La Belle Fleur Sauvage (1989)
"I'll live yet to see him
Regret the dark hour
When he won, then neglected,
The frail wildwood flower"
- "Wildwood Flower," American folk song written by Maud Irving, best known as performed by Mother Maybelle Carter.
[Epigraph from La Belle Fleur Sauvage]
The fifth Strange Trails story is one of George Ranger Jonhson's most plain-cut romance novels. As he mentioned after the publication of Lullaby, he’d been wanting to write more “of tender things.”The story this time around comes to the patrons of George's Place from Remy Fusil, the Cajun Cowboy - a character who appears fairly little in the whole rest of GRJ's oeuvre, unless you believe certain theories of second identities (you'd be hard-pressed to find a character who doesn't have those!)
In retrospect, despite his seat in the hallowed pantheon of Strange Trails narrators, alongside such heavy-hitters as Frankie Lou and Buck Vernon, Fusil was a means to an end - that end being the introduction of Lee Green, who would play a major role in the whole rest of Johnson's works, develop from the sweet young flower of the Michigan woods she's portrayed as here, to, in the end of ends, that half-real eye-of-the-hurricane phantom haunting moonlit Mt. Monroe.
But we're getting two series ahead of ourselves. For now, in this book, GRJ deftly weaves together Remy and Lee's hesitant and, perhaps, a touch unreliably narrated romance, with the timeless legend of an unobtainable alpine flower - a legend that Remy swears is Cajun, but in other books we're told it might be Basque, or American folk. In other words, it's a story that comes from everywhere, and everyone. Maybe that's why this old tale's themes of obsessive pursuit ring through almost every page that GRJ ever set his pen to. Behind the kisses in the moonlight, there are always mountains unclimbable, withering flowers picked for ephemeral beauty once held, fools for love lying in the drifting snow, in the wind, lost in time and space, who'd give it all to pluck that fleur.
Oh yes, and we end with another cliffhanger. As Remy leans back in George's Place, having finished his tale of romance, he lights up a cigarette and a Bob Dylan tune comes on the jukebox. No one, he says, could ever challenge that his love was the purest. And then, to a galloping 4/4 beat, he hears footsteps approaching.
Keep following this blog for more insight into Johnson's work through the years.
May you live until you die!
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AHHHH I just got caught up with Symbiosis and it's so good! Please, pretty please, can you bless us with a continuation of the trials of our poor teefy boi?
Anon asked: Can we get the next part to "Symbiosis". I really love it so far and I also appreciate the translation you added at the end of chapter 3. Thank you! Your writing is amazing!
Anon asked: Can we please get a continuation to Xhaqos story? I really love your writing!
y’all spoil me too much 🥺🥰 incredibly long overdue but here it is! Translation below the cut again
Symbiosis: His Human
Masterlist
1k | Original Work: Symbiosis
Content: vampire whumpee, (voluntarily) licking the floor, asshole father, language barrier
"Frxog kdyh jrwwhq ph d grj," the son muttered as he dragged himself upright, holding his wounded hand close. “Grjv grq'w qhhg wr gulqn eorrg. Dqg wkhb'uh fxwhu." He squeezed his eyes and teeth shut, tilting his head back. "Ixfn exw wkdw kxuwv."
Xhaqo curled up as best he could, watching through teary eyes as the human crawled to his cane. He cast glances to the vampire as he did so, as if Xhaqo might spring upon him like a beast.
After regaining the cane and his feet, the human walked past the curled-up vampire. Xhaqo sniffled, looking over his shoulder as the man went to the window. The scent of his blood remained strong, but drew Xhaqo from a different source—the droplets on the floor.
Oh, he was so hungry.
With only his shoulders, knees, and one good foot to propel himself, the starving vampire turned his body and inched his way to the nearest puddle. It wasn't absorbing into the wood, which Xhaqo didn't understand but was now grateful for as he tasted human blood for the first time.
It was... unlike anything else. How had he lived with deer blood for all his life? Sometimes rabbit, squirrel, fish, or even boar—but none of it compared. Sweet and bold, whole and fulfilling, human tasted right and perfect.
And... it wasn't worth the cost.
Xhaqo found himself crying again. He pressed his forehead into the ground, thinking of Cile and mama and papa. If he could never taste this again, just to be back with his family, he would gladly trade it.
