Her Lover (26 page)

Jean-Christophe
it was made for us two yearning pagan puritan Protestant girls there was music a vague and therefore alluring religion artistic sensuality rules for how to act nobly but especially there was that moronic musical genius Jean-Christophe we were just crazy about him two little idiots that was us Serge I never got too worked up you know that only happens with my hermit-man who et cetera though it did happen with Varvara too but I never realized that with Varvara what I felt was a sort of et cetera Serge is clever but not all that clever I sometimes think to myself that he talks rubbish kissing I've only ever liked kissing Varvara I liked touching her breasts I thought it was just to do with affection what a fat-head but with my hermit-man it works fine Old Mother Deume is uglier than a sunflower oh sunflowers are hideous but old women like them she says Naypoleon fork folk there I said it again whispered it so that's being only a bit rude my awful wedded husband yes awful's the word that stuff he wrote was awful too before reading it out he said I hope you won't be bored and I said not a bit the very opposite and he said thank you darling because I really wrote this for you anyway here goes so settle yourself down comfortably he said comfortably so that I'd be all ears and not miss a word of his marvellous prose but maybe also so that I'd give him a charitable hearing and then he cleared his throat put his glasses on just to give his audience time to get into the mood and began reading it out reverently in a fluty singsong voice stress on the sibilants over the dentals dragging out the ends of words for effect every so often he'd glance up to see how I was reacting I listened with a smile on my lips and a stone in my heart poor boy whenever he sensed that my interest was flagging he speeded up but still droned on in the same too too sleep-making monotone poor boy it's dreadful I can't tell him if he ever found out it would be catastrophic I'm really quite fond of him when he got to page four he stopped to light his pipe but really he was fishing for compliments and then when he got to the end he was over the moon with the way I said how clever and he tried to oh he's so funny when he does that he's like an anxious bull in a hurry but what I really love is being alone and telling myself stories that aren't true while smoking a cigarette I love telling myself how I did or didn't and didn't is even worse if my cigarette goes out I leave it in my mouth unlit makes me look like an electrician I once heard a workman say forking hell in the street which filled my mind with luscious thoughts six nines are fifty-three no fifty-four still what's one between friends Tantlérie used to call moving-picture houses public houses quick more hot water stars are the eyes of the long dead whenever somebody dies the look in their eyes shoots up into the sky and turns into another star it's a fact when I was little I was frightened of Jesus because of the Last Judgement terrified it might happen any time that bat the other night perhaps her name was Pretty where are you flying to my Pretty bat where are you flying to I've one to care for two to care for three to care for sir she said I'm going round and round the garden and there in my claws I'll catch three fat gnats for my one two three batbrats dying's not such a bad idea the lake will still be there when I'm gone pity I didn't put his eye out while I was about it when I was little I used to say letters for lettuce I used to say Ai'ane has ate up all her letters oh I adored sleeping in Varvara's bed kissing her was out of this world so was the other thing but I never realized yuk I'm fed up to the back teeth with his unexpected upsets his personal contacts with the high-ups I've told that story about stars being the eyes of dead people twice oh if only I could go back to being the little girl who ate letters and when we used to go to the circus I always cried when the clowns came on screamed when they made the elephant kneel down I'd love to be quite flat imagine I'm flat and my hermit-man folds me once and then twice like a tablecloth and puts me in his little bag he's a man a smooth man riot an hairy man and when we reach the spring in the shade he opens his bag and unfolds me and it's lovely I never do anything perhaps I ought to get a job poor people are very lucky they work all the time or maybe I'll found an order for saving fallen women it would be called the Sisters of Purity I'd be the superior of the order and the sisters would all be beautiful mission to make virtue attractive pretty uniform but hair tied back to suggest severe moral tone the usual inanity not much in my line pointing out the straight and narrow to secretaries with painted nails with half an inch of dirt under them and oh the conversations saying how they liked
Madame Bovary
because the film was ever so good and
Anna Karenina
