VIOLA

From Michael Barry: a postal letter addressed to Martin Smythe
Received 28th April, 2005

My dear Mr Smythe,

As author of the definitive Antipodean Thesaurus of Offensive, Scatological and Pornographic Terms, my lexicographical talents are well-suited to the pursuit of Vileness. You will not be surprised that, now warned, I have seen all about me evidence of Vileness in names that bear remarkable similarities with terms with which the Bile seem to be addicted” “Vicar of Morbing Vyle” and “Marquis of Morbing Villica”.

I cannot thank you enough for your tract The Black Crusade (cunningly disguised as a novel) which is an invaluable cautionary against the Evils of Vileness in all its forms.

I was once the neighbour of a delightful lady—Viola by name—whose vocalising during the act of love was most vexing. Jer cries of joy, even at the merest touch, pierced the thin wall s of my apartment, to the great annoyance of my neighbours.

Slim she was, and young—no more than twenty-five—brunette, and possessed of a certain manic energy. Viola was far from a beauty, but what she lacked in delectability, she more than made up in animal magnetism. She met my eyes unashamedly upon the stair and I could not escape the idea that she was ravishing me optically, as it were, and her tongue moistened her lips lasciviously each time she addressed me.

My evenings and nights were a misery; howls of pleasure, doubtless feigned, shattered my rest and yet, strangely, exerted a fascination and stirred urges that had best remain nameless.

One day I returned early, somewhat the worse for drink, up several flights of stairs and into what I believed to be my apartment. I collapsed on the living-room ottoman. During the night, my hazy dreams merged into what I believed to be a lurid phantasm, in which her Britannic Majesty took a riding-crop to my body politic, shall we say, and we were, inter alia, joined in a Magna Carta of the flesh.

When I woke, my head hammering in shame and regret at my excesses, I realised that I had not been in my own apartment and had not entirely been dreaming. Yes, I had become the Dicker of Moaning Viola!!!

Your ever-vigilant servant,

Michael Barry

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