by John Scott Lucas
This story happened long before you were born. It is the reason you were born. I have never told it to you before, because I did not want you to know your father was a sinner, damn my pride. But I am not long for this world now, and your sweet mother does not have the capacity to tell the truth, given what she is, or was, and may be again.
When I was thirteen, I lived in a tiny village, far to the north of here. There were maybe a dozen huts, and only three families, and I was an ownling – the youngest child by a decade – so I had just myself for company.
One summer day, while I was foraging for berries in the forest, I came upon a small girl child, sitting on a branch of a tree that was not stout enough to bear the weight of a sparrow. I thought at first that she was lost, but as I drew closer, I saw that she was not a child at all but a tiny woman, young and lithe and soft as the mist. Her hair was black and shimmered like the feathers of a grackle. Her breasts were tiny, but perfect, and firm, and her teats grew and grew in my mouth, impossibly long. She was a wonton creature. She knew no shame as she got down on all fours and called out for me to take her. It was only then that I saw that she had a tail like a cow, swishing and swaying across her flanks.
"Just push it to one side," she said, grinning. "I promise, I'm better than any woman. Once you have had me, you will never want another."
As I said, I was thirteen, and ignorant of women, and she was as good as she promised.
She asked me to come home with her and be her husband, and I was quick to agree, but I told her I would have to tell my parents first. She begged me not to go, but I did not want them to worry for me.
When I told my parents about the woman in the forest who would be my wife, my father gasped and my mother cried out, "Have we not taught you about the trollkin and the wee people? You must not go with this creature to her home. Old Erik is her landlord and her sovereign! To marry this creature is to give your soul to the Devil himself!"
But my mother knew the rules of the trollkin, and she saw an opportunity. She said, "If you can convince the hulder to marry you in a Christian church, she will loose her tail and become the best wife a man could want. Go bid her come to her wedding day in our village."
For weeks and months, and all through the heat of the summer and the Cold of the winter, I spoke with the hulder and begged her to come back with me to my village. But she was happy in the forest, and did not wish to leave her own people, so we were at an impasse. I sang to her, and recited the poems and stories my mother and father had taught me, but not once in all that time did we enjoy the pleasure of each other’s body.
One day, something changed. I don't know what, and she never told me, but she finally consented to be my wife. We were married in the church, and her tail did fall off, and she was the best wife a man could want and I was the best husband a man could be. But as the years went by, I grew old and bald and fat and feeble, yet my wife remained a perfect young woman. Our neighbors began to grumble.
“This is simply too much!” They said. “Surely it is the work of Old Erik and there will be Hell to pay in the end.”
So, we moved to the big city, where it's not so strange for an old man to have a beautiful young wife.
Sometimes I see her for exactly what she is. I see every wrinkle and flaw. I see her skin is white and translucent as butter-stained paper. I see her gray hair is stiff and dull as a broom. I see the bump above her ass where the cow tail used to be. Sometimes, I see right through her glamour. But then I remember I am the one who cast the glamour. I did this to myself. There is no other explanation. And, look, she is young again and beautiful in my eyes. It's a delusion, I know, but I am happier this way.
I do not know what will happen to me when I die. All I know is that I have lived three times as long as any man I have ever known. I have overstayed my welcome in this hall. The hearth has grown cold. Do not mourn my passing nor furrow your brow worrying about my final judgment.
But look to your mother. She cannot grow old, but she is not meant to live in this world alone. She should return to the forest and her own kind, if they will have her. I bid you join her. And should you someday meet a farm-boy who catches your fancy, just bend over and push your tail to one side. If he has any sense, he will love you exactly as you are.