Clara
By: Clint Wastling
“Sometimes he shouts out her name, so I know Clara visits his dreams.”
The doctor looked at his charming hostess. She emerged from the kitchen carrying a plate of fresh baguette slices and a pot of honey. The sweet, succulent smell reminded the physician of his youth. He smiled, took off his sunhat and brushed back his flattened hair. “Penelope Sahorre, I have to tell you your husband is not ill, there is no fever. He has a heightened pulse rate which leads me to believe…”
“He is possessed!” Penelope shifted so the outline of her breasts became more apparent through her cotton shift.
“Stressed would be my conclusion.” The doctor looked through the window. The rugged terrain reaching toward the mountains shimmered in the heat. “How come he has two navels?”
“You are new to this place. Our old doctor would never visit, he would stay in Prades and said things like only goats live in mountains and I cannot cure them.” She mimicked the cadence of the old man’s speech.
“I love goat’s cheese” The doctor announced to fill the silence.
“Well Clara will be good for you. Cheese, wine and of course honey.” Penelope stood and pushed the shutters closed. The shadows deepened and a breeze rattled the wooden fittings.
“The drive out of Prades is fascinating. Hairpin bends and those chance meetings of vehicles at the narrowest points. The danger makes me feel alive! I wind down the windows and listen to the breeze, smell the perfumes of rosemary, lavender, and cedar.”
“You are an old romantic, doctor. You should live in the village, it’s not too far from Prades.” She poured each of them a cup of green tea then gestured the plate of bread. “Do help yourself, you’ve come out a long way, so you must take lunch with us.” Her olive skin glistened in the midday heat. “But to answer your question, one navel is the natural product of birth, the origin of the second you must ask my husband.”
The doctor smiled, “rest assured I will ask, it is in the nature of a medical curiosity.” Philippe remembered the files he’d read about this patient. Thierry Sahorre had been skewered on a branch, swimming in the very place he had been injured.
“You should be careful where curiosity leads you.” The kitchen behind Penelope was basic but possessed of a deep and cooling shade. Jars of honey were ready to be stacked for the morning market in Prades. The doctor picked one up and read the label. Miel du Montagne. Col du Clara.
Thierry emerged from the bedroom. He wore only jeans which fitted tightly and accentuated his slender frame. His tanned skin possessed two navels and the scars where bees had taken unkindly to being disturbed. “I feel better already, thank you doctor. And now to work.”
Penelope looked to the doctor, who shrugged. “I can’t see work doing any harm but if you’re worried, I’ll accompany Thierry as he sets the hives amongst the meadows.”
Thierry embraced his wife, lifted her, and rocked her in his arms. The doctor distractedly thought of licking honey from between the woman’s tanned breasts.
“She is beautiful.” Thierry said as though he was reading the physician’s mind. “If you are to get back for your evening surgery, we must set off now.”
The doctor replaced his hat and finished the cup of tea, he left thanking his hostess.
“What should I call you?” Thierry asked. “Doctor seems rather formal.”
“Philippe.”
“Well, Philippe there are three hives to lift onto the truck and a mile or so of rough track between us and the Col du Clara.” Together they stowed the wooden hives without disturbing the honeybees. They were strapped safely and both men gained the cab. The engine was gunned, and the vehicle lumbered up the hill out of the village spouting blackened smoke.
“How old are you, Philippe?”
“Twenty-nine.” The doctor realized he’d stared too long. Thierry smiled relishing the doctor’s difficulty.
“When you ran your fingers over my body you lingered too long around my second navel.”
Philippe felt himself blush. “I am intrigued by how you came by it, but the most important thing is that I found you are well.” Thierry wound the window closed as the levels of dust built from the unmetalled road.
“And my mind?”
“Listen, you are a beekeeper, an apiarist. I am a humble doctor called to help you out. When I arrived, you were in a stupor, almost delirious, repeating the name Clara.”
“Clara!” Thierry savored each syllable. “What of it? Clara is our village, above us is the col de Clara and the foothills of Canigou are la Coste de Clara. I give the breeze her name and…”
“And?” Philippe steadied himself in the cabin.
“Nothing. It will pass.” Thierry starred through the windscreen. “Clara.”
Philippe wondered if honey would taste so sweet licked from Thierry’s skin. He observed the beekeeper and wondered what drew him to this man.
“If you came across a woman bathing naked in a mountain pool, what would you do?” Thierry teased.
“Do?” Philippe realized he was being drawn into a trap. “I am a man.” He held up his hands, “mea culpa.” Thierry caught his right hand and brought his finger to his second navel. The doctor felt the smooth skin and tried not to react.
“I was skewered by a branch close to les cascades. I was found with a long black branch of oak protruding. The man you replaced thought I would die. I was in a fever for many days. My father knew I was bewitched, and it was he who went down to the pool. He carried a drawer of bees down into the silvery light of a new day. Bees are always quiet until the sun rises and when the first rays hit the hill tops the queen bee rose and flew towards the cascade, taking the swarm with her. When he returned, I was sitting up in bed drinking warm water laced with honey.
