious given, yes? – of our plinths to new, dare I say modern, heights. They call that design a “coffee table,” if I am not mistaken, yes?
Aha! You see, I know a thing or two. Ha!
Now, I could talk for hours on the plinths, but our time is limited. You did say, your driver will be picking you up right after breakfast tomorrow, yes?
Of course. It is a good two hours to the harbour from town center, and the last thing we would want on our conscience is to have made you miss your boat! Time is always of the essence. Just as it is in the formation of the plinths. Your plinth. Hence, your having to travel here at this particular moment to finalize details and to take this tour, and our having to complete everything before nightfall. Your understanding – and full acceptance – of the backstory, which is to say, what the Ostesces do, and do for us, is a key component in the acquisition process. One of the last hurdles to surmount, if you don’t mind my saying so. No one who doesn’t understand fully the significance, the singular beauty, of the plinths is permitted to own one, let alone be made privy to the details related to their creation. We estimate, ninety-nine percent plus of all human beings whose eyes ever happen upon one of these plinths never know what exactly it is they have seen. And we prefer to keep it that way, for obvious reasons. N’est-ce pas?
Your plinth, it will possess in its very fibers everything that you will witness and experience today, directly and as proxy, both peace wrought by the absence of all suffering as well as the internalized chaos of constant suffering. A full spectrum, epic in breadth. Your uttermost appreciation as a collector is imperative for the cementing of your commitment to ownership. These wondrous things must be adequately housed, with vigilant guard kept close.
Now, when the next Ostesce comes into residence in the Sanctuary. . .
The next one? Oh, yes. We have already identified our next host, although I cannot say too much about its, or rather, her identity. We are still in the final stages of confirming the markers, as the ministers call them.
The marker specifically, you ask? Sure. That much, I can share. There was – I believe it was back in June – the occurrence of a slight breakage of a finger on the left hand of a maiden, a niece of the governess to the mayor’s children, whilst in the presence of a toddler who injured herself at play, of all things. I’ve been told, the child was romping about in the courtyard when she fell from her wooden pony, just as a group of councilmen were leaving the mayor’s residence. The poor lass fell flat on her face, popping two brand-new front teeth out of her cherub’s mouth. I heard, it was quite the bloody spectacle, with those pearly white buttons skittering across the walk like a pair of knucklebone jacks tossed to the ground for play! It so happened, when the child began to laugh at the sight of her teeth bouncing across the pavers, that the caregiver’s niece (who was helping her Auntie that day and standing close by) suddenly cried out. According to my good friend, one of the councilmembers, the young lady held up her hand, pale and slender as a dove’s wing, and as all watched, the tip of her index finger bent itself backwards mid joint, and fractured clean in two. All knew then and there, the very next Ostesce was very possibly standing right there, in their midst. You can imagine, how quickly she was ushered away from the scene! Her empathic transmogrification was so instantaneous and obvious, and so on par with the pain the toddler did not experience; well, we knew we had a good one there. More than a mere, next prospect.
You got that right. We are all quite certain, we have our next “The One.”
Most rare, to have an initial empathic manifestation occur in public like this, where willing witnesses – which is to say no protective, possibly uncooperative family members – are present. Were that not the case, one can generally rely on telltale relatives and friends (money always fuels the willingness) to lead us to our next Ostesce before its predecessor has expired, continuity being critically important. Some transferences are drama-laden processes. Happily, very few play out like that. With this most recent incident, we had an instantaneous identification of a transmogrification, leaving no one to question (or deny, as it were) the occurrence. I might add, the girl’s parents were immediately paid off to ensure their compliance. We require both familial silence and support in the procurement of any host.
And let me tell you of the collective sigh of relief making waves throughout our communities. Parents and most especially daughters everywhere are feeling quite confidant in their comfortable status quo, knowing they were spared the honour of a confinement in the Sanctuary. No one denies the hard work involved of any host. Any day now, we should get final word on this next Ostesce, and the timing will be perfect. As I said earlier, the current Ostesce does not appear long for this world. She is nearly replete with all the transmogrifications over these last few years, which, to your benefit, will render her quite wonderfully complete before too long.
This is an acquisition process that requires patience, wouldn’t you say?
Indeed!
So, come then. Let us commence with our tour. Did you get enough coffee? And was not our luncheon a delight?
Yes. I will be sure to pass your compliments on to the chef!