because it had Greta Garbo in it yes a tiny horse no higher than my finger a pretty little thing with lots of muscles galloping round and round on the coffee-table then he comes to get his reward there my pet here's a sugar lump no you can't have it all it's far too big you won't be able to keep it down squirming self-absorbed preoccupied on top of me don't ever again beat time to his pumping by saying his Christian name or at least the shortened version don't ever think of Mummy and Daddy doing it oh I can't bear it ugh it makes me feel sick how is it possible that Daddy could ever still he must have because there was Éliane and then me Daddy squirming on top of Mummy it's too horrible parents ought never to perhaps that's why I loved Varvara so much it's odd that I hardly ever think about my brother a grandmother is what I need the little sweet-natured wizened russet-apple sort living in a house miles from anywhere on top of a dune I'd go and see her and she would comfort me with milky coffee while the wind howled outside but we'd be snug and warm what's the matter Ariane I don't know Granny I'm unhappy I need what do you need darling what I need is a proper woman friend I could tell everything to and admire someone I could kill myself for and what I don't want is to be violated by a strange man yes my little sweetie I understand I understand but perhaps some day you will have a friend like that meanwhile have a choc don't feel like it Granny in that case go out and play for a while take your dolly for a walk no I want to be happy but when a person is as pretty as you are that person must be happy what use to me is being pretty I'm no good for anything I spend all my time day-dreaming that's all I do oh all my time telling myself make-believe stories it's not funny well why not get on with that thesis about Amiel don't fancy it Amiel was a silly boring old slug who went on and on about arranging a perfect marriage or else withdraw to a chalet in the mountains and look for God make that the Himalayas no too cold and anyway the air's too thin to breathe and anyway what would I find to do all alone up there in French novels the hero always washes his hands in the loo and never in the bathroom don't they ever wash properly oh that female smell of irises those flowers it's a bedroom for one woman and several men Old Mother Deume has all the luck she's looking forward to her life everlasting rejoicing at the prospect of flying off into the beyond in her mustard knickers I've seen them they're man's combinations saw them hanging up to dry in the garden she has all the luck because she'll never find out that there is no afterlife since once she's dead she won't know she's dead for good totally unresurrectable and that all her praying was an absolute waste of breath served no purpose whatever there go the toms they're after next door's cat I used to be horrified by the thought of cats mating but now I think it's quite fascinating male suitors doing battle slow-motion ballets Samurai warriors duelling it's all very intriguing there aren't any real battles it's all pretence and threats it's all grace and danger at the Johnsons' party everybody managed to drop an important name except he of the black eyeglass who hardly said a word pretending to be above it all looking bored silently mulling over supposedly profound thoughts oh what a crowd of morons there were at the Johnsons' all delighted to learn that the English minister lost his temper and thumped the table as if it was important they're just a bunch of menials leading empty lives but I am Fairy Vivacious and I have a domain all to myself with diddy little goats he hardly said a word in any event you'll never be received into high Protestant circles except perhaps by the servants' entrance because you're an imbesilent fool if they're so persecuted no don't say it it's not really fair the name is almost like something out of a chemist's take two capsules of solal I suppose it's terribly clever to show how bored you are but really how on earth could any woman be attracted by that creepy sinister type of man with eyes like a Turkish belly-dancer it's beyond belief I wouldn't like to meet him in a dark corner of a souk she put on a little girlie voice for his benefit and she leaned her head to one side when she suggested giving him a lift home she wanted to do disgusting things with him that Haggard woman's a bitch all evening at the Johnsons' she acted the helpless little woman asking him questions so that he could feel masterful did it to please him and whenever he opened his mouth she hung on to every word how on earth women can be attracted to men in general is beyond me such hairy arms and they all know better than the next one men have small breasts they're quite useless but they're fully formed complete with nipples women's are much more beautiful men have copied us but it didn't work we've borrowed nothing from them so we come out winners oh for a little baby who'd