hair, which was chestnut brown. The sun was just on the point of passing behind a building, but first it showered her with a spray of copper rays that transformed her into an incandescent vision of exquisite grace and lightness. He stopped, dumbstruck, and had to force himself to resume walking. She continued straight towards him, falling back into shadow but, strangely,remaining as lovely as she had been in the light. As he passed her he nodded and smiled – and she smiled back!
From that moment on she was never out of his thoughts; watching TV, having a conversation, riding his bike, taking a shower, getting up or going to bed, during meals, her image floated through his head. He would wonder where she was at any given moment, what she was doing, whether she was thinking of him, and he felt tortured, but in a tender way, a way he had never felt before. It was a strange kind of melancholy. He couldn’t shake the feeling off, and in any case he didn’t want to. It was pain and pleasure mixed together. He’d never been so happy to be feeling so sad, joyfully embracing this huge sorrow that had come from God-knew-where to tear up his insides. He’d be gripped in feverish agitation for hours on end, then suddenly fall into a morbid torpor and lie stretched out on his bed or on the sofa, barely able to breathe. He knew it couldn’t go on. He had to speak to her.
A few days later he was at the Quintal Arena on de Maisonneuve Boulevard, where he’d gone to have a swim with Steve Lachapelle. Caroline was there with a girl with a large chin, someone he hadn’t seen before, who turned out to be a cousin or something. Anyway, when she saw him she gave a shy wave; he waved back and made a spectacular dive into the pool, which astonished Steve because usually it took a great deal of vigorous (and unsolicited) coaxing to get him into the water. Surfacing from his dive, he swam across the pool to where she was talking to her cousin and took part in their conversation. After a minute she joined him in the water and they began to swim lengths together. The cousin sat on the edge of the pool with her mouth open, paddling her feet in the water, and Steve Lachapelle worked on his breast stroke by himself, every now and then casting curious looks at Blonblon, obviously feeling like a fifth wheel. Things improved slightly when Blonblon brought Caroline over and introduced her and her wide-eyed cousin, Lina, to Steve.
An hour later they all left the pool together and went to a pizzeria. Showing more animation than Steve had seen in him before, Blonblonmade Caroline laugh so hard she sometimes had to rest her head on his shoulder. Even Lina began to show signs of a fleeting intelligence. It was while Steve was trying to pull Lina from her lethargy that Blonblon summoned all his courage and, thin-lipped with worry, slid his hand under the table and placed it on top of Caroline’s. She responded by taking his hand and squeezing it.
“From that moment on I was a goner,” he said. “The next afternoon I kissed her in the elevator. Then we went for a short walk in Médéric-Martin Park, and after that …”
His voice trailed off. He was unable to describe the undescribable. He was an initiate rendered speechless by his initiation. He could only smile, his eyes drifting off, as he relived the first entrancing kisses and caresses, swept away again by an emotion that made his penis pulse almost painfully against the front of his jeans.
“Her tongue, man, her tongue … if you could just … and the way she runs her hands up and down my back … oh, man!”
Charles smiled, flattered at being taken into Blonblon’s confidence, but was struck at the same time by the sharp blade of envy. His face fell. He had just realized that the friendship that had bound the two of them together would never be the same again. Blonblon moved off, waving his hand wildly and telling Charles he should find a girl of his own with whom to embark on
From that moment on she was never out of his thoughts; watching TV, having a conversation, riding his bike, taking a shower, getting up or going to bed, during meals, her image floated through his head. He would wonder where she was at any given moment, what she was doing, whether she was thinking of him, and he felt tortured, but in a tender way, a way he had never felt before. It was a strange kind of melancholy. He couldn’t shake the feeling off, and in any case he didn’t want to. It was pain and pleasure mixed together. He’d never been so happy to be feeling so sad, joyfully embracing this huge sorrow that had come from God-knew-where to tear up his insides. He’d be gripped in feverish agitation for hours on end, then suddenly fall into a morbid torpor and lie stretched out on his bed or on the sofa, barely able to breathe. He knew it couldn’t go on. He had to speak to her.
A few days later he was at the Quintal Arena on de Maisonneuve Boulevard, where he’d gone to have a swim with Steve Lachapelle. Caroline was there with a girl with a large chin, someone he hadn’t seen before, who turned out to be a cousin or something. Anyway, when she saw him she gave a shy wave; he waved back and made a spectacular dive into the pool, which astonished Steve because usually it took a great deal of vigorous (and unsolicited) coaxing to get him into the water. Surfacing from his dive, he swam across the pool to where she was talking to her cousin and took part in their conversation. After a minute she joined him in the water and they began to swim lengths together. The cousin sat on the edge of the pool with her mouth open, paddling her feet in the water, and Steve Lachapelle worked on his breast stroke by himself, every now and then casting curious looks at Blonblon, obviously feeling like a fifth wheel. Things improved slightly when Blonblon brought Caroline over and introduced her and her wide-eyed cousin, Lina, to Steve.
An hour later they all left the pool together and went to a pizzeria. Showing more animation than Steve had seen in him before, Blonblonmade Caroline laugh so hard she sometimes had to rest her head on his shoulder. Even Lina began to show signs of a fleeting intelligence. It was while Steve was trying to pull Lina from her lethargy that Blonblon summoned all his courage and, thin-lipped with worry, slid his hand under the table and placed it on top of Caroline’s. She responded by taking his hand and squeezing it.
“From that moment on I was a goner,” he said. “The next afternoon I kissed her in the elevator. Then we went for a short walk in Médéric-Martin Park, and after that …”
His voice trailed off. He was unable to describe the undescribable. He was an initiate rendered speechless by his initiation. He could only smile, his eyes drifting off, as he relived the first entrancing kisses and caresses, swept away again by an emotion that made his penis pulse almost painfully against the front of his jeans.
“Her tongue, man, her tongue … if you could just … and the way she runs her hands up and down my back … oh, man!”
Charles smiled, flattered at being taken into Blonblon’s confidence, but was struck at the same time by the sharp blade of envy. His face fell. He had just realized that the friendship that had bound the two of them together would never be the same again. Blonblon moved off, waving his hand wildly and telling Charles he should find a girl of his own with whom to embark on
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