impracticalities that had always deterred him. On at least one earlier occasion he had almost asked her to return with him, but he had stopped himself. It could never work: a constant companion for a man so accustomed to his solitude. It was fine on occasion, something he needed. But she would be a distraction, he would be thