Chapter Two:

Chapter Two:

In which we regret the pride of a scholar, the low horizons of a young lady and the unfortunate result of their meeting.

In the county of Shropshire, there once lived a schoolmaster of exceeding foolishness. His name was Horatio Derrick, and like many people of exceeding foolishness, he thought he was one of the wisest and most intelligent people to ever walk across a schoolroom floor. It was true he had some learning, lazily gained and poorly remembered that he wrapped around himself like a creature in a shell. Were anybody able to see through his misapplied Latin and flawed logic they would have learnt that this shell was as thin as a snail’s and as easy to crush. Unluckily for Horatio Derrick, nobody had that learning or the clear vision and he continued onwards in his self-delusion until the end of his days.

As unlucky as it was for the schoolmaster to maintain his snail’s shell of learning, it was more unlucky for the landlord’s daughter, Gemma. Being a scholar, Horatio often made his way to the Sign of The Oak so he could pour large amounts of strong beer into his mouth and cool the burning engine of his brain. He may have been a fool, but not such a fool that he didn’t notice the pretty girl pouring drinks and sweeping the floor. Not having much finery nor good looks to allure her with, he used the only thing he could - those scraps of knowledge of which he was uncertain master. He baffled her with fancy phrasings and misunderstood parts of great books. He showered her with grand people, Montaltus, Aristophanes, Galen, Maevius, Bavius, Democritus, Procrustes - any number of exotic names with peculiar ideas. He spoke to her about angels, listing their orders and places in the heavens whilst stroking the palm of her hand and asking her which order it was that she originally had place. He talked to her about Pythagorus and the migration of souls, whilst stroking her wrists and inquiring whether she had originally been the fair Helen or Venus herself. He talked about the motions of the humours of hot and cold, dry and moist, about the animal spirits, whilst stroking her arms and implying that his own animal spirits were strong and lusty. 

It’s a peculiar and regrettable fact of human nature, that a person will always be most attracted to the thing that is the least available. If gold were so common as to be made into paving slabs, would any person of right mind have any desire for it? If every person was trapped in a prison cell, would the prisoner ever wish to escape? If coupling, shared humour and good companionship were on offer at every street corner, who would be in need of a husband or wife? No one, I think. Is it then excusable, even understandable, that our young lady would fall in love with the schoolteacher? In that small village, there were plenty of handsome young men with tanned, muscled bodies. Similarly there were enough squires swaggering around the Public House prior to hunt days, drinking and making noise. She had seen plenty of men of wealth but there was no one who flashed their book learning. Even the parson, when he was sober, talked more about his pear trees than his reading. In that forgotten patch of this country, the foolish schoolmaster was a rare jewel indeed.

However, Gemma was a romantic and like all romantics wanted a stable married relationship with a comfortable living and her feet firmly under the dining table. As a landlord’s daughter, she had been viewed by many young men as worth a dalliance and she had resisted every attempt. As much as she longed for Horatio, she was going to win him on her own terms. To put these wishes into practice, Gemma pretended to ignore Horatio. This surprised him out of his previous routines of stroking her and talking nonsense, causing him to question his former policy towards the lady and to question his feelings about the lady herself. He found that before she ignored him, she was merely a pretty thing that served him drinks; but now she ignored him, she had grown in beauty, good nature and allure in front of his eyes. She ceased being a passing trinket and became the all, the goal, the possible source of future happiness, and he vowed to make her his wife.

The first time he asked her, he had given a lengthy preamble, quoting from the Bible and other good sources about the need for men and women to join together in conjugal joy. Inside, Gemma skipped and sang and fizzled at the long words and difficult ideas but outside she affected boredom. When Horatio finally arrived at his point and asked to feel her soft thighs, she casually said no and walked off to clean some mugs. The schoolmaster sat and seethed. In much the same way that the landlord’s daughter was enamoured with the schoolmaster’s rarity, so the schoolmaster was driven wild by the landlord’s daughter’s obstinance.

To those that cannot believe in the quick way Horatio’s passing fancy was transported into a need, they should only recall how many times when coming to a place of rest and eating, they have had a passing fancy for a foodstuff only to find it is not available. How this changes the intensity of that desire, how it burns inside, how it bites on the stomach and gnaws at the spleen. Now the passing fancy for a plate of cauliflower cheese, or a chicken’s leg has the strength of a need and nothing else will ever do as well. So it had become for Horatio with regard to Gemma from The Oak.

