The Rite of Spring: The Priest of the Cunt

The Rite of Spring: Fragment 41

The Priest of the Cunt
which tells of a theatrical performance

We share the Theatre with the Cock, and so I was able to avoid the great crowd of people which had formed around the main doors, and go in through the back. I made my way up into the auditorium, and looked down into the arena.

As is the way of it for the Rite of the Plough, at least as it is celebrated here in the City, a box about four manheights square and about a span and a half deep had been erected in the centre of the theatre. The box was filled with soft loam, which smelt good. In this Rite, the box, and the women who take part, are together called the Field. The Plough That Opens the Furrow of the Mother stood on the far side of the box, its golden share and mouldboard gleaming in the dim light, its ruby tipped tine glowing. The benches for the women of the Field - the Daughters - were arranged in a circle around the box which represents the Mother. A tall candlestick stood between each one. Across the box from the Plough That Opens the Furrow of the Mother were the great ewers of cleansing water and anointing oil, steaming gently, spreading heady scents through the quite space.

I saw that Aonan was already strapped to her bench, and made my way around to sit on the lowest tier, as near as possible to her. I said, softly,

"Aonan - have courage."

She looked at me, startled, I thought, and smiled. A face is so hard to recognise, upside down. And then - and then I started to wonder. That position - with the arms pulled back from the shoulders - flattened the breasts, but would Aonan's full breasts flatten so much? Surely they hadn't when we had tried her on that very bench, only yesterday. Surely her arms were not so muscled. Oh Tan, I thought, you sneaky beast, there'll be everything to pay if this gets out...

I sat, and sweated. After a short time there came a noise of voices from the tunnel, and the first of the crowd spilled into the auditorium, hurrying down for the benches around where I was already sitting. At the same time, priests of the Cock marched into the arena from the passage below where I was sitting, naked, hooded, and wearing great exagerated false ploughs of gold. They took up observing positions around the edges of the arena. A voice came beside me - a soft, purring voice. Ratface.

"Ahhh... my dear Kiarrra, so pleas-ant to see you herrre..."

Oh Mother, I prayed. Dear Mother, help me, give me courage.

"I thought I would come and have a look at the Rhiconaiach"

I said, as neutrally as I could.

"Ahhh yes... of course you will have frrriends among the Iachaorrrachaorrrusduadh, so this will have a spe-cial sig-nif-i-cance for you, I'm sure..."

He glanced around the arena.

"But... dearrr me... it app-earrrs the poorrr girrrl is bound... surrrely that is not cus-tom-ary?"

"I believe it is only done when the celebrant is nervous."

(Dear Mother, keep me cool, let me keep talking, keep his attention. Has he met her? Will he recognise her? Oh, dear Mother...)

"You won't be familiar with the procedure, I expect. After all, we don't often have the honour to entertain Eyes here"

(what are you doing here, you slimy toad?)

"No... well, I have a sim-ilar int-erest to your own... tell me, do the Guard of-ten att-end your little ent-er-tain-ments"

(Oh dear Mother no! surely not, they never come across the river...)

"As rarely as yourselves, I believe. Why, have you seen some?"

"No... no, dear girrrl, I was merrrely interrrested... Now, which of these fine young men... do you think will do... the deed?"

Tan wasn't there yet, but anything to keep him distracted. I discussed the relative merits of each of the priests, considered as performers, directing his gaze to each in turn. Before I had run out of things to say, they struck up a surging rythm on their tambours. The Daughters processed in, naked, skin oiled and gleaming, each carrying a candle almost as big as her leg, and shaped to represent a phallus. Last came a woman priest of the Cock, wearing a plough.

The women marched around the circle, each dipping in respect as she passed the Plough that Opens the Furrow of the Mother. At a crash of the drums they halted, each by a bench; they turned, placed their candles on the candlesticks, and the celebrants laid themselves on the benches. The priest stood beside the bound woman. When she had placed her candle, she stepped out into the ring of drumming priests.

Ratface looked ostentatiously at the celebrants, making disparaging remarks about each in turn.

"Ah, but these all seem so... pale... I must suppose our prrrincess is the... ah... nerrrvous ce-le-brrrant..?"

(What! doesn't he know? Is he just playing with me?)

