The others pulled her legs apart to better see and all looked intently at where the old hag was pointing. “There! There’s a mark!”Was it a bruise? Was it just a bruise of my hips from our recent coupling? Mataoka did often bruise there when we cuddled. My heart fell. Was that truly the ‘witches mark’?“She is a married woman! To bear marks there is just a sign of her husband’s affections.” A tall lady walked confidently up the aisle. The crowd tittered, amused, and suddenly understanding as the lady swept to the front. It was our Reverend’s wife!“This is Martha, a good Christian wife,” the Reverend’s wife turned to the congregation and stated. “I have known her. I taught her at Sunday School. I attended her wedding to her husband, Harvey. She honors her husband and that mark is no sin.”The crowd laughed, much of the anger defused. Mr Bletchley smiled too, and nodded respectfully at her.“Give her her clothes, for has she not been humiliated enough? See, there is no nipple for the devil. He would not move. He lay still. She raked him with her nails and screamed her hatred. He was silent. She bit him and pounded his head. She was all that was holy. He was all that was damned. She would purge herself of the profane. She would drive the curse of man from the world and live at peace.Exhausted, she fell next to the body that still lay without a sound. The power drained from her in her frenzy. Remorse overwhelmed her. Laughter rose up in her throat but choked there. She was cold. She drew close to the body for warmth, but no warmth embraced her. She was lonely, but there was no companion. She wept, but there were no tears. She sang, but the music had fled.Slowly, she called her senses home. The dizziness grabbed at her again and she heaved dry, wracking heaves. For an eternity, she lived in that world between waking and the ghastly nightmares of sleep. She could not tell what was real and what was still a bad dream clinging to her mind.At last the body came into focus. He.
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