This way, please. We have a few stops to make this afternoon and need to be done and out of the compound by ten. Bedtime is strictly adhered to, for, even such an Ostesce – most especially she – needs her rest.
Shall we?
†††
Come, come. Now, lend me your ears. Listen carefully.
Aha. So, you don’t hear a thing, do you?
This is precisely what we were talking about earlier, at the dentistry atelier. Yes. Quiet. Only softly spoken, genteel conversation, room by room. Instructions, timed breathing, coaching by the midwives and their apprentices, and of course, the conversations of their loved ones. Here and there, you might encounter a physician in attendance. You see, we have centered the event of giving birth in this facility, where community and assistance are immediately and ongoingly available to our citizens. Efficient and forward-thinking, is it not? Yes, we love this concept and see it as an advancement – no doubt you are also seeing more of this where you live. And why the casual camaraderie present in our facility? As you might discern, aside from the occasional, generally insignificant biological realities, where a practiced helping hand or medical acumen is required, the act of giving birth has developed in our society as a time of serene, celebratory gathering, of welcoming. The key being, of course, the absence of pain.
No pain. None at all. No pain to fight against; no moans or cries, no sound to distress anyone in attendance, no verbalized negativity, no fear of any kind. And heaven forbid, no profanity. We long ago drew that line. The absolute non-violence which exists as a bedrock foundation of our society, simply does not warrant the aggressive use of foul language. There is no need for any outburst of any kind amongst a people bereft of all residual elements of suffering, at every level. Terribly nice, isn’t it?
Aha, so you noticed the quiet the moment you entered? There you go. No sound, really, but for the music playing in the grand hall. You can hear that too, yes? Wonderful, isn’t it, how the acoustics work around here? Brilliant architectural design, intended to carry sound. There is nothing to squelch or stifle. Only music to break the stillness of the place. Blissful mother, blissful baby, blissful everyone.
Here, we can take a peek inside. They’ve agreed beforehand – it’s an agreement of disclosure we offer our patients where they allow us to engage with them for a bit – with discretion of course – when we are working with a prospective collector. The proof this offers you is in the moment. In the act of giving birth, as you can see, all is taking place in absolute quietude and calm, in an environment of zero pain, no discomfort but for the natural effort of a little core strength, tapped – with assistance, of course – to deliver an infant.
This is itself the embodiment of Stille Nacht, is it not?
She? Yes, hmmm. Let me take a look. This young lady is nearly ready to deliver. The last notes are but from a couple minutes ago. Won’t be long, and these lovely people will be welcoming their little one into this world.
Ah – I see. . . Reading this here. . . Yes, your first! How wonderful.
And how are you all doing on this miraculous day? How momentous! Congratulations to you, young man. I am addressing the Father, yes? Lovely. All my best to you.
And you my dear. Well, well! You are looking positively radiant! Feeling good, I hope? Wonderful.
You see? She is feeling ‘wonderful.’
I take it, your pregnancy has been a blessedly pleasant and uneventful one? Good, good! It shows. Truly! Your happiness, your health, have you looking as they say radiant. These most beautiful aspects, all reflected in your face. And to think, it won’t be long, and you will have your child in your arms, and introducing everyone here to your newest family member!
Thank you ever so much for sharing, for permitting this visit.
A son you say? How lovely! Congratulations to you all. Our very best to you.
Yes, time flies.
And speaking of which, our time is on wings as well. We wish you all the very best.
Good. Good. Let us move on.
Next up, I would like to show you the surgery theatre. There are hmmm let’s see two procedures scheduled for today, and I am quite certain at least one of the patients is signed on as a tour stop for us. Being that our patients are all fully awake and aware during their surgeries, there is no undue invasion of their privacy. Most are happy to have us stop in to chat a bit. I might add, even our recovery statistics are exemplars of our way of practicing the art of medicine, the catch of course being, we cannot divulge anything about this to outside communities or professionals. This is something we, unfortunately for the rest of the world, must withhold. You understand, yes? Wait until you see this – a patient lying on the table, reading from a book whilst they are being operated on. It is almost comical!
Et voilà, one’s time in the operating room becomes a simple opportunity to catch up on one’s reading, spend a lovely set of hours at rest, after which, in a happy and calm state, recovery is undertaken with restful ease, allowing for the healing to commence that much more quickly.
Here we go. We have arrived.
