“It is not my intention to observe you disrobing,” he answered, horrified. “What do you think I am?”
I spluttered indistinctly, and Jean, perturbed, placed the bundle of fabric on the blanket by the tree.
“No need to get angry,” I said timidly.
“I have never met such a lady as you in all my days,” he muttered and left the canopy. I saw him through the branches, standing with his face to the sea, whistling a tune. I busied myself with the bundle he had left me.
There was a broad, light-colored shift, which I took to be the undergarment, and a loose silk dress in dusty rose. It had a decorative hem and was adorned with exquisite gold embroidery at the neckline and around the cuffs. There was also a long ribbon: a narrow strip of fabric consisting of crisscrosses in pink and yellow. After staring at it stupidly for a while, I figured it was a belt. In addition, there were two pieces of white cotton fabric—one thicker and a little stiffer, the other airier and almost transparent. I guessed they were part of the headwear; I’d need help figuring out how to put them on.
I began to remove my clothes but realized I would never be able to open that damn zipper on my own.
“Sir Jean,” I said quietly. The whistling ceased. “I need your help.”
He came back in, and I stood there, my back to him, trying to point to the stuck zipper. “You need to pull it down,” I told him. “I can’t reach it.”
“What the devil is this?” he asked.
“We call it a zipper. Great invention, but sometimes it sticks. Just try to pull it down, okay?”
I felt his long, slender fingers take hold of the zipper, but because he had no idea what to do, Jean may as well have had his hands tied behind his back.
“In the name of the Holy Mother, this devilish contraption won’t budge,” he blurted out after several attempts.
“You need to hold the edges together and then pull gently,” I said. Brunette appeared under the canopy, wagging her tail, and sat down next to us. She looked up inquisitively. Finally, Jean succeeded. A sense of relief washed over me. He froze as my naked back was revealed, and I turned around immediately to face him, my hands clasped to my chest. I wasn’t even wearing a bra.
I cleared my throat nervously and lowered my eyes to the ground.
“I can’t even imagine what you’re thinking right now” was the only logical thing to say.
“I must confess, I know not what to think,” he replied, attempting to get a grip on himself. We stared at each other for a few seconds.
“If your foreignness were less distinct,” he spoke slowly, “and if I had not seen with my own eyes your miraculous appearance and disappearance, I would have presumed you were a repenting whore on a pilgrimage from a distant land.”
“Last time we met, you said if I hadn’t insisted I was a mother and good wife to my husband, you would have presumed I was a bashful virgin,” I reminded him.
“There’s nothing like an experienced harlot to make a man believe she’s a bashful virgin,” he said without thinking, as if he were quoting a famous dictum, and then immediately caught himself. “I beg your pardon, my lady. I did not mean to suggest that you are indeed a …”
“No problem,” I interrupted him. “I’m neither a harlot nor a virgin; there are a few other shades in between, you know.”
“I do not understand what you are,” he said, continuing to look me straight in the eyes. “I cannot believe you are a fairy or a succubus. Your talk of a different time, of the future, indeed sounds like the ravings of a woman who has lost her mind.” He fell silent. I meant to respond, but he raised one finger authoritatively and continued: “But I see your eyes are clear and your speech eloquent, and thus I try not to think about it too much, so that I will not begin to believe that I myself have lost my mind.”
I sighed heavily. “And the zipper? Does that do nothing to convince you that I’m from another time?” I asked in desperation.
“Verily, it is a most wondrous contraption,” he said slowly and took a step forward so he could scrutinize the zipper again. Jean started to say something but stopped. He passed his hand over my naked back; I took a deep breath and turned to face him. Jean lowered his head, kissed me on the lips, and took an abrupt step backward.
“Please get dressed, my lady, before I lose my knightly restraint,” Jean said, and he walked out from under the canopy before I had time to respond. I removed the red woolen dress—vowing never to wear it again—and slipped the undergarment over my head. It was wonderfully comfortable, caressing my body in a welcome contrast to the tight woolen dress.
The undergarment fit me perfectly. I wriggled into the pink dress with ease and was sorry there was no mirror to see how I looked. I wound the woven belt around my waist and tied it in a big bow at the back.
“I think I’m almost done here,” I said softly, and Jean returned. “Most becoming,” he said, impressed by my appearance. He came to me, undid the bow I had made in the belt and retied it at the front, to the left side of my waist, leaving the two ends dangling down. “I’m about to losemy own knightly restraint,” I murmured as his hands fluttered over my belly and his fingers tugged the material a little over the belt.
He laughed and passed one hand over my head. “And you must herewith cover your beauteous hair, which is unruly and brazen and insults the entire world,” he continued. I stared at him with a stupid grin on my face.Your beauteous hair, I repeated dreamily to myself. Jean raised an eyebrow and then glanced down at Brunette. I could have sworn she raised an eyebrow too.
“I don’t even know where to start,” I admitted shyly. “Can you give me a hand?” He shook his head in disbelief but looked at me with kindness in his eyes. He poked around in one of the pouches. “Alas, I do not have a spare thread,” he apologized. “Perchance you have another method of gathering your hair?”
I took out a velvet scrunchie from my bag, which I’d left beside the spring, and gathered my hair into a low ponytail.
“What is that thing?” Jean pointed at the scrunchie.