The Schoolmaster lost his appetite, he lost all interest in whipping Latin declensions into his young charges and he found himself spending more time than usual moping around orchards and less time drinking strong beer. The Landlord’s Daughter lost her grip on her tasks and lost her grip on her customer’s orders and plates. She was no longer interested in the gossip of travellers from far off places and found herself spending more time away from The Oak, walking by the river, imagining somebody stroking her thighs. It so happened that the river ran past the orchards, so it was not surprising that on one of his moping sessions and one of her daydreaming walks, that the two young people met each other. 

A blush stole over the cheeks of both parties, but each was so conscious of the blush on their own cheek that they didn’t notice the blush on the cheek of the other. Horatio didn’t have any impressive scholarese prepared, he scrolled through his faulty brain and found nothing to say and so waved and smiled an insipid smile. Gemma hadn’t any sharp retorts prepared, she opened her mouth and found no words in it and so closed and opened it again, looking more like a gudgeon than a girl. They stood like that for a moment, stuck fast in the slightly boggy ground, one smiling and waving, the other opening and closing her mouth.

History doesn’t recall who lunged first, perhaps they lunged at the same time, but lunge they did in a passionate and clumsy embrace. Their mouths tasted alive and they thrilled to total oral pleasure. They had a few moments where no part of them existed but their mouths, but it wasn’t long before other parts began to wake up. They pressed their bodies against each other, wriggling and writhing, straining vainly through layers. His member pressed against the cloth, poking and jabbing with a virulence he had never known before, a shock and pleasure to both, causing her lower mouth to slather with hunger and anticipation.

Eventually, desperation grew larger than impatience and they took a step back to adjust themselves; she raising her skirts and he lowering his breeches. They shared a smile of friendship and mutual respect before getting to it on the grass amongst the apples and the duck s**t. Some more prurient readers may wish to know the rest of the bill of fare that long, sweaty, writhing afternoon but I will not betray the Muses by being so indelicate as to describe any more. 

Suffice to say, that this was a spontaneous act of enjoyment and not a sacred act of generation; but there are times when fate has a different intention to those performing its functions and so the breath of life was breathed into Gemma and begun its normal development. Worse than the unplanned nature of this pregnancy, was the fact that although mute for the whole act, poetry had filled the hearts of the participants; filled their souls and filled their generative organs. Poetry, thus formed the soul of the small creature being generated, a poor unfortunate who will be the hero of this, our tale.

Author's Note

Now we've kicked off, how are we doing?

Reviews

[Jason van Dongen]

I tripped over the comma in your opening line, but after dusting myself off and limping through the first paragraph, I enjoyed my stroll through Shropshire. What is more, I continued to enjoy Shropshire for sometime after leaving, and have returned post-haste to submit my review.

I loved the eccentric delivery of your story. I imagine it is rather demanding crafting each sentence to read the way it does. I hope that will not hinder you from completing the rest of your tale, because I would like to read more.

I would consider rewording the first sentence, or punctuating it differently. Either the clause "in the county of Shropshire" is needed to identify said schoolmaster (in which case there should be no comma to seperate this clause from the subject) or it could be treated as a parenthetical element (with a comma before and after the clause).

The late arrival of a first-person narrator in the second-to-last paragraph feels like an intrusion. You might consider either introducing him earlier, or editing him out (just a suggestion, of course).

Overall, this was a rollicking read. I would purchase this in paperback.

[Adam, the Grub Street Lodger]

The intention is to work on this in August (as I have that month off) so I hope to finish the novel, I shall try hard to make it worth the hardback.

After re-reading the first line I think I shall make it,

'In the county of Shropshire, there lived a schoolmaster of exceeding foolishness.'

Oh, and the narrator is not a first person narrator as such, it's an intrusive narrator and introduced in the 'Preface'.

Thank you so very much for your suggestions and encouragement.

[Sujash I. Purna]

Cracking! There was a moment when I was reminded of Ichabod Crane and Katrina Van Tassel from old Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving! But you steered my mind into your story and I must say I was totally immersed in it all the time! The comparison between the availabilities of young men and gold! It's great!

A great beginning, no doubt about that!

[Alicia Beavis]

In places, your language can become a touch repetitious but otherwise, a pleasurable read. The second to last paragraph had me laughing. You've got a way with words that just entertains me. Very nicely done, my friend!

[Adam, the Grub Street Lodger]

Too much 'schoolmaster' and 'landlord's daughter' stuff? Or some other kind of repetition? (Wait to you get to the considerable man in chap 3). Though now you say it, too many 'the's in the penultimate paragraph. "The apples and duck s**t" flows better.

[Alicia Beavis]

Yeah, that stuff. And LOL!

[cartera]

Not too bad at all. Now we await the real protagonist. Please do not call him Tom.
There are a few modernisms in the piece. You write well and obviously have a command of language. Carry on, good sir.
ATB
Alex.

[Adam, the Grub Street Lodger]

I promise, no Tom.