Now, before we can be admitted into the surgical theater, we do ask that all admittants don these robes. It is just a little cleanliness measure, for although there is no pain, no iota of discomfort, there will be blood. Are you alright with the sight of blood? Good. Very well. Here you go. This one is for you. . . and this one is for you. Just for this part of the tour. I apologize in advance for the somewhat unfortunate fashion challenge this presents, but we will wear these for only a few minutes, only during this part of the tour.
There you go. Yes. Good. Your humble cooperation is so appreciated! Take your time. We are, I am happy to note, a few minutes ahead of schedule.
Oh? Why, sure. We can sit a moment. . .
Better? Good. Let us proceed.
Hello Doctors, good afternoon to you! Nurse, hello to you too and thank you for allowing us to spend a few minutes with you.
Yes, yes. That is correct.
Why hello there! And how are we doing today? Oh, wonderful! And what are we reading on this special day?
Fabulous! I just love that book! Although don’t remember it all that well; it has been a while. . .
Of course. And might I ask, what is the procedure being done today? Aha.
Why, thank you ever so much.
Indeed – drawn and quartered? Well, not so much. . . You do have a decided sense of humor, good sir! Wonderful! No, we need not look too long. This is not for everyone, madame.
Doctor? Where are we in the procedure? If you don’t mind elucidating the steps you are taking for the benefit of my guests?
And sir, do you in fact feel any pain? Any at all? No? Any discomfort? None?
Splendid! Truly!
And so, my friends, as you can see, the chest is split wide open at this point and the pins are. . .
Oh, dear! Here! Please, take this chair.
There, there. . .
My apologies. Come. We can catch our breath over here. And here you go. A sip of water. There, there.
Another look? Why of course!
Yes, there is a curve, one could say, a brief period of let’s call it acclimation.
Wonderful. Yes, as you can see the heart is beating, good and strong. Quite the miracle, is it not? We see this here, as we saw in there, the practice of humane science. No distracting, damaging throes of agony, neither here nor there, against which any other human must instinctively fight. No one in our world struggles against pain.
No pain. Right.
Yes, well, it is a little like magic.
We see it as dignity in a sea of calm. Like Grace. Every citizen is granted this. It, our way, has the capacity to elevate every last one of us. Patients, physicians, alike.
And Ma’am; you said you had a question for our patient? Go right ahead.
Yes, Doctor? Of course. Thank you most kindly. This has been a wonderful visit. Enlightening, and, well, beautiful in its own way. To see the cheeriness of a fellow citizen as we, good sir, see in you, to chat so pleasantly, so nonchalantly whilst a surgery is being performed upon your person, makes it all worth it.
Wouldn’t you agree?
Splendid! I for one, could not agree more!
Oh, this? I will explain later. I would rather do it in context.
After all, there is still the portion of our tour during which we – as it has always been done – present in full, which is to say in context, how all this is borne by our Ostesces.
We have learned over the years that it is an imperative to first and fully illustrate the peace, the calm, the gentility that reigns, the absence of all negative energies and emotions as so miraculously lived and experienced by our people in order to bring home to such as yourselves, what this is really all about. How beautiful it all is.
It is key, we have further found, to imprint you with the beauteous nature of painlessness, to ensure you have ample illustrative opportunities to witness first-hand the vast, the, um, colossal capacities held in what we do, and with whom, and why. It is part of the absolute grace we live with as a result of our reality.
Yes. Correct. As a result of our ongoing partnership. I prefer to view it as a communion of souls with our most venerated Ostesces, each one of them a star in our Pantheon, may they stand long and proud where they find final rest. We live longer, better, healthier, and fuller lives for it. Happier, peaceful lives.
That heart, that splayed chest. It is the stuff of paintings, is it not? A veritable landscape of the Human. The humane, dissected, resurrected. Bravo all around!
And if I wax a bit poetic when I conduct these tours, I cannot help it! When I revisit the contextual activities of which my role as your guide consists, I am profoundly moved each and every time! And I must warn you, I am a bit of a mush in the presence of an Ostesce. I have never built-up resistance to their, um, beauty. Oh, and thank you again for your willingness to don these robes. It is the least we can do when in the presence of a split ribcage, wouldn’t you say?
Here. I’ll take those back now. Thank you. And thank you!
Come, this way!
Feel free to peer in through any open doors as we make our way down the hall.
Let us go this way. Allow me.
