First Station:
Once upon a time, when the new President Emperor had been elected in the Western Empire, he declared that the ancient law against husbands having mistresses was revoked and that the red light district in Sunset City would be bulldozed and a park would be created on its place instead. That, of course, created a problem: What would happen to the Magdalenes who since ancient times had lived in the red light district and traded pleasure for money. The Magdalenes built barricades to save their livelihood but the president emperor, who had himself twelve mistresses, declared the women of the pleasure trade banned from the Western Empire.
Many of them immigrated to the Batavian Republic whilst others became nuns of the new order of the Holy Sisters of Saint Magdalene. The ones who had fled to the Iberian countries were put on galleys rowing for their lives.
Mary Magdalene Smith had the idea to go by train to the Free State of Anville and start her trade in that town.
The express train trundles slowly through a desolate valley in the watery light of a pale sun. Mary Smith thinks that she should be by now near the border to the free state. With a squeak, the train comes to a halt. She does not see any station and mumbles, “Express train, my foot.”
A tall man in the blue, white and red uniform of the Western Empires Border Guard comes into the carriage and calls, “Passeport et douanes!” What now? Mary has no passport…
Reaching Mary he takes a seat opposite her. “Bonjour,
Madame. Is your destination Anville?”
Mary
grins at him and says, “Where else would I go sitting in this shit train?”
“Passeport
S'il vous plait.”
“Speak
a proper language, mate. What do you want, lover?”
Now
he grins. “Êtes-vous un-Madeleine?”
“What
else should I be, sneaking out of your country in this so called Express
Train?"
He
looks at her for a while. “Understood,” he says. He continues. “Why does
such lovely Magdalene want to go to the free state? Why don’t you go to
Batavia?”
“There
are too many of my kind in Batavia and I don’t like competition. Hey lover, do
you understand that?”
He
smiles. “Why don’t you come with me to the custom station? We are five horny
men without mistresses and we will pay for your pleasure with half of our salary
and you can be a mistress to us all…”
“Man,
keep it cool. I like variation. And independence…”
“But
Madame, Anville has no liking for Magdalenes. You will not have any customers to
satisfy your cravings for variation and independence. Come to the station with
me Madame. S'il vous plait.”
Mary
pats his hand and says, “Nice of you to offer me a job, officer. But my mind
is made up. I am going to Anville.” She gives him a sweet smile. He gets up
and bows. “As you wish, Madame.” He exits the train and Mary hears him
shout, “Conducteur de procéder!” The train starts moving again.
As
the train trundles towards its destination, Mary Smith falls asleep. She has a
nightmare about hell ruled by the devil in a black uniform. He walks over
skeletal bodies calling for her to give him her precious blood… She wakes up
with a start and realizes that the train has stopped. Looking out the window she
sees the empty platform of a station. On a sign, hanging on the canopy above the
platform, she reads: Anville.
Quickly
she hurries from the carriage. There is nobody on the platform. Walking along
the train and passing the silent steam engine she wonders where all the other
people are. There is nobody at the ticket barrier and she walks onto the
concourse – where is anybody? She needs a pee and looks for a sign pointing to
a toilet but the only sign she sees tell the way to other platforms. The windows
of the ticket office are closed and she cannot ask anybody there. She finds some
steps leading to a lower floor and goes down. Passages, lit by dim bulbs lead
everywhere and nobody is in sight. She thinks, what the hell, and pulls down her
panties and squats. Oh, what a relief it is to pee. Having done the job, she
pulls up her panties and walks to some stairs leading up. After having climbed
them she find herself on another platform with a train standing beside it. A
hidden voice announces on a hidden loudspeaker that the train to Sunset City on
this platform will leave as soon as the advertised time has come. Mary finds it
very weird, like somebody wanting her to leave again, and walks towards the
unattended ticket barrier. Walking through the concourse she sees in an archway
a man watching her.
Mary
waves and shouts, “Hey you! Don’t go away!”
He
is a small, heavy-set man dressed in red trousers with black boots, a white
shirt and a black waistcoat. He has a broad sallow face with black moustache and
a black mob of hair. When she has reached him his asks, “Taxi, Madame?”
“Yeah,
get me out of that station as fast as possible.”
He
bows and says, “Taxi outside for serfis.”
Settling
in the taxi, Mary asks, “Who are you anyway?”
“Me?
Zoltan Hidikuti for serfis.”
“Hi,
sweetie.”
“Where
you want go?”
“To
the next pub. I am thirsty…”
“Pub?
You mean Coffee House?”
“No,
I mean pub … beer…”
“Ah,
you mean kocsma. Drink sör…”
“Whatever…”
He
drives up a wide avenue. “Where are all the people?” Mary asks.
“No
many people, only sok éjszakai zombi”
Zoltan answers.
“Whatever…”
He
drives into a side road and stops in front of what looks like a pub. Above the
door is an old-fashioned pub sign with a picture of a skull with a powdered wig
and a tricorn hat sporting a long feather. Below is written: The Dead Duke of
Anville.
