She was ivy, green with envy and choking, in the still cold silence of the night. She hung suspended above my head, her limp blonde hair plastered over her features, once beautiful, and now bulging and swollen. The sharp blue and black stood out around the edges of where the rope had begun to cut into her skin, and crept up her face in watery displays of affections—the lonely kisses of a lonely death.

She spoke little to me now, in the way she tipped, tilted, and swayed in place, elegant, tiny feet dangling above the floor. The overall composition of her, juxtaposed against the ceiling and floor, created a masterpiece even the most divine of artists could not have captured. Her swanlike arms, white and plucked bare from the kill, floated in the breeze and allowed for little to move, though she was but a skeleton in retrospect.

It had been with a pale and undiluted clarity that I had murdered the woman I loved.

She had betrayed me with her words and thoughts, the way she smiled, a knowing smile that echoed jealousy in my head. The still calm of the world surrounding her was a stark contrast to the dishonored body that hung above the floor, twirling in place like a demented marionette.

I studied her form against the knowing moonlight, and heard the cry of a quiet owl in the dusk. Twilight was rising, but the moon still hung as she did, a questioning eye against the heavens, or perhaps a gawking mouth, horrified by what it had witnessed.

I could still smell him on her. The cheap, quick scent of hastily-applied cologne. The taste of sake on her tongue, riding the natural taste of her like an animal rides its mate. The queer, mutinous muteness that had begun to dwell in the room started to grate on my nerves, so I proceeded to hum, setting about cutting her down by standing on the table.

She had been a faithful lover up till now. What I did not understand was why she had decided to drive herself from me. Had I been nothing but faithful to her? She had abandoned me for the sake of something, someone else—some substance of humanity that I apparently could not provide for her. So what had I done wrong?

Or moreover and much more importantly—what was wrong with me?

It is a curious thing to question oneself beneath the surface of such a spectator as the moon, swallowed up in its own milky envy, clutching at the train of her scarlet dress with gripping, white fingers. The beams of light offered little to persuade her descent, and the knife in my hands slipped several times as I sawed at the rope around her throat.

Truly, she had tied herself a tight knot now, and it was a task and a half to bear her to the floor where she belonged. Her noises became the rustle of silk and whispers I knew well, too well, beyond the grave despondency of her figure, still feebly swaying in place.

"Let us forget this, lover," said I, "For there are worse circumstances than death, are there not?"

  I wondered if I should ask her how she could do this to me. Why now, three days before we were to be married? Her wide, rounded-out amber eyes said nothing, and her lips, puckered up for an eternity, committed adultery with the air, though she breathed no longer.

When I finally began to dig her wedding bed in the earth, I realized the breeze was reciting a lullaby—

                          The crane is awake,

                                    Lo, she sleeps,

                          The mate is on the nest,

                                    Beware of the deep.

I finally understood it now—and as I padded the packed earth atop her heartless bosom, I rejoiced in the final realization that she would do me no more harm.



-



I will grow daisies for him, up and through the ground, though I have always been fond of lilies. The soft gentle touches of the earthworms over my skin are a comfort, wiggling fingers that breed sensations against skin that unwittingly turns the color of bleached cobalt.

The clay loam tomb that is my sanctuary protects me from his jealousy. When he had found me in the arms of Taijo, I knew my fate was sealed. The jaded hatred in his eyes had pierced me as though he were a tiger, not a man, and it offered little comfort when he had merely turned and walked away.

I often wished, on a whim, as I lay in the earth, that I had done as Taijo had instructed and run away with him. Despite the dishonor of marrying a poorer man beneath my station, I would have at least been happy, possibly even alive.

Why had they asked me to marry such a callous, stationary figure such as he? My former fiancée` was a dark man with an even darker temper, and many knew of the ways with which he treated women. My heart sank in dejection when they presented me as his bride. I should have married a younger man, much more suited to my age.

He had waited for me in the darkness with the rope, his envy having driven him mad. He was allowed to commit adultery, but not I? I had seen him many a time in the dark warmth of a woman, his face buried in her hair!

But why was it I that was to suffer?
He always believed--he was vain enough--to presume that I was jealous of the women he had courted. Secrets, secrets. He was full of these, full of something, full of a cruel ire that often presented itself whenever he looked at me. He had tombstones for eyes, emotionless gray slabs that looked down a pointed nose and pinpointed the very center of my soul, and made me feel my every imperfection at skin-deep.
It was a lord I had been engaged to, and it was a devil who showed his love. Perhaps I was driven by the demons of his heart to hide in the arms of Taijo--warm, loving Taijo, who despairingly could not prevent my death, no more than he could a suicide.
It is not such a bad existence, however, feeding the earth. Truly I could ask for no better purpose than to become a garden, for at least a garden is free to love the air, the wind, and the rain—

And not a cold dark room, with a cold dark man.



</the end.>