Dissimulare
The ensuing half-hour proved to be the most peculiar and surreal of my twenty two years of life.
Calypso dragged me about the third floor, inspecting and showing me everything within reach. She pilfered my journals, turning pages, eyes tracing the ink. She discovered that my compass spun wildly when she breathed upon it, a phenomenon that delighted her for a solid five minutes.
“That’s a compass needle. It moves because of… Magnetism,” I clarified, ranting more to preserve my own waning sanity rather than serving as noble pedagogue. “The needle seeks the North due to the Earth’s own invisible field. It is compelled by—are you even listening?”
“Eeeeee!” She set the needle spinning once more, emitting trilling chirrups.
“You possess the attention span of a mayfly,” I informed her.
She suddenly clasped my countenance between her palms and pressed her forehead against mine own, leering into my eyes with an unsettling intimacy.
“Yes, hello,” I murmured after a minute of this phrenological inspection. “Are you attempting to divine my thoughts? I assure you, I stitched no telepathic organ into your gray matter.”
“Nnn!” She compressed my cranium tighter, as though assaying the ripeness of a melon at the market.
When Elizabeth finally returned, trailed by two scullery maids bearing a copper bathing tub and buckets of steaming water, Calypso was in the midst of attempting to feed me another moth she had snatched from the ceiling.
Mercifully, we were ensconced deep within the operating theater, sparing the maids the sight of my miraculous and excessively-curious creation.
“No! I’ve told you, I don’t eat moths! Humans do not partake of lepidoptera!” I repelled her hand for the third time. She emitted a melancholic sound and consumed the insect herself, masticating contentedly.
I regretted making the skin of her mouth transparent, watching the moth travel down her esophagus.
“Hrm,” Elizabeth noted, surveying the tableau as she approached. “I see you’ve bonded further.”
“She keeps trying to share her food with me. I suppose one might call such… progress.”
“Maternal solicitude,” Elizabeth declared, directing the maids to situate the tub before the hearth. “Mother birds regurgitate sustenance for their brood. She seeks to nurture you. ‘Tis quite endearing.”
…
Elizabeth dismissed the servants, then turned to inventory her provisions. She had procured a formidable array: a large copper bath, buckets of steaming water, cold water for tempering, cakes of milled soap, drying linens, a case brimming with pots of unguents and cosmetics, and a large case stuffed with several garments of varying dimensions.
“Right,” she said, folding back her sleeves. “Let us begin. Victor, betake yourself to that chair facing the wainscoting.”
“Why?”
“You can’t leave because she won’t let you. Nathless, I shall not perform her ablutions under your gaze. So you shall sit there—” She indicated a chair near the far wall. “Facing away. And you shall not turn your visage our way under any circumstances.”
“Elizabeth,” I remarked dryly. “I made her. I have scrutinized every fiber and sinew of her being for the past three—”
“Yes, yes, and that is quite sufficient scrutiny, thank you.” Her tone was immutable. “This concerns her dignity, Victor. She may not yet comprehend the concept of modesty, but that does not absolve us of the duty to practice it. Now, sit and be mum. Do not plague me with your scientific gibberish. Meditate upon your triumphs, or some such thing.”
I sat, dragging the chair to face the corner like a chastised schoolboy. Calypso made a sound of distress.
“He’s not leaving,” Elizabeth cooed soothingly. “He’s right there. See? You can still see him. Victor, speak, that she may know you have not forsaken her.”
“I’m here,” I called, feeling thoroughly preposterous. “Still here. Not going anywhere.”
“Aahhh?” Calypso sounded dubious.
“Yes, he’s still there.” Elizabeth’s voice was patient, coaxing. “And there he shall stay whilst we cleanse you. Come hither, darling. This is water. Water for washing”
I heard splashing, then Calypso’s surprised vocalization.
“Yes, it’s warm! Tepid water to scour away the dust and formaldehyde. Oh, you poor thing, you’re covered in chemical residue. Let’s get this off you.”
More splashing ensued. Calypso made questioning sounds of soft chirps and trills as Elizabeth evidently guided her into the copper vessel.
