Covid Wasteland
Chapter Two – Love in a Wasted Land
John Stamford, newlywed, opened the door for his bride, but didn’t carry her across the threshold. He had no idea of how that tradition would be accepted, so he held her by the hand and then closed the door behind them. He reached out to her and put both hands on her waist, and was surprised when she broke free and dropped to the wooden floor and prostrated herself before him without a word. He realized that she would stay there until he intervened, so he gave that order.
“Rise, my wife, unless you want me to join YOU down there to pray for our new life.” She rose slowly to her feet, spotted a wooden chair and brought it to the center of the room, then led him to sit in it, then knelt on his left side, putting herself lower than him. She looked up and he made a good guess.
“You are not my captive, a slave to me. You are my wife now, Katherine Otter, so come to my strong side.” She smiled, and happy-tears rolled down her olive-skinned cheeks. She spoke.
“You have had a native wife before now, my husband?”
“Oh, no. I was married, lived up the river in Portland, but she was killed in a food riot when I was away on Militia duty. We had no children by our choice, and I am grateful for that blessing of the Great Spirit.” The both threw up their hands and she trilled her throat warble, which he would later learn was the way to attract the Great Spirit’s attention to a prayer. Now he got up and pulled her around in front of him, facing him.
“This is the position a married couple should spend their best moments in, I think, my lovely Otter.” Now she hugged him fiercely to her bosom, and he took the hint and kissed her on the mouth. She pushed her tongue right into his mouth, fought and won a tongue-duel, but broke the kiss, looked up with parted lips and asked for him to love her!
“My husband, it is the best moon now.” He missed that one, and answered wrong.
“Shall we fish, then, my love?”
“Not THAT moon, my husband, my BABY moon! You are correct though, my womb-moons and the fishing moons are the same right now. That’s a bother, a wife needs to bring herself to her husband every day of her best moon. The moons will grow apart in time.”
“Katherine, we have so much to do, separately and together, are you sure that getting pregnant is right for you and us now?”
“John-fisher, I will say words now you may whip me for, but in my Nation, we women never put anything before bringing babies for the Tribe. Nor do any other First Nations. You see, when the whites first came to our land they gave us bad sickness and many clans just ceased to exist save in Spirit. The ones which survived knew that forever more, there would have to be many babies. We have never had to be married to have babies. I have had two children myself, but only one lived. That is my daughter, Constance Otter. You will meet her. She is a grown woman now, twenty three years of age. She is First Gatherer now, runs the House of Gatherers, much more important than it used to be. The food of the forest and the mud-lands along the River keeps us alive now. One of your first tasks will be to start up a House of Gathering for YOUR new Tribe, my Fisher-Chief. But that is for later. Now is the time for you to give me your seed. There, I demanded it. You must tell me to remove my clothing now, my husband, and I will have to wait to see if you thrash me or love with me.” Without another word, she bent down, unlaced her sandals, undid her plaited latigo rope-belt, pulled her tunic over her head and she was stark naked, just holding the belt. John sat back down on the wooden chair, with all his clothing still on. John spoke, then, in a very level and slow voice.
“My wife, you must never presume to THINK for me. That is wrong. I have many wonderful skills of the Earth to learn from you, but I know how to THINK. From you, I need to learn piety in the works of our Great Spirit, I need to learn of your Clan’s vast store of knowledge of this River, and I need to know how the First Nations are going to help the survivors rebuild and renew. I do not need to learn how to THINK. You just gave me a choice of loving you or thrashing you. I would never thrash you except if you did something that was not only wrong, but intentionally wrong. We all make mistakes, and shouldn’t be marked by the whip for not getting something correct.
“Get up and put your clothing back on. Go out and check on the smokers, then we will go fish for a while. You and I have some issues to sort out before I can give you a baby, Katherine.” Now John got an unexpected reaction as she fell to the floor and prostrated herself, great sobs coming from her still-naked body. She finally calmed and slowly picked herself up. As she dressed, she explained the mis-understanding.
