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Book: The Brothel Creeper: Stories of Sexual and Spiritual Tension by Rhys Hughes
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Authors: Rhys Hughes
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case, my dear, shall we strive to save ourselves? If you truly were so miserable, your preservation will give me great delight. I want to prolong your suffering indefinitely.”
“It’s too far to swim back to the island.”
“I agree. But we only need to stay afloat until help comes. Nobody knows our position, true enough, nor that we are even out here, and I had no time to send a distress signal by radio, and this is hardly a busy shipping lane, but all the same a vessel might pass and spot us. Stranger things happen at sea. I’ll name some of them, if you like.”
“You really are an idiot,” she hissed.
“Hardly a positive response!”
“But how can we avoid sinking and drowning when we are too fatigued to tread water? I’m already aching.”
He answered at once, “I’ll build a raft.”
Shaking her head, she looked at the empty sea. The yacht had been filled with objects but all of them had sunk with it. Jason had lashed down every loose item on deck, so they had only the clothes they wore. Shorts for him and a satin dress for her. She was obsessed with this garment and had been posing with it in front of a mirror when the boat snapped in two. The fabric was inappropriate for the climate, not to mention the situation. Yet it seemed a fine sort of shroud, elegant, sleek, rippled with deep colour, like the ocean that would soon open as a tomb to receive it and her. This blue dress might serve for a sail, but not for a hull. For that, there was nothing. Not even a spoon bobbing loose from the galley.
All had gone down, falling in graceful oscillations to the abyssal plain, where ophiuroids and scotoplanes played dark unruly chess with themselves as pieces. Littering that limbo.
Better not to think about the creatures at the bottom of the sea! Better to remain optimistic, undefeated.
“My dear, a raft is our only chance.”
“You really are the limit, Jason. Do you hope to grow your fingernails at an accelerated rate, bite them off and use them as planks? Is that how you’re planning to manufacture a vessel?”
“With a suggestion like that, you have the audacity to accuse me of being an idiot! But there’s something else I want to talk to you about. Can’t you see that shadow moving below…”
She looked and nodded. The shadow grew larger, refracted to an irregular shape. Jason assumed it was a shark and decided to scream, but before the note formed on his tongue the shape broke the surface and revealed itself to be a wardrobe. It must have worked itself loose from the cabin where it had stood. Only half watertight, it was leaking and soon would sink a second time and never come back up.
The door was shut but the key was still in its lock. Jason swam to it with bold strokes while Henrietta blushed. Her embarrassment was puzzling, for here was something tangible that might provide temporary support until its buoyancy was compromised.
He hugged it by extending his stiff arms to their fullest extent. Then he recoiled. A knocking came from within. Henrietta shrugged unconvincingly at this, but Jason clambered onto the object and turned the key. The door opened and a man leapt out. The water gushed in to take his place and the wardrobe plunged under again.
“Who are you?” Jason spluttered.
The newcomer blinked, grinned, floated confidently. His exposed teeth were perfectly white, like unwritten books without covers. His hair was a mass of oily curls. He was handsome and arrogant and unexpected. “You are a stowaway!” accused Jason.
“He’s my lover,” corrected Henrietta.
“You smuggled him on board without me knowing?” Jason wailed, his fists beating water into foam.
“Clearly I did,” agreed Henrietta.
“And kept him a secret all this time?” he growled.
“That was the easy part. You spent so much time with your compasses, charts and other navigational aids, forever recalculating your position, that you had no opportunity to observe my positions. And I tried plenty of
“It’s too far to swim back to the island.”
“I agree. But we only need to stay afloat until help comes. Nobody knows our position, true enough, nor that we are even out here, and I had no time to send a distress signal by radio, and this is hardly a busy shipping lane, but all the same a vessel might pass and spot us. Stranger things happen at sea. I’ll name some of them, if you like.”
“You really are an idiot,” she hissed.
“Hardly a positive response!”
“But how can we avoid sinking and drowning when we are too fatigued to tread water? I’m already aching.”
He answered at once, “I’ll build a raft.”
Shaking her head, she looked at the empty sea. The yacht had been filled with objects but all of them had sunk with it. Jason had lashed down every loose item on deck, so they had only the clothes they wore. Shorts for him and a satin dress for her. She was obsessed with this garment and had been posing with it in front of a mirror when the boat snapped in two. The fabric was inappropriate for the climate, not to mention the situation. Yet it seemed a fine sort of shroud, elegant, sleek, rippled with deep colour, like the ocean that would soon open as a tomb to receive it and her. This blue dress might serve for a sail, but not for a hull. For that, there was nothing. Not even a spoon bobbing loose from the galley.
All had gone down, falling in graceful oscillations to the abyssal plain, where ophiuroids and scotoplanes played dark unruly chess with themselves as pieces. Littering that limbo.
Better not to think about the creatures at the bottom of the sea! Better to remain optimistic, undefeated.
“My dear, a raft is our only chance.”
“You really are the limit, Jason. Do you hope to grow your fingernails at an accelerated rate, bite them off and use them as planks? Is that how you’re planning to manufacture a vessel?”
“With a suggestion like that, you have the audacity to accuse me of being an idiot! But there’s something else I want to talk to you about. Can’t you see that shadow moving below…”
She looked and nodded. The shadow grew larger, refracted to an irregular shape. Jason assumed it was a shark and decided to scream, but before the note formed on his tongue the shape broke the surface and revealed itself to be a wardrobe. It must have worked itself loose from the cabin where it had stood. Only half watertight, it was leaking and soon would sink a second time and never come back up.
The door was shut but the key was still in its lock. Jason swam to it with bold strokes while Henrietta blushed. Her embarrassment was puzzling, for here was something tangible that might provide temporary support until its buoyancy was compromised.
He hugged it by extending his stiff arms to their fullest extent. Then he recoiled. A knocking came from within. Henrietta shrugged unconvincingly at this, but Jason clambered onto the object and turned the key. The door opened and a man leapt out. The water gushed in to take his place and the wardrobe plunged under again.
“Who are you?” Jason spluttered.
The newcomer blinked, grinned, floated confidently. His exposed teeth were perfectly white, like unwritten books without covers. His hair was a mass of oily curls. He was handsome and arrogant and unexpected. “You are a stowaway!” accused Jason.
“He’s my lover,” corrected Henrietta.
“You smuggled him on board without me knowing?” Jason wailed, his fists beating water into foam.
“Clearly I did,” agreed Henrietta.
“And kept him a secret all this time?” he growled.
“That was the easy part. You spent so much time with your compasses, charts and other navigational aids, forever recalculating your position, that you had no opportunity to observe my positions. And I tried plenty of
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