The Lady and the Lunk
The San Sebastian Chronicles, Part XIX
Desotto opened the heavy, oaken door into the house. I followed him in with Gus and Johnny. Tomasso tied up the mules outside.
We were in a large, simple room, sparsely furnished, with whitewashed walls. A broad, oiled-wood bartop ran across the length the room. Behind it was a walkway and a swinging door to the right side. I surmised this had been a tavern and this had been the dining and drinking bar, but there were no bottles to be seen and I smelled no food.
Continued from…
“Hello?” Desotto called.
Desotto and I looked at one another and shrugged.
“He — ”
Just as I was about to call again, the door opened with a loud smash, visibly startling the four of us and in walked a hulk of a man. He’d smacked open the door with his left phalange and in his right was a large brass fitting and an oily rag. He stepped into the walkway behind the bar and let the door swing shut behind him, its inertia carrying it through a couple back-and-forths before it came to rest. In that interval no one said anything.
I imagine we were dumbfounded due to the downright herculaeity of the man before us. He walked a few pounding steps down the bar then turned to face our group and leaned toward us. His elbows fell upon the bar to brace him with a thick thud. He wore a befouled leather apron on top of an oxford-cloth shirt that may have once been white but was now a greasy dun from years of sweat. At once I could smell him as a humid, salty, metallic wave washed over me. It was not an odor to make one gag, but instead one that seemed to have emerged from a smelter. His hair was only a smattering of the thinnest strands, cropped close above the fat reddish flesh of his scalp, which was run through with disordered streaks of charcoal-dust and tar.
“Can I ‘elp you lot?” he said with a voice deep enough to rattle the buttons on my jacket. Though perhaps that was from my sudden shaking.
I opened my mouth to speak but Desotto went first. “Yes, we are here to see about taking your balloon gondola up the mountain. As far as it will go?”
“The what?” asked the man, whom I could rightly refer to as a troll without meaning to insult.
“The balloon craft. Outside.”
The planetary personage lifted his forearms together to form a pythonic triangle above the base of the bar. With one thick hand he grabbed the oily rag and began with it to slowly rub his brass pipe-fitting, which was now only a few inches in front of his thick-stubbled face, staring intently at the metal piece for several moments before he spoke. In the interval we dared not.
“I’s not mine.”
Our eyes darted around.
“I see” said Desotto. “Well, might I ask who — ”
We were all jolted off the floor as the swinging door opened again with a great clap of a kick. The door banged against the wall and had swung back to obscure its opener before I could get a look. The door then received another smack, causing us all to jump for a third time.
Great God, can no one slowly back one’s way through a swinging door in this cottage?!
This time a figure came through the door, having finally held the door open with one foot. At this entrant’s appearance, I was nearly as dumbfounded as I had been upon seeing the baroque conveyance outside. Seemingly less than half the size of her cyclopean sidekick, this person held a wooden crate high up so as to obscure its face. As the door swung back into its place, the crate, which we could now see what full of various lead pipes, chromium gauges, and threaded brass nuts, fell onto the bar with a clanging rattle. The person who had bore it then stepped from behind the crate, to our left, next to the man-mountain.
Though I would continue to doubt my initial impression for some time, I could see right away that this person who had carried in the crate was a woman. But, she was unlike any woman I had seen, even in my travels to Milan and other metropolises. The sides of her head were shaved close enough to only barely conceal her bare scalp, and the rest of her hair, which was dark, quite long, and demonstrative of a high sheen, was tied together in one spot behind her head below the knot being left to fall part of the way down her back, thus being kept away from her facce. A set of what I took to be wide-windowed aviator’s goggles sat atop her head. She was wearing a dark brown leather greatcoat with a white turtleneck sweater beneath.
She looked around at our party and then removed a pair of leather gloves she had been wearing and set them neatly upon the bar before leaning on to it, each hand then finding a place in its antipodal elbow-pit.
“Hallo,” she said. She was clearly a Sebastiana, but her accent was one I’d heard only rarely and long before, if ever.
Desotto continued his role as spokesman, “Yes, we are seeking the proprietor of the airship outside. We wish to take it up the mountain. Is he here?”
“Yes. The ship is mine. I own it. This is my first mate and assistant, Ugo” she said, thumbing at the colossity.
Johnny couldn’t help but open his mouth in a wide grin. He spoke before I could catch him, looking out the top of his eyes, “You, ma’am? You own the ship?”
“Yes, why shouldn’t I?”
“Well, you are a woman, far as I can tell. That’s a bit unusual, dontcha think?”
Desotto put his hand on Johnny’s chest as he took one step forward. “Please, don’t mind him. He’s an American, he — ”
“I would have guessed! Mister American, it is not unusual for women to own property in San Sebastian,” said Lady Paz.
“Yes, Johnny, why there are streets in Lucho where many of the shops are owned by women.”
“Well sure, maybe women’s stores. Embroidered pillows, confections, candles, boarding houses,” then sotto voce, “brothels…”
Gus spoke, “Yes, I don’t doubt what you say, madame, but it is rather more common for such women-owned proprietorships to be a bit more of a hobby-horse, as we say.”
“Like Queen Victoria’s?” Paz said just loud enough to be heard without interrupting Gus.
“God rest her soul,” Gus nodded before going on. “You know, inns, portrait studios, or, or! perhaps a pie shoppe create a loss to offset some taxes on the husband’s earnings, something to taken up by a widow perhaps, small loans to women in dire straits, piecework…”
“Aw, I’m sorry, I didn’t think about you being a widow,” said Johnny.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have kept such loose rein over the Barnatzer, I thought.
