to her skin, tickling her. There is a grimace of displeasure on his face.
‘Your odour,’ he says. ‘Too strong for my taste.’
She reaches for the second glass of wine and drinks it fast. Then, standing straight, she lets the sheet fall down from her body. It’s her beauty that needs to speak now. The shine in her eyes, their brightness. The purity of her skin. She takes his hand in hers and kisses it. Kisses it again and again.
His hand caresses her breasts, her belly. Then it slides down, touches the mound of Venus. She shivers.
The internuncio calls it
Mon Plaisir
.
The robe unwraps. He is naked, his belly protruding, over a patch of grey curly hair. He turns his back to her and makes a few steps to lie on his bed. His bottom is sagging. ‘Turn your eyes away,’ Mana has said. ‘Tell him you are afraid. Tell him he is too big for you. That he will break you inside and make you scream.’
But she has no time to say anything for he sits on the edge of the bed and motions to her to come to him. He is smiling, his eyes narrow, like folds of fabric. The vein on his temple has thickened and darkened.
She sits beside him on the bed and waits.
‘Come on, girl,’ he says. ‘Hasn’t your mother taught you what to do? Should I have taken her instead?’
She shakes her head and crosses her arms, as if to cover her breasts. In his voice there is a note of anger, but perhaps she only thinks it is.
‘Do what I tell you then,’ he says.
She is thinking of the pessary inside her. What if it slips out. What if he puts his own hand there and retrieves it, calling her a liar. Sending her back to her mother. The orders are a relief, for at least she knows what to do to please him.
‘Lie down.’
He is a traveller in the land of Venus, he tells her, a true Explorer, for whom the sight of a Foreign Land is always welcome. A Land with all its Harbours, Bays, Rocks, Beacons and Caverns. Especially a Land not Ploughed before. A Land for which Directions have to be established. A Harbour which has to be thoroughly assessed to assure the safety of his precious cargo. Its Waters explored with Proper Instruments that will measure its width and depths.
Just do what he wants you to do, Mana has said. Make him happy.
The candles in the room make the shadows dance on the ceiling. She tries not to look at his sagging skin.
His Instrument
and his
precious Stones
are of excellent order, he assures her. She should thank her lucky stars.
She thinks of Diamandi’s smooth olive skin and the strength of his boyish arms. She thinks of their run across the fields, their mad run of desire.
She can smell the wine on his breath, or is it hers. Somewhere in the back of her mind questions hammer. What if she is not pleasing him? What if she is not what he has expected? What if she doesn’t know what a man wants?
He is grunting, crushing her with the weight of his body. He has pushed himself into her, as if he were squeezing in something soft and lifeless. His hands rest upon her breasts, pinching her nipples.
Her scream pleases him.
But it is only when he wakes up in the morning, when he pats her buttocks and tells her that the Fortifications were not very strong after all, not a match for his Vigorous Attack, and when he sees the blood on the sheets that she knows she has not disappointed him at all. He will not send her back to her mother.
Thomas
Outside, in the small vestibule decorated with panels of pale green marble and white Grecian urns, Mademoiselle Rosalia stopped him.
‘Please,’ she said. ‘Just a few words.’ Her hazel eyes were bloodshot and the dark circles under her eyes spoke of sleepless nights.
A daughter of a Polish hero and a Jewess from Uman
. He knew what she would ask before he heard the words.
‘Is there really no hope, Doctor?’
‘None.’
‘I thought so too,’ she said, which killed the note of irritation in his voice. ‘But both Dr Bolecki and Dr Horn before him sounded so sure that an
‘Your odour,’ he says. ‘Too strong for my taste.’
She reaches for the second glass of wine and drinks it fast. Then, standing straight, she lets the sheet fall down from her body. It’s her beauty that needs to speak now. The shine in her eyes, their brightness. The purity of her skin. She takes his hand in hers and kisses it. Kisses it again and again.
His hand caresses her breasts, her belly. Then it slides down, touches the mound of Venus. She shivers.
The internuncio calls it
Mon Plaisir
.
The robe unwraps. He is naked, his belly protruding, over a patch of grey curly hair. He turns his back to her and makes a few steps to lie on his bed. His bottom is sagging. ‘Turn your eyes away,’ Mana has said. ‘Tell him you are afraid. Tell him he is too big for you. That he will break you inside and make you scream.’
But she has no time to say anything for he sits on the edge of the bed and motions to her to come to him. He is smiling, his eyes narrow, like folds of fabric. The vein on his temple has thickened and darkened.
She sits beside him on the bed and waits.
‘Come on, girl,’ he says. ‘Hasn’t your mother taught you what to do? Should I have taken her instead?’
She shakes her head and crosses her arms, as if to cover her breasts. In his voice there is a note of anger, but perhaps she only thinks it is.
‘Do what I tell you then,’ he says.
She is thinking of the pessary inside her. What if it slips out. What if he puts his own hand there and retrieves it, calling her a liar. Sending her back to her mother. The orders are a relief, for at least she knows what to do to please him.
‘Lie down.’
He is a traveller in the land of Venus, he tells her, a true Explorer, for whom the sight of a Foreign Land is always welcome. A Land with all its Harbours, Bays, Rocks, Beacons and Caverns. Especially a Land not Ploughed before. A Land for which Directions have to be established. A Harbour which has to be thoroughly assessed to assure the safety of his precious cargo. Its Waters explored with Proper Instruments that will measure its width and depths.
Just do what he wants you to do, Mana has said. Make him happy.
The candles in the room make the shadows dance on the ceiling. She tries not to look at his sagging skin.
His Instrument
and his
precious Stones
are of excellent order, he assures her. She should thank her lucky stars.
She thinks of Diamandi’s smooth olive skin and the strength of his boyish arms. She thinks of their run across the fields, their mad run of desire.
She can smell the wine on his breath, or is it hers. Somewhere in the back of her mind questions hammer. What if she is not pleasing him? What if she is not what he has expected? What if she doesn’t know what a man wants?
He is grunting, crushing her with the weight of his body. He has pushed himself into her, as if he were squeezing in something soft and lifeless. His hands rest upon her breasts, pinching her nipples.
Her scream pleases him.
But it is only when he wakes up in the morning, when he pats her buttocks and tells her that the Fortifications were not very strong after all, not a match for his Vigorous Attack, and when he sees the blood on the sheets that she knows she has not disappointed him at all. He will not send her back to her mother.
Thomas
Outside, in the small vestibule decorated with panels of pale green marble and white Grecian urns, Mademoiselle Rosalia stopped him.
‘Please,’ she said. ‘Just a few words.’ Her hazel eyes were bloodshot and the dark circles under her eyes spoke of sleepless nights.
A daughter of a Polish hero and a Jewess from Uman
. He knew what she would ask before he heard the words.
‘Is there really no hope, Doctor?’
‘None.’
‘I thought so too,’ she said, which killed the note of irritation in his voice. ‘But both Dr Bolecki and Dr Horn before him sounded so sure that an
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