I moved her out of that
dreadful place, straight away. I couldn’t bear to see her suffer any
longer. She cried, hung on my arm and looked up at me with those clear
eyes, not yet hardened by city life or with weeping, and begged me
wordlessly to save her. What could I do? Always been a slave to beauty,
even in my youth. Especially in my youth.
So, yes, I set her up in a little place on Rue P_____ She skipped like a filly foal when I showe
d 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.