“My husband, now I must tell you I came here with a false mission, so maybe you WILL whip me. My Shaman and my Chief told me I was sent here to finally do something to make up for the mistakes of my youth. They told me that it was a way of doing penance. They have previously judged the whites on this side of the river to be lesser people than the Tribe. They told me to expect to see in you the bad side of your Spirit, and that you would thrash me often, maybe even send me to my Next Life. They never told me that I would find a man with a good Spirit, but that is what I have now. My husband, I am so ashamed, I am not worthy to be your wife.” THAT broke John Stamford, right there. She had laced her sandals on, had put the tunic back on over her head but had not wrapped the rope-belt yet. He took her hands, took the plaited leather rope, took the tunic back off of her, picked her up and carried her to his bed. As she lay there watching him, he undressed himself. In a low voice, he spoke his love-words then.
“My wife, my love, now I see your soul, your Spirit. Your Spirit DOES have an empty place in it that MUST be filled with a baby growing there. It will not be the only baby, either. We will make many babies, my lovely wife. Are you ready to take me inside you?” She surprised him then.
“Not in this bed, my love. Lets get up and I will show you how I need to be loved. First I stand, like this. Then I bend over and put my hands on the Earth, or now, the deck of your floating house. That wakes up Mother Earth, and she helps me get ready for you. That starts to get me wet, so your seeds can swim to my womb.” She was incredibly limber, thought John, but he WAS ready, at full-length, and he came behind her and just got his baby-maker wet, then played at the entrance to her Woman’s Cathedral for some minutes. She was moaning love words, but not in HIS tongue. After a few minutes of the exquisite teasing and getting her supremely aroused, John entered her all the way, and pushed in as far as he could, then started to spray her relaxed and somewhat-dilated cervix. When he had given her all he had, she finally spoke.
“Now take my rope-belt, loop it around my legs, turn me upside down and tie my ankles to that sturdy peg you hang your coat on, lover. I have to “hold-seed” for twenty minutes, or as long as it takes me to sing my songs.” John did that and she started to sing, in a quavering voice because she was inverted, but it was almost a lullaby, it seemed to him. It didn’t look comfortable to him, though, so he brought his chair over, sat in it and scooted it so she could hang in his lap. He kissed and licked at her breasts and her voice changed. Then he used his fingers to get her even more aroused at her Vee. This had an effect on him, and he was soon ready to love her again, but this time she let him love her in his bed, and this time, after seeding her again, he put her feet up onto the wall while he played in her love-box, keeping her orgasmic for at least twenty minutes, but there were no clocks to time it with. After her time on the wall, she left him there to fall asleep, and she got up, got dressed and went to relieve the fish-men and tend the smoker fires. Outside, she found them doing a good job, but Mickey had a strange grin on his face that told her he had probably watched her and John loving. She spoke to that.
“Mickey, I hope my husband and my loving didn’t make you uncomfortable. Did it?” Now Mickey was s simple guy, but honest, so he replied honestly.
“Oh, no, Mrs Stamford, that didn’t bother us. It IS your wedding night, after all, so that’s perfectly normal.”
“Well, thank you, Mickey. That is very refreshing. We’re going to get along well, I think. I have to go back to the Tribal Center tomorrow, but my daughter Constance Otter is going to come back on the boat. You will meet her. She will be the one to introduce you to your new wife, maybe.”
“Oh, we will have time together. I am on the crew of that yacht, both as a Warrior and a fore-deck sail-handler. It’s a Cutter rig, so it has two head sails, that’s a lot of work to keep them trimmed properly and drawing well. In fact, we will both go because the Captain said things are getting pretty rowdy in Longview now. Their Militia is actually smaller than ours, and we will have to hang out at the dock for a while. With three rifles, we should be safe enough, though.”
“My Tribe will send at least four Warriors for escort from the Tribal Center. Yes, everyone will be safe.”
First Fisher John slept, catching up on his sleep-deficit, and now sleeping the deep sleep of a deeply sated man. His wife and the two other Fishers finished the smoking, raised the grids of smoked fish to the top of the smokehouse, and built up the fire to dry the fish out well. They were still out there when the tide went slack just at dusk, and she rigged more lines for bottom-feeding fish, which get more active as the current slows and stops before resuming for the next tide. By sunset and a while, they had a bucket of suckers, two lampreys and three small sturgeon landed. John got up then, saw the new fish, and suggested they take them to the Yacht Captain, who would need some food for his crew. The four of them secured everything at John’s place, packed their away-kit and extra ammo, grabbed their rifles and walked down the waterfront to the yacht-berths.
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