The Gorko Gazette

Vanities

One night Mirella could not sleep. She tossed and turned and finally got out of bed. She went out to the courtyard in her blue satin nightgown. The night air cooled her face and smelled sweetly of the nearby meadow. She walked to the stables. Halfway there she realized she was barefoot. She smiled. No worries. Her smile lingered. She chose the red pony, Rodolfo. She smoothed his mane and cooed to him. He nickered. She bridled him and took him out to the meadow.

They trotted over the sighing grasses and flowers, the candelabra of the sky illuminating their way. ‘That a boy,’ she said to Rodolfo as he smoothly trotted around the meadow. They rode past the fragrant orange tree and the red rooster Feruccio, patrolling his perimeter. ‘Hallo, Feruccio!’ Mirella cried. ‘Hallo!’ The rooster paid her no heed, bobbing his flared head and poking about the chicken wire fence. Rats and weasels lurked. Feruccio made quick dispatch of the vermin when he managed to run them down or root them out of their holes and hiding places. Mirella admired Feruccio, but at the same time thought he would make a good soup when his life ended. It was well known that old roosters made the best soup.

Rodolfo galloped around the meadow, kicking up grasses and little blue flowers. Mirella let the pony do all the work, riding light on him, softly squeezing together her thighs and gently holding the reins. She made chucking sounds, but more out of habit than because they were necessary. Rodolfo was flowing. This was a lovely moment she would not soon forget. Moments like this defined a good life, made for fond memories. Glassy-eyed and panting rhythmically, Rodolfo trotted smoothly without breaking gait once. They rode past the orange tree again and Mirella opened her nostrils and sighed. This was living.

They rode past the dusky villa where votary candles flickered in the cut glass windows. Others were awake. What would they say if they knew she was out there? Nothing good. Mirella pulled the reins right. Rodolfo leaned and turned away from the villa. Once again they rode past the orange tree and Feruccio the rooster. Feruccio disregarded them.

Rodolfo’s hooves thudded over the meadow. Mirella leaned back on the saddle, the satin of her nightgown reflecting the interplay of shadows, starlight, and the candlelight streaming from the villa. Mirella looked like she was ablaze. Indeed she felt her body heating up as they continued circling the meadow. Rodolfo was sweating now, his chest heaving.

‘I’m burning up,’ Mirella thought. She glanced at her nightgown and believing it had somehow caught fire she screamed.  

At this moment Feruccio turned his beady but fierce gaze to Mirella and Rodolfo. He made a soft clucking sound. Mirella was screaming and shaking her head as they trotted around. What was the problem now? Always something with that human. Last week she fell into the well. Likely trying to gaze at her own reflection. Humans were vain that way. He felt bad for Rodolfo, the red pony. But not too bad. He had seen the pony also gazing at his own reflection in a trough. He was guilty of vanity, too. And he was not really red, in Feruccio’s opinion. More like a maroon. I’m red, the rooster thought, bobbing his head. I’m bloody red.

About the artist

YOU MAY ALSO LIKE…

Image: The fairy tales of the Brothers Grimm (1916) (14596064758).jpg