So, yes, I set her up in a little place on Rue P_____ She skipped like a filly foal when I showed her it - the tiny kitchen, the cozy parlour and the high ceilinged bed chamber.
To be honest, that’s just what she reminded me of, a long legged young
animal, still not knowing quite how to manage her limbs, rein in her
excitement or control her temper. We had some quarrels, I can tell you
and then,ah,the making up......
I adored her, fool that I was. I indulged her, treated her like the pretty, precocious little child she seemed to be. How could I have guessed the cunning behind those tilted almond eyes - those eyes that would fill with tears at the slightest scolding or the sight of a kicked stray dog.
I ignored the gossip of those old crows living in the quarter. I imagined their sharp tongues to be spiteful daggers plunged into the smooth flesh of my darling through pure envy of her beauty.
A gloomy late afternoon in February, the day before St Valentine’s, is when I saw her for what she truly is. It was darkening, both with night and cloud, as I hurried along the back streets, my heart beating with the anticipation of a night in her silken arms. I saw her, there was no mistake. There could not be. She is unique.
She was getting out of the back of a car, slipping on her high heels as she clambered clumsily out onto the wet pavement. I remember thinking that her heels were worn down and I must take her shopping for a new pair; then I saw her stuff her pink satin underwear into her pocket, like the cheap tart she was and blow a kiss to the fat, sweating man groping his way round to the front seat.
Something broke inside me that moment, something which has never been mended and I doubt ever will.
I did not confront her. I watched her skip over to the door and turned my back. I did not want to hear her honeyed voice, once so sweet to me, tell me her lies.
I gave notice to the landlord and never went near the place again. I heard the bailiffs threw her belongings out onto the street. She herself was long gone.
Some months later I visited the cafe on the corner of the street. When I had not been to see her for three days, she had merely packed up her clothes and disappeared. She left the little canary I gave her with the cafe owner’s wife. It pined for her and died. I doubt she would care, the heartless whore.
I adored her, fool that I was. I indulged her, treated her like the pretty, precocious little child she seemed to be. How could I have guessed the cunning behind those tilted almond eyes - those eyes that would fill with tears at the slightest scolding or the sight of a kicked stray dog.
I ignored the gossip of those old crows living in the quarter. I imagined their sharp tongues to be spiteful daggers plunged into the smooth flesh of my darling through pure envy of her beauty.
A gloomy late afternoon in February, the day before St Valentine’s, is when I saw her for what she truly is. It was darkening, both with night and cloud, as I hurried along the back streets, my heart beating with the anticipation of a night in her silken arms. I saw her, there was no mistake. There could not be. She is unique.
She was getting out of the back of a car, slipping on her high heels as she clambered clumsily out onto the wet pavement. I remember thinking that her heels were worn down and I must take her shopping for a new pair; then I saw her stuff her pink satin underwear into her pocket, like the cheap tart she was and blow a kiss to the fat, sweating man groping his way round to the front seat.
Something broke inside me that moment, something which has never been mended and I doubt ever will.
I did not confront her. I watched her skip over to the door and turned my back. I did not want to hear her honeyed voice, once so sweet to me, tell me her lies.
I gave notice to the landlord and never went near the place again. I heard the bailiffs threw her belongings out onto the street. She herself was long gone.
Some months later I visited the cafe on the corner of the street. When I had not been to see her for three days, she had merely packed up her clothes and disappeared. She left the little canary I gave her with the cafe owner’s wife. It pined for her and died. I doubt she would care, the heartless whore.
No comments:
Post a Comment
I'd love to hear from you.