Now, I propose a cup of tea before we head on to our next destination. A bit of fortification, let’s call it, before we go to the Sanctuary. Our carriage awaits us.
Yes, that is where we will see her. Our brilliant and suffering hostess.
†††
So, we have just an hour before the Sanctuary is turned down for the night. By that, we mean the candles are extinguished, the incense burners are put out, and the Ostesce is fed her daily ration. Whether she actually sleeps, no one quite knows. There are strong indications of reduced activity and diminished responsiveness, which suggest some form of rest, some level of recuperative non-activity – non-absorption, as it were – in response to whatever might be occurring during the overnight hours. We discovered centuries ago that a twenty-four-hour watch – the constant witnessing and gauging of a host’s condition – resulted in an increased pantophobia in them, which diminished their capacity to absorb our citizens’ pain experiences, to internalize and then manifest them, that empathetic hyper-osteomalacia I was talking of earlier. To that end, about the turn of the 18th century, we set about to create a night of sorts in the Sanctuary, despite there being no indicators of night or day in the room. It is as you will see a windowless enclave in the lower cellar, at the very center of the temple footprint. While the night, so to speak, is only about five hours long, it keeps our Ostesces at full capacity, et voilà it keeps our people pain-free. We can only enjoy the gifts of the Ostesce so long as it, I mean she, is fully functional.
The ration, you ask? That consists of the host. A piece of consecrated, dry bread, and a sip – about a soup spoon’s worth – of holy water. The host and the water are blessed right here, in the nave, by the senior Goodfather.
No. nothing else. It has little if nothing to do with actual nutrition. There has never been an Ostesce who has required food, which is to say, to eat, or digest. . . I rather cringe at the potential outcomes, so to speak of that. . . ’twould seem rather unpure.
No. Far as I know, few have ever asked for anything.
Trust me, we would know. The ministers charged with their care keep watch and log every detail, every action, including any word they might utter, so long as they can still speak. Often, speech ceases sometime during the third year. Teeth tend to fuse, yes top to bottom, and tongues get bitten off when the jaws do their spontaneous thing. One never knows what exactly will happen, or in what order. Suffice it to say, the transmogrifications tend to commence with the largest joints first.
Yes, it can be a bit messy at first. But our ministers are fastidious housekeepers. Or should I say nursemaids? You understand, yes? We really do need you to be clear on this before I take you downstairs to see her.
Yes, of course. Take a seat, right here in the pew. We can take a minute to catch our breath. Would you like a bonbon? I have a bag of humbugs. Look. Right here. Take one. It’ll soothe the tummy.
Let me advise you both, it is quite recommended – or might I venture to say it is rather an imperative – that you are both able to maintain a calm state of mind as we proceed on this last portion of our tour, even now. You see, the Ostesce is but a few feet below us, right here where we stand, in the nave. We will access the Sanctuary by way of the stairs over there, through that arched doorway. But while you are in this close proximity to her – and part of our little universe, as it were – she will be compulsed by the nature of her gift, to home in on your distress if you are feeling anything, and to internalize it.
Yes, and to manifest it.
Yes! Even newcomers such as yourselves!
Try and think of it this way: the more calm you can maintain during what is, yes, far more a personal revelation than any basic sharing of information, the better for us all. It is not always easy for the prospective collector. A last hurdle, you could say. A bit of a test. The negative vapors you might be emitting, she will be picking up from you, which might only make the first sight of her that much more difficult for you, if indeed she is in active degeneration thanks to your very own emotionality. The birthing halls and surgeries today will have made this a busy enough day for her already, notwithstanding all the other random, little incidents constantly at play in the lives of our citizenry, all no doubt resulting in some marked transmogrifications in her today, even this close to let’s call it her bedtime. Let us not add to the host’s distress in our moment of introduction. Agreed?
Good. Thank you.
Indeed, sir. I understand. Of course. It happens.
Yes, I can wait. But we cannot wait too long. We have – let me see what my watch says – about fifty minutes left in her day. When the attendants close shop for the night, the Sanctuary doors are locked, and they too are windowless. No latent glimpses, no surreptitious peeks. Either we go in and you meet your Ostesce face to face or we will have to consider, um, let’s call it other options. . .
