Brian Stableford - Kiss the Goat

Long afterwards, while Kit still lay on her back, precariously balanced on the outer rim of the narrow bed, she looked up at the figures hovering over her on the slanting ceiling, and sideways at the bulkier form that loomed over Stephens sleeping body. The red light was off now but the street-light was on, and there was light enough to see the shadows in the walls. Without the emphasis lent by the colored light they were very vague indeed, but now that she knew they were there her mind had no difficulty at all improvising more detailed outlines.

She was only half asleep, but she was already beginning to dream.

She dreamed, while she still had lucidity enough to guide the illusion, that the Devil reached out a long furry arm, whose claw-like hand had talons instead of nails. The arm reached right out of the wall, over Stephens body, and laid the tips of its talons upon her forehead, very gently, then trailed them down her face towards her lips.

It was as if the talons were inviting a kissbut Kit turned her face away. It wasnt a refusal, as suchjust a matter of being fashionably coy. The shadow knew that. She and the shadow had almost reached an understanding now. But she was only dreaming. She knew that she was dreaming, although she wasnt sleeping deeply; she was conscious enough to be making the dream up as she went along. She wasnt surrendering, even to the anarchy of an authentic dream.

This time, she was prepared to let Stephen sleep in her bed all night, if he wanted to, no matter how uncomfortable it got. She was even prepared to sleep on the settee to make sure that it didnt get too uncomfortable. She waited until she was absolutely sure that he was sleeping deeply before she detached herself from his residual grip, so that she wouldnt wake him up. She was in a self-sacrificial mood, and she figured that he had earned it.

She tiptoed to the bathroom and did her best to be quiet while she was in there. She pulled the door to so that the light wouldnt wake him. She took her time, and paused before coming out to check herself in the mirror. She didnt look too bad, all things considered. She turned off the light before opening the door again.

The room into which she stepped seemed to be as dark as she had every right to expect, all the more so because the street-light wasnt directly visible from the bathroom doorway, but something strange had happened to her eyes. Because she was coming out of a brighter light to which her eyes had had plenty of time to adjust she should have been blinded for a moment or two, until her pupils had dilated again to let more light through to her retinas. Instead, she could see quite clearly. It was as if she had suddenly been blessedor cursedwith the vision of a fox or some other nocturnal wanderer, far more comfortable by night than by day, or with a kind of vision that was even more remarkable, equipped for looking into the darkness that lay beyond mere darkness, which required second sight for its perception.

With the aid of this new sense, Kit could see the mural above the bed with perfect clarity. It was no longer a matter of guessing what the shapes must signify: she could see every line of the artists depiction, every field of color.

The image was indeed like something out of a comic book, or something from a fanciful album cover, and it did indeed depict a witches sabbat overflown by winged demonsor perhaps, given their diminutive size, demonettes. The dancers and the demonettes were mere silhouettes, but the Devil was carefully detailed: curling horns, bestial face, shaggy back, and an arse like a rutting apes, uniformly black but very highly polished.

The portrait was vivid enough to have the kind of eyes that would follow observers around a room, but the Devils eyes didnt seem to be fixed on her. Instead, they seemed to be fixed on the settee where shed been aiming to sleep in order to let Stephen rest undisturbed: the settee which was now occupied by a young woman with jet-black hair and bright red lipstick, clad from head to toe in a combination of soft black leather and gleaming black PVC.

Kit never doubted for an instant that this was Rose Selavy, in her working clothes. Not Violet Leverhulme, but Rose Selavy: a self-made woman, in the image of a whore; the ghost of a fantasy. Touched by the Devil, Kit had been freed to see what she hadnt been able to see before. Until now, shed only caught the merest glimpses of the world beyond the world; now she could see it with TV-quality definition.

Nice work, said Rose Selavy.

Kit could hear her voice clearly, but she knew that it wouldnt have shown up on a tape-recorder, and that if Even Stephen could hear it at all it would only be a dream-voice, not the kind of sound that might wake him up. Kit was nervous about replying, because she wasnt sure that she could speak in that kind of dream-voice without making the kind of sound that might wake a sleeper, but as soon as she made the effort she realized how easy it was.

I didnt paint it, Kit said, silently. And I certainly didnt paint you.

It takes two to tango, love, said Rose Selavy, who had retained a trace of Violet Leverhulmes accent even though she had suppressed the rest of her existential legacy, and two to make a folie deux . I could never have made myself visible like this without the right kind of help. Youre an angel. This means a lot to me.

I bet you say that to all your visitors, Kit countered.

You arent paying, the phantom whore pointed out.

Kit wished she could be sure of that. What do you want from me? she whispered, taken slightly by surprise by the fact that it was possible to whisper in a voice whose loudest scream would have been silent to any objective witness.

What have you got? was the mocking reply.

A life, Kit retorted, quick as a flashbut she bit her lip when shed said it, because she didnt want to tempt fate.

Rose Selavy smiled. Dont worry, ducks, she said. I dont want your life. Been there, done that, got the tattoo. I like things just the way they are. Theres always a new twist, isnt there? One more virginity to lose. The holier you are, the more ways you can get fucked. She laughed at her pun, although it was as weak as one of Kits Dads.

Folie deux , Kit said. That means....

I know what it means, Rose Selavy retorted, sharply, although Kit hadnt actually been accusing her of anything. I may be a whore but Im not fucking stupid.

Kit couldnt help hearing herself in that interjection, misinterpretation and all.

That means you need me, Kit went on, stubbornly. If I can stop seeing you, smelling you, hearing your music...youre gone. Dead and buried.

Why would you want to? Rose asked her, insouciantly. What else have you got in your life thats half as interesting as me?

Kit must have cast an involuntary glance toward the bed, because Roses ghostly gaze immediately went the same way. Oh, come on, said Rose. hes not your type, and youre only his because youre holier than he is. But you and I could be relationship material. As she voiced the last sentence, though, her own gaze was subject to an involuntary twitch that gave her away.

I thought you already had a relationship, Kit said. With a goats arse.

We could make it a threesome, Rose Selavy told her. We could even make it a foursome, if the boys up for itor do I mean up to it? Hes half way hooked already. He wants in. Have to catch him while hes hot, though. I could help you with that. With your flesh and my experience we could go a long way. We could get a real life.

Thats not what I want, Kit said, although she could have kicked herself the moment the thought was out in the open. She should surely have said that a real life was what shed already got, and that she didnt need any help in that department from a comic book dominatrixor, for that matter, from the Devil himself. She should surely have said that she was free, and more than capable of sustaining her freedom, of making something of herself that was more than Daddys girl or Mummys pet.