And it was all he had now.
He licked at it again, miserably trying to ease his aching belly.
"Zkdw duh brx..." the son said. "Rk iru khdyhq'v vdnh."
The man's uneven gait approached and Xhaqo turned bleary eyes upward. What now? The son looked down on him with a heavy frown.
"Slwlixo wklqj, duhq'w brx?" the human sighed, then wearily eased onto a knee before the vampire. He looked down at his dripping hand, uncurling his fingers with a grimace. Then he held it out to Xhaqo, barely a fingertip's width from his mouth.
As hard as it had been the first time to pull his focus away, it seemed impossible this second time with the blood right under his nose. But Xhaqo managed to flick his gaze to the human to confirm that permission had truly been granted, and that the scent of fear had dissipated, leaving only pain and frustration.
"Li L kdyh wr whoo shrsoh L jrw d ghixqfw ydpsluh zkr rqob olfnv eorrg rii wkh iorru, L—" the human began, stopping with a gasp as Xhaqo put his lips to his human's hand, lapping up the precious red droplets. He made sure to coat the wound entirely, numbing his human's pain.
A thumb brushed his cheek, flakes of skin falling. "Vwudqjh," the son murmured. "Lw'v dv li—"
Agony suddenly shot up his leg and he slammed back into the floor to get it out from beneath himself, yelling through gritted teeth. Bone ground against itself as his broken ankle righted itself and began mending.
Xhaqo panted with his eyes screwed tight, sweat on his brow. He'd never healed from something so quickly! Was it over? He eased himself flat against the floor, cracking an eye open.
"Zhoo!" his human breathed, and Xhaqo turned his head to see the human had fallen back onto his rear.
The door flew open, the father taking in the scene with a touch of concern about him. The man straightened, expression smoothing out. "Ah. Jrrg."
"Bhv, L'yh ehhq fdqqledolchg," Xhaqo's human said, using his cane to get off the floor. "Fdq L jhw edfn wr zkdw L zdv grlqj qrz?"
In response, the man held out the jar of blood. Xhaqo fixated on it again, his stomach just as empty as before now that his ankle had healed. He rolled over onto his knees again, using his forehead to help leverage himself back upright. His ankle still twinged, evidently not entirely mended yet.
"Wkh kxqwhuv vdlg kh'oo vwloo eh kxqjub."
Xhaqo's human pinched the bridge of his nose. "Krz riwhq grhv kh qhhg wr ihhg?"
"D slqw zhhnob." The man wiggled the jar by the cap. "Kh'v erqghg wr brx qrz, vr lw fdq eh iurp dqb dqlpdo vrxufh."
"Ilqh. Rshq lw iru ph."
With a smile, the father opened twisted off the top of the jar, releasing a scent akin to boar's blood. Xhaqo's stomach rumbled.
The son took the container, then thumped back to Xhaqo. He stopped, looking down at the vampire in annoyance, then at his father. "Frxog brx gr vrphwklqj derxw klv kdqgv?"
"L vxssrvh." The father circled behind Xhaqo.
The hair on the back of Xhaqo's neck as some kind of energy thrummed through the air before the ropes on his wrists snapped. He started, bringing his hands in front of himself, then flinched as his human shoved the jar in front of his face. Glancing up, he accepted the blood with both hands.
After tasting human blood, boar-like blood was a paltry substitute, but Xhaqo drank it all the same. It eased the remaining pangs in his ankle and stomach. He preferred to have two feedings a week, so he never felt very hungry all at once, but blood didn't keep for long outside a body; there was no sense wasting any of this.
His human started to walk away mid-feeding. Xhaqo scrambled to his feet to follow.
"Zkdw—qr," his human said as he noticed, making some brushing motion the vampire didn't understand. "Grq'w iroorz ph."
"Ydpsluhv olnh wr vwdb forvh wr wkhlu fkdujhv," the father said as he stepped past them. "Zrxogq'w eh pxfk xvh rwkhuzlvh."
Xhaqo sipped at the blood while glancing between the two of them, unsure what the fuss was this time.
The son groaned, letting out an annoyed huff. "L grq'w qhhg klp kryhulqj ryhu ph!"