Paz rolled her eyes, appearing to have heard this before. “I’m not a widow, you bumpkins. And this is not a candy store. In this valley alone there are mines owned by women, dairies, collieries, and, it so happens, an air gondola enterprise, which, if I am not mistaken, you are seeking to retain.”
It occurred to me then that mother had a significant interest in a colliery and though I could not remember its exact location, it may very well have been in this valley.
I stepped forward and said, “Lady Paz, please forgive these Anglo-Saxon barbarian chauvinists. They have only just arrived in our country and have spent most of that time in trenches and stockades. They’ve not encountered a Sebastiana lautnitza before. Now, if you will only please give us your forgiveness, for which I beg, we would like to inquire about taking your splendid ship. There is five of us. Four you can see here and one poltroon outside. We also have three mules, well loaded. Can that be accommodated?”
“I give my forgiveness. Perhaps your blond cohorts could learn something about the fairer sex on the journey. Ugo?” the woman said.
The humongous human dropped his left mitt to the bar with a thump, holding the brass fitting and the rag. He closed his left eye and looked through the gap between the thumb and index finger on his right meat mangler, which he’d held up to his face. He scanned among us, adjusting his two fingers to each of our heights and girths. He slid to his right and looked out the window, appearing to do the same for the mules and Tomasso.
The bulk then spoke, saying simply, “Two mules only.” He went back to polishing the brass fitting.
I grimaced at Desotto and we conferred quietly for a moment. Our first instinct was against deprovisioning, especially with respect to the more capacitous liquor bottles.
“You can store our third mule here, safely?” I queried.
The woman shrugged. “Half a koroni per day to board the beast and store his burden.”
Desotto and I whispered again.
“How much time with the balloon save us?” Desotto asked.
“That depends where you are going?” the woman said.
“The monastery of San Romedio,” I said.
“I see. When do you wish to leave?”
“Today if possible,” said Desotto.
After a moment’s calculation, the woman said, “The terminus of the gondola is slightly out of the path you would take if you were to march to the monastery, but still I would say it could save you… one and a half days’ walk each way.”
Desotto and I put our heads together again. We agreed that with the time savings provided by the gondola we could get by with two mules’ with of liquor and other supplies, but was worried about being stranded on the mountain on our return for any length of time.
“As to coming back down, is the balloon on a schedule or by appointment only?”
“On request. You can signal from the terminus when you arrive back there. Then only a few hours’ wait at most.”
We confabulated again. Going to two mules would mean putting a significant amount of trust in this woman and her gondola, lest we be stranded on the mountain without sufficient alcohol. Food was also a concern.
I asked, “What about storms?”
“I cannot prophesize the weather, but it has been fair all week. If storms prevent the gondola’s return, I can signal you as well at the terminus and you can simply walk down. One and a half days’ extra time. But please decide, gentlemen, we have to prepare if we are going to leave today.”
Three days’ savings in time could not be passed up. Moreover, we could easily load up the remaining two mules with a little extra; after all, our eating and drinking would lighten their load as we went, we would leave gifts for the monks, and what’s more the two remaining beasts could ladened with a bit more each considering that their journey would greatly abbreviated by the gondola ride.
“Agreed,” I said.
“What is your name?” Desotto asked.
“Beatriz. Beatriz Paz.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you Lady Paz,” I said. “I will introduce you to our little group here — ”
“Beatriz. Beatriz is fine. Do you want to know the fare?”
Desotto chuckled.
“Yes, of course. The fare. So, what is it?”
Just as Lady Paz opened her mouth to speak, the entry door behind us opened up.
“Excuse me, but did anyone pass that enormous pile of shit on the way here?” said the entrant.
“Father Koblenza!” I exclaimed. I knew that voice anywhere.
The opened door revealed a pot-bellied Roman Catholic priest in a full black cassock, well coiffured, bespectacled, and with only the beginning of gray hairs on his temples. I turned to greet him, embracing him warmly.
“Hello, Father,” I said.
“Hello, Charlemagne. Bless you.”
He then shook hands with Desotto.
“Grimaldo, greetings. Bless you, bless you.”
“Thank you, father, good to see you again.”
“Where are you going, Father?” I said.
“The monastery at San Romedio.”
“Splendid! That is our destination as well.”
Johnny removed his hat and Lord Gus made a slight bow.
“Johnny, Gus, this is Father Koblenza, he is our regimental chaplain! Well, was our chaplain. That is, eh,” I said, stumbling.
“Oh, no worry about that, Charlemagne. No worry. Gentleman, it’s a pleasure. Blessing upon you both.”
He shook hands with Johnny and Gus.
“Father, a pleasure,” said Gus.
“Yer holiness,” said Johnny.
“Ah,” said Koblenza, waving, “Father Koblenza is fine. Or Koblenza. However you feel comfortable.”
“Ah, Lady Paz — ”
“Beatriz,” she said. “Koblenza,” she said with a curt nod. She was now holding and apple and chewing a bite of it. “Six then?”
Koblenza swam right through the momentary halt caused by Beatriz’s apparent lapse in courtesy. “Well, only if there’s room.”
Ugo was sizing up the priest with one eye and his thumb and forefinger, each seemingly as big around as a chair leg. He leaned to one side again to look at the mules and wavered with his hand to the Lady Paz, then went back to polishing his brass.
She looked at Desotto and I. “You’re going to have to lighten the mules.”
“But we’ll want to feed and water the good Father, here,” I said, putting my hand on his shoulder.
“Oh no, no. No provisions needed for me, thank you. I’m fasting!”
Paz clapped her hands together. “To the scales!”
Continued…
