I was born in 1906, so I've hurdled over a century. I'm not too bad to look at for an old soul, but it wasn't always like that. This is the story of how I got uglified.
I grew up in the South, pretty backwoods at that. I was a determined little fellow and managed to get myself a bit of schooling and a lot of work. But I couldn't wait to hit the big cities. I was naive back then, very different. Same initials, different guy. Call him Mr. V.
The first place Mr. V. got to was New Orleans. He walked for hours, taking in the bright colors of the houses, the music floating out of every alley. It tickled him endlessly.
One day Mr. V. was strolling by a church when he heard the most intoxicating music he had ever heard. Delicate strains of the church organ twisted around a solid beat coming from tubas and trombones, all spiced up with banjos and tambourines and the like. There was a crowd of people milling about and he wondered what the big occasion was. He inched his way into the onlookers and asked a pretty girl what was going on. He always had his eye out for a pretty girl, because he was a good-looking boy himself.
"The wedding of the year," the girl replied, not without a bit of a twinkle. "Madame Penelope has finally found herself a mate, and she's sparing no expense."
"Who's Madame Penelope?"
"Why, you're a green little thing ain't ya? She's the most important and powerful Madame in town. Owns and runs three fancy houses that all the gentlemen attend. And," she leaned closer for the next bit of information and whispered, "she's a most powerful manbo of the old religion."
"Vodou?" Mr. V. whispered back, enjoying the touch of her ear on his lips.
"A most ancient form, with juju so strong it can melt the hair off your head."
"She must be something."
"Quite something." The girl ceased her intimate whispering and stood on her toes for a better view. "This will be a big day."
"Come on then!" Mr. V. grabbed the girl's hand and began making his way through the crowd. He pushed and pulled, twice losing her hand. They came in sight of the church pews, then inched along the side toward the altar. Once they were close enough for a good view, he asked, "Why is a Vodou Queen getting married in a church?"
"She embraces all religion. She wanted a solemn Christian service because the day is so important to her. Tonight there'll be another ritual—"
Before the girl could explain, the beautiful music stopped, and the magnificent organ played solo, a solemn entrance music. From the other side near the altar, the groom stepped up: a bearded dwarf wearing a topcoat of greens, purples and oranges. The sight was so shocking to our backwoods boy that he could barely stifle a laugh.
From a door in the center of the nave, away from the crowd, six small monkeys ran in, tossing magnolias wildly in the air. Following the monkeys, four gigantic men appeared with shaved heads, tuxedo trousers and suspenders, 
but no shirts, holding the long poles of an elegant litter draped with green, purple, and orange curtains. The giants carried the litter into the church aisle and proceeded to the altar.
The spectacle was so bizarre that young Mr. V. knew not whether to gasp or howl with laughter. The girl poked him in the ribs to remind him of the solemnity of the occasion.
The organ came to a climactic fanfare and ceased. The curtains on the litter were whisked back by the bearers, who then receded into the shadows. Slowly and genteelly, Madame Penelope stepped from the litter and climbed the steps to the altar. A veil covered her face and body, obscuring her figure from the congregation.
The ceremony itself was traditional, although the monkeys did make an occasional tumble over the top of the litter. When it came time to kiss the bride, two of the bald giants stepped up to the dwarf groom and hoisted him up to the level of Madame Penelope's face. Two others approached her and, with a dramatic gesture, lifted the floor length veil. To his amazement, this is what Mr. V. saw:
Madame Penelope was the ugliest creature he had ever seen. She had elaborately colored and teased hair, which rose up in purple and silver wisps from random points in her skull; her forehead sagged over one continuous eyebrow; tiny red beady eyes protruded from dark, hollow sockets. Her nose resembled a medium-sized eggplant, her skin the graying craters of the moon; her cheeks jowled down like horse testicles, loose and swaying; her few tusk-like brown teeth poked out from her purple-stained lips at odd and various angles; her neck was nearly a foot long, and her grizzled chin only slightly less. This monstrosity of a head was precariously balanced atop mountainous shoulders; her breasts were wildly uneven, the right one voluminously draped to her navel, the left as small and flat as a pecan. Her one attractive feature, a tiny and fragile waist, was upstaged by hips the width of a small rowboat and knock-kneed, flamingo-like legs.
