Each stanza ran under a different section of the mural. As Alistair stared at the seminaked figures twisting in a variety of embraces, it became clear to him that the orgy itself was in fact a sequence: four phases of activity clearly linked to the verse accompanying it. He read over the first stanza again.
Gather together boy, girl, or priest (scholar?)
Create a celebration (or feast)
Revelries to toast the God himself
Lord of the Harvest, make the dance (orgy?) complete
And immortal joy, eternal youth, shall be thy wealth.
Her scent betrayed her first. Realizing that she stood behind him, a shiver ran down the back of Alistair’s neck then turned into pinpricks along his spine. It was the combination of her perfume and the warmth of her body and, under it, something else that teased at his virginal senses. The hidden matrix of woman, the odor of sex still lingering. But more disturbing was the realization that he had not heard her entry into the room nor her footsteps upon the polished floor. It was as if she had appeared behind him magically and it was this uncomfortable sensation that kept him frozen to his seat, eyes forward.
She spoke and the warmth of her breath tickled his ears.
“Well, my young man,”—he thrilled at her use of my—“what mysteries have you unveiled for me?”
She moved around the desk to face him. She wore a lilac satin ball gown pleated into a thousand shimmering folds at the waist, the bodice as tight as a second skin, its dangerously low décolletage edged in black lace. The sleeves were ornate and unusual: their long cuffs of matching black lace finished well past her hands and were reminiscent of the medieval era. Her neckline was naked except for a choker of ornate jet. The spiky pieces so resembled shards of broken glass that Alistair found himself wondering how the stones did not cut into her flesh. A shiny band of black against the dazzling whiteness of her skin, which was as smooth as a girl’s, the choker seemed to separate her head from the rest of her body, her face floating above it.
Her ebony hair was swept up to reveal a deliciously long neck and rather large unadorned ears. These appeared to be her only flaw and, like the deliberate fault woven into a Persian carpet, merely displayed her other perfections to greater advantage. Her cheeks were flushed and Alistair was convinced he could see the outline of a love rose—the imprint of teeth just visible—fading from her neck. Again he wondered about her relationship with the Jewish statesman.
He pushed his scribbled notes toward her.
“It is a ballad, a narrative explaining the actions within the mural.”
“Now tell me something I do not already know.” She smiled and leaned toward him, perfectly aware that by doing so she revealed more of her breasts. Alistair, cursing his impetuous hormones, crossed his legs and examined the document in a vain attempt to control the dancing hieroglyphics his own words had suddenly transformed into.
“Well, madam,” he played for time, “the text appears to be an instruction manual divided into four stanzas. As you will observe, the…the…” He struggled for an appropriate word that would not be deemed disrespectful, “…revelry is in fact a narration itself. We see the same thirteen participants throughout the mural, each time engaged in an entirely different set of actions. As far as I can tell, there are four separate dances or choreographs to the…”
“Orgy, Mr. Sizzlehorn. We are adults; I think we may speak plainly.”
“Quite; orgy. So the four stanzas are a means of explanation for the different stages.”
“And you have translated the first, I see?”
“I have begun, although there is some confusion as to the exact translation for each of the participants. For example, the first line may be translated both as scholar or preacher, although the word purity in relation to this particular individual is entirely unambiguous. In contrast, the use of girl or young woman here suggests an individual who is not chaste because it could be translated both as wife or female slave.”
“You mean to say there is a prescriptive aspect to the description of the individuals involved?”
“Indeed. The first stanza is a general summary of the…orgy and its intention; the next three appear to give specific instructions, including the astrological timing of the event, which seems to be of paramount importance. This is linked to the placement of Jupiter, the planet, and to the geometric symbolism of the positioning of the figures, which is extraordinary because the mural itself is an illusion.”
“In what way, Mr. Sizzlehorn?”
“Well, at first glance one believes oneself to be viewing a chaos of wild abandonment, of spontaneous desires, but in fact it is anything but. Rather it is a highly coordinated and extremely controlled sequence of poses.”
“Therein lies Eros.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t follow…”
“You are young, Mr. Sizzlehorn, and the young are romantic. They believe in the natural impulses, in the unfettered spontaneity of love. But believe me, when one has a wealth of experience a certain jadedness sets in, and one finds oneself searching for sophistication, for a civilization of desire. Refinement and restriction become erotic.”
“But what of the heart?” Alistair couldn’t refrain from blurting out, strangely worried for the soul of the woman standing before him. She smiled in a bemused fashion; a less generous person might have called it condescending.
“Mr. Sizzlehorn, I am rich, very rich, and the very rich are very different. We leave matters of the heart to the lower classes, because we can afford to.”
A chill swept over the archaeologist as, for a fleeting moment, he caught a glimpse of how she might observe him through such a prism. The view was not pretty.
“But back to the task at hand. Please translate for me the final two lines of the first stanza, which I believe might contain the overall conclusion.” She waited, her face impassive.