Mary
asks, “How much is it?”
“No
money, Madame. Me happy to drive you to kocsma.”
Zoltan follows Mary into the pub, saying, “Me
sirsty also.”
Mary looks round and is sure that she has seen such pub before. She remembers when she had visited Londonium in the Hispanic colony of Anglia. A long bar and many glasses and bottles on shelves behind it and – lots of shining brass. She sees nobody behind the bar and shouts, “Bar service!”
“No good,” says Zoltan and walks behind the bar. “Vhat does se Lady vant?” he asks.
“A pint of cold Lager.”
He points to the pumps but she shakes her head. “I don’t like cow piss.”
“Me understand,” Zoltan says. He takes from the fridge below the bar a bottle and fills a glass with foaming yellow fluid. “Good sör. Pilsner…”
“Whatever,” she says then yells, “Cheers!” and empties the glass in one go. He fills it up for her again and yells, “Salute!” Mary drinks some of the beer and asks, “Why are there no people?”
Zoltan searches for words, and then explains. “No many people in day but sok zombi – ah, people of se night come here in night.” He shakes his head. “In day, town dead. In night, town much live. But no good life in night. Very many dangerous people of se night. I ask you, Madame: What you want work here?”
“I am a Magdalene from Sunset City and I want to open a brothel…”
“Magdalene? Brothel?”
“Don’t be daft. Men go to brothels to fuck tarts…”
“Ahh … me understand.” He pulls a funny face and laughs. Then the corners of his lips drop and he says slowly, “No good in Anville. No brosel here in Anville. No people in day and people of se night no fuck – zombi no fucking but eat people…”
Mary has had now her third glass of Lager and pronounces, “Soltan, let this be my worry. You can be my first customer.”
He bows and says, “Many, many, thanking you. Vhen you have brosel, I come for fuck…”
Mary Smith, the Magdalene, has now her own establishment. It is in a small house by the witches tower. With the help of Zoltan, she had painted the house in three colours and calls it the ‘Dreifarbenhaus’. Sitting in her parlour she waits for customers but none had come so far. The dear man Zoltan had helped her so much and she gave him pleasure. Mary remembered their first night together. He was so shy…
Somebody knocks at the door. A customer? She opens the door and sees an elderly man smiling at her. She invites him in and asks, “What can I do for you?”
“My name is Aaron Geltschmidt and I am from the Anville Broadcasting Corporation. Could I have an interview with you, Madame?”
Mary has to laugh.
“Madame, the taxi driver told me that you opened the establishment. An interview with you could bring you more customers as usual…”
“Customers?” Mary burst out laughing. She asks, “Are there any?”
The man from ABC says, “I am aware that there are only a few day people in the town, but at night there must be many who would enjoy your service…”
She interrupts him. “Zombies are not allowed in my establishment.”
“I understand,” he says. “May I sit down please?”
“Certainly. Do you want anything to drink?”
“As it is Shabbat tomorrow I rather refrain – but a glass of water should be welcome.”
She gives him what he requested and says, “You can ask now.”
He pulls from his jacket a small notebook and a pencil. “Madame, why did you come to Anville?”
“You probably know that the President Emperor of the West banned all Magdalenes…”
“I did not know.”
“Now you do and can bring it in the news. Many of the Magdalenes went to the Batavian Republic. Many became nuns of the new Order of St Magdalene.” Mary laughs. “By the way,” she continues, “they now please the celibates of the church.” She laughs again. “As I do not like competition, I decided to come here, but was not aware of the present situation.”
“Have you had any customers yet?” asks the man from ABC.
“Yes, one. He has become a regular.”
“I know,” says Aaron Geltschmidt. “Zoltan told me.”
“What? I’ll have to box his ear when he comes next time.”
The both laugh. She asks him, “Are there any other day people in this fucking town?”
“I don’t know whether there are any in the Sanatorium up the hill. But beside Zoltan and me there is Mademoiselle Tatou, the Anville Council Person. She is an elderly Lady and not a prospective customer for you. I know there is the Dutchman in the ironstone mine but I haven’t seen him lately in this town. There are a few other characters wearing sunglasses but they seem to me night people coming out at daylight.”
“Nobody else?” she asks.
“There might be – but I am not aware of it. May I ask from where do you get the provisions you need?”
“Ask my friend Zoltan…” She grins at him and he smiles back at her.
Zoltan is driving tonight so Mary will just relax and go early to bed. After nightfall, she sits on her plush settee in the parlour and thinks about her time in Sunset City. Her best customer had been the Minister of Morals. He paid very well and could not get enough of her. Once she had met is wife who had been very nice to Mary and told her that she was happy because her hypocrite husband did use her service. When Mary had asked why that was so, the hypocrite wife of the Minister had told her that now she had more time for her toy boy who did have the position of Emperors Counsellor and she could influence the politics of the empire much better than by using her husband who never listened to her…
There is a knock at the door.
