“Italia,” I whispered again, and now I was stroking the wooden door.
I heard a whimper, a scratching paw, and I realized it was the dog. He started barking, the blind beast, as wretched as his mistress. It was a smothered bark, the bark of an old dog that soon grew tired. I smiled.
She’ll be back. If she’s left the dog here,
it means she’ll be back, and I’ll wait for her. I’ll have my way insideher body for the last time.
Headlights bathed the wall of the house as a car passed on the viaduct. Among the bricks above my head, something glinted in the darkness, and then I remembered the key. I reached up and found the key attached to one of the loosened bricks with a used piece of chewing gum. I closed my hand, and it was just as if I were taking hold of her. I knew I shouldn’t do it, but already I was feeling the door, clutching the key in my other hand and searching for the keyhole.
It was pitch-black inside, and there was the usual smell, only staler. I was in her house, and she wasn’t there; the transgression excited me. And now I had the pleasing thought that the key hadn’t been stuck up above the door by chance. She had left it there for me. I felt my way along the wall and found the light switch inside a chipped ceramic apple. An energy-saving lightbulb came on in the middle of the room. The blind dog stood blank-eyed before me, one ear straight up, the other flopping down. Truly a miserable watchdog. I flipped the switch off. No, no light; I’d wait for her in the dark. The darkness would hide me from myself. I took a few halting steps and collapsed on the sofa. Silence permeated the house. Along with the few small sounds made by my intruder’s body, there was only the breathing of the dog, which had taken up its position under the sofa. I began to grow accustomed to the darkness; now I could distinguish the shapes of the furniture, the groups of bric-a-brac on the various flat surfaces, and the outline of the fireplace against the wall. In the dark, the house had a sacredness and a desolation all its own, and the fireplace seemed like a dismantled altar.
She was there. In her absence, she was all the more there. The last time, we had never looked each other in the eye; I’d pushed her facedown onto the sofa. Now I fell to my knees in front of it, looking for the spot where she’d braced herself as she bucked under me. Still kneeling on the floor, I rubbed my face in the darkness. Italia had been like this, pinned in this corner. I searched with my nose, with my mouth—I was trying to feel what she must have felt when I took her. I wanted to be her, so that I could feel the reaction that I provoked in her flesh. I didn’t even try to resist. I ran full speed toward the precipice almost without realizing it. Pleasure, deep and warm, spread through my belly, entered my shoulders, my throat. Just like a woman’s pleasure.
But I soon became a man again, Angela, and all the sweetness was gone, replaced by the smell of my breath after the last spasms died away on that sofa. I felt uneasy, unexpectedly sad, and in the violated darkness, everything seemed worse. My legs were stiff, and I was soiled like a teenager. The dog lying next to my knees hadn’t missed any of my passionate tremors. I pulled myself to my feet, running into things as I looked for the bathroom. I found a door and an electric wire running along the wall, then followed the wire until my hand came to a switch. My face appeared in the mirror in front of me; the sudden, malevolent light dazzled my eyes. I was in a kind of niche, covered with old tiles. I turned on the faucet. While I bent forward to bathe my face over the sink, I saw a drinking glass hanging inside an iron ring, and in the glass was a toothbrush long past its prime. Together with the disgust I felt at the sight of those squashed, frayed bristles, I was assailed by a feeling of disgust for myself. There was a small bathtub— a hip bath, really—and a rubber mat
I heard a whimper, a scratching paw, and I realized it was the dog. He started barking, the blind beast, as wretched as his mistress. It was a smothered bark, the bark of an old dog that soon grew tired. I smiled.
She’ll be back. If she’s left the dog here,
it means she’ll be back, and I’ll wait for her. I’ll have my way insideher body for the last time.
Headlights bathed the wall of the house as a car passed on the viaduct. Among the bricks above my head, something glinted in the darkness, and then I remembered the key. I reached up and found the key attached to one of the loosened bricks with a used piece of chewing gum. I closed my hand, and it was just as if I were taking hold of her. I knew I shouldn’t do it, but already I was feeling the door, clutching the key in my other hand and searching for the keyhole.
It was pitch-black inside, and there was the usual smell, only staler. I was in her house, and she wasn’t there; the transgression excited me. And now I had the pleasing thought that the key hadn’t been stuck up above the door by chance. She had left it there for me. I felt my way along the wall and found the light switch inside a chipped ceramic apple. An energy-saving lightbulb came on in the middle of the room. The blind dog stood blank-eyed before me, one ear straight up, the other flopping down. Truly a miserable watchdog. I flipped the switch off. No, no light; I’d wait for her in the dark. The darkness would hide me from myself. I took a few halting steps and collapsed on the sofa. Silence permeated the house. Along with the few small sounds made by my intruder’s body, there was only the breathing of the dog, which had taken up its position under the sofa. I began to grow accustomed to the darkness; now I could distinguish the shapes of the furniture, the groups of bric-a-brac on the various flat surfaces, and the outline of the fireplace against the wall. In the dark, the house had a sacredness and a desolation all its own, and the fireplace seemed like a dismantled altar.
She was there. In her absence, she was all the more there. The last time, we had never looked each other in the eye; I’d pushed her facedown onto the sofa. Now I fell to my knees in front of it, looking for the spot where she’d braced herself as she bucked under me. Still kneeling on the floor, I rubbed my face in the darkness. Italia had been like this, pinned in this corner. I searched with my nose, with my mouth—I was trying to feel what she must have felt when I took her. I wanted to be her, so that I could feel the reaction that I provoked in her flesh. I didn’t even try to resist. I ran full speed toward the precipice almost without realizing it. Pleasure, deep and warm, spread through my belly, entered my shoulders, my throat. Just like a woman’s pleasure.
But I soon became a man again, Angela, and all the sweetness was gone, replaced by the smell of my breath after the last spasms died away on that sofa. I felt uneasy, unexpectedly sad, and in the violated darkness, everything seemed worse. My legs were stiff, and I was soiled like a teenager. The dog lying next to my knees hadn’t missed any of my passionate tremors. I pulled myself to my feet, running into things as I looked for the bathroom. I found a door and an electric wire running along the wall, then followed the wire until my hand came to a switch. My face appeared in the mirror in front of me; the sudden, malevolent light dazzled my eyes. I was in a kind of niche, covered with old tiles. I turned on the faucet. While I bent forward to bathe my face over the sink, I saw a drinking glass hanging inside an iron ring, and in the glass was a toothbrush long past its prime. Together with the disgust I felt at the sight of those squashed, frayed bristles, I was assailed by a feeling of disgust for myself. There was a small bathtub— a hip bath, really—and a rubber mat
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