“Good girl! That’s it. Just sit down—gently! Don’t splash— well, tis’ late for that. Victor, your floor is soaked.”
“That’s fine,” I replied, staring resolutely at the plaster. “I have spilled far worse fluids in here.”
I heard Calypso make happy humming sounds.
“Yes, the water feels nice, doesn’t it?” Elizabeth sounded extra-maternal. “Now, this is soap. Soap for washing. It smells like lavender. Doesn’t that smell lovely?”
“Nnnnnn!” Calypso sounded skeptical.
“It won’t hurt you. Watch—I’ll put some on my own hand first. See? Just bubbles. Pretty bubbles.”
Calypso made a delighted noise. I heard vigorous splashing as she seemingly discovered the foaming properties of suds.
“Yes, bubbles! You can play with the bubbles. That’s—no, don’t eat them. Don’t eat the soap. Soap is not food.” A pause. “Victor, can she digest soap?”
“She can digest nearly anything, even virulent toxins that would dispatch a man to his grave in minutes.”
Elizabeth sighed, sounding decidedly unimpressed by my genius.
“Calypso, darling, soap is not food. Spit it out. Spit— oh, for heaven’s sake.” More splashing. “There. All better. Now let’s wash your hair. This might take a while. You have rather a lot of hair. Glowing… extra thick hair. Hrmmmm.”
The sounds of washing continued—water pouring from ewers, Elizabeth’s gentle directives, Calypso’s occasional chirps. I sat facing the corner, striving not to envision the scene behind me.
“Victor,” Elizabeth called. “Say something. She keeps looking toward you anxiously.”
Be silent Victor, speak up Victor. I felt like a pupil being harried by a stern governess.
“I’m still here!” I said. “Right here. Facing the wall. Exercising profound patience.”
“Aaahhh!” Calypso sounded somewhat mollified.
“That’s right, he’s there. Not going anywhere.” Elizabeth stated balmily. “Now, let’s work on this hair. It’s quite smelly with whatever you’ve been getting into all night. And still glowing. Does the luminescence never cease?”
“No,” I replied. “It is bioluminescence… each hair is a distinct organism in cooperation with the somatic whole. Furthermore, her entire form is akin to an ocean wave teeming with glowing animalcules.”
“So she’ll always glow?”
“Yes.”
“Well.” Elizabeth sounded thoughtful. “We’ll work around it. Plenty of women have distinctive features. She’ll just be… very distinctive. Now, Calypso, hold still while I rinse your head. I know it pulls a bit and… Good girl. Such a virtuous, patient girl.”
The time stretched on. I heard Elizabeth humming while she worked, heard the gentle splash of water, heard Calypso’s occasional surprised and contented sounds.
It was exceptionally domestic—a woman bathing another, the soft sounds of care and attention. Almost like… family.
“All done!” Elizabeth announced finally. “Victor, don’t turn around yet. She needs to dry off and dress.”
I heard the sounds of Calypso being helped from the tub, the splash of water on floorboards, Elizabeth’s patient instructions to stand still, to lift her arms, to hold the drying cloth.
“You’re very strong, aren’t you?” Elizabeth said. “Much stronger than a normal woman. Victor really did make you extraordinary. Now, let’s try this on.”
Sounds of rustling undergarments. Calypso noises.
“Now the dress. It’s black, see? It belonged to my auntie, who was much taller and wider than me. Arms through here… good! Now let’s lace the back. Stay still, darling. I know the stays are tight but they’ll help you look more normal. Uhm. More presentable that is.”
More rustling of heavy fabric. Calypso made sounds of discomfort.
“I know, I know. But women must suffer for fashion’s sake. You shall become accustomed to the sensation. Now, let me behold you.” A pause. “Oh. Oh, you’re actually quite… Victor, she cleans up remarkably well.”
“That’s good,” I said, staring at the wall. I’d been facing this corner so long I’d memorized every crack in the plaster.
“Here we are,” Elizabeth said. “Very well, Victor, you may steal a glance.”
I turned halfway. “Merely a glance?”