No. Yes. Good. You are feeling better now? Good. And you are both still committed to this acquisition, yes? Good. I can tell you are, sir. I am trying to accommodate your wife, here. It happens. Empathy is an emotion you in your world still contend with, being that suffering is still elemental to your existence. Try to imagine you are visiting on some distant planet. Tap some cathartic imagery to set aside what all you are trying to digest. You are being made witness to something not of your world, so that you can ultimately take a little portion of what we have, what we are, into your world. This has been from the outset the goal. Agreed?
Indeed. Otherworldly is a good word for it. Brava, madame, for your circumspection. Would you like another humbug?
No? Very well. Let us go downstairs to meet la Ostesce. . .
Come my dear, allow me. . . Take my arm. . .
†††
Yes, of course, you can speak.
What was that?
Yes, she can hear us.
No. That she cannot do. In this one, the mandible split a few years ago, and the two halves have now fused themselves to her collarbones. Makes for a dramatic orifice, does it not? Almost like something you’d find on the masthead of a pirate’s ship!
Oh, sure. Yes, the attendants just need to administer the host with a little more finesse. Nothing a large pair of tweezers or a long-handled spoon can’t accomplish.
No. Like I said, there is no hunger. This one has never once asked for food.
No worries. Your eyes will continue to adjust.
That is correct. No sunlight, or moonlight. Ever. Just these candles.
Oh, dear.
Madame, here. . .
No. I, ah. . .
Sir, sir. This will not do! If your wife cannot help her tears, we will have to exit the premises. Please, madame, I beg of you. . . Come on now, I know you can do this. You are both high level, prime collector applicants. And just think, when this Ostesce is expired – and it’ll be just a couple months more – you will have your very own plinth. Why, just look at her! Look at the rotation of her right leg, with her foot hooked over her shoulder like that! Colossal. Truly, what wizened apple tree is as eloquently gnarled? What grapevine is this poetically twisted?
Correct, sir. Well. . .
Ma’am, look with me, let us talk about it. . . Talk it through. . .
Let us not be distracted with negativities as you might be inclined to perceive them. That is not what this is about. Think. . . Think, um. . . magical mysticism. . . think living sculpture. . . Here! If you look right here, you can see movement. No doubt it is the remainders of today’s events manifesting in the host. There! did you catch that? Look right there, at the shin bone.
No, on the left leg. Do you see the angle of the bend there? Watch. . . It’s almost imperceptible but it’s visible. It is bending farther as we speak. Can you see it? Minute breaks now. . . a small, sequential splintering. . .
Oh, I know. Well, the sparse illumination I have always found somewhat romantic. . .
There! There it is again! Did you hear it?
Good, that was a bit more obvious. Yes, the skin is now breaking too. Part of the process. How else can the bones come into contact to fuse? Osteal fusion has always only occurred by way of bone melding directly to bone.
Yes. As I mentioned, the attendants keep things cleaned up in here. Some days are a bit let’s say messier than others.
Ma’am. . . Ma’am! Please!
Sir, can I ask you to try and calm your wife down?
If that doesn’t just. . . Now, look what we have done! The Ostesce was dozing when we entered.
Probably too much commotion. Too much emotion. She is wide awake now. Well, so be it. You will probably soon become audience to her moans, and this one’s is not a terribly mellifluous song. I should warn you: To bear witness to audial lamentations can get in the way of aesthetic appreciation, on which we must all remain steadfast. Right my dear? And brave. Remember, the host is only doing what she was always set out to do, what all the Ostesce before her have done. And no one here – no one in our world – would have it any other way. You do understand, don’t you?
Please remember, you both were thoroughly vetted and, unless you were a bit less than one hundred percent forthcoming with your applications, what was presented to us on paper – but for this unfortunate display of emotion on the part of your lovely wife here – showed you two as being more than suitably conditioned for the honour of acquiring one of our plinths.
Yes, of course. My condolences. Would that you might have seen fit to disclose it.
Oh. I see.
No, this is not the first time. You – I mean we – are only human. And the suffering you are witnessing I promise you, will only serve to heighten your appreciation of the plinth once it is in your possession, for the serenity it will embody in its final, deboned state.
Oh! Excuse me. Rasmus? You might want to see this. Bring rags and a basin. There is a sizable break happening in the left shinbone, right above the ankle. Getting pretty, er, muddled over here. . .
Thank you, my friend. . .
Yes, a hazard of the process.
There. that’s better. . .
Oh dear.
Sir. . . oh my goodness! Your wife!
