The Infinite Matrix | Michael Swanwick & Francisco Goya | The Sleep Of

Reason 59

04.24.03

the sleep of reason

by Michael Swanwick

with illustrations by

Francisco JosÉ de Goya y Lucientes

Click image to enlarge

Digital image © copyright

Davison Art Center,

Wesleyan University

DAC permission required

for any other use.

59. [Plate 75]

Grace and Nightmares

It was only a joke.

But the jokes that are played on whores are a little rougher than the

jokes that are played on the likes of you and me. Some of the lads who

frequented the brothels learned that a certain puritanical minister was

planning to lead a march of decent citizens upon the houses of ill-fame

to publicize their existence and thus force the city fathers to shut them

down. So one of their number volunteered to show the minister where the

foul places were, another slapped an ether-soaked handkerchief over his

face, and a third similarly anesthetized Grace.

The joke went off as simple as one-two-three.

When Grace came to, she was bound by the ankles and waist to the

crusading minister, and the both of them were tied to a tree on the

outskirts of town.

The minister was already awake, and he was furious. "You harlot! You

slut! You cesspool of infamy!" he cried. He pulled at the ropes so hard

Grace couldn't breathe. "Let me free of your wanton flesh!"

"If you'd just stop yanking so hard," Grace said plaintively, "we could

work together and get these ropes untied."

But now, however, the minister was aroused. Grace could tell by the

hoarseness of his voice, the redness of his face - and by other signs as

well. So he'd stopped listening. One of his hands was tied to the tree,

but the other was free. So he began hitting Grace and pinching her, while

simultaneously he was also rubbing his buttocks against her in the most

lascivious manner imaginable.

"Vile temptress!" he roared. "Chamber-pot of Satan! Cease your loathly

blandishments! God will protect me from you!" And all the while he was

hitting her, and hurting her, and grabbing at and twisting her flesh in

places no woman likes to be roughly handled.

It was a nightmare.

Was ever a woman better designed to attract nightmares than Grace? She

believed in things she had never seen the least evidence of, like love

and kindness and justice, and lived a life that embodied their exact

opposites. In her distress, she was a psychic lightning-rod for the

creatures. She drew them down from the ether.

So it was that the first of many nightmares descended upon her. Gleefully

it sank its claws deep, deep into Grace's mind.

Almost gratefully, she went mad.

The minister eventually fought himself free of Grace. He hobbled back to

the rectory, stripped naked, and scourged himself until blood ran freely

and the swelling in a certain member went down. That Sunday, drawing from

his experience, he preached a hellfire-and-brimstone sermon that brought

his congregation to their knees in fear and repentance.

So the joke ended happily after all.

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This is the 59th of 80 stories by Michael Swanwick written to accompany

Francisco Goya's Los Caprichos. For a listing of the most recently

available stories, go to The Sleep of Reason.

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