The Embrace of the Four-Armed Houri

by Danielle L. Parker

conclusion

When he came to himself, a tired, gray-haired man in a yellow robe was washing his face with water.

Jim Blunt grabbed him instantly by the throat.“You bastard,” he spat. “You killed her!”

“Mmpf,” his victim gasped. He could say nothing more, for his face was already purple.

But other yellow-sleeved arms seized the captain’s strong limb, and many more, until at last, with great struggle, they dragged his iron fist away, and the captain lay cursing in a seething prison of protesting men.

“Listen,” his victim croaked, massaging his bruised throat with one trembling hand. “Just listen, please, captain, and do one thing — one thing we ask you — and if you still desire to shoot me after that...” He lifted Blunt’s weapon in the other quivering hand. “Then we’ll return your gun, and you can have at us!”

Jim Blunt looked up from his human chains with glittering eyes. “Say your prayers, then,” he said. “If you think they’ll do you good.”

“She’s alive.” The man lifted a trembling arm. “She’s alive, captain. She will live longer than you or I ever will. She’ll live when this world is molten from pole to pole and there’s nothing of humanity except our ashes. She’s the bride of the Vulcan now, and that was the promise he made us, when the first man and woman stepped on the burning rock of this world!”

Jim Blunt smiled. The men who lay on him tightened their grips, and the man who leaned over him paled, put his hand to his throat again, and swallowed hard.

“Give me your word,” he croaked. “Give me your word, you’ll go back down one more time and look, Captain. That’s all you have to do, and we’ll give you your weapon as soon as you get back, if you only give me your solemn word to do as I ask.”

“I’ve never broken my word yet,” Jim Blunt said, and smiled the same kind of smile he had before.

And when they let him up, he shook his clothes in place, picked up his hat, and nodded to the man who held his gun in his still-shaking hand.

“My word is this,” he said. “You’re all mad dogs, and when I get back, I’ll take care of you, as a man should take care of mad dogs. But I’ll do what you ask me to, first, because I promised. Then you’d better know how to use that gun, if you think it will do you any good. What’s your name, mister?”

“Emile Mandel.” The man held the gun at an awkward angle in his uncertain hands. “I’m the town schoolteacher.”

“You’ll be the first,” Jim Blunt replied politely, and tipped his hat, before he turned away.

When he had counted one hundred fifty-two steps, he looked on the sea once more. Then he stood still and stared, for a long time.

Upon the almost-calm surface, twenty-six women of fire danced and sported and sang in whistling voices of steam, and one of them, only one, had four crimson arms.

At last Jim Blunt touched his hat and lifted his hand in farewell. But she did not notice.

“I guess there’s more in heaven and earth...” he said. “Or maybe even... in hell. Goodbye, my lovely! Maybe we’ll meet again, some day.”