Here you go! Let me help. Oh my. I hope she didn’t hit her head too hard when she fell. Oh deary, oh me-oh my-oh! This does not look like it’s going to work.
Yes, yes. I know you are good to go. But what about her?
Indeed. But here is the problem. This all needs to be alright with the both of you. It won’t work to divide you as a couple this late in the process. Had that been the case from the get-go, it would have been better for you to apply solo, just yourself. You could perhaps have managed to house the plinth in such a way that your lovely wife would never have wondered two wits about it; perhaps kept it secreted from her altogether in a second residence or something. But we don’t generally stand on deceptive, or divisive, collecting practices. Things get complicated, and the fallout is often not worth the trouble, certainly not the cost.
Oh, I know.
I am sorry but. . .
Pardon me, could you repeat that? It is a bit difficult to hear over the din.
Yes, of course. The pain she feels is as real as any pain ever felt to anyone. Probably worse. No, definitely worse. That’s part of the splendor in all this. There is no experiential middle ground inside these ancient walls. The Sanctuary is deep underground for good reason.
Yes. Nineteen years and counting on this one. . .
What was that again?
I know, I know. Oh my. The noise is disconcerting. Fracturing is especially let’s call it dramatic. When she settles down from this, um, episode, I am certain she will doze off again. It is late. . .
Um, no.
I am sorry, but no.
Oh. I see.
Very well then.
No. That is fine. The deposit is non-refundable. But you knew that, yes? It doesn’t, however, alter the unfortunate fact that you two now know too much. . .
No. We have never done that. It is about the money, of course, to a notable extent. But there is far more at play here. . .
Oh, dear. Well, this is a problem.
Rasmus. . .?
Yes, it is a problem, to back out this late in the process. Once you have laid eyes on a living host, you can neither unsee it nor forget any other sensory impression gathered in these chambers: the sight, the sound, even the. . . the, um, stench. . . It is something of an imprinting, pain recorded and molded into a tangible, measurable, flesh-and-blood incarnation. Therefore, the risk factor of your spilling on all this exists in droves. Huge problem. Unwanted disclosures. . . Risky, risky, risky! Trust me, we have been there a couple times. Not a pretty thing. No good outcomes.
I know. That is what they all say.
Look; at least you do not have the dubious honour as being the first ones to fall off at this point. Would that I could say it’d be the last, but that would be an inordinately great expectation of you all, no matter your standing, no matter how agreeably you presented yourselves to the vetting committee.
I truly am so sorry as well. Now, look here, if you would allow me. . .
Rasmus! Thank you, well done. Oh, you are quick!
Well, yes, if you’ve got him good and tight, go right ahead.
My dear sir. It’ll hurt for only a moment or two. And your wife will never know what happened. She hit her head pretty hard, poor thing. Did a real number on herself, all by her lonesome.
Yes, Rasmus. . .
You see, we have perfected our methods, for, the last thing we would want, is to put the final sufferings of a couple of wishy-washy foreigners upon our busy little hostess here. La Ostecse is almost ripe. I mean, look at her! She could prove to be one of the most divinely formulated specimens we will have produced in some time – in my lifetime at least. And so, the quicker we dispense of you two, the sooner we can have our driver bring over the next candidate, who, if you must know, is staying at the same inn where you two are booked, in the suite one floor right above yours. How about that? We will be able to pick right up with him where, I am afraid, we must now leave off with you.
Oh my. . .
My most sincere condolences, dear sir, that this didn’t work out between us. But as I said, time is of the essence. This one has been doubled over onto herself coming up on twelve years, and the parallel sections of her spinal column are commencing to fuse into each other as we speak. We simply cannot jeopardize any minute she has left to accomplish this. A two-tiered spinal column on a plinth is beyond rare. A special sort of origami, you could say; rare and highly decorative. It renders them a tad compact, I suppose, but. . .
Oh, do shut up. There is nothing you can do.
Rasmus? On my mark. . .
Come to think of it, we may even raise the price on this one, given the fact that we have not yet finalized the paperwork with the next candidate, and he can well afford it. Owns his own island; arrived in port aboard his own yacht. But I digress; I am sounding like some common gossip. . . Shame on me!
What do you think, Rasmus? I’d bet the ministers would latch on to the revisions in a. . .
Now
†††††
“Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt.” Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse Five, 1969
from, GÖTHIQUE by K.A. Schultz, 2023
butterflybroth 