THE PENTAMERON; or, THE FIVE DAYS OF FIFTY STORIES, AS TOLD BY A GROUP OF FRIENDS ESCAPING THE COVID PANDEMIC
DAY TWO
by Mariah Ashe
THE PENTAMERON; or, THE FIVE DAYS OF FIFTY STORIES, AS TOLD BY A GROUP OF FRIENDS ESCAPING THE COVID PANDEMIC is a reworking of the 15th Century work “Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles.” First translated into English in 1899 by Robert Douglas, this collection is now, for the first time, elevated to the level of Boccaccio’s Decameron and the Heptameron of Marguerite de Navarre with a frame story fitting for it.
Story the Tenth
In the southern half of Seattle, some time ago, there lived a woman who was married but, nevertheless, of a nature opposite that of a bride. Moreover, this woman had a friend—herself a married woman of single tendencies—and to this friendship, she was far more devoted than to her marriage. We shall require no more than the first names of these two women, which were Mary and Jane.
Well, it came about one day that Mary, in search of a new love affair, found herself a successful man of the mental-health profession who seemed to be, in every way, all that she sought. When the time came for the testing of this theory, the therapist proved to be, in every way, up to the expectation imposed on him, and subsequent testing only added further verification.
There was, however, one problem to Mary’s new affair, this being that her lover, as part of a successful therapy practice, was permanently busy, and he always had any number of people coming and going. This meant, of course, that Mary and her lover found more barriers than usual placed between their love, and even when a rendezvous could be managed, it could never occur without some fear of Mary’s being identified by whoever might happen along.
After much thought on this problem, Mary came to the realization that Jane was her answer; for her intentions would never be suspected if that friend accompanied her each time she sought her lover’s company. Jane, as Mary saw it, could wait—visible to all—in the waiting room while she could walk—before all—into her lover’s office, and no suspicion would ever arise. All that anyone would ever think was that one friend was accompanying another to an appointment, and no questions would even be thought, much less asked.
As devised, so was it done—at first, at least. Mary boldly strode into her lover’s arms in the middle of any day, and her guise of merely seeking the man’s mental-health expertise was made unquestionable by the presence of Jane, who dutifully performed her part.
Eventually, however—I am not sure how many instances in—a great change occurred. Mary emerged from the therapist’s office after one of her delightful afternoon sessions, and she said to Jane:
“Shall we be on our way?”
“No, indeed,” Jane replied aloud. “I think that I shall have my own consultation with the good man in there.”
You see, in her accompanying visits, Jane had been evaluating this man whom Mary was so fond of, and she came to the conclusion that there seemed reason aplenty for the fondness. Thus, either consciously or not, she adopted the feeling herself, and she was sure that the therapist would be willing to service her as he did her friend. It should be here noted that, in the version of events most often relayed, Jane is said to have recently undergone a breakup in one of her principal love affairs, which would, of course, seem to factor into this budding conflict with Mary. Other accounts, though, make no mention of this other affair, so one must decide for oneself what to think on the matter.
Mary, not moving from where she stood between Jane and her lover’s door, made sure that, when she next spoke, her words were heard by her friend alone, whom she now saw in the light of rivalry.
“What do you think you are doing?” she said. “He is mine.”
“And what about me?” Jane replied, lowering her tone to a harsh whisper. “I am tired of merely coming along as your three-play, being no more than a third wheel designed to allow the other two to better run. I tell you, if I do not get my way, I shall reveal everything to your husband.”
Mary made a last attempt at placation by way of offering Jane introduction to a former lover whom she knew her friend to have always coveted, but Jane was not to be moved. Thus, seeing no other option, Mary stepped from in front of the door, and Jane then made her way inside, there to explain the new situation to her new lover.
For some time—again, we cannot be certain of the duration—this state of dual engagements continued, neither woman content yet neither so moved from contentment as to enter contest. Then, one day, Mary having already enjoyed her session, she saw that Jane, after her own appointment, left the office in a particularly radiant glow, which did much to prick the sense of fairness that the situation had settled into. As such, Mary, without a word, walked right up to the therapist’s door, and she would have made her way right back in, had Jane not stopped her.
“What do you think you are doing?” Jane asked.
“I once asked you the same thing,” Mary replied. “It was I who first laid this ground for the laying, so if I must share with you, I am resolved to have a bigger piece. He may be ours, but he is more mine.”
