The Tens by Vanessa Jones (tharntype novel english TXT) 📕

don't let there be an orgy going on outside, she begged to the air. That was more than she could bear. Even one of Clive's chintzy sermons would be more tolerable. But as she kept listening, she realised they were chanting. Some in unison, some in lag. The words she didn't recognise; it sounded like gibberish. Except there was one word she thought she might have recognised. Veh-nusss. Veh-nusss. It peppered their chants. She thought back to the Wild Woman Ceremony and rolled her eyes.

Despite the lulling rhythm of the chants, the way they mispronounced Venus really irked Sophie and she despised being stuck to the bed and inside the tent more than ever. Her frustrated wail brought in two of the women; ones she had not yet properly seen. They were indistinguishable from the rest. They, too, had the same fleecy jumpers and hair parted directly down the middle, a lack of colour, a lack of sprightliness about them that just made Sophie feel dusty inside. They were dull to look at. If they were a beverage, they'd be watery instant coffee. In the fading light, with the licks of firelight sneaking in behind them, they looked like bats. Their faces drawn long and comically menacing. It was the only non-bland thing about them. Despite their scowling faces, they were excited. One woman gently bumped her palms together. 'It's time!'

'Time for what?' Sophie demanded.

'Venus time! It's here.'

The other woman stepped forward, right up to Sophie's side and started to slide her hand under her armpit.

'It's great! You'll see.' She hauled her upright and the other woman slid her arm underneath her knees. Together they awkwardly carried Sophie out into the night, outside of the tent. Sophie relaxed into their grip, letting herself sink. She was so delighted to be getting some fresh air, getting out of the miserly tent that she didn't even care what crackpot ritual or party was about to happen. Plus, she could see better if the ambulance was coming.

They positioned her on a wide rock in front of the fire, blankets still wound around her legs. Choosing to eat the rich potatoes that were doused in rosemary, sage and nettles— easing a weakness she attributed to lack of nourishment— she watched everyone around her tucking into the white fleshy globules, dribbles of bright yellow butter drip down their chins. If they were eating it, she was safe to do so. And she treasured the milky and fresh taste on her tongue and wanted more.

The chanting had ceased and a murmur of delinquent chatter spattered about the unformed circle. Again, there was a palpable anticipation hovering and it was thrilling. Sophie caught the tail end of it.

Through the wavy ether of the fire flames, she could see the men and women of the group differently to how they were. They were plumper, more jovial and spirited. Their clothes were of a bygone era, a mixture of tatty items and far more formal and pristine numbers: a sharp vest here and a glinting monocle there. Around their feet scampered several small monkeys, also dressed partly in human attire. The women rushed in with widened hips and bottoms, enhanced by fabric and frames of clothing. Boots stomping and hands clapping, that added to the percussion of excitement. No matter how they looked, how they were dressed, they were all doing the same thing. Rubbing big oblong shapes over up and down their arms, over their necks, lifting the hem of their pants and skirts to rub up and down their shins and calves. They held these discs, which glinted warmly against the firelight, in their palms and raised them upwards, seemingly unwilling to pass to another. One woman had a pot full of old pennies that she passed out one coin at a time, jingling the pot in between each person. Everyone took their penny enthusiastically.

Everley emerged from the darkness between two of the medium-sized tents holding a peculiar box. The box looked like a handful of books squeezed together with button-sized satellite keys. Sophie thought she was holding an antique music box but when Everley started playing it like a squeezebox, stretching and flexing the bellows to create and lengthen notes, it was obvious that it was an unusual musical instrument. She toggled at the keys with a deftness and sat down, resting the instrument on one thigh, all the while her mouth frozen in a half-smile. The sound was jarring but not altogether out of place as the scene before Sophie whirred and collided and confused her into losing her sense of reality. More than once, staring around at the people and fire before her, she forgot where she was and how she got there. Like a few times over the past few months, even before Alex left, her mind felt like it was melting and leant away from the fire, momentarily believing her brain was like a big goopy marshmallow that would threaten to melt out her eye sockets and ear holes.

Sophie thought about Alex, although he seemed to be fading in her mind: their days together, the joint activities, what he would wear on the weekends. A mental picture of his face was still there but some features shifted a little: she couldn't remember if he had a little curl of hair that kept flopping over his wide forehead or if she had imagined that. His earlobes were either really globular or pressed right to his skin, like they didn't exist at all. But Sophie discarded these particulars as irrelevant because the feeling, the yearning, to find him and be with him again was still there. It wasn't questionable. If he were here, he would watch these people silently until the next day, when he would look at her earnestly and asking, straight-faced, 'it's Venus time!' and they'd guffaw at the shared joke all morning.

The chanting of 'Venus' returned and got more hurried and insistent and with