BooksBarbecue
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

It’s my cock Bob is describing. Bob licks his lips to articulate its pleasure. I put a “do not” sign on the door . . . turn the lock . . . tip him over. His body an Eden . . . his mind inhabits . . . illegally . . . till I enter. I fill his ass . . . yet stay soft . . . till the moment . . . I come . . . pliable . . . spongy . . . big enough . . . to strike . . . all his nerves . . . as though . . . a tongue pushed . . . in all directions . . . against . . . his inner walls . . . larger . . . than history . . . now . . . he’s completely . . . awake . . . yet free . . . of dread . . . groaning . . . continuous . . . release. Cramped in . . . that position . . . his legs . . . go to sleep . . . to his waist. As they wake . . . I wonder . . . do his neighbors . . . think . . . his groans . . . are bliss? He laughs . . . in confusion . . . his ass . . . clenched . . . his head . . . wobbling . . . a top . . . slowing . . . the possibility . . . of falling . . . sperm on . . . the old carpet. I can’t reconcile . . . the tenderness . . . of my flesh . . . with the coolness . . . of my manner. He’s agitated . . . broken . . . attentive. I don’t know . . . how to be . . . around this . . . remain loving . . . while continuing . . . to assert . . . we are breaking . . . up. I ascend . . . foreshortened . . . the air . . . is hot . . . dust . . . from the ceiling . . . makes me sneeze . . . my ears . . . itch. Bob is . . . still vibrating. To infer . . . long from short . . . is pleasant . . . but he can’t . . . do without . . . me on earth.

42

Next morning Margery was brought by the two yeoman to the chapter house in Beverly. The Archbishop of York was presiding because the Duke of Bedford, learning of a Scottish incursion, had collected an army and marched north. The Archbishop entered the hall with his clerics. He wore a small cap and a scarlet cape with slashes for his white-sleeved arms. A few weeks before, he had marched at the head of several thousand of his tenants against the Scots. A severe man, he could still hear drums roll across the moors.

Seeing Margery’s wet emotional face, the Archbishop cried, “Why do you go around in white? Are you a virgin?”

Impatience was an ingredient in all his actions. He complained to the assembly, “I have a number of deaths to deal with. They had this woman before the Abbot of Leicester and found no fault in her. He gave one of his men five shillings to lead her out of this part of the country: they were arrested, the man thrown in prison, her gold and silver taken away, and here she is. Who says anything against her?”

A Franciscan with a huge nose stepped forward and took Margery’s wrist. He had molten bars in his cheeks but his touch was so cold she jerked her arm back to her side. He claimed she disparaged all men of the Church, that a heretic with her name was burnt at Lynn, that she was a Lollard spy, that she had never been to Jerusalem.

The Archbishop rolled his eyes.

The friar licked his teeth. “My lord, she knows her faith. Still, my Lord of Bedford is angry with her.”