Slights (20 page)

In the beginning, there was a woman alone. Only she knew what passions lay within, what heat-filled dreams. She stitched silk smalls to wear near her skin, because no one could know her true desire. No one but one. A man who, too, was alone. He came so quietly only the woman noticed. Only she saw the perfection of his skin, the seduction of his scent. Only she contrived to be held in his arms.

She was not experienced in the art of seduction. She had been kissed but once, and lovelessly. She read books by the score, was surrounded by them, and from them she received inspiration.

He opened the note. "Meet your love where the good bell rings." He had been lonely since arriving at the town. The people feared his cleverness. They did not see his kindness, his tenderness. He went to the place.

There she waited, alone. Her gown covered her naked body. As he watched, she unbuttoned herself until the swell of her breasts was visible, then he went to her.

Their kiss showed her how right she had been. She felt her body turn to liquid as he pressed against her. His hands were not still. They cupped and rolled her breasts, they unbuttoned her gown until she stood wanton, naked. He fell to his knees in worship, and wept for wanting her.

She threw her gown upon the ground and they lay upon it. His clothes concealed a body more delightful than she had dreamed. She touched him and laughed as he shivered.

There were problems. There were always problems. She had secrets she did not wish him to know. Her life had not always been so quiet and horribly predictable.

When she was younger, she had travelled into the city on a weekly basis to visit an elderly, ailing aunt. This aunt had sharp wit and, of all her relatives, could tolerate only the young woman. The young woman was intelligent, too intelligent for many of the inhabitants of the small country town.

The young woman began to spend longer in the city after each visit. The elderly aunt slept earlier and earlier and gave the young woman money to spend on herself. The young woman bought new clothes, sharp, smart, expensive items, which accentuated her slim figure. She lingered in bookshops, breathing in the fresh paper smell.

There was a certain kind of man who was also in bookshops. They were respectable, intelligent men who admired her. They smiled, then they made comments on the book she held in her hand. She always smiled and if the man was handsome, or exciting in some way, she would go with him for a meal. If the man was very forward, and very insistent, the meal was passed over and entrance gained to a hotel room, where the young woman learnt how to make love.

She spent many nights home, alone. Her sisters were married and very happy, although their lives were filled with nappies and other people's events.

She discovered the taste of Whisky. Her brother-in-law drank it in moderation and she joined him sometimes, the two of them talking like men while his wife, her sister, cooked dinner for them.

More often she drank alone, out of a tall glass. She turned her comfortable chair to the wall and tuned the radio to a male voice who talked just to her. He told her about the world and how it worked. He played music, beautiful to match her soul. As the night grew colder and older, the man's voice changed, but each man loved her as much as the first.

The ice melted in her drink but she no longer required it. Shadows from the trees and the clouds enacted a moon play for her and she laughed aloud at the antics.

Sometimes she warmed over and when her cat awakened her at dawn for his morning milk she found she had been bathing naked in the moonlight.

She would wash and dress in her disguise, her maidenly, woollen, drab clothes, brush her hair down so it sat like a cap and go out to her fake life. She would live that life then go home to her comfortable chair again.

All the clamour cannot distract them from their rapt examination of one another. Chimes, klaxons, the holiday summoned with all the music the town could muster. Under cover of that hysteria he slipped to her side. His charges were happy to be let run wild. Soon their parents would find them and he would remind them he had asked for extra help that day and no one had volunteered.

She had refused the family invitations, the chance to sit as an outsider and watch the family. She waited instead, with strong drink and good food. She again wore her gown. It was a magical cloak.

And so he came to her. He carried the flowers and wine, so he cared somewhat. They were shy at first. Each remembered their first encounter as a dream. But as she bent to stir the unlit fire, the circle of her bottom was too perfect, and he walked to her, fell to his knees, sank his nose into her flesh. She gasped. He dragged away her gown and she was naked beneath. She had no pretences as to why he was there. She faced him, leaned against the wall, bent her knees to frame his face. She knew her curls were springy, fresh, sweet. She had washed, powdered, perfumed. He kissed her thighs, the skin above the hair. He kissed the hair. Then, to her horror, to her delight, he steered his tongue between those lips, and he lapped with its roughness against her tender skin. His tongue sank further inside her and she gave herself completely to it.

Such things you can learn if only you listen. His voice was gentle, yet so clear she could hear each word from across the park. She was there walking her dog and hoping to see him. He was there as a stranger, to forget he ever knew her. She was wearing a soft, thin, woollen dress, its slightly scratchy material rubbing against her naked breasts. She felt her nipples harden against the wool, and she wished he would look up and see how sweet and ready she was. He was wearing many layers – as many as he could bear on this Autumn day. He felt the sweat at the base of his neck and he wondered how to free himself from the torment of loving her. He too walked his dog – he spoke to it, words she could hear in her heart. "Who needs 'em?" he said. "Women, they're all alike. But her voice, don't you think? You miss her voice, don't you, fella? And the smell of her, so sweet, so exciting. And her hair, like silk, and the way it looked, all messed and free in the morning, after, after…" The dogs were pups of the same litter. They had taken one each. Her cat was still getting used to another pet. She heard every word, steering her dog closer, closer. She spoke to her dog. "Oh, but we can live without him. Who needs those strong, tender hands, those gentle lips, who needs such fulfilment as we've never known, such filling, such swelling." He heard, too, and loosened his tie, then removed it and tucked it into his coat pocket. Then he removed his coat. Their dogs, from afar, spotted soul mates, dragged owners (slaves) inexorably, fatefully, lovingly, sensuously, eternally, towards the face of love.

