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Back Margery Kempe Save as PDF
Chapters (69)
  1. Cover
  2. Biographical Notes
  3. Title Page
  4. INTRODUCTION
  5. MARGERY KEMPE
  6. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  7. Dedication
  8. Front
  9. PART ONE
  10. 1
  11. 2
  12. 3
  13. 4
  14. 5
  15. 6
  16. 7
  17. 8
  18. 9
  19. 10
  20. 11
  21. 12
  22. 13
  23. 14
  24. 15
  25. 16
  26. PART TWO
  27. 17
  28. 18
  29. 19
  30. 20
  31. 21
  32. 22
  33. 23
  34. 24
  35. 25
  36. 26
  37. 27
  38. 28
  39. 29
  40. 30
  41. 31
  42. PART THREE
  43. 32
  44. 33
  45. 34
  46. 35
  47. 36
  48. 37
  49. 38
  50. 39
  51. 40
  52. 41
  53. 42
  54. 43
  55. 44
  56. 45
  57. 46
  58. PART FOUR
  59. 47
  60. 48
  61. 49
  62. 50
  63. 51
  64. 52
  65. 53
  66. 54
  67. 55
  68. 56
  69. MY MARGERY, MARGERY’S BOB

The roofer stood with his legs apart. On the job his body felt efficient, concise; confronted by someone who expressed herself with a flourish and rich intonation, he was rooted to the spot. “If we don’t fuck now, we’ll do it later.” He didn’t even whisper.

Margery saw him at St. Margaret’s that evensong. She was the daughter of the mayor. She wore a horned headdress of gold pipes with a wired-up veil. Her hair was entirely hidden; her hairline, eyebrows, and temples were plucked to produce a broad forehead. Margery identified with fabrics: she wore a cranberry silk gown with a flat white collar and trailing funnel-shaped sleeves, cinched above the waist with a soft milk-chocolate belt.

The roofer lounged against the west wall, waiting for Margery, one leg crossed over the other. He wanted to be typical, alienated under the eye of his master. Margery’s longing for existence took the form of obsessive sexuality. The roofer was fifteen years old, so young his orgasms didn’t matter. She re-aimed her entire self at a mercer she used to know. His shoulders were wide, his face heavy with problems, and when he came he hooted softly like an owl.

Margery lost the game of temptation as soon as she began to view her desire from every angle. If Jesus had not abandoned her, would she be so vehemently attracted? The silk moving around her body created an environment to walk through. The mercer grinned foolishly, looking right and left of a well-to-do woman of thirty-three with ruddy skin, a broad face, light-blue pop eyes, a turned-up nose, and small teeth. She was short but her eyes sought relation. He ran a finger down the crest of her nose and turned away.

As though completing one gesture, Margery hurried to bed, plowed through the night, and jumped up next morning. When she found the roofer her face sank in lust, her mouth an O. She asked him directly to have sex. “I’d rather be chopped up for stew-meat in a pot,” he drawled with lazy malice. A wave of nausea warped the air around her. With a nod Margery understood that failure was intrinsic, success merely an exception.

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