possess one another, merely able to offer themselves—and their sexual matching suffered a dislocation in favor of some other matching, in favor of something more horrible but perhaps more beautiful. I repeat, all this happened in a matter of seconds. But actually nothing happened: we just stood. Fryderyk said, pointing to Karol’s pants, a bit too long and covered with dirt:
“You need to have your pant legs rolled up.”
“You’re right,” he said. He bent down.
Fryderyk said: “Wait. Wait a minute.”
It was obvious that what he was about to say didn’t come easily. He somehow placed himself sideways to them, looked straight ahead, and in a hoarse voice, yet very clearly, he said:
“No, wait. Let her roll them up.”
He repeated: “Let her roll them up.”
This was shameless—it was a forced entry into them—it was an admission that he was expecting some excitement from them, do it, you’ll entertain me with this, and this is what I desire. … It was bringing them into the range of our lust, our dreams about them. Their silence swirled for one second. And for one second I waited for the result of Fryderyk’s insolence, in this sideways stance of his. What happened next was smooth, obedient, and easy, so “easy” that it almost made my head spin, like an abyss noiselessly opening up in a level road.
She said nothing. She bent down, rolled up his pants, he didn’t budge, the silence of their bodies was absolute.
Meanwhile the barnyard’s bare expanse hit us with the whiffletrees jutting from the hay wagons, with a cracked trough, with the barn recently patched up that stood visible like a splotch in a circle of brown dirt and lumber.
Soon after that Fryderyk said: “Let’s go!” We turned toward the house—he, Henia, and I. This happened brazenly and openly. In consequence of our turning back, our arrival by the carriage house achieved its sole objective—we had gone there so that she would roll up his pants, and we were now returning—Fryderyk, I, and she. The house with its windows, with two rows of windows, one below, one above, came into view—and its porch as well. We walked without saying anything.
We heard someone running across the lawn behind us, and Karol caught up and joined us. … He was still in motion, but he soon fell into step with us—he now walked calmly next to us, with us. His fevered breaking in upon us, on the run, was full of enthusiasm—aha, he liked our games, he was joining in—and his instantaneous transition from running into the silence of our return home meant that he understood the need for discretion. All around us a weakening of existence found its expression in the approaching night. We moved on in the dusk—Fryderyk, I, Henia, Karol—like some strange erotic combination, an eerie yet sensual quartet.
V
How did it happen? I wondered as I lay on a blanket, on the grass, the moist cold of the ground close to my face. How could it be? So she rolled up his pants? She did this because she was up for it, of course, nothing extraordinary, a simple favor … yet she knew what she was doing. She knew that this was meant for Fryderyk—for his pleasure—so she was acquiescing in his taking delight in her … in her, but not just in her … in him, in Karol. … Oh, indeed! She was aware then that the two of them can excite, seduce … at least as far as Fryderyk was concerned … and Karol knew it too, he had indeed taken part in this little game. … But in that case they were not as naive as it might seem! They were aware of their appeal! And they were aware of it in spite of their otherwise silly youth, because it’s exactly youth that is better aware of it than maturity, they were experts in the elemental force which they inhabited, they possessed skill in the arena of their precocious bodies, of their precocious blood. But in that case why, in their relationship to each other, did they behave likechildren? Why so innocently? Since they were not
“You need to have your pant legs rolled up.”
“You’re right,” he said. He bent down.
Fryderyk said: “Wait. Wait a minute.”
It was obvious that what he was about to say didn’t come easily. He somehow placed himself sideways to them, looked straight ahead, and in a hoarse voice, yet very clearly, he said:
“No, wait. Let her roll them up.”
He repeated: “Let her roll them up.”
This was shameless—it was a forced entry into them—it was an admission that he was expecting some excitement from them, do it, you’ll entertain me with this, and this is what I desire. … It was bringing them into the range of our lust, our dreams about them. Their silence swirled for one second. And for one second I waited for the result of Fryderyk’s insolence, in this sideways stance of his. What happened next was smooth, obedient, and easy, so “easy” that it almost made my head spin, like an abyss noiselessly opening up in a level road.
She said nothing. She bent down, rolled up his pants, he didn’t budge, the silence of their bodies was absolute.
Meanwhile the barnyard’s bare expanse hit us with the whiffletrees jutting from the hay wagons, with a cracked trough, with the barn recently patched up that stood visible like a splotch in a circle of brown dirt and lumber.
Soon after that Fryderyk said: “Let’s go!” We turned toward the house—he, Henia, and I. This happened brazenly and openly. In consequence of our turning back, our arrival by the carriage house achieved its sole objective—we had gone there so that she would roll up his pants, and we were now returning—Fryderyk, I, and she. The house with its windows, with two rows of windows, one below, one above, came into view—and its porch as well. We walked without saying anything.
We heard someone running across the lawn behind us, and Karol caught up and joined us. … He was still in motion, but he soon fell into step with us—he now walked calmly next to us, with us. His fevered breaking in upon us, on the run, was full of enthusiasm—aha, he liked our games, he was joining in—and his instantaneous transition from running into the silence of our return home meant that he understood the need for discretion. All around us a weakening of existence found its expression in the approaching night. We moved on in the dusk—Fryderyk, I, Henia, Karol—like some strange erotic combination, an eerie yet sensual quartet.
V
How did it happen? I wondered as I lay on a blanket, on the grass, the moist cold of the ground close to my face. How could it be? So she rolled up his pants? She did this because she was up for it, of course, nothing extraordinary, a simple favor … yet she knew what she was doing. She knew that this was meant for Fryderyk—for his pleasure—so she was acquiescing in his taking delight in her … in her, but not just in her … in him, in Karol. … Oh, indeed! She was aware then that the two of them can excite, seduce … at least as far as Fryderyk was concerned … and Karol knew it too, he had indeed taken part in this little game. … But in that case they were not as naive as it might seem! They were aware of their appeal! And they were aware of it in spite of their otherwise silly youth, because it’s exactly youth that is better aware of it than maturity, they were experts in the elemental force which they inhabited, they possessed skill in the arena of their precocious bodies, of their precocious blood. But in that case why, in their relationship to each other, did they behave likechildren? Why so innocently? Since they were not
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