SWAK1762

The guardsman took my hand and lifted it to his lips. I lowered my gaze. His lips were soft and warm. The skin on my fingers tingled slightly as though a butterfly had landed on them ever so lightly and then lifted off and flown away. I made a slight curtsy. And hoped I was not blushing. He gave me what seemed like a sly smile. He was rugged, tall, dark, and handsome, and smelled vaguely of vanilla and metal.

Would I ever see him again? I sighed. If yes, it would probably only be to kiss my other hand. What was his name? He knew my name, Princess Eleanora, the eldest (and some would say, the prettiest) of the King’s two daughters, but I did not know the name of this Prince Charming. There were so many guardsmen and knights like this brave young warrior. I see them when I look out the library windows in the afternoon, patrolling the castle grounds and walls during the day, guarding the gardens and courtyards all day, like sturdy chess pieces. All of these young valiant young men, so near and yet so far. So far from me. And my lips. My willing lips.

As a princess, I have been kissed on the hand, one or the other hand, more times than I can count or recall. And almost as often on the cheeks (one or the other, or both). With my gloves on and with them off. By family members, by relatives, by guests, and by complete strangers.

I have been kissed on the forehead by my mother, the queen, my father, the king, and my aunts, the Countesses Augusta and Gwendolyn. Oh, and when I was younger, by my nursemaid, Marigold.

I have been kissed on the elbow and knee when I fell, and kissed on the toes (so they tell me) when I was a baby. I have been kissed on the side of the head and the back of my hair by people I knew well and people I knew not at all.

But, I, Princess Eleanora Marie Wesley, have never been kissed on the lips! And by kiss, I don’t mean the little absent-minded bird peck that the Count Nicolas gives the Countess Alexandria at tea time. before they unfold their napkins and smooth them over their knees like clockwork. What I mean (and what I want) is a kiss of what they call passion. I dearly want that, but even my birthday didn’t bring me what I wanted the most in the world.--a kiss on the lips!

I am, after all, a maiden of a certain age now. I am all of eighteen and a day. .Did handsome young men not come to my birthday gala on the great lawn, you ask? Yes, they came bearing gifts–Parisian dolls, lovely embroidered shawls, and brooches with encrusted jewels. And they all, one guest after the other, lifted and kissed my hand. My right hand.

And the chaperones and governesses and guardians all blew me kisses. But a blown kiss?

A kiss that does not even touch your skin, how can that even be called a kiss? What can that have to do with love or affection?

Oh, but I omit one detail from my tale of want. I am not being entirely truthful. There is one exception. There is indeed one creature in this world that gives me wholehearted wet kisses, full of joy, almost daily.

He has shaggy brown hair and bright black eyes, and he sits at my feet or romps behind me in the gardens or follows my horse on the trails. He is my King Charles Spaniel, Ernest. Ernest will lick my nose and kiss me over and over.

But a dog, whatever its virtues, is not a lover. Not a human lover who bestows kisses of passion.

Of course, whatever my virtues, perhaps I am not lovable enough to deserve kisses of the human, of the passionate kind.

I am, you see, deaf. I cannot hear my mother speak, I cannot hear my dog bark, I cannot hear carriages as they come through the gates to our estate. I cannot hear the wind whistling in the trees or the birds singing in the sky. I cannot hear the laughter of children or grown-ups. I can only see their mouths move when they talk with each other. Is it perhaps because I cannot use my ears, that I want so much to use my lips? Is it because I could not hear a single wooing word he said that no man wants to kiss me?

Sometimes I think I will go to sleep, and when I wake up, I will hear at last what the world is saying around me. But that is a foolish fantasy. Instead, I will nap and dream that when I wake up, a handsome knight like those I see each day will be at my side.

When I awoke, there was no knight or prince in the room, but instead a slip of parchment paper on my pillow. It bore the crest of a high-born family I recognized. The message was written in red ink, the color of blood.

My much-kissed hands trembled as I read “ I have watched you from afar, dear princess, and admired your flawless beauty and womanly grace, but I feared to approach you because I am not like other men. I cannot serve in the king’s infantry, I can only serve as a second-in-command guardsman. I am not like other men, but I would offer you my heart, dear lady, if you would grant me an audience. [signed] John S.

Whatever did he, this man, this John, mean that he was not like other men?

Was he disfigured, in exile, some sort of rogue? I could hardly imagine what he meant, but I was secretly thrilled. We exchanged many messages at different times of the day. But was there a kiss at the end? As there always was in the fairy tales?

Yes, I would meet him, I finally replied. But then I reflected, like John, I too was not like other women. I would not be able to hear his sweet words if he had them to utter.

At the stated time, my knight arrived. I was embarrassed to have my guardian, Miranda, at my side. Embarrassed not for her presence but for the reason for her presence. My deafness!

She would have to translate his words for me. I would never be able to hear what sort of voice he had. Deep and masculine? Or higher-pitched and soft like that of a poet.. Ah, why was I cursed with this affliction?

On the appointed day and hour, he, John, arrived. He was tall and strong with a kind face and demeanor. And he also came with a companion.

“I have something to confess, I am not quite the woman you think me to be, “ I said. Hoping that the words that I could not hear that came out of my mouth sounded normal, as normal as I could make them sound without hearing them.

He smiled and turned to his companion, who turned to me.

“Nor I the man you might like me to be, princess, John says, your highness”.

Why was John’s companion speaking for him? Did the cat have his tongue?

“John is mute”, the companion continued. “That is to say, your highness, he can hear you, but he cannot speak.”

My heart leapt. And I gestured to my governess to respond for me.

“Ah, good sir, my ward tells you that likewise, she can speak but cannot hear your friend’s words. She is deaf.”

John bowed and tapped his folded hands to his forehead.

He leaned towards me and laid a hand on each of my cheeks. They were warm and gentle hands.

He moved closer.

“We are perfect as we are”, I could read his lips say as he spoke without sound.

And he could read my lips as I said, “kiss me.”