suddenly she’s frightened, as though at the sight of you in
this state she knows what is about to happen, you shove her then, you enter and
close the door, you grab Mélanie’s hand, you drag Mélanie to her room, you push
Mélanie onto her bed, Mélanie crumpling onto the mattress, begging you no, panic
in her voice, and you strip, without a word, now you’re naked, you’ve got an
erection, you order her to strip, but she refuses, still begging you to stop,
you mustn’t, don’t, you mustn’t, you swoop down on her then, in a fury you rip
off her clothes, she starts to struggle but your fist connects with her left
eye, she goes limp then, half-conscious, and you stretch out on top of her, you
penetrate her violently, her dryness, a cry of pain, her body stiffens, then
your to-and-fro, your savagepiston moves, and your grunting,
and your lowing, but soon your vigour is lost, and you cry in rage, you
intensify both in ardour and violence, but nothing helps, your member too limp
now to continue its ravages, you stop then finally, still lying on Mélanie who
struggles weakly, your face buried in the mattress by her head, a terrible
retching, your stomach turns over, you roll onto your side and finally you
founder, shadows, nothingness, perhaps you’ve passed out, perhaps you’re asleep,
it doesn’t matter, the fall is the same, and when you open your eyes again,
sunlight filters through the bedroom’s half-open curtains, you sit up on your
elbows, splitting pain in your head, sounds from the next room, Mélanie appears,
wearing not her workclothes but clean jeans, a woolen sweater, she sets a tray
down on the mattress next to you, toast, coffee, a large glass of cranberry
juice, two pills, you stare at her stupidly, she stands there, her hands clasped
in front of her, her hair tied back in a ponytail, her left eye black and
swollen, no reproach in her gaze, no anger, only resignation with perhaps a
shadow of hope emerging, finally she speaks, suggesting you wash the pills down
with the glass of juice, an even voice, no intonation, and you obey, you swallow
the pills, you drink half a glass, docile, the clock on the desk reads nine
thirty, Mélanie explains that she didn’t want to leave you alone this morning,
that she’ll go to the Youth Centre this afternoon or tomorrow, you sit up on the
mattress, you examine her in silence, incredulous, bewildered, she adds then
that she told you, she will be there, she will always be there, nomatter what you do, no matter what you’ve done, you lower your head then,
rub your forehead, and you yourself seem surprised to hear the words that
- I’m sorry . . .
cross your dry lips, silence, then a small smile appears on Mélanie’s lips, and
the hope in her eyes is no longer just a shadow but has taken on a tangible
form, real and alive, an incongruous ringing, the telephone, Mélanie leaves the
bedroom, you stare at your breakfast then bite into the toast, chew diligently,
suddenly a cry from Mélanie, followed by an agitated discussion, then she
reappears in the bedroom, beside herself, on the verge of tears, she explains,
her words tumbling over each other in her hurry, that was Guy, one of the group
members, the Youth Centre was torched again last night, a burned body was
discovered in the rubble, perhaps Father Léo, the police don’t know yet, now her
tears fall, she paces the room, exclaims how terrible, how awful, the project
was so important, near completion, and the corpse, Oh, Lord, that corpse, and
you look at her, and you are petrified, and you can’t swallow the food rotting
in your mouth, and for the space of a second Mélanie examines you in shock, as
though a grim doubt has just crossed her mind, but she shakes herself, declares
she wants to be with the group, share her sorrow with the other members, she
leaves the room, you push away the breakfast tray then, fold
this state she knows what is about to happen, you shove her then, you enter and
close the door, you grab Mélanie’s hand, you drag Mélanie to her room, you push
Mélanie onto her bed, Mélanie crumpling onto the mattress, begging you no, panic
in her voice, and you strip, without a word, now you’re naked, you’ve got an
erection, you order her to strip, but she refuses, still begging you to stop,
you mustn’t, don’t, you mustn’t, you swoop down on her then, in a fury you rip
off her clothes, she starts to struggle but your fist connects with her left
eye, she goes limp then, half-conscious, and you stretch out on top of her, you
penetrate her violently, her dryness, a cry of pain, her body stiffens, then
your to-and-fro, your savagepiston moves, and your grunting,
and your lowing, but soon your vigour is lost, and you cry in rage, you
intensify both in ardour and violence, but nothing helps, your member too limp
now to continue its ravages, you stop then finally, still lying on Mélanie who
struggles weakly, your face buried in the mattress by her head, a terrible
retching, your stomach turns over, you roll onto your side and finally you
founder, shadows, nothingness, perhaps you’ve passed out, perhaps you’re asleep,
it doesn’t matter, the fall is the same, and when you open your eyes again,
sunlight filters through the bedroom’s half-open curtains, you sit up on your
elbows, splitting pain in your head, sounds from the next room, Mélanie appears,
wearing not her workclothes but clean jeans, a woolen sweater, she sets a tray
down on the mattress next to you, toast, coffee, a large glass of cranberry
juice, two pills, you stare at her stupidly, she stands there, her hands clasped
in front of her, her hair tied back in a ponytail, her left eye black and
swollen, no reproach in her gaze, no anger, only resignation with perhaps a
shadow of hope emerging, finally she speaks, suggesting you wash the pills down
with the glass of juice, an even voice, no intonation, and you obey, you swallow
the pills, you drink half a glass, docile, the clock on the desk reads nine
thirty, Mélanie explains that she didn’t want to leave you alone this morning,
that she’ll go to the Youth Centre this afternoon or tomorrow, you sit up on the
mattress, you examine her in silence, incredulous, bewildered, she adds then
that she told you, she will be there, she will always be there, nomatter what you do, no matter what you’ve done, you lower your head then,
rub your forehead, and you yourself seem surprised to hear the words that
- I’m sorry . . .
cross your dry lips, silence, then a small smile appears on Mélanie’s lips, and
the hope in her eyes is no longer just a shadow but has taken on a tangible
form, real and alive, an incongruous ringing, the telephone, Mélanie leaves the
bedroom, you stare at your breakfast then bite into the toast, chew diligently,
suddenly a cry from Mélanie, followed by an agitated discussion, then she
reappears in the bedroom, beside herself, on the verge of tears, she explains,
her words tumbling over each other in her hurry, that was Guy, one of the group
members, the Youth Centre was torched again last night, a burned body was
discovered in the rubble, perhaps Father Léo, the police don’t know yet, now her
tears fall, she paces the room, exclaims how terrible, how awful, the project
was so important, near completion, and the corpse, Oh, Lord, that corpse, and
you look at her, and you are petrified, and you can’t swallow the food rotting
in your mouth, and for the space of a second Mélanie examines you in shock, as
though a grim doubt has just crossed her mind, but she shakes herself, declares
she wants to be with the group, share her sorrow with the other members, she
leaves the room, you push away the breakfast tray then, fold
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