Longing is a stick that this woman has fetched herself, fetch! She needs the excitement. For her house is in order and delivered too. So she quests abroad. And then she thinks continually of what she has found. And tips it like a packet soup into her turbulent bubbling boiling waters and stirs it round and stirs a stranger's heart. After all, the Catholic Congress needs its far-off Pope as well. Who journeys to join us, though when he is here in our fatherland, lo! he's suddenly just another human being like you and me, don't I know him from somewhere. For him, everyone comes last, a loser, last past the post. Not so with love. Men at least can get somewhere, they can thumb a lift, but women are always wanting a lift from their feelings, a high, and being let down. The whole human race is in a ferment of wishes, forever wondering what to buy.
Where have you been? The words batter Gerti, Father's blows strike the boy as well, his kith and kin, who claws tight hold of Mother. Let's not bother describing this Laocoon group, the three of them in each other's toils, holding tight, down they go.
The Man's rage is huge. Moil and toil and turmoil, he's coming to the boil, time to cool the heat with a jet of foam. He wants the woman to take off her clothes right away. So that she measures up to his size. He wants to conduct his lightning into her. Not that his wildfire could ever be tamed by her, and anyway he has plenty of matches. To create himself anew, as often as need be. To have the woman bake his baguette, cook his meat, pickle his gherkin, and eat. The child is put to bed with a glass of fruit juice, quiet now! Leave the woman to Father. Don't go yapping and barking at her and jumping and frisking and grabbing. Mother's back, that's enough. And Father's bird is already chirping over her furrow. The Man drags her into the bedroom to force entry into her and piss on her. Good to have her home! The cow cud have been dead, cunt she?
The Direktor stands like a glowing cigarette butt by the hay of his bed and tosses himself away. Fear flares up in a blaze: holy night, a holy roll in the Austrian hay, where tales are told of the holy animal come to eat at the haybox of social welfare. It's not long since Christmas, now it's already practically time for springtime wishes. There goes Father, from one to the other, in all the majesty of his calling and becking. The woman wishes she were gone, she knows what youth is and she knows what she has lost and that time spent here now is time lost. That's how it goes, when you've played with life and lost! Now someone else's tongue is jammed down the woman's throat, take a good hard pull to wash away the taste. From the top of his ski-jump the Man swoops down on the woman. She covers her face with shadows, and yet what is hers is torn from her, no power on earth would be equal to the Direktor's hefty sex. He only needs to believe, like the whole national skiing team! Yet for the woman it is as if he had been as completely cleared out of her life as the prominent people of today whose names will merely sound silly in ten years' time. The woman wants nothing but youth. She would shoot young beautiful bodies on fast film in the hope of getting a shot at them, fast, wait and see what develops. These visions seem heaven-sent. Meanwhile her arms are* pulled from her face and Father descends upon her, leaving her cheeks red with wining and whining. What people live on, apart from their hopes, is a mystery to me. They seem to invest everything in cameras and hi-fis. There's no room in their houses for life any more. Once the act of purchasing is accomplished, everything is really over, though in fact nothing is over, or else it wouldn't be there any more. After all, burglars want their share of the fun as well.
The Man waits till his water's come to the boil. Then he tosses his wife in after first removing her dressing-gown. His signal is up, the track's clear, here comes the express. He doesn't need any egging on from her, he has two eggs anyway down there with his sausage, quite enough for two. It is as if his prick were out of its mind with the thought that someone else might have gone grubbing in her cunt, driving his truck in and mucking her up. His anger wears the Man out before his time: too much energy is wasted on shouting, till the very vaults of heaven are echoing. Outside, everything has been overpowered by ice and snow. Nature does generally get things right, but now and then you have to lend a helping hand so she can enjoy her meal at our table in peace and quiet. The rain bursts from the Man, into the woman, the two little rugs of her dugs are given a good beating out. The two kilos of his stock and barrel hang down like rocks. Fearlessly he scatters his gravel on the woman, so he can go for a walk in her with a firm grip underfoot.
The boy has got up again, sleepy, he'd best not rattle at the bathroom door like that or he'll be tipped out with the bathwater. The Man forces the woman's head right back to prevent her from yelling. His bird is wide awake, it's locked in the cage of her mouth, which is where it likes to be, flapping about till the woman starts to retch and heave and her vomit travels along his shaft and dribbles down his dangling testicles. Too bad. His glans is yanked out of her pharynx and the woman tipped halfway over the tub. His prick is stiff as a bull-rush, and now he rushes her like a bull and tucks his prick up in bed where it belongs, he tolls the bells of her breasts, alcohol gushes from her like water, and potent drops of the good stuff squirt into her cunt. No, the Direktor won't allow this woman simply to tumble out of his nest. What does she think she's doing, obeying her own senses, not him? Man and wife are one flesh.
The woman only appeared for a minute or so in the arena where consumers learn to swim. Now she is sitting in a filled bath, getting a soaping. The dressing-gown, long since crumpled, will have to be cleaned, trimmed and ironed. The Man tears whole handfuls of hair from her pussy as she goes about her washing and refurbishing. He digs into the gills of her privates and his soapy fingers invade her ground water where he shot his wad. She thrashes and whimpers, it stings! Out front her coveted fruits hang plump on their branches. The Direktor makes an investigative grab at the tips of the sausage skins which someone else has left, he twirls them round three fingers and then slowly releases them. Hard as buttons, the areolas' cold eyes stare at us. You can never do anything right for the lordsandmasters, not even if you were a queen. And already the terrible vessels that must receive the contents of the men are clattering. With a whiffle and sniffle the waiting-room doors swing shut on the boneyards of the unemployed. We shall find a way to tame those floods as well.
10
THEY MIGHT REST IN PEACE and security. But first the sunshine that peeps through the forks of their limbs would needs cast its piercing light upon them: there is something they can do that it's worth having a body for! They can doff each other's hats. With a few thrusts they work their way through to the other side of each other. Their dwelling place seems a very heaven. And before they (like the cheetah) have taken the few mighty bounds that will take them to the drinking trough of the mighty, they'll have coupled several times over. Like motes of dust in a sunbeam. Why else would they have and hold each other, care for each other with water and showers of emotion, as if they were to be canonized? Every part of their bodies has earned their partner's attention and love. Like the farmers who work on the side and get on the foreman's nerves by forever falling asleep on the job. Laying into the animals, slitting their throats, nodding and winking at blind horses: all the tricks that have been performed on themselves, dozens of times. Here comes the small farmer from the stalls and sheds, in Wellingtons, because his good shoes are at home together with his good wife. The blood of the rabbit the children loved is dripping from the sleeve of his jacket. But even this man, who is on this earth to have a life, has an occasional friendly side when he drags a girl off the dance floor into the bushes. And she scarcely notices what she's putting up her resistance to.