It was too hot to sleep with him.
Chapter 19
She knew now that she loved him.She loved him with such an extravagance that the rest of the world had turned into a tight meaningless knot, except for the landscape, which remained outside them, neutral, having its own orgasms of summer weather. When there were no motorboats she now swam with the bear, swam for hours, splashing and fishing him pretty stones which he accepted gravely and held tohis short-sighted eyes. On the shore, he tossed her pinecones. In the boathouse, she found a ball. They sat with their legs splayed on the grass and rolled it between them. She tried to toss it, but he seemed to be afraid, not to be able to catch it, so they rolled it gravely, hour,it seemed, after hour. Swam again.Played seal games. He swam underneath her and blew bubbles at her breasts. She spread her legs to catch them. She knew now that she loved him, loved him with a clean passion she had never felt before. Once, briefly, she had had as a lover a man of elegance and charm, but she had felt uncomfortable when he said he loved her, felt it meant something she did not understand, and indeed,it meant, she discovered, that he loved her as long as the socks were folded and she was at his disposal on demand; when thefood was exquisite and she was not menstruating; when the wine had not loosened her tongue,when the olive oil had not produced a crease in her belly.When he left her for someone smaller and neater and more energetic and subservient to his demands, she had thrown stones at their windows, written obscenities with chalk on the side of their building, obsessed herself with imagining the neatness of his young girl’s cunt (he had made Lou have an abortion), dwelt on her name (though she never saw her until years later and discovered her to be quite, quite plain), carved anagrams of her rival’s names on her arm, in short, surprised herself with the depths of her passionate chagrin at losing a man who was at heart petty and demanding. For a week,she had loved the Director.For longer than that, perhaps. Certainly she had been in need of a sexual connection. Cucumbers, she had found on investigating the possibilities suggested in Lysistrata, ere cold. Women left her hungry for men. The Director shared her interests, was charming and efficient; they had much in common when they fucked on Molesworths’ maps and handwritten geneologies: but no love. She loved the bear. She felt him to be wise and accepting. She felt sometimes that he was God. He served her. As long as she made her stool beside him in the morning,he was ready whenever she spread her legs to him. He was rough and tender, assiduous, patient, infinitely, it seemed to her, kind. She loved the bear. There was a depth in him she could not reach, could not probe and with her intellectual fingers destroy.She lay on his belly, he batted her gently with his claws; she touched his tongue with hers and felt its fatness. She explored his gums, his teeth that were almost fangs. She turned back his black lips with her fingers and ran her tongue along the ridge ofhis gums. Once and only once, she experimented with calling him “Trelawny” but the name did not inspire him and she realized she was wrong: this was no parasitical collector of memoirs, this was no pirate, this was an enormous, living creature larger and older and wiser than time, a creature that was for the moment her creature, but that another could return to his own world, his own wisdom. She still worked. Upstairs. Slowly. The fishermen of Newfoundland, one of Cary’s notes told her, collect the bones of bears pricks in theforest and pound them into the walls of their cabins to use as coat hooks. His prick was thick, protected, buried in its sheath. She got down on her knees and played with it, but it did not rise.Ah well, she thought, the summer’s not over yet. Then she discovered an immensely valuable early edition of Bewick’s Natural History and felt justified.
Chapter 19
She knew now that she loved him.She loved him with such an extravagance that the rest of the world had turned into a tight meaningless knot, except for the landscape, which remained outside them, neutral, having its own orgasms of summer weather. When there were no motorboats she now swam with the bear, swam for hours, splashing and fishing him pretty stones which he accepted gravely and held tohis short-sighted eyes. On the shore, he tossed her pinecones. In the boathouse, she found a ball. They sat with their legs splayed on the grass and rolled it between them. She tried to toss it, but he seemed to be afraid, not to be able to catch it, so they rolled it gravely, hour,it seemed, after hour. Swam again.Played seal games. He swam underneath her and blew bubbles at her breasts. She spread her legs to catch them. She knew now that she loved him, loved him with a clean passion she had never felt before. Once, briefly, she had had as a lover a man of elegance and charm, but she had felt uncomfortable when he said he loved her, felt it meant something she did not understand, and indeed,it meant, she discovered, that he loved her as long as the socks were folded and she was at his disposal on demand; when thefood was exquisite and she was not menstruating; when the wine had not loosened her tongue,when the olive oil had not produced a crease in her belly.When he left her for someone smaller and neater and more energetic and subservient to his demands, she had thrown stones at their windows, written obscenities with chalk on the side of their building, obsessed herself with imagining the neatness of his young girl’s cunt (he had made Lou have an abortion), dwelt on her name (though she never saw her until years later and discovered her to be quite, quite plain), carved anagrams of her rival’s names on her arm, in short, surprised herself with the depths of her passionate chagrin at losing a man who was at heart petty and demanding. For a week,she had loved the Director.For longer than that, perhaps. Certainly she had been in need of a sexual connection. Cucumbers, she had found on investigating the possibilities suggested in Lysistrata, ere cold. Women left her hungry for men. The Director shared her interests, was charming and efficient; they had much in common when they fucked on Molesworths’ maps and handwritten geneologies: but no love. She loved the bear. She felt him to be wise and accepting. She felt sometimes that he was God. He served her. As long as she made her stool beside him in the morning,he was ready whenever she spread her legs to him. He was rough and tender, assiduous, patient, infinitely, it seemed to her, kind. She loved the bear. There was a depth in him she could not reach, could not probe and with her intellectual fingers destroy.She lay on his belly, he batted her gently with his claws; she touched his tongue with hers and felt its fatness. She explored his gums, his teeth that were almost fangs. She turned back his black lips with her fingers and ran her tongue along the ridge ofhis gums. Once and only once, she experimented with calling him “Trelawny” but the name did not inspire him and she realized she was wrong: this was no parasitical collector of memoirs, this was no pirate, this was an enormous, living creature larger and older and wiser than time, a creature that was for the moment her creature, but that another could return to his own world, his own wisdom. She still worked. Upstairs. Slowly. The fishermen of Newfoundland, one of Cary’s notes told her, collect the bones of bears pricks in theforest and pound them into the walls of their cabins to use as coat hooks. His prick was thick, protected, buried in its sheath. She got down on her knees and played with it, but it did not rise.Ah well, she thought, the summer’s not over yet. Then she discovered an immensely valuable early edition of Bewick’s Natural History and felt justified.
Similar Books