fall down I'd pick him up and after a bit he'd start crawling all over the carpet full of beans showing off and he'd find something on the carpet a box maybe and he'd pick it up in his little hands and hold it but to me 'ook Mummy 'ook he'd say that way those nocturnal cavortings would at least serve some useful purpose the blackest thoughts about my life come at me mostly when I'm cleaning my teeth they're quite quite useless so before starting to clean them I open a book and prop it up on the little shelf over the wash-basin and I read as I brush my teeth I read as I brush to keep my mind occupied to stop the black thoughts to blot them out well not blot them out exactly but at least to paper over them jump to it you bitch go and fetch when he drops his eyeglass on purpose oh how she loves it I feel as though my head's been stretched as if there's an arm stretching inside my head I suppose I could always kill myself I'd love to be able to kiss my breasts long kisses just there on the nipples but it's physically impossible I'd crick my neck right then it's decided I'll send for him but first get comfortable more hot water there that'll do and now close my eyes so there's just me let's have the full story don't change anything otherwise it won't work you can begin I'm in my domain I'm all by myself as usual spending the livelong day waiting for him I'm naked though that's only because it's more religious like that it's been weeks since he came I keep watch by the window suddenly I see him in a flowing white robe he's striding quickly along the dusty blinding road his bare feet don't seem to touch the ground now he draws near and I am there pure naked and not at all flat that's from another story he comes nearer still he's opened the gate he stands saint-like and royal he is my hermit-lord I fall to my knees his solemn faithful disciple he stands tall before me but does not look in my direction ignores me completely that's important he has to despise me a bit otherwise it doesn't work I am as nothing beside him just one kindly look the hint of a smile and then I am beneath his contempt shivers run up and down my back oh so kind and that single smile from this man of scorns and casting all care to the winds I am his handmaiden though between us there is an unspoken closeness because eventually he will agree to but for the moment he speaks of God but does not look at me for his eyes are fixed on some distant prospect he gives me knowledge of the path of truth and life and I in purity of heart give ear on bended knee he stops speaking he stands before me because he knows what must come to pass I am moved to tears I bow my head I give a curtsy of profound respect I get to my feet I go to fetch the pitcher of scented water scented oil would be more sacramental but it makes your hands all sticky it would be silly to have to rush away and soap it off in the middle of the ritual it would spoil the effect so make it scented water I get back from fetching it I stand there naked holding the pitcher in my hands me looking very religious and him utterly regal he pays no attention to me he mustn't then I kneel and slowly pour water over his bare feet all powdery from walking the dusty road and slowly I untie my hair which is very long and ritually I dry his holy feet with my flowing hair I take my time lots of time oh how good it feels he lets me do it because honour is his due I love doing it more more now I am kissing his feet he lets me he does not punish me for my forwardness my lips are glued to his holy feet long do I linger there and now I look up and behold he smiles oh wondrous smile of acceptance oh how I shake drawing close I go to him since he lets me yes I oh it's so good more more oh again O my lord and master more O great Lord in me.

CHAPTER 19

At ten minutes to seven, the three Deumes took their places in the drawing-room, grave-faced and dignified. When she had sat down, exuding mothballs, her cheeks aflame with the lavender water she had rubbed into them, Madame Deume declared that since their guest was not due to arrive for another forty minutes, at seven thirty, they should make the most of the time to put their feet up, sit back in their armchairs and relax, closing their eyes if they could. But these words of wise counsel were soon forgotten in a welter of nervous toings and froings and brittle smiles.

There was a great deal of sitting down and standing up. Severally they got up to move a table a wee bit closer, to open the plush curtains just a trifle wider, to push back a coffee-table, to rearrange the liqueur bottles by size, to put the curtains back as they were because they were far far better like that, to check if that was really a spot down there or just a shadow, to move an ashtray, to make more of a display of the cigar- and cigarette-boxes, for Adrien had an eye for creative disorder which he strove constantly to refine with the aid of his limited-edition de-luxe art books.