“Aye, a single look to appraise the ensemble. I have not yet commenced with her visage,” Elizabeth said.
I turned fully.
The breath fled my lungs in a sharp hitch.
Elizabeth had wrought a miracle.
Calypso stood by the hearth, the windows on both sides cast light that warred with her internal bioluminescence. She was clad in a gown of heavy black bombazine, mourning weeds that had belonged to Elizabeth’s aunt, a matron of significant girth. The stiff fabric swallowed the light, creating a void of darkness from which Calypso’s head and hands emerged like glowing spectres.
The dress was taut across the bosom. The massive, fluid-filled cooling breasts I had engineered strained against the bombazine, pressing the black silk to its very limit. Elizabeth had laced the bodice well, coercing the colony’s inhuman proportions into a silhouette that was almost… almost… aristocratic.
Around her throat sat a wide velvet choker of midnight blue, pinned with a silver brooch.
She resembled a Queen of the Underworld. She looked like a pagan idol bedecked for a funeral.
The contrast was violent. The mundane, rigid, civilized fabric against the fluid, glowing, transparent reality of her flesh created a dissonance that made my senses swim. The heavy bows Elizabeth had pinned to the sleeves fluttered slightly as Calypso shifted her weight, the only movement in the rigid black column of the dress.
She saw me looking. Her face, inescapably transparent and revealing the shark-jaw mechanism and the dark dog nose, lit up. The golden owl eyes widened. She patted the skirts with her bear-clawed hands, revealing a flash of cheetah-muscle.
“Aaaaahhhhh!” she announced, probably meaning to say, BEHOLD, Victor! I am now dressed like a people!
Then her jaw unhinged slightly, and her mouth opened with two snaps of separate muscle groups. She looked up as she probably heard another bug fluttering on the ceiling. Her gold eyes began to track something above us, mouth open and making click-meep sounds like a cat.
“Hrm,” Elizabeth commented. “Her eyes do not move properly.”
“Owl eyes,” I said. “She moves her head instead of her eyes.”
“I see,” Elizabeth stated, visibly struggling to suppress the urge to chastise me for my questionable people-design. “Nevermind that. How does the dress sit?”
“The black gown is nice. She looks…” I struggled for the word. “She looks like a goddess of death.”
“I was aiming for ‘eccentric foreigner,’ but chthonic goddess will suffice in a pinch.” Elizabeth sighed, wiping her hands on a rag. “Turn back around, Victor. I am not finished. The dress covers the body, but the face is still… problematic.”
“Problematic?”
“She has no skin tone, Victor. I can clearly see her pearly teeth through her cheeks. It is unseemly.”
“Right.” I turned back to the wall, obediently.
“Now for the cosmetics. Calypso, sit here. That’s right. I’m going to put powder on your face. It will make your skin look less… transparent.” Elizabeth’s voice became concentrated, focused. “This is pearl powder. Very fine. Used by ladies of quality. It will make you look more opaque, more normal. Hold still now. It will make you look like a… lovely porcelain doll. No! Do not lick it! Though I suppose you would just digest it and ask for more.”
I heard the soft sounds of powder being applied, Elizabeth’s quiet instructions.
“Good. Now a touch of rouge for your cheeks. Just a little. We’re trying to look natural, not theatrical.” A pause. “Well. As natural as possible given that you glow.”
More sounds of application. Calypso’s questioning chirps.
“Yes, this is normal. This is what ladies do to look beautiful. You’re being so patient, darling. Much more patient than I was when my mother first tried to make me wear face paint. I threw the entire powder box at her.” Elizabeth laughed softly. “Don’t tell anyone that story.”
I yawned.
“Your skin feels cool… yet warm to the touch,” Elizabeth murmured. “And smooth. No pores. Like glass.”
“It is a semi-permeable membrane derived from the jellyfish,” I said to the wall.
“Hush, Victor. I am working on her eyes. Close your eyes, Calypso. No, close them. Like sleeping. Like this? See? Good.”
Minutes ticked by. The anticipation was an itch between my shoulder blades.
Finally, her declaration came. “All right. Victor. You can turn around now.”
More chappa is being cooked.
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