The Vorrh

you.’ He had his shoes on and was buttoning his shirt. ‘I am coming to see Ghertrude.’
    The car sped through the city and she gripped his hand tightly, moving back and forth in her seat as if it might help the lilac Phaeton gain speed. Ishmael tried to talk, but it was impossible to engage her, so he sat back, enjoying the speed and the vista of the city, without the disguise of a mask or a scarf. He was beginning to feel grand in his new face and the plush elegance of the car’s interior.
    Minutes later, they arrived at 4 Kühler Brunnen and she rattled at the gate and the bell. Ishmael stepped into the street and was suddenly overwhelmed; he was transported to a very different place, with a tide of memories flooding back.
    When a dishevelled Ghertrude eventually came to the gate, the sight of her friend unhooked her and she immediately began to weep. She yanked the barrier open, throwing herself, sobbing, into Cyrena’s arms. Cyrena held her tightly, patting her back in soft, soothing strokes, heavily aware of their unseen companion but overcome with a maternal sense of responsibility. ‘I am so, so sorry for deserting you. Please forgive me, it will never happen again.’
    Ghertrude pulled back slightly from her friend’s damp shoulder. ‘I am sorry for crumbling so again, I have just been so lonely and scared.’
    ‘No, my dear, it is I who must apologise; we have been so locked up in conversation that all else faded.’
    ‘We?’ sniffed Ghertrude, only then realising that they were not, in fact, alone. Her eyes transcended Cyrena’s shoulder and found the face of the stranger; it took far too long for her to be certain. She frowned calculations at the mangled face, which returned her gaze apprehensively. Pushing herself back from Cyrena, she examined her friend’s expression before looking again at the man with long, black hair and two, independent eyes.
    ‘Ishmael?’
    He relaxed his doubt and smiled. ‘Yes, Ghertrude. I have come back much changed.’
    She moved past Cyrena, who allowed their reunion a respectful space. With one hand still grasped by her friend, her other reached out and rested on his chest; he gently covered it with his own. The three of them stood, wordless, welded into a silent tableau which slowly softened and flowed, through the yard and into the house.
    Mutter was just arriving as they got to the front door. They turned to acknowledge him and the young man waved. He frowned back and nodded, attempting to smile while groaning inside. More strangers in the house. More odd-doings and unpredictable relationships. A stunted root of defensive jealousy started sucking at the earth of his foundations. Who was this new boy, and what did he want with his ladies? Why had they picked another one up, after all they had been through? Could they not be contented with what they had and let him take care of them, make sure that they were safe from intruders and parasites? He had never quite seen them in the same way since his wife had confessed her anxiety about his desirability to them. In the months since, he had come to see her point of view, that she could have been right all along; it was only a matter of circumstance that the growing carnival mite was a stranger’s and not his.
    Their conversation was long. Though they sat close to one another, the spaces between them were growing and flexing in all directions. Cyrena and Ishmael did their utmost to conceal their intimacy; Ghertrude and Cyrena did not speak of the baby, and Ishmael did not seem to notice its obvious presence. He had mated with both women, and, in each other’s company, both felt possessive and maternal about him in very different ways, and to varying degrees. Surface tensions crackled and buzzed, building a static charge between their words and shaping the conversation into irregular troughs and peaks. Doldrums of reflection mingled clumsily with elated memories; lows of tongue-biting were interspersed with highs of overly jovial camaraderie.
    Cyrena ached to be closer to him, to touch and be touched again. She wanted to be at home with him, but her duty was here: she had pledged her presence.
    Meanwhile, Ghertrude tried desperately not to stare at his new face and to fight back her overreaction at seeing their blatant love. She did not want him – indeed, she never had – but his distance was proving to be too much, too soon.
    Ishmael sensed the women’s hunger and felt suffocated by it. He felt deeply for