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The Miracle of Words
As Edgar was to say later, it was his destiny to go to war, the gods had planned it that way. He was betrothed to be married, his sweetheart Catherine worried needlessly, he said as he left. He would return victorious, he assured her. He would return a general, or a duke. He would return rich. He would return a changed man. He was right, only about the last part.
Edgar mounted his waiting horse and rode away, his eyes scanning the countryside of his home village. He wanted to remember everything exactly the way it was, to snap it like a photograph in his mind, so that when he returned he could compare the two. He stared at the dirt path, the mighty oaks lined up along the side, the few scattered huts with smoke leaking out of the chimneys. In the distance, a dog barked, perhaps chasing a cat, and up ahead two children played in a stream, piling rocks and pieces of stray wood atop another to build a make-shift dam.
With a final glimpse back, Edgar spurred on his horse toward his battalion's base. A few day's ride would put him there, and then? His first battle, his first chance to serve the King, perhaps to die in his country's honor. But if he survived, perhaps his courage would earn him a promotion, and when he returned, victorious, to his village, he would be hailed a hero, and he would marry Catherine, and his happiness would be complete.
As soon as he arrived at the enemy front, he was sent into battle. Perhaps one could say too hastily, perhaps if only he had been issued better armor, or given a better idea of what to expect. Perhaps if he had dallied a day longer on his ride there ... but Edgar had expended every train of thought regarding perhaps. He was injured, or worse, he was cut in half in his first battle, a giant heathen of the opposing army struck him from behind with a two-handed sword, and Edgar toppled to the ground. Another comrade, wounded only in the arm, saw Edgar fall and dragged his upper half back to base. Doctors worked for 24 hours, sewing and stitching, applying salves and ointments, and perhaps employing a bit of magic, but Edgar was saved. His upper half, any way.
And so it was that Edgar returned to his village only a month after having left. He did not return a hero, but a fallen warrior, his pride as well as his body cloven in two. His fiancée, Catherine, had heard that he had been grievously wounded, and she waited patiently for him to seek her out when he returned. Instead, it was she that had to go to him, as upon his arrival he had shut himself inside his hut, refusing to leave or see anyone.
At first, Edgar even refused to see her, but eventually, through cooing and begging and pleading, Edgar permitted her to enter his hut. What she saw astounded her. Edgar was lying in his bed, his skin pale, huge purple bags under his eyes. He was surrounded by stacks and stacks of papers, crumpled papers, ink-stained papers, stories he had started and not finished, poems, his pillow was even a propped up by parchment.
"Oh, Edgar, how could you not even come visit your betrothed?" Catherine asks.
"My betrothed? I have no right to marry any one, the condition that I am in. Just forget about me."
But Catherine was not put off so easily. She knew someone had to take care of him, so she began bringing him meals, washing his clothes, tending his wound. At first, Edgar begrudged her help, but eventually he realized he needed her, and he even began reading to her some of the things he wrote. He wrote poems about her, stories about her, and even tales in which he was whole, and where they lived a normal life together.
One day when she was mending an old shirt of his, Catherine was surprised to see Edgar out of bed. He had propped himself on his chair, and was asking her to lie down.
"I have been working on this story for awhile, and I'd like to read it to you. Please, lie down, close you eyes, and listen."
Edgar began his tale. It was a fable about a knight who travels the countryside, solving people's problems. One day this knight comes to a village where he meets a very sad woman. Upon inquiring, the knight discovers that the woman wishes to bear her husband a child, but that the husband is unable to perform his duty. The knight, feeling obligated, gives the woman a potion which puts her in a daze. Then he begins undressing her. The story goes on, becoming very detailed, intimately describing every last detail of the sexual encounter. Catherine, as if under a spell, intently listens to every word Edgar reads. She moans softly as the maiden does in the story. Her faces becomes flushed, and her hips slowly begin to move, up and down, up and down. Edgar's words blend with the story, and Catherine isn't sure whether she is the maiden in the story or herself. Edgar's tongue rolls on, describing more and more, until Catherine reaches climax.
When the story is over, Catherine sluggishly opens her eyes, stands up, and goes back to her mending. But she feels satisfied, as does Edgar, and, from then on, once a day, Edgar reads to her another story like that. After a few months, Catherine asks Edgar if he'll marry her. He asks why.
"Because, Edgar, I'm pregnant."
"It must be a miracle!" Edgar exclaims, then, his eyes downcast, he asks, "Catherine, my betrothed, you have been faithful to me, haven't you?"
"Of course, Edgar, of course. This must be a miracle provided by the gods."
Edgar agrees to marry her, then, and they live happily together for the next few months. Edgar continues to make love to his wife through the written word, and after each experience, the couple feel sated, pleasantly satisfied.
Among the villagers, there is muttering all around. Some complain that Edgar is possessed by a demon, and that is how Catherine became pregnant. Others, though, counter that it is a miracle from the gods. An old, pragmatic man who lives on the edge of town simply cackles and says there's a more logical explanation. Whether out of fear or awe, the townsfolk help support Edgar and his wife. Jack the forester brings firewood to keep them warm, and supplies them with meat if he catches an extra hare. The women bring vegetables and fruits when their crops produce a surplus.
When Catherine is nearing her birthing time, the town midwife stays with them daily. Anticipation grows around the town. Some of the children say the baby will be born with horns, others argue that the baby will be able to talk at birth. The old man at the edge of town, when questioned, smiles and says nothing.
The baby hasn't yet arrived. The village is small, and everyone talks about it.
"I heard when she gives birth, the child will actually be an elf."
"I heard that she's been pregnant for 12 months, and will be pregnant for another 12."
"Hogwash. I heard that the doctors actually saved Edgar's lower half, too, and that at night it becomes alive, and that's how she became pregnant."
"Cow manure. She's probably not with child at all, just gone fat and lazy with all of us supporting the both of them."
Suddenly in burst a young lad who lives close to Edgar's hut. Panting, he asks for water. Then he blurts out, "It's done, it's done. The witch has given birth."
"So, tell us, tell us, what happened. What does it look like?"
The youth smiles. He enjoys the momentary attention.
"It's a baby boy," he says.
"Yes, and?" they all ask.
"That's it. No horns, and no talking, unless you count sobbing."
Everyone at the pub acts happy, but a sense of relief and disappointment is obvious. Back at the Edgar's hut, Edgar is holding his son in his arms as Catherine sleeps.
"She'll be fine in a day or two," the midwife says. "In the meantime, make sure the baby gets lots to drink. That's a healthy boy, Edgar, a very healthy boy."
"It's a miracle," Edgar whispers, "a miracle."
The boy grows up, and in town it's agreed that Edgar and Catherine must have consummated their love before Edgar left for battle. If, in 10 or 15 years, the boy grows up, and has a striking resemblance to Jack the woodsman, it's only a coincidence. After all, Catherine surely remained faithful to Edgar.
Surely.