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Back Margery Kempe
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

Her insult was an experiment; he laughed and drew her down as though they were a couple.

•

Snow fell during the night. Jesus woke with a hard-on so powerful it clunked when Margery rapped it. He said, “Here’s a penny from my heart to put in your purse.” In the midst of scalding pleasure her eyes opened on a patch of his skin bunched between her thumb and finger, and she was held by its fine wrinkles. Later they looked out at the white hush; they thought about breakfast. It burned to piss. Her skin wrinkled, her stomach swelled, her navel flattened, silvery stretch marks appeared on her belly.

5

The following August, a few weeks after the baby was born, Jesus asked Margery to go with him to Norwich to meet the Vicar of St. Stephen’s. Travel would come to equal the adventure of loving him. He strode ahead on long legs as though leading a troupe, making decisions without her, his nose in the air, turning down lanes past carts loaded with grain, dung, or salt from the local salt pans. Cottages stood vacant, emptied by plague. Fields of lavender bloomed with lilting fragrance in the clayey soil.

Jesus had the forward stiff-legged gait of an athletic woman. He wore a short green brocade gown with bagpipe sleeves and a high dagged collar; his beaver hat was lined with vermilion velvet and bore a plume of gold threads. His feet felt cunning in expensive boots; like other rich people, he was pious about such luxuries and thought their excellence was a kind of justice in itself. His tall figure stood out in fantastic elegance against fields and open heaths.

Margery followed on short legs in cheaper shoes, wearing a mantle of black wool. Her breath whistled and a stitch rode high in her side. The lane was deeply rutted and in places centuries of traffic had worn through the strata of freestone so it looked more like a water course bedded with naked rag. Her shoes were ponderous with gray mud. A partridge called in the fields, a high creaking keeve, keev-it, it, it, it. Jesus did not slow down on hills. “Why are you walking so fast?” He looked back, eyebrows raised.

The world was spread out, offered to the view. The sun was at the meridian; to the south the heaths glared through yellow steam. A blond dog too old to chase the grazing hares barked at them with joy, each bark so full it lifted the front of her body off the ground. She was broad abeam and trotted alongside Margery and Jesus on stiff arthritic legs. She caught Margery’s eye, a gleeful camaraderie.