"Brx'g ehwwhu jhw xvhg wr lw," the man threw over his shoulder. "Kh'v brxuv qrz."
"Could have gotten me a dog. Dogs don't need to drink blood. And they're cuter. Fuck but that hurts."
"What are you..." the son said. "Oh for fuck's sake. Pitiful thing, aren't you?" the human sighed.
"If I have to tell people I got a defunct vampire who only licks blood off the floor, I—"
"Strange," the son murmured. "It's as if—"
"Well!" his human breathed.
"Ah. Good."
"Yes, I've been cannibalized. Can I get back to what I was doing now?"
"The hunters said he'll still be hungry."
"How often does he need to feed?"
"A pint weekly. He's bonded to you now, so it can be from any animal source."
"Fine. Open it for me."
"Could you do something about his hands?"
"I suppose."
"What—no. Don't follow me."
"Vampires like to stay close to their charges. Wouldn't be much use otherwise."
"I don't need him hovering over me!"
"You'd better get used to it. He's yours now."
taglist: @emcscared-whumps @nabanna @thecyrulik @suspicious-whumping-egg @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @wolfeyedwitch @the-blind-one-speaks
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Fool For Love (1989)
The next day was hanging day, the sky was overcast and black
Big Jim lay covered up, killed by a penknife in the back
And Rosemary on the gallows, she didn't even blink
The hanging judge was sober, he hadn't had a drink
The only person on the scene missing was the Jack of Hearts
— Bob Dylan, "Lily, Rosemary, and the Jack of Hearts"
Seems like the cover artist was a bit nostalgic for the Lonesome Dreams era with that art, eh? In fairness, so was GRJ; those of us who look into such things have noted that Fool For Love is probably the biggest throwback of the Strange Trails novels, and the most "western" of this more modern (well, at the very least, firmly twentieth-century-set, if a couple decades back) series. Not too surprising, then, that we get the most extravagant depiction of George's Place as a "western" bar, and Either Buck Vernon or Remy Fusil (more likely, given the etymology of his name) with a pistol that doesn't actually figure into the story.
Ironically, this is one of the few Strange Trails stories that isn't a throwback in some sense, in that it's not a story in flashback. No, this one takes place on the very night that all the previous novels have been told as stories, and it marks the point where the night really goes off the rails.
... Or maybe it doesn't, because maybe it's not connected to the canon at all. Right at the beginning of this one, Buck Vernon, our narrator once more, admits to the reader that "sometimes, I see things that others say they cain't. I don't think that makes 'em unreal, but may well be I'm watching like through the window in the dark at the bottom of a broken bottle, seeing my other lives." That's as close to a fourth wall break as you'll get directly from GRJ in any story, here disguised as a fifth or sixth wall break, shattering layers of reality beyond the simple biniverse of story-truth that we all pass through without thinking on when we pick up a musty paperback. This before he tells a whole story using names that weren't in the bar up until then, and a lover named Lily who sounds almost, but not quite, like lovely Lee, whose story was just told. Li-Lee? Objectively, before we really get going, we do know that Buck came out to spin some tunes for the crowd at George's, that the set's done now and he's sitting back having a few too many while Dylan plays on the jukebox - that very tune in the epigraph is the one described, and it's notable that in the story Buck narrates in real-time, names of characters come into play.
The WBUB special based on this book didn't help with the character confusion either. Don't judge the book by the adaptation, obviously. That's always the rule.
A young fool (Buck himself, thinking he'll play the victorious Jack of Hearts in Dylan's tale?) psyches himself up and picks a fight with Big Jim (Remy Fusil?), lover of Lily. The World Enders, who are still hanging around, and the Tumbleweeds, who we're just meeting now but may be the descendants of Sri Tumbleweed's thugs from Time To Run, get caught up in things. The brawl spreads, chapter by chapter, to bring everyone in, even crashing into the Cambodian opium den behind George's which we only heard referenced in Love Like Ghosts. But things don't go well for our hopeless romantic Buck of Hearts. After a seeming escape from the chaos, Buck finds himself in a back alley where, well, spoilers, but there's a reason that the rest of the Strange Trails stories, especially Buck's, run evermore fantastically through that deep dark wooded valley between the ridges of death and life.
Keep following this blog for more insight into Johnson's work through the years.
May you live until you die!
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