He would wait in queues for the rest of his life, if a glimpse of her each day would be his reward. He became adept at dropping coins, if she wasn't the free teller when he reached the head of the line. "Please, go ahead," to an angry businessman, "I don't mind waiting," to a young woman glancing often at her watch. He earned smiles (a bonus), and he reached the desk of his love. He touched her hand when she passed him his money, slid his thumbs over her fingers, an intimate action. He touched her flesh like that. Both thumbs sliding over her, holding her apart. She asked him every day not to visit her in the bank, but his heart ached after a whole day without her. She waited for him every night, on the steps of his office, because she finished earlier and didn't mind waiting. If she didn't have a book to read she spent the time imagining lascivious things to say to him, words to make him shiver, because she could not quite believe it was she he found exciting, the sound of her voice a thrill.

She had no interest in marriage, though it was expected of her. She wanted his love forever, and enjoyed the feeling of escape she experienced when they left the city limits and travelled to some unknown place.

They didn't have to worry about pregnancy because she was infertile. This discovered during an early, ugly marriage. He was both pleased and repelled. It meant that all love was for pleasure, but that the choice of producing offspring had been taken from him.

They went orange picking, two anonymous workers there for the sun, the money, the change. And for each other. No one asked questions. No one cared. There were plenty of huts to sleep in and plenty of food. Like a pack of feral cats, when there was no dearth of comfort, they were generous with one another, kind, and they didn't judge. They arrived together, a bus load of chattering people, getting to know you, making the most of it. She sat next to him, her shoulder, arm, thigh all glued through their clothes in anticipation of what would come. It was a long drive, and that night was feast night, a party. They placed their bags in the smallest hut, the furthest away, hoping to avoid sharing with anyone else, but they need not have worried. They had never spent the whole night together before, but they were not nervous. They left the campfire early, while the voices were still loud, and they laughed. He held the door open for her but did not offer to carry her over the threshold. They laughed at that. There were no candles, but the electric light was dim. Their mouths tasted of cheap port. He reached out his hand and, with lust rather than tenderness, squeezed her breast like he was testing it for ripeness. His other hand grasped her neck and drew her to him. They kissed. She cupped her hands around his buttocks and drew him closer, closer, and he groaned at her attack. Their bed was low to the floor and thrown about. It had not been made since the last inhabitant. She noticed this but didn't care. "I'm dirty," she said. He smiled. "Let me wash you clean," he said.

She had a week off and knew that he did too. She plotted to have him for all that time. She drove into the city to shop, and purchased goods to last them, men's toiletries as well, though she blushed to do so. She purchased cool new bed linen to welcome him, a nightgown for seduction, she planned they would not step out for a week.

He arrived, expecting dinner. She locked the door after him, should he want to escape. "Come in, Rafe," she said. She wore her nightgown. It clung and revealed, made her desire him because she felt so desirable. "My God," he said. "You are magnificent." She was brazen. She took his jacket from him, his shirt, she put her hands on his chest, tucked her fingers into the hairs, she kissed his throat. She kissed his chest, then knelt and kissed his belly. He sucked in his breath. "Not daring to hope," she thought. It spurred her on. "Not daring to hope." She unbuckled his belt, he kicked off his shoes. She lowered his trousers over his hips, let them drop to his ankles. He kicked them aside. She kissed his shins, his knees, his thighs.

"No," he said. He kissed her, kissed her hair, sank his face between her breasts.

"My love," she said, but softly, so he could not hear, because she did not want him to stop for a single moment for the rest of eternity.

She lived at home with her parents, then her mother died, then her father. He no longer lived in the town, he said it was because there was no work, but she knew he was tired of hiding. "There's no need to hide," she said. She didn't care what people said, people were cruel no matter what you did. It mattered to him – he couldn't stand the talk. He said he wanted more of a challenge and she thought that meant her as well. She visited him on weekends, when the library was closed, leaving her country proper self in a cupboard where her mother's clothes hung and letting her city pretty self take over. He had the smallest place to live she had ever seen, but it was private, anonymous, and he had it set up nicely. On her first visit, he opened the door. She saw flowers fill the room and small gifts in nooks and crannies. After they made love he sent her off on a treasure hunt, and she came back with one after another. A fluffy red heart, a book of poetry, a miniature painting, a ticket to the theatre, potted mint, chocolate. The prizes still came, and she loved him for his generosity, but feared him as well.

She could see the "but" in his eyes. The city was full of women, new people, experiences she only knew about through her books. He didn't say "but". She gave him a tiny crystal heart. They made love for many months, many more gifts to the child in her heart, and she began to suffer his sideways glances, his tiny yawns of boredom, his forgetful heart. She began to die inside.

Oh God oh God oh God he's gone where why why oh it why you know knew it was you always it was but he was there too life a friend when he hurt me it wasn't deliberate it was a mistake it was too much and I loved him too much like a lover does to lovers love oh A  A  A  A it was all right why did you do this I would have lived he didn't live but he could have oh God oh God oh God how can I go to your home your sweet wife and those little faces oh God oh God oh God why tell me I didn't want to know I didn't need to know what you really are oh God what can I do.