10 Story Book, August 1938 — page 44: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

INTRIGUING STORIES, SPICED WITH PRETTY GIRLS! 47 “Yes, master.” His eyes of hate burned into her even more scorchingly than Sarras’ eyes of love had done. She trembled; her heart stood still. “T am the master, Meeka.”’ “Yes, Zingare, you are the master.” He chuckled. “Kiss nothing while I am gone, least of all the ground where the Jew has walked, and not even the feet of Jesus. I am to regulate your kissing henceforth and always; I will tell you what to kiss and when to kiss it. Tl have an appetite when I get back, so cook me a good supper, as good a supper as if your Jew were still here.”” He laughed and was gone. The master had his supper when he came home, and his three meals the next day and the next. Meeka buckled down to work as though nothing had happened. The frightful bruises on her back and shoulders were slow in healing, but she made no complaint to the master. True, when he was away in the fields she some- times moaned, and beat her hands upon the air, and prayed to Mary to intercede with her Son to let her die; but when the master was around she gave no sign of her suffering. She did not want to irri- tate him. He feared for the harvest and was surly. ‘Yes,” he reproached her, “if you had let the Jew alone I’d have help now when I need it. These cursed peas- ants will bleed me dry.” He Was i very. truth the master. Meeka was crushed utterly. The un- speakable beating he had given her had cowed her spirit and shaken her soul. She stood in mortal dread of those brutal hands. This fear, together with her vow to Jesus, would keep her straight, the master assured himself. He was so sure of it that he soon ceased to watch her and spy on her. But he was still plan- ning her penance—ah, yes! If the har- vest failed him, he would still have that penance to live for, to gloat over, the penance that was to be his meat and drink, his very life itself, the penance that would serve as the supreme model for sinful kissing women for all time to come! Meeka still had one flower left of her garden that had never bloomed, one sou- venir of the dream that had never been dreamed, one memento of the kiss that had never been consummated. After Sarras had gone she had looked in his room for something he might have left, something to remember him by. And she found one—only one—of the bright, sharp, cruel nails she had seen in the box with the written manuscript on the cru- cifixion. This strange souvenir she would treasure always. LIE One afternoon the Master surprised her by coming in from the fields several hours earlier than usual and gruffly ordering her to put on her black dress and go to church with him, declaring he had some- thing there to show her. Full of vague fear, she obeyed. It was a Saturday and many of the villagers were going to confession. On entering the church Meeka was aston- ished to see a large new Crucifix stand- ing near the sanctuary railing. The figure of Christ was full life-sized. It was startlingly real, almost sickeningly so with the thorn-pierced brow, the nailed and bleeding hands, the agonized face. Meeka shuddered. Zingare smiled. “Come,” he said, “Let’s ga closer: 1 want you to see the feet of Jesus.” The church was poorly lighted and the front benches had high backs, so Meeka had not seen the sacred feet yet. Zingare led her down the aisle, then they genu- flected and sat down. Comiclbook<s C@