|
The Garden - Chapter
One
Ramona Drottoveo
was one of the chambermaids up at la Casa, the white marble palace in the
valley of the Volturno, on the vast estate that had been in the Signora's
family since the time of the Etruscans.
As Ramona worked
'indoors' rather than 'outdoors', and 'upstairs' rather than 'downstairs', she
considered herself somewhat more important than the other workers on the
estate.
She began to look
down on those who tilled the land, laboring in the lemon groves, the vineyards
and the orchards, raising crops of sunflowers, chili peppers, tomatoes,
olives, and big-bellied melons; and she disdained those who tended the
buffalos and other livestock and those who worked in the dairy and the
stables.
Ramona now thought
herself above those who beautified the Signora's magical gardens, where
peacocks strutted and fountains played orchestral music, where rare orchids
bloomed, roses blushed, and where the lushest lawns stretched into the blue
distance as far as the eye could see.
She even put on
airs before those who roasted hogs, stuffed thrushes, sculpted ice, kneaded
bread, plucked ducks, prepared pastries and polished silver plate and crystal
goblets in the great vaulted kitchens.
Ramona was
universally hated by the women, though not for this reason; being uppity was
the least offensive of her sins. That which made women hate her, made men
worship her; and this made the women hate her most.
Yet they weren't
jealous of her looks, for she was ugly. Had Ramona been a beauty, they would
have found the adoration she inspired less obscene, and far more tolerable.
The truth was, Ramona was an albino. Her plump body was bereft of all pigment.
Her hair was as white as the feathers of the doves in the Signora's ornamental
dovecote, and she refused to braid it, wearing it always loose in a halo
around her face and shoulders.
Her skin was a
violent shade of pink. So colored by the blood flowing through it, and her
livid moon face formed an ugly contrast with the white shade of her hair.
Ramona's eyelashes
were long and white, leading some of the female staff to compare them to those
of the pigs in the pens beyond the vegetable gardens. Her eyes, where most of
the color in her body was concentrated, were also pink, like the eyes of the
white rabbit you see in magic shows and picture books.
Yet, although she
was coarse and candy-striped, the men of the estate flocked to Ramona, and
vied with one another for her favors. The women accused her of being a witch
and of using evil arts to lure their men away; but Ramona was no witch. She
simply had that scent about her, that made a man in her presence forget the
whole of his past life and seek to reinvent himself as a dog, if at that
particular moment she wanted a dog. Or a cherry, or a new bonnet, or a visit
to the circus. Work could be lost, opportunities discarded, wives and babes
could go hungry, poverty and death could be biting at his heels, but still he
would kick them up in the air and risk it all for one whiff of Ramona's
elixir.
This is really
what made the women hate her.
During daylight
hours, especially in summer time, Ramona would not emerge from la Casa, for
the world was too bright a place for her to inhabit by day. In the evening,
however, she walked in the gardens, in the manner of the Signora herself,
taking the air, and singing softly to herself the local folk songs, for she
fancied she had a voice and loved to sing.
The Signora knew
of this nightly intrusion into her gardens, and sought to put Ramona in her
place, but on the advice of her husband, who was then enjoying the benefits of
a regular coupling with the upstart maid, the Signora said nothing.
And so Ramona
strolled with the peacocks through the walkways where the grass was manicured
by a dedicated team of twenty under-gardeners. It was as green as crunchy
apples and so springy it still bore the trace of her footprints long after she
had passed by. Indeed it is said that Ovidio Gondulfo, the head gardener
himself, was once seen prostrate in the acacia walk licking the imprints
lovingly with his tongue after Ramona had left him for the bed of another man.
Then, when the
scent hung plump in the air, and the wistful tenderness of the declining light
made the garden the most romantic place on earth, Ramona would be accosted by
countless admirers hiding in the topiary, imploring her to take pity on them
and satisfy the agonized longing of their loins.