Mr. V. watched the dwarf positioned for a kiss. No longer able to hold his emotions, Mr. V. screamed.
Madame Penelope lurched back at the sound and swung around in its direction. As she caught sight of the perpetrator, her horrifying visage locked onto his. Then, the entire experience, the monkeys, the giants, the dwarf, the crowd, and Madame Penelope's staring face all conspired to unleash from the poor boy the greatest howl of uncontrollable laughter. The more he tried to stifle himself, the more Mr. V. shrieked with piercing guffaws.
Madame Penelope let only eleven seconds of this affront pass. Then, without a glance toward those gathered, she raised her puffy arms in a gesture of incantation. She repeated a simple phrase in a strange language seven times, each time raising her rasping nasal voice to greater volumes. The girl backed away from Mr. V. in great fear. On the seventh time, the laughter came to an abrupt halt. The boy's hands flew to his throat. Madame Penelope extended her shaking hand at him.
"I curse you, scoundrel! You have ruined the one beautiful day of my life, so I ruin any beauty you will ever know." A hot wind blew against the boy's face. The preacher's pulpit began to shake. Smoke billowed from the crucifix. Five babies wailed.
Somehow the foolish young man was able to uproot his feet and run from Madame Penelope. He crashed into the crowd, which parted from fear of catching the curse. He ran into the street, and kept running until he was a mile from the church.
And what was Madame Penelope's curse? The ancient eye for an eye, but in this case involving many more body parts. When he reached his twenties, Mr. V. first noticed a large wart form on his nose, then the whole nose transformed into the shape of a root vegetable. His skin cracked, his hair fell out, his eyes crossed. Over the years, he got uglier and uglier. (After the description of Madame Penelope, why beat a rotting horse?)
Until he was fifty, Mr. V knew no love, no more pretty girls, no kindness from strangers, only horrified stares and vicious laughs. He took night jobs, jobs working underground; he even robbed a few places, hid out while his looks worsened, and changed his name. But he never forgot the music that lured him to his fate in the church, and so he listened and played music all his life -- that was his source of beauty in this world.
He visited various doctors and healers, spent years methodically trying to fix each deformity and blemish, sought out Vodou healers, magic potions, and cult shamans. Finally, he learned of a lasting remedy from an ancient Vodou manbo who recognized the curse, knew the story, which was infamous in New Orleans for years, and laughed her head off remembering it. The cure was to receive an act of genuine love from a woman. At first he thought to find a kindly nun or teacher who would supply the love. But it had to be a desirous love, a carnal love.
For years, Mr. V. searched for a woman who would not only show him compassion, but desire. But how was this possible? Who would even look at him for more than a second, let alone for an hour, and with desire in her heart? After thirty years with the curse, Mr. V. finally met a woman who found it in her heart and loins to bed him, for one night.
Call her Miss H. In a bad way herself at the time, she had lost a husband before most girls have their first date. Don't think for a minute that grief or innocence made her vulnerable to Mr. V.'s needs. True, she had thrown down a few at the bar where she met him, and true, her sour attitude at recent bad luck made her find Mr. V. a laugh for sore eyes. But he showed concern for her state, got her to talk it out, and did not take his walleyes off her for a minute. Miss H. got him talking in return, heard his sad tale, and was able to see past his damaged shell and straight into his soul. By closing time, they felt they had known each other for millennia; there was nowhere else to go but back to Miss H.'s place. In the morning, Mr. V. recognized the familiar look of horror as Miss H. woke up next to him, but at least she gave him compassion, tenderness, and breakfast before kicking him out.
It was enough to lift the curse. Mr. V.'s face and body slowly returned to its original form, gracefully aging in the process. But the damage had been done: he mourned at the grave of his lost beauty, his lost youth and middle age, even after his looks returned. After thirty years of feeling shamed, hiding from people, and never knowing adoration, he had stopped searching for love and still kept his distance from humanity.
So yes, I'm not too bad to look at for an old soul. Kind of a novelty to have your looks improve with age. Maybe now I can settle down in a nice town, find a quiet job, make a few friends. Maybe I'll even run into Miss H., who's not a day over sixty, sweet young thing. And maybe I'll hear that piece of music from the church in New Orleans again, that haunting, otherworldly, deadly piece of music. That would be real nice.