With this, Mary pushed her way past Jane, and she was soon inside her lover’s office, explaining to him the adjustment to their situation. Jane, however, herself reentered the room, and she made sure that her argument for a full and equal share was heard.
As it happened, the man in question had a rather picturesque bouquet of roses lying on his desk, and this gift, which had not yet been noticed, now came into play.
“These, then,” Jane said, seizing up the bouquet, “must be for me.”
“You merely wish to top me,” Mary replied, reaching for the roses. “They are, I bet, mine.”
Then, the two friends began fighting over the bouquet, each sure of its being hers and, thereby, destroying it in the process. At one point, while some semblance of the roses still remained, one of the women tried the tactic of appealing to the man in question, demanding of him which of the two the gift was actually meant for.
It should be known that the bouquet had been, in truth, intended for the therapist’s wife, whom it could, of course, no longer reach, considering its rather used condition. As such, the therapist considered only appeasement in his answer, and he looked into two darling and snarling faces when he said:
“Why, it was meant for both of you, of course.”
Obviously, this answer did no more than remove the man from the matter, and the bouquet was, before long, reduced to a few barren and broken stems, all its petals now in pieces underfoot. To the therapist’s horror, however, this loss in no way abated the friends’ anger, despite its immediate object having been removed from existence. Instead, each turned her eyes back to her lover, now expecting from him some new offering of imbalance in her favor, and the therapist was, therefore, right back in the middle of things.
Well, it should not be surprising that, whichever of the two he may have initially preferred, the man now wanted nothing more to do with either woman, and his only thought was how he might quickly get them out of his office, even if they left together. To do so, he began with professional appeals to the fact that he had other patients whose mental health needed attending, and when this failed, he resorted to physically pushing them from his office, though gently and with many kind words. In the chaos of leaving, however, Mary left with one of the main sweaters, which had been hanging on a hook just inside his office door.
Well, when those in the waiting room saw the two women abusing each other, they were astonished, but those same minds, in very little time, realized that only one issue could be so great as to cause such open hatred between these two women. In the street, as well, the scene was the same, but here, an escalation resulted when Mary thought to taunt Jane with what she had taken from the office.
“Do you see what he sent me with?” she asked. “In the end, he would not let me depart without a token of his love. Where is yours?”
“It is in your hands,” Jane replied. “Half, I know is mine, and in truth, I am entitled to more.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I only know what he tells me when we are together.”
“Have you no shame?”
“Do you think that you can do with me as you like?”
“Will you try force, then?”
“I will have what is mine.”
With that, Jane made a fist, and she then landed it in the face of Mary, who quickly returned the blow. In short, the friends fought as though they would kill each other, and all before a gathering crowd. Bystanders soon separated the combatants, and their husbands were then brought to the scene, but when each tried to question his wife, she spoke so harshly against the other that the men themselves came to blows, each fighting to defend his wife against the foul names that she was called.
Eventually, of course, the police got involved, and things were truly broken up. A number of individuals, including the husbands, were hauled off to jail, and the two women, being identified as the instigators, were interrogated for some time, the officers striking away story upon story until finally uncovering the truth, which they dutifully reported and filed. In the end, the courts chose to do nothing, since the matter hardly concerned them, but their inquiry, public as it was, did much for public opinion. Indeed, in the eyes of that law, Mary and Jane were quickly convicted of infidelity, and their life sentence included not only this mark, but that of man-fighting, as well.
Pierce: Well, that, then, is the story of two women whose friendship was stronger than their marriages, though not nearly strong enough to handle their love rivalries.
Phil: Here, men certainly differ from women.
Daisy: You think so?
Chase: I would have to agree.
Phil: I know so.
Daisy: So, then, instances of men fighting over a woman never happen?
Chase: The point is that they happen less often.
Phil: The main point is that men, in such a struggle, are more likely than women to come to terms with each other. With women, the battle more likely becomes a war.
Neil: With men, though, the battle more likely is the war.
Daisy: Men, too, are more likely to have one vanquish the other.
Pierce: Well, that may be the very reason behind Phil’s point.
Phil: Exactly, Pierce. I do not claim to know the reason. Rather, I merely note the fact.
Daisy: And I merely note the fact as flawed.
Neil: It is, I think, too late in the day to take up this large of a debate.
Chase: Well said, Neil.
Pierce: I do not mind agreeing to disagree.
Phil: For now, that is best.
Daisy: Well, be sure that we will discuss it later in the week.
