Read Online Sexing the Cherry by Jeanette Winterson - Free Book Online
Authors: Jeanette Winterson
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my chest, which was impressive for a man not come out of my body. He resembled me not at all, a thing which must have been a secret relief to him, though he never shuddered in my company as others do.
I was wearing my best dress, the one with a wide skirt that would serve as a sail for some war-torn ship, and a bit of fancy lace at the neck, made by a blind woman who had intended it to be a shawl. I had given her some estimate of my dimensions, but she would not believe me and so, although I have nothing to go round my shoulders save a dozen blankets sewn together, I do have a fine-worked collar. I had got out my hat for the occasion of our homecoming, and despite my handicaps I cut something of a fine figure, I thought.
As we neared our long hut I saw smoke coming from the hole in the roof and, getting closer, spotted Neighbour Firebrace and Preacher Scroggs standing together on my front step, deep in viperous chatter.
'Jordan,' I cried. 'Run as fast as you can, they are burning us away.'
I ran up to them and towered above them as Goliath over David, and they trembled, and Preacher Scroggs mumbled something behind his hand about my being dead.
'Who told you I was dead?'
Scroggs had no answer to that, and I pushed him aside as you would a ninepin and looked in the hut.
It was stacked to the roof with broadsheets.
'We have requisitioned your house for Jesus and Oliver Cromwell,' said Firebrace, his cranesbill nose red with righteousness. These are papers denouncing the King.'
I snatched one from the top of the pile and found it to be a copy of 'A Perfect Diurnal', a foul and hackish screed written by Samuel Peck, a man well known for his knavery and misdeeds.
This Peck,' I said, seizing Firebrace by his jacket, 'this Peck is an enemy of mine, having taken two good dogs and never paid for them, and that some years back.'
Firebrace started his wriggling, so I lifted him clean from the floor and brought him to my eye level. He began to dribble.
This Peck,' I continued, mybreath as fiery as a dragon, 'is a bald-headed buzzard. A tall, thin-faced fellow with a hawk's nose, a meagre countenance and long runagate legs. Constant in nothing but wenching, lying and drinking.'
I called to Jordan to start throwing out the newspapers.
'Make a pile, Jordan, make it as high as you like and we'll have a full blaze and happen put Preacher Scroggs and Neighbour Firebrace on the top in memory of Guy Fawkes.'
Then Scroggs comes up to me, his eyes oozing venom, his face as contorted as a spitfrog.
'You are in danger of Hell, madam.'
'Then pity me,' says I. 'I pity you, for you are in no danger, it being quite certain that you entered Hell a time ago and will not be returning.'
'Perhaps you should tell that to my men,' he says, and standing back with his twisted smile revealed eight sober Roundheads in their coats of no colours.
I went to the door and saw another three surrounding Jordan as he made the bonfire.
'Satan's league!' I shouted. 'Get thee behind me!'
Because I am a sinner the devils did not vanish as they did for Jesus; rather they took hold of Jordan and began to march him away while Firebrace set up such a farting and laughing that I feared he would explode before I had time to dismember him.
I ran straight at the guards, broke the arms of the first, ruptured the second and gave the third a kick in the head that knocked him out at once. The other five came at me, and when I had dispatched two for an early judgement another took his musket and fired me straight in the chest. I fell over, killing the man who was poised behind me, and plucked the musket ball out of my cleavage. I was in a rage then.
'You are no gentleman to spoil a poor woman's dress, and my best dress at that.'
I sat up and rolled up my sleeves, for it dawned on me that I must take these scurvy fellows seriously. But before I had managed my feet they had run away, leaving only Scroggs and Firebrace trembling the way they will on the Last Day.
'I
I was wearing my best dress, the one with a wide skirt that would serve as a sail for some war-torn ship, and a bit of fancy lace at the neck, made by a blind woman who had intended it to be a shawl. I had given her some estimate of my dimensions, but she would not believe me and so, although I have nothing to go round my shoulders save a dozen blankets sewn together, I do have a fine-worked collar. I had got out my hat for the occasion of our homecoming, and despite my handicaps I cut something of a fine figure, I thought.
As we neared our long hut I saw smoke coming from the hole in the roof and, getting closer, spotted Neighbour Firebrace and Preacher Scroggs standing together on my front step, deep in viperous chatter.
'Jordan,' I cried. 'Run as fast as you can, they are burning us away.'
I ran up to them and towered above them as Goliath over David, and they trembled, and Preacher Scroggs mumbled something behind his hand about my being dead.
'Who told you I was dead?'
Scroggs had no answer to that, and I pushed him aside as you would a ninepin and looked in the hut.
It was stacked to the roof with broadsheets.
'We have requisitioned your house for Jesus and Oliver Cromwell,' said Firebrace, his cranesbill nose red with righteousness. These are papers denouncing the King.'
I snatched one from the top of the pile and found it to be a copy of 'A Perfect Diurnal', a foul and hackish screed written by Samuel Peck, a man well known for his knavery and misdeeds.
This Peck,' I said, seizing Firebrace by his jacket, 'this Peck is an enemy of mine, having taken two good dogs and never paid for them, and that some years back.'
Firebrace started his wriggling, so I lifted him clean from the floor and brought him to my eye level. He began to dribble.
This Peck,' I continued, mybreath as fiery as a dragon, 'is a bald-headed buzzard. A tall, thin-faced fellow with a hawk's nose, a meagre countenance and long runagate legs. Constant in nothing but wenching, lying and drinking.'
I called to Jordan to start throwing out the newspapers.
'Make a pile, Jordan, make it as high as you like and we'll have a full blaze and happen put Preacher Scroggs and Neighbour Firebrace on the top in memory of Guy Fawkes.'
Then Scroggs comes up to me, his eyes oozing venom, his face as contorted as a spitfrog.
'You are in danger of Hell, madam.'
'Then pity me,' says I. 'I pity you, for you are in no danger, it being quite certain that you entered Hell a time ago and will not be returning.'
'Perhaps you should tell that to my men,' he says, and standing back with his twisted smile revealed eight sober Roundheads in their coats of no colours.
I went to the door and saw another three surrounding Jordan as he made the bonfire.
'Satan's league!' I shouted. 'Get thee behind me!'
Because I am a sinner the devils did not vanish as they did for Jesus; rather they took hold of Jordan and began to march him away while Firebrace set up such a farting and laughing that I feared he would explode before I had time to dismember him.
I ran straight at the guards, broke the arms of the first, ruptured the second and gave the third a kick in the head that knocked him out at once. The other five came at me, and when I had dispatched two for an early judgement another took his musket and fired me straight in the chest. I fell over, killing the man who was poised behind me, and plucked the musket ball out of my cleavage. I was in a rage then.
'You are no gentleman to spoil a poor woman's dress, and my best dress at that.'
I sat up and rolled up my sleeves, for it dawned on me that I must take these scurvy fellows seriously. But before I had managed my feet they had run away, leaving only Scroggs and Firebrace trembling the way they will on the Last Day.
'I
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