I remember how he looked at me and said just one word, “Clara.” I understood.
Philippe looked at the young man. “Clara?” He too wound up the window, despite the heat concentrating in the airless cab and causing rivulets of sweat to drip from his face and down his back. “The spirit of this mountain whose laughter ripples leaves and causes water to spring forth. A monster who demands the obedience of men, unless...”
“Unless?”
The doctor moved close to Thierry. “Unless they find a way to break the spell.”
“Is it possible?”
“I believe so, if a man loves another man.” The doctor felt acute embarrassment, but Thierry stroked the back of the doctor’s hand, smoothed his skin towards his fingertips. Canigou reigned supreme on the landscape. “Promise me one thing; if you ever see a woman bathing naked in a pool, run! Run as fast as you can. We men are not made for such unnatural beauty. She will pull out your soul and leave you a slave to her whim.”
Philippe thought about this and realized Thierry wasn’t telling the whole truth.
“We’ve arrived at the meadow. We must carry our charges into the shade of the oaks at the edge.”
Philippe squinted as he adjusted to the intensity of light. He breathed deeply of the Pyrenean scents. He pulled over the fencing hood and fastened the beekeeper’s suit. Thierry did the same and they carried the bees into the shade. They completed the task, and after disrobing of their protective garments, Thierry produced a bottle of water. He threw it over to the doctor who took grateful glugs before throwing it back.
“We should swim before going back home.” Thierry suggested, cooling his forehead with the water bottle.
“Clara?” Philippe asked.
Thierry shrugged, “And test your theory.” He set off down a rock strewn path. The way rose and became an uneven walkway. The sound of a waterfall became louder. The narrow gorge was heavy with the scent of buddleia, and it was uplifting to see many different types of butterfly gaining nectar. Between the bushes, silver flecks of water. Thierry stripped and stepped in. Philippe hesitated. Thierry shouted encouragement and eventually Philippe stripped and gingerly entered the plunge pool of the waterfall. The water was cold, goosebumps rose on his skin. Looking around he couldn’t see Thierry and panicked. There was a splash and the beekeeper’s head emerged from the water, close by. “You kept your secret well.”
“My secret?” Philippe stammered.
“Your second navel.” Thierry ran fingers round the two scars. “You have been with Clara?”
“If you mean had sex with, yes. Here.” Philippe almost didn’t know his own voice. “Not even leaving the area to study could cure me of her possession.”
“There is no cure.” Thierry was adamant.
Philippe took hold of Thierry and forced his lips over the other man’s. He was surprised Thierry didn’t struggle, his body almost relaxed as though a truth had emerged from the water and washed possession away. “For a moment, I didn’t think of her.”
Philippe pushed the man away. “I’m not proud, I don’t want to come between you and Penelope, but it is the only way; to excise Clara we must fall in love with each other.”
Thierry swam away, climbed the rocks, and vanished behind the waterfall. Moments later he pierced the cascade, his body tumbling under the force of water and into the plunge pool. When he surfaced again it was Clara who brought him to safety. Philippe felt his heart quicken and body respond as he watched every contour, every sinew of the nymph’s body as she caressed Thierry. A moment of jealousy became anger. Thierry convulsed, coughed up water. Already the umbilicus emerged from Clara to claim her man. A second snaked its way toward Philippe.
The nymph began singing as the doctor backed out of the water. She beckoned him forward. Her red hair floated, and breasts emerged from the water, her nipples looking hard, succulent. He found it was impossible to resist her charms and Philippe felt her hand join with his. He knelt in front of her, and Clara smiled. Her white skin peeled to reveal the monster, a writhing mass of tentacles from which the husks of her victims dripped. Thierry pulled the doctor down under the water until their lips met, the contours of their bodies touched. Philippe, lost himself in an explosion of pleasure, forgetting the nymph and her spell.
Clara’s scream was drawn into a whirlpool of swirling water as she submerged. Thierry and Philippe gained the safety of the bank just as the vortex darkened and a swarm of bees emerged. Clara’s body dissolved in the water, tentacles squirming as they decayed. The swarm hovered momentarily before flying away to the south, toward the sea.
Penelope was measuring honey into jars ready for market. “Sometimes he shouts out her name, so I know Clara visits his dreams,” Penelope said. “Otherwise, he is cured.”
The doctor looked at his charming hostess. She emerged from the kitchen carrying a plate of fresh baguette slices and a pot of honey. The sweet, succulent smell reminded the physician of his youth.
“And sometimes he whispers a man’s name, doctor, a man called Philippe.” She said pointedly.
Philippe shifted uncomfortably. “And his second navel?”
“Healed, completely healed after all these years. It must be a miracle.”
Philippe looked to the distant mountain before spreading honey on the bread. He remembered the sticky texture and sweet taste as he licked it from Thierry’s tanned skin.
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