Unicorn Point

Merle looked at the six hens, puzzled. “I have not been paying enough attention to you,” she remarked with concern.  “You have become strangers to me.” Indeed, the birds seemed wary of her, huddling at the far side of the coop.  “Come, Henrietta, come. Henbane,” she cooed, squatting and extending a hand. Her short skirt slid up her thighs; she wore nothing beneath. “Here. Henna—I have treat grain.  Come and take it; I want to be friends again.” Slowly the hens approached, wary of her. She did not make any sudden motion, and eventually one essayed a peck at what she held in her hand. “That’s it, Henpeck; I certainly won’t hurt you. A man I might usher into Heaven or Hell, but not my pets. I’m sorry I neglected you. I’ve been so busy recently, but I won’t bore you with the details.” The hens formed a semicircle before her, looking at her quizzically. “You mean you are interested?” she inquired, smiling. She was a lovely woman, slender overall yet possessed of truly shapely anatomy that showed in somewhat indecorous manner as she squatted and leaned forward. Her hair was dark, with a blue tint; it changed color slightly every day, so that she never became stale. Similarly her clothing shifted color and style subtly but steadily. Merle was always fresh without being brash.

“Well, that’s very nice of you, Heningway,” she remarked, spreading some treat grain on the ground before them. “Trust you to have a literary bent! And you, Henline—always on the edge. Listen and I will tell you.” The hens settled, attentively. Merle leaned back and sat on the floor, carefully, so that her legs would not cramp. “You see, I am a friend of Citizen Blue,” she said conversationally.  “It all started some years back when the serf Stile won the Tourney and became a Citizen. Now your average new Citizen quickly gets lost in the marvels of power and wealth to which he is vastly unaccustomed, but Stile was of different mesh. He was ambitious—oh, my, was he ambitious!—and he went right after the big money, which is the same as the big power. That was when I encountered him: in his preliminary gambles and games, when he was getting the hang of it. He took me for a hundred grams of Protonite in a poker game—a nice little haul for him, at the time. That won my interest, and thereafter I followed his career. In fact, in due course I became a bit smitten with him, though he was a youngster only a fraction my age.”

She paused, her gaze passing fondly across the hens. She reached out and stroked Heningway, who ducked her head nervously but did not retreat. “You make such a good audience, my pretties,” she remarked. “Never any backtalk, never any danger of my secrets being gossiped out. Not even a cackle when I confess something stupid. Ah, what a story you could tell of my indiscretions, if you were in the business!”

She smiled reminiscently, enjoying the indiscretions, then resumed her narrative. “In the end I made him a deal: my help in his endeavor in exchange for his single tryst with me.  I called him my bantam—you may have noted my affinity for chickens—and I confess I was hot for him, both personally and as a matter of pride. You see, I have had an undisclosed number of rejuvenations; I am of great-grandmotherly age, not the maiden I appear. I knew my body interested him, as indeed it should; I crafted it to appeal to the masculine taste in subdued but potent manner. Some women believe that mass is everything, and have their breasts and buttocks expanded enormously; it is true that men notice these attributes, but they also convey a suggestion of cheapness. Proportion is the secret; modest projections whose contours are esthetic attract the male interest on a more subtle level, and the resultant desire can be more pervasive and lasting. It is the difference between fish eggs and caviar. So Stile wanted me, but could not admit it; I had to trap him into a commitment. He found my age to be more of a barrier than my nature; indeed, he was having relations with a machine at the time. Men are like that.”

She paused, eying the hens speculatively. “I don’t suppose you’d like to have a rooster here?”

The hens looked dismayed.