They came, not
only from the estate, but also from the surrounding hills and sometimes even
beyond. From the plains to the northeast and the west, and from the towns of
Dragoni, Teano, Carinola and Mondragone. The admirers came from all walks of
life, and it is fair to say that as word about her charms spread and her
popularity increased, Ramona grew cold toward the field laborers with whom, in
the early days, she had been content to satisfy her urges in the hayricks and
beneath the hedgerows.
'What, Stiliano
Mamiliano, are you here again? Do you think I will do it with you after the
last time? Why the acorn that you feed to your pigs is a bigger prize than
that which hangs between your legs'.
Deflated,
Stiliano's head disappeared into the foliage, only to be replaced by that of
his younger brother, Ludovico, fresh-faced and blushing.
'Will you do it
with me Ramona Drottoveo?' he asked in a hoarse voice, 'My thing is much
bigger than Stiliano's'. A thump followed as Stiliano's boot met the seat of
Ludovico's pants behind the hedge.
'I've no time for
boys', replied Ramona, 'I need a man who knows what's what'.
'Then take me,
Ramona, please, I beg you', came the voice of Papa Mamiliano, his head framed
by lilac blossoms. 'I know what it takes to please a woman. Just give me the
chance'.
'Take your two
stupid boys and go home to your stupid wife, Filippo Mamiliano. And do it
quickly before I lose my temper'.
Ramona marched
ahead, her nose in the air which was drenched with her scent so that even the
waters of the tinkling fountains were flavored by it.
A little further
along the walk, in the arbor of Venus, the parish priest, Padre Jacopo, was
lurking behind the marble statue of the goddess, waiting for Ramona to appear.
There was a time
when Ramona had welcomed the Padre's attentions. But now that she could afford
to pick and choose she was not so sure. What did the grizzle-haired priest
have to offer her, anyway? Only his garlic breath and shrunken member.
'Ramona, Ramona.
Bend over I implore you and let down your drawers. Just imagine your upturned
bottom with my magnificent manhood thrusting in and out of it'.
'Favor someone
else with your magnificent manhood, Padre', she replied, 'I'm not interested'.
Ramona, as the
saying goes, had bigger fish to fry. The doctor had been at la Casa today,
tending to her ladyship, who had taken to her bed with some imagined ailment.
Ramona noticed she made a favorable impression on him when she carried a
mustard footbath into the Signora's chamber, and hoped he would be waiting for
her somewhere in the gardens.
Sure enough, as
she walked through the beds of creamy lilies, she caught a glimpse of the
doctor. He was skulking by the great sundial at the far end of the garden of
the hours, hoping he was not visible from the house. He was sucking on a pipe
and the smoke hung in a blue trail along the walk.
'Good evening,
Doctor', said Ramona in a low voice.
He jumped, already
feeling the guilt that was to mar his life. As he turned to face her,
something inside him heaved. He fell to his knees and embraced her skirts. His
sobs broke loudly. His yearning was so strong it had turned him inside out. He
knew he was ruined. He would lose his wife and five children, his flourishing
practice, his friends, his fine house in Santa Maria la Fossa. And yet he
could not hold back.
Lifting the hem of
Ramona's skirts, he kissed her stout boots, sobbing all the while, and then
kissed her dirty stockings, all the way up her legs. Ramona was not accustomed
to such preliminaries. None of her many lovers had ever bothered with any more
than simply shoving it in and thrashing it about. She really quite liked this.
All around, hidden
in sculpted bushes, rare trees, and exotic flowerbeds, the eyes of some of her
previous and future lovers were watching in astonishment. What was the doctor
doing to Ramona Drottoveo? Ramona glanced around, knowing they were there,
enjoying her moment of glory.
Pulling Ramona
down onto the grass beside him, the doctor slipped seamlessly inside her, and
coaxing himself to a climax the like of which he had never known, with a cry
he released his seed into her.
When it was over,
the doctor rolled off onto the grass, shaking. He knew then that his life was
over. Never would there be another moment to match this one.
He helped Ramona
to her feet, adjusted his pants, and kissed her lightly on the forehead before
picking up his bag and going on his way. He did not look back. As Ramona shook
out her skirts and retraced her steps to la Casa she had all but forgotten the
doctor who was to take his life for her.
|
