January 16th, 1944
I catch her eye at the corner, in the arms of another. It is six years since our last meeting, at the PedOrg where we had shared desks. I recall she had been the special favourite of the Interlocutor, who had liked his girls like her; with verve and intelligence. They had shared steel carnations on misty Autumn evenings, and then in the Summer went to Chorazina together, while I nursed my bitterness with cognac and caviar, sleeping with the Opera Singer and crying blue tears.
Now, once again she was back in my life. I had stopped in the street, and ceased breathing; enjoying the feeling of fear washing deliciously over me. In stutters, we greeted each other nervously, as her man cooly disdained the scene beside her. How much did he know, I asked myself anxiously, about her and me, about where we had once been for a time; what we had once done for a living? I knew that after I departed he would ask her about me, about how she knew me, about how it was even possible she could know somone like me, and I wondered whether she would lie.
In the drag next to the Strip, the preacher had been screaming religion, and in the grey sky overhead, the tracers had been searching the night. I remember, I had swallowed hard, and asked her if she had seen Daniel.
"Daniel is dead," she had shrugged, "Did you not know?"
In the withdrawn, I remember had stared at her, across what seemed like a desert. Her eyes sparkling dreadfully, her lips curled into a hideous smile. I had tried to speak, but something had stopped me, this icy sensation which had gripped my throat, as if I was back in the Theatre, and this time as a Subject. She had laughed, "You know, it is hardly surprising..."
Except that it was surprising, all of it; almost overwhelming. The chance encounter to start with, and then her strange manner of relating to me Daniel's death. I had remembered her at PedOrg as nothing like this.
I nodded to her my goodbyes, and she reciprocated cooly. "See you in another six years," she called after my back, as I walked away, and as I recall it now, I could swear that her voice betrayed in its callousness the most sublime desperation.
Now, once again she was back in my life. I had stopped in the street, and ceased breathing; enjoying the feeling of fear washing deliciously over me. In stutters, we greeted each other nervously, as her man cooly disdained the scene beside her. How much did he know, I asked myself anxiously, about her and me, about where we had once been for a time; what we had once done for a living? I knew that after I departed he would ask her about me, about how she knew me, about how it was even possible she could know somone like me, and I wondered whether she would lie.
In the drag next to the Strip, the preacher had been screaming religion, and in the grey sky overhead, the tracers had been searching the night. I remember, I had swallowed hard, and asked her if she had seen Daniel.
"Daniel is dead," she had shrugged, "Did you not know?"
In the withdrawn, I remember had stared at her, across what seemed like a desert. Her eyes sparkling dreadfully, her lips curled into a hideous smile. I had tried to speak, but something had stopped me, this icy sensation which had gripped my throat, as if I was back in the Theatre, and this time as a Subject. She had laughed, "You know, it is hardly surprising..."
Except that it was surprising, all of it; almost overwhelming. The chance encounter to start with, and then her strange manner of relating to me Daniel's death. I had remembered her at PedOrg as nothing like this.
I nodded to her my goodbyes, and she reciprocated cooly. "See you in another six years," she called after my back, as I walked away, and as I recall it now, I could swear that her voice betrayed in its callousness the most sublime desperation.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home