Perspective

I must have projected how overwhelmed I was. Ladislao took a seat next to me and began introducing my “new household.”

The first was a gorgeously tall woman with fabulous long hair the shade of pomegranates and eyes that looked like they had been carved from the greenest jade. If she hadn’t spoken I would have taken her for a sculpture, her skin was so pale and perfect; she was Pygmalion; a work of art brought to life.

My Pygmalion had a name….Lysande.

Lysande had a voice that could melt an iceburg: it was smoked sex, sultry and bold. She was sheathed in a form fitting silk gown the color of emeralds, her lips, the blackest cherry. It was her lips and voice, the timber and the accent, something dark and deliciously foreign that held my attention, but at the same time caused my mind to wander….\"

“Later….,” Ladislao whispered into my ear with a grin, “You can indulge yourself later.”

I tucked my thoughts away and gave Lysande my most dazzling smile, wondering if she too, could read my brazen thoughts. She gave no hint, but bowed and allowed the next person in line to pay homage to Ladislao and I.

I must have been introduced to the entire population of a small country; the line of people seemed endless…and my chalice seemed bottomless. I hadn’t any idea of how much I had to drink until I finally was able to stand up again. If Ladislao hadn’t been holding my elbow, I think I would have falling quite gracelessly to the floor. I found myself giggling into his sleeve as he led me out onto the dance floor.

He signaled to the minstrels to play a Tango. I looked up at him with panic all over my face! I didn’t know how to Tango!!! He grinned and merely said, “Hold on!”

His movements were fluid and grace personified. I let myself go and followed his lead by instinct alone. His presence and prowess on the dance floor were more intoxicating than an ocean of mead could ever be. I was at once humbled and then again empowered by his skill. With a spin and a dip, the song seemed to end as abruptly as it had started. I looked around and realized that we had been the only two on the dance floor for the entire song; everyone stood at the perimeter in awe. We were surrounded in waves in thunderous applause, once our audience recovered. The players next played a more sedate waltz, and with this I had a chance to catch my breath.
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“I should have known you would be and excellent dancer as well, Ladislao.” I said.

He raised and eyebrow and grinned, “You had doubts? My love, there are many things you have yet to learn about me. Tell me you will be as flattering with each new discovery!”

“Oh, I am sure I will be, dearest,” I replied, “But first, tell me about Lysande. How do you know her?”

He chuckled, “Ah, I see! Flattery is a means of information gathering! Very well, my dear I shall tell you what I know of Lysande…..”

“Lysande was born in a poor village outside Dubrovnik, Hungary in 1834. It was a time of unrest, the Ottoman Turks were still making surgical strikes along the Hungarian borders.

“Her father, Miklos, was a fisherman, barely making a living from the sea, having been too old to be conscripted to the armies. Her mother, Zsofia, died in childbirth when Lysande was twelve, leaving Lysande to care for her little brother, Janos.

“After his wife’s death, Miklos took to drinking and gambling, leaving his children hungry, forcing them to the streets to beg and steal to stay alive. This went on for about a year, until Lysande was no longer able to pass herself off as Janos’ older brother. The wheel of time was turning and the Goddess had endowed Lysande with a body that even the best corsets and bindings couldn’t contain.

“Miklos, seeing his daughter’s budding assets and striking resemblance to her mother, almost never came home, and when he did would fall into a crumpled heap in the corner of their miserable shack and sleep off his drink.

“Lysande was heartbroken for her father, but was unable to keep him from drinking or gambling. She set about trying to make arrangement to send Janos to the nearest monastery, hoping to give him a chance at an education and a life on the right side of the law. Before she could arrange for the priests to pick him up, her father did the unspeakable at the gaming tables ….

“Miklos was on a losing streak, and had put Lysande up as collateral for his debts. He lost disgracefully and was escorted home by two of the gaming establishment’s thugs.