Was that Zoltan?
She opens the door.
Mary grumbles, “Zoltan, you should be driving zombies. We need the money.”
“Sis is Miss who need help,” he mumbles.
Mary lets them in and asks the black haired woman, “What do you want?”
“I would like to be a Magdalene…”
Mary laughs. “There are already to many of that profession in this town.”
The other continues, “…to please the people of the night.”
Mary shouts, “If you are a zombie, get out!”
The other makes it clear to Mary that there are no such things as zombies, that she and most inhabitants of Anville are people who either choose or were made to go through the gate of dusk. Like with any population, there might be some crooks and bad people but most people of the night were decent and good people.
Mary asks, “So, after all the explanations, can you tell me your name?”
“Madame, I am Pieta. I have forgotten my family name but remember that a long time ago I came here from the Cisalpine Confederation…”
Mary thinks about having a tart for night work. She might bring a lot of customers in – meaning lots of money. She agrees of Pieta staying and boxes Zoltans ears for telling her nonsense. She instructs Pieta about the job, the do’s and don’t do’s and whilst telling Pieta about how to dress and use make up she comes to admire Pieta’s gentle beauty.
Pieta works hard at night and even Mary has now night customers. During day, Pieta mostly sleeps or is inactive. Zoltan drives every night until dawn and boasts that he had become a person of the night. After breakfasts he usually has an hour of pleasure with Mary and then sleeps till dusk. After he has gone to sleep Mary counts the money and notes down the income in her money book. Today the Councilperson visits, wanting to talk to Mary about income tax.
Beatrice Tatou is an elderly woman, dressed in a costume made of tweed, and says to Mary, “Miss Smith, so nice to meet you. I have come to talk about your business…”
“Welcome Madame Council,” Mary says politely.
Madame Tatou makes Mary aware that a business with financial income is liable to income tax and asks whether Mary has an accountant who does her books.
Mary laughs. “An accountant? You must be joking. Even if there would be any fucking accountant, I wouldn’t trust any of them.”
“May I ask who is doing your books?”
“I do. Do you mind?”
“No, no. Could I have a look at your accounts?”
Mary shows her the money book and Madame Tatou takes her time looking at the numbers. Then she compliments Mary on her bookkeeping and asks her whether she has any questions.
“Yes, Madame.” Mary watches the woman carefully as she asks, “What are you doing with the tax I am supposed to pay you?”
“That is very difficult to explain.”
“I can understand,” says Mary with a mocking voice. Then she wriggles her finger in front of Madame’s face and says, “As there is no working bank in this town to deposit the tax money nor any public services to pay salaries with tax money, and, beside me no other business to pay tax money, I have decided that I will pay no tax.”
“But…”
“No fucking but. If you want money, do something about it – like doing some honest work.”
The councilwoman says demurely, “You are right. There is nothing to do – it is like being a baker having no flour and yeast, baking oven or shop. I tried my best to establish order in this town but how can one do that without a police force or any other public services? There are hardly any people left…” Tears run from her eyes.
Mary asks, “What about all the people of the night?”
“Although I believe in equality and minority rights, they just do what they want – they are a law to themselves. After I was elected I tried to organize these poor people but without result.”
“Maybe they have their own council – I could ask my night customers,” suggests Mary.
Beatrice Tatou sniffs and says, “Very kind of you, Miss Smith, but no: I prefer as it is…”
Mary interrupts, “And go on living a dream. Don’t we all live a dream?”
Business is doing well and Mary is somewhat happy. There are, of course, always some worries to deal with but that is live. With the good comes always the bad. Mary has a bath and lying in the tub full of hot water she contemplates her situation. Business is doing so well that it was time that she looked for another night Magdalene as Pieta alone could not manage anymore. She has to speak with her. At dusk she says to Pieta who is putting her make up on, getting ready for the first customer. “Pieta, don’t you think we need more night Magdalenes?”
“I wanted to talk to you about that too,” answers Pieta.
“So you agree that it is getting to much for you?” asks Mary.
“No, Mary. I have another reason…”
Mary wonders what that could be.
“You see,” Pieta, continues, “I want to resign my position.”
Mary is taken aback. “What the hell do you want to do that? Don’t you like working here?”
“I do, I do. But something has come up which I have to do…”
“Pieta, what is it?”
“It is something very important I have to do.” Pieta tells Mary that she had a calling.
“A calling?” cries Mary. “What the fucking hell is that?”
Pieta tells her that she is called to become a nun and work as night sister in the Sanatorium on the ridge. She has to do that because there are others to be helped. Mary tries to convince Pieta that she is needed here in the Establishment, that she is helping so many people of the night. Pieta seems to have made up her mind and says something very strange. “Mary, you will thank me one day to have become a nun. Me going up there will save you and others…”
Next morning, Pieta is gone and Mary sheds bitter tears.