I recently checked out a book of photographs by Walter Chandoha called "Cats. Photographs 1942-2018" These are photos of some of my favorite photos in the books. The lighting, timing, cropping and character capture of the cats is perfect.
"As she recounted, I thought about where my unfortunate father was. Learning that the murderer had received his due punishment at first put my fears to rest. And revenge lent me a feeling of comfort and justice. At that instant, I wondered intensely whether my now-dead father could experience this feeling; suddenly, it seemed to me that the entire world was like a palace with countless rooms whose doors opened into one another. We were able to pass from one room to the next only by exercising our memories and imaginations, but most of us, in our laziness, rarely exercised these capacities, and forever remained in the same room,"- I, Shekure, pg. 407, My Name is Red by Orhan Pamuk
The Flayed Old Woman
A long time ago, the king of Rock Fort lived across the street from two miserable old sisters. The cruelty of time had taken everything away from the women. Age had deformed their limbs, wrinkles covered every inch of skin, and the hair they had lost from their head regrew everywhere else on their ancient bodies. The sister did not dare go outside for fear of being seen.
The king had no interest in his reclusive neighbors, until he happened to hear the eldest one singing. By some chance, time had forgotten to steal away this youthful voice. The king was enchanted by the sound and demanded to be told about woman living next to his castle. His servant knew of the hags and was snide in his response.
“The woman is so fragile, a flake of dust could break her bones.”
The sarcasm was lost on the king, who now believed a delicate flower of a woman lived next to him and he began to pine for her.
Alas, pining from a tower did not fit this bold noble. He walked straight to the rambled down home of the sisters and spewed forth words of longing. The eldest sister refused to come out and speak with the king- but that only made him want her more.
The king demanded to see some part of her to assuage his longing. The hag was so wrinkled that there was no bit of her that wouldn’t offend him. But it seemed there was little choice in the matter. So in the smallest voice she could manage, the eldest sister explained, “In a week’s time, I will show you one finger.”
The king was delighted! He knew that strongholds were won inch by inch, and considered this a step towards victory. He agreed and left the women to their own devices. The sisters desperately covered their fingers in syrup and sucked at them in a desperate attempt to rejuvenate their old flesh.
A week went by, and the king returned. He demanded to see the finger he was promised. After all their work, the youngest sister had managed to produce one youthful looking finger. Said finger was offered to the king through the keyhole. To the man, the digit was an arrow through his heart. He knew he was in love and said so between the passionate kisses he placed on the limb. The king begged- pleaded- demanded this mysterious woman share his bed that night. Unable to deny the king, in the highest pitch she could manage, the eldest sister said, “I would be honored. But I am still a humble peasant and am too ashamed to be seen by your grace. I will only visit your royal bedchambers if you remove all the lights in the castle, so I will not have to be afraid to be seen.”
The king promised it would be done and left.
While the king eagerly awaited night fall, the sisters had to work fast. The eldest had every loose bit of flesh pulled and tied behind her back with twine in a desperate attempt to regain smooth skin. They then shaved and plucked until their time ran out. The eldest sister draped her self in a cloak and was escorted by a servant through the dark halls of the castle.
In the darkness of the bedroom, the king pulled the woman close to him. Being a wealthy man, he had covered himself in the strongest of perfumes and could not smell the horrendous odors that seeped from the woman. But- he could feel her. Despite the sisters’ attempts, the king could feel the blisters that afflicted the old and the gnat bites that plagued the poor. As they coupled; the king had expect to “ride a fine Spanish galleon,” only to find himself on an “barnacle ridden old tub”.
Finished, old woman fell asleep. The king pulled out a flint and candle, and looked upon his lover’s face. He was horrified. He had wanted a nymph and instead found himself a gorgon. He quickly called the guards. They seized the poor hag from the bed and carried her toward the window. She begged for mercy. She had no desire to deceive the king, but he had asked her to come. The king did not care and she was thrown out the window.
By some miracle, the woman did not die upon the rocks below the tower. Instead she had become tangled up in a tree. She struggled to get herself loose, but found herself too old to do so and wept.
The fairies of the forest heard the crying and went to investigate. Seeing the old woman’s plight, they laughed at her misfortune. She was hurt by the laughter and cried more. The fairies could not remember a time they had laughed so hard, so they decided they would bestow gifts on the old woman as thanks. One by one, the fairies granted her youth and beauty, wealth and manners, servants and status. The eldest sister soon found herself seated on a velvet throne, wearing a fabulous gown, surrounded by equally well dressed attendants.
Meanwhile, the king finally regained his composer. He looked out the window to see the fate of the hapless old crone- only to see the finest lady in the land seated below. He could not believe his eyes. He did not know what had happened or who it was, but believed it had to be fate. The kind ran out of the castle and proposed to the beautiful woman on the spot. The eldest sister, just as unsure what had happened, heartily agreed.
The two were wed that day. The new Queen invited the elderly hag that lived next to the castle. Though many were tempted to make fun of the hideous crone; once she took her place beside the new Queen, none dared to. Though more food had been placed in front of the old woman than she had ever seen in her life, she refused to eat it. All her focus was on the youth of her sister.
The old woman tugged at her sister’s gown. “What have you done my sister? How did you do it?” she begged.
The young queen shook her head. “Eat now. We’ll talk later.”
The king asked what was the matter, and the queen dismissively explained, “The old woman finds the mustard on the dishes too strong.”
Again the old woman prodded. “Please! Tell me how you did it, my sister!”
The young queen scowled. “We have more than enough time to talk about it. Please just eat and be patient.”
The king asked what was wrong. The queen said, “She wants to know if it will be dessert soon.”
The haggardly sister would not wait, time had made her what she was. She insisted. “Tell me!”
Angered the queen spat out, “I flayed myself!”
The crone looked at her sister enviously. In a bitter tone she said, “We suffered together, so I will not let you enjoy this happiness alone.” And left the palace.
The old woman came to the barber surgeon and offered all the money the two had saved up.
“Flay me.” She demanded. As much money as she had offered, the barber could not easily take up such a task. He tried to talk her out of it, but the old woman was determined and the barber eventually relented.
The woman was chained up, and sat patiently for the barber. With his razor he began to skin her back side. With each tug and pull of the skin, the woman remained quiet, repeating, “You must suffer for beauty… You must suffer for beauty…” She kept up her mantra as the blood pooled around her and the light faded from her eyes.
The End
Notes: While this infamous story has recently been recreated in the wonderful film “Tale of Tales”; I could not find an English translation. I did find the Italian versions, and did my best to make sense of the auto-translate. To make up for the lack of other English translations, mine is a bit longer and slightly more descriptive than usual. source https://lets-talk-story.tumblr.com/post/145472766628/the-flayed-old-woman
This story is from a 17th century fairy tale collection, entitled Pentamerone by Italian poet Giambattista Basile. I recently watched the movie "Tale of Tales" (which is the English translation of the Neapolitan Lo cunto de li cunti ) that is based around three of these stories that centered around obsession.
