“While you undress, I’ll go to the bathroom,” she said.
He listened to her peeing for a long time.
The flat was dingy—two adjoining rooms. Probably rented. Sparsely furnished with odd pieces. A country rug for a bedspread. He lowered himself into a loose-springed armchair and started undressing listlessly. The atmosphere of impoverished improvisation depressed him. Not an ounce of warmth, not an ounce of imagination. Not one flower. At Carolina’s place everything had been shipshape.
He listened to Renata washing her hands and spraying herself. He didn’t hear her flush the toilet, though.
He watched her enter, brisk and roly-poly, crotch shaved. She’d left her gown in the bathroom.
“What’s up? Are we feeling a bit grumpy today?”
He nodded his assent. She started undressing him expertly.
“We can’t afford to be grumpy,” she grumbled.
She stood him on his feet as for some kind of physical and moved into gear. She started by nibbling at his nipples with her teeth, then little by little glided down towards his pubis. She was giving off a strong odor of cheap deodorant. Yet he had to admit she was adroit at using her tongue, she was almost as good as Carolina. When performing the act of fellatio, Carolina had once explained, unless you can make good use of your tongue, you’ll just botch the whole thing. Ever since, he’d been always alert to that particular skill. He felt his member beginning to get stiff and his tiredness seemed to disperse. While getting on with her business, Renata watched him with her big blue eyes and attempted to smile at him, which made her face look rather sinister: like a snarling dog fiercely defending its bone.
“Now, that’s more like it… Who’s a pretty-pretty baby? Let’s put a nice hat on, so we don’t catch cold.” She went on talking to his sex while completely ignoring the rest of him.
She pulled one of the chest drawers open and produced a condom. She ripped the package open with her teeth. She caught its tip between her lips, dropped to her knees, and before unrolling it down his penis, she started chomping on it the way babies do a pacifier— imitating a baby’s gurgling cries all the while: ngwa-aa! ngwa-aa! ngwa-aa! He found it quite funny. He smiled.
“You liked my toy, didn’t you?”
He nodded his assent.
“Let’s get down to business and chase all your troubles away,” she said, bursting with optimism and cheerfulness, as if it’d been ages since she’d last done it.
He positioned himself behind her. Her back was broad and powerful.
“You’re from Transylvania?” he asked, panting slightly.
“How did you know?” she replied with another question, her voice muffled by a pillow.
“I could tell by your accent,” he went on, a barely audible tremor in his voice.
“If you don’t like it this way, we can change position…”
“Nah, this suits me fine… we can talk while we’re at it…”
Her groin, not quite recently shaven, prickled him a bit. He found she had rough skin in that area, somewhat leathery. Professionally calloused, flashed through his mind.
“You from somewhere in the country?” he asked, no hint of disdain in his voice.
“Yea, a village not far from Cloo-oojj… but how’d you figure that out?” she queried him earnestly, her voice seeming to rise from the bottom of a well.
“Well… it was that rug… gave me the clue,” he said in a quiet voice.
“Yup, it’s from Mom. It’s very precious to me. I take it along wherever I go working…”
Then they both gave up talking as things were moving to a crescendo.
When he was spent, he eased himself onto his back in satisfaction, eyes closed. His headache was beginning to let up. Renata sprang to her feet to walk off her accumulated stiffness.
“What about having another go?” she asked him cheerfully.
He signaled to her with his finger: he wasn’t game.
“Maybe next Friday,” he added a moment later, forcing the words out.
“I didn’t want to tell you right away, but since you’re bound to find out anyway… looks like Carolina might have found herself someone. She might leave the profession… At least that’s what people say…” she said, ill at ease.
He said nothing. She joined him in his silence.
A few moments later he heard her going to the bathroom again. A series of obscene plops, this time followed by the sound of a flush.
He rose heavily and started getting into his clothes.
He left her money on the table and cleared out while he could still hear the shower.
Back home he jumped into bed with his clothes on, a glass of brandy in his hand.
Eyes boring into the ceiling.
All that remained in his head was the echo of that prolonged piss, followed by obscene plops.
sons
[SWITZERLAND]
BERNARD COMMENT
A Son
“Orange juice.” The label in red letters on a white placard seemed decisive, rather too much so for this mixture of concentrate and water. That’s the most deplorable thing about chain and low-scale hotels: breakfast, this simulacrum of luxury divested of any attention for the guest. A flabby croissant, a jar of marmalade, two strips of cheese under plastic, an apple that’s too green and too smooth, sometimes some grapes out of season, looking Botoxed, with thick, flavorless skins, and coffee, there’s a coffee machine, we always have a slightly stupid look before a clipped conversation, especially in the morning when we haven’t slept well.
The notary public saw me first, it’s not charming at all, but you’re close to it all, to the cemetery, to the house, if you took a room that looked out on the courtyard, it wouldn’t be too noisy, the Périphérique is still far away, and in this weather the windows stay shut, he sniggered. It’s been raining for about an hour, with a low sky, everything is gloomy. The ceremony takes place at ten. I would have liked to get an umbrella at the reception desk, the lady looked confused, no, monsieur, we don’t have those, she might as well have said, this isn’t a palace, you’ll have to take care of yourself here, go on and find a store that sells those, I went out into the drizzle, going down side streets whenever I could. When I came to the cemetery entrance, it was early, too early.
I crossed the paths between the graves, thinking about going out the other exit, in this long narrow rectangle between the lanes of the Périphérique and the boulevards des Maréchaux, but the second door, black and solid iron, was shut, I had to retrace my steps and then go around the surrounding wall almost to the Châtillon gate where I finally found some newspapers. I couldn’t start the day without having read the paper, the sports scores, the major political events, that night’s TV shows, like a promise against boredom, but I told myself right away that this wouldn’t be smart, to show up at a father’s funeral with a newspaper in my pocket. I scanned the headlines, the general information predating what I’d heard on the radio this morning, the sports pages were boring, I discreetly threw the folded-up paper in a trash receptacle, one of those green plastic bags fluttering in the wind. I only had to wait ten minutes, we were meeting at the entrance, I hadn’t had any desire to be present for the closing of the coffin, in any case I would be alone, for whatever might happen.
In 1998 he decided to come live here, for the convenience of a ground-floor apartment, the notary public said, he lived entirely on the ground floor, the upper floors were only useful for storing things, this house was a nice setup, and he joked about no longer being in the center of Paris, but he didn’t go there much anymore, the attached garage was how he made his decision, you’ll get a great price for it, the market’s up again, the neighborhood to the south’s getting trendy, there’s a few celebrities in the area. I replied that we were going to bury my father, and as for the rest, we would see to it later, this was without question the first time I’d used the phrase “my father” out loud. The notary public understood, but he kept talking, the layout was simple, everything was ready for us, no possible contestation, there wasn’t anybody left in his family, you’re the last and sole representative. I thought that my mother must have been the last, at the time, she had been the last since her childhood, an orphan at three years old, malnourished, anemic, and graceful, with a fragile beauty, terribly fragile, but he was the one who would know.