"Yes, that's right."

A fluting came from the passage beneath us. The Laver walked out, dressed in white, then the Annointer, in gold, then the Sower, in green, and last Tan, just in his own skin, wearing the Plough that Opens the Furrows of the Daughters. "Look, here is the First of the House now. As he's here, I would expect him to conduct the Rite himself."

Ratface looked down at Tan, with that horrible gloating expression he has when he sees a chance to do someone real harm.

"What a fine... ath-le-tic specimen he looks, wouldn't you say..? and so... well matched in his prrrincessss, don't you think..? Now... I had thought that Rrrhiconicfhearrr women led... sheltered... lives... I wonderr... how she can have de-ve-loped such fine... muscles..?"

(Oh Mother! is he playing with me? Does he know?)

"They must ride quite a lot, I suppose; after all they're a nomadic mob. But she is a fine specimen, I agree. Look, they are beginning the dedication. Those two novices are bringing the anointing oil..."

I rambled on directing his attention to anything which might draw his interest. The trouble is that the Rite of the Plough takes so long. I knew that Aonan... no, the black girl, whoever she was... I knew that she would be last. The trouble was Tan wouldn't hurry.

Tan stood astride the Plough that Opens the Furrow of the Mother. The Laver came forward with his steaming flannels, knelt, and carefully cleaned both Ploughs. Then he stepped back to his place by the ewers, and the Annointer walked forward. She, in her turn, knelt, and annointed both Ploughs, and returned. Last, the Sower came forward, and performed the blessing. Then the Team lifted the Plough that Opens the Furrow of the Mother onto the earth, and took the yoke on their shoulders. Tan walked across to the first of the women. He bent, and spoke to her.

The drums started slow. The Team threw themselves forward in the harness; Tan entered the woman. All the participants together gave a grunting moan, softly. And then again, louder. The great Plough thrust forward through the soft earth. The lesser Plough thrust forward through the soft flesh. On. Ohhh! On. Ooaghhh! On. Oaaaghhh...! The Audience joined the call. The rythm built. Finally with a cresting cry, the Furrows were opened. The Sower gave a great shout, and cast a full measure of grain, shimmering with the scraps of gold and silver foil mixed in with it, into the opened earth. The team fell in their traces. Tan stood panting.

In silence he straightened and walked back to the Plough that Opens the Furrow of the Mother, as a new Team from the priests about the arena took it up and turned it to face the box again. Once again the Laver came forward, and the Rite went on.

The Rite went on, woman after woman, furrow after furrow. The smells - rich earth, hot perfumed oil, secretions of cunt and cock. The sounds - hollow drums, ragged gasps, the wordless shout of the Sower. The sights - surging bodies, sliding metal, opening earth. On and on. Around me, on the dark benches, the rustle of clothing opened, the creak of bodies shifting, the gasps and sighs of private orgasm. The girl on my other side giggling as a man, apparently a stranger, lifts her onto his lap. The touch of a hand on my own breast - not Ratface's; his, I would not have put aside so gently.

On and on and on.

My stomach was churning. I could see Ratface was aware of, was enjoying my agitation - indeed, at one point he said

"my dearrr Kiarrra... do you per-haps need... bonds... yourrr-self?"

(Oh Tan, hurry it up.)

I knew that when Tan came to - to the black girl - that would be the worst moment. I didn't know how bad. Tan went up to speak to her, and his start was perceptible from where we sat. Dear Mother! It wasn't Tan who had made the substitution... Could it be...

Ratface said

"dear me... something seems to have surrr-prised the man... Now, what could that be... do you suppose..?"

Oh, mother, let this be over... I could see the girl grinning, as if with amusement, but grim. Tan said something, she replied, and he nodded, briefly. He laid a hand on her brow. There was a pause which seemed to stretch out for a long time. She spoke again. Then he went round to the end of the bench, and the Ploughs entered their last furrows in unison.

The drums pounded. The people moaned. The harness creaked. At last it was done.

Ratface's cup seemed to brim over. His eyes were all but closed, his whole posture limp and restful.

"Ahhh... wasn't that... affec-ting. Now what... effect... do you think the news of that... will have... on herrr... tribesmen..?"

And with that, he slowly uncurled himself, and left.

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