The Duel

by Jeff Provine

 

Long ago, when chivalry and honor had not yet been forgotten, there was once a beautiful girl named Helen.  She was a girl sculpted like the Classical statues with pale, perfect skin and hair as dark as ebony.  Her soft hands had never touched a harsh plow or been soaked by scrubbing dishes.  She was well educated as a young lady and knew the works of Homer forward and back.  Her family, the van Brahns, was old and wealthy, and there was such a dowry promised that it turned the head of every young man.  Dozens of suitors came before her, but she had casually turned them all away.  All, that is, but two.

The first suitor who struck her fancy was a tall, sturdy man by the name of Hercules Thompson.  He had grown up as the strong son of a blacksmith and the nephew of one of the best huntsmen in the land.  Skilled at all athletic sports, he was faster and stronger than any man he had ever met.  But then, his brainpower was, as one might say, lacking.  He could do the work of ten men, but he required his fingers when counting out his pay.  When he had come of age, he had gone into the army and amassed a great fortune as a soldier in wars in distant lands.  His physique and good looks attracted many young women, but he found himself interested only with Helen van Brahns.  He would do anything to get her.

The second suitor was a thin man with a high forehead and thick spectacles.  Socrates du Montier, the heir to the great du Montier fortune possessed a very able mind.  He knew the complete histories of the world and was well versed in all manners of calculations and computation.  Nothing escaped his great mental powers, but he found himself time and again at the mercy of the strength of others.  He was quite handsome in a sort of thin-faced poise, and women loved his kind nature and cultured attitude.  The intellect of Helen van Brahns impressed him to the point of leaving behind his books and business.  He ignored the other ladies who blushingly dropped their handkerchiefs for him and focused his charms and knowledge of the Amores on the beautiful Helen.  He would do anything to get her.

The two men met one another accidentally early one Tuesday morning.  Hercules had planned to take Helen to the races, and Socrates had at the same time wished to walk with her in the garden and discuss the philosophy of a Flemish monk.  The two glared and demanded to know what the other was doing.  They bickered, each telling the other to be off.  It was not long before insults (at which Socrates was adept) and wrestling holds (at which Hercules was the champion) entered the argument.

As their tempers reached their highest points, Helen, who had seen the arguers from her window above, ran into the fray and stopped the quarrel.  Both pleaded with her to send the other away immediately.  Hercules roared, red in the face from the sharpness of Socrates’s wit, while Socrates cried eloquently with his head firmly locked under Hercules’s arm.

Helen watched them with piercing eyes until both suitors paused and calmed the racket.  After a moment of silence, she told them that she would not choose between them.

Immediately, the two bellowed their cases, primarily degrading one another.  Hercules snorted at Socrates’s tall brow, and Socrates mocked Hercules’s bulk, still trapped under the soldier’s arm.  The noise exploded again, and the din lasted for as long as Helen could stand.

Helen finally demanded their silence and told them that she would solve the dilemma.  The two would duel (as all gentlemen should do for the woman they love) at noon the day after, and the winner would take her hand.  Socrates and Hercules both agreed and departed, each snarling at the other.

In the darkest hour of the night, Helen spoke with her true beloved.

“I will settle this,” she said with a smile.  She tinkered with the twin pistols, arming them properly so that only the one she secretly adored would remain from the battle.

The next day, as the sun approached its zenith, Helen waited for the suitors with the box containing twin pistols.  Socrates approached from the east while Hercules came from the west, as if they had started the day as far from one another as possible.  The two glared at one another as arrived, and greeted Helen as pleasantly as suitors do.

Helen merely nodded quietly.  She handed the guns to the two suitors carefully and then stood back to watch, knowing that she had already chosen the victor.

Hercules and Socrates stood back to back, counted off steps, and turned to fire.  When the smoke cleared, they both lay dead on the hot ground.

Helen saw that her champion had won.  The suitors were dismissed, and she was alone.

“And that is that,” Helen said nonchalantly.  She clasped her hands together in front of her and left the battlefield, singing softly to herself.