A wild surmise flooded through me. Statuesque, perhaps, but – at last I thought I understood Jeeves’ shyness, his propriety, his reluctance to share items of clothing, and more - his gentleness, his need to withdraw from the public presence, from my company...
Those eyes were open, the pupils blown out in the half-light. I could not help but kiss those lips. He stiffened, then responded, his arms reaching up to pull me down to him, holding me as though I might be the only solid object left in his universe. I half-lay, half-knelt by him, waiting for the punt to calm. “Jeeves -“ I said. “Oh, Jeeves.”
He was silent.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Jeeves?”
Nothing.
“Reggie - “
His mouth twitched.
I said, “My dear Jeeves. I loved you as a man, and I love you as a woman. That is what you’re telling me, isn’t it? Don’t let old Bertie labour under a misapprehension.”
He – she, I suppose – gave a little nod.
“But you could go to Oxford,” I said. “There are womens’ colleges...”
“But there are no female professors,” he said. “And women are nothing – nothing at all – to the men. I suppose you have not met Wittgenstein, Russell’s favourite student; I met him in London, where he spoke of the Tractatus he recently completed... he told me that he had no use for women, reactive only as they are to emotion and the dictates of their own sexual organs,“ that last spoken in an angry, if hushed, snarl, “– forgive my language, sir - “
I tutted, too overwhelmed to risk a pshaw and fearing that it might be misunderstood. “Jeeves,” I said. “My dear Jeeves.”
“My name is Reggie,” he said. "I am Regina, but Reggie is safer; sir, we may be overheard -”
“It is a pretty kettle of fish,” I agreed. It wouldn’t do for us to go public. The only way to save my beloved’s academic career would be for both of us to be jugged as inverts, which probably wouldn’t play too well in the philosophy scene either. I held him in silence for a while, too shaken to amend the masculine pronoun. At length a thought occurred.
“Reggie?” I said.
“Mmmm...” he said distantly.
“Stay with me. I understand now. Things will be as they were.”
“I shall read Spinoza,” he said.
“And I shall play the piano and try to persuade you to help me with the choruses.”
“But it’s a lie,” he said, suddenly sounding despairing. “Everything I have - “
I tightened my arms around him. “It’s not a lie. Dash it, you’re not here because of your sex. You’re here because you’re the brainiest bird they could find. And – oh, Jeeves. I’m not here for Two-Sticks. I’m here with you because I miss you when you’re gone...”
We untethered the punt together and lay back down beneath the blankets that the boathouse owner had thoughtfully provided. As it drifted down the wine-dark river we lay, feeling a peace that we had perhaps never felt before, and watched the eternal stars.
no subject
Rating: PG
A wild surmise flooded through me. Statuesque, perhaps, but – at last I thought I understood Jeeves’ shyness, his propriety, his reluctance to share items of clothing, and more - his gentleness, his need to withdraw from the public presence, from my company...
Those eyes were open, the pupils blown out in the half-light. I could not help but kiss those lips. He stiffened, then responded, his arms reaching up to pull me down to him, holding me as though I might be the only solid object left in his universe. I half-lay, half-knelt by him, waiting for the punt to calm. “Jeeves -“ I said. “Oh, Jeeves.”
He was silent.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Jeeves?”
Nothing.
“Reggie - “
His mouth twitched.
I said, “My dear Jeeves. I loved you as a man, and I love you as a woman. That is what you’re telling me, isn’t it? Don’t let old Bertie labour under a misapprehension.”
He – she, I suppose – gave a little nod.
“But you could go to Oxford,” I said. “There are womens’ colleges...”
“But there are no female professors,” he said. “And women are nothing – nothing at all – to the men. I suppose you have not met Wittgenstein, Russell’s favourite student; I met him in London, where he spoke of the Tractatus he recently completed... he told me that he had no use for women, reactive only as they are to emotion and the dictates of their own sexual organs,“ that last spoken in an angry, if hushed, snarl, “– forgive my language, sir - “
I tutted, too overwhelmed to risk a pshaw and fearing that it might be misunderstood. “Jeeves,” I said. “My dear Jeeves.”
“My name is Reggie,” he said. "I am Regina, but Reggie is safer; sir, we may be overheard -”
“It is a pretty kettle of fish,” I agreed. It wouldn’t do for us to go public. The only way to save my beloved’s academic career would be for both of us to be jugged as inverts, which probably wouldn’t play too well in the philosophy scene either. I held him in silence for a while, too shaken to amend the masculine pronoun. At length a thought occurred.
“Reggie?” I said.
“Mmmm...” he said distantly.
“Stay with me. I understand now. Things will be as they were.”
“I shall read Spinoza,” he said.
“And I shall play the piano and try to persuade you to help me with the choruses.”
“But it’s a lie,” he said, suddenly sounding despairing. “Everything I have - “
I tightened my arms around him. “It’s not a lie. Dash it, you’re not here because of your sex. You’re here because you’re the brainiest bird they could find. And – oh, Jeeves. I’m not here for Two-Sticks. I’m here with you because I miss you when you’re gone...”
We untethered the punt together and lay back down beneath the blankets that the boathouse owner had thoughtfully provided. As it drifted down the wine-dark river we lay, feeling a peace that we had perhaps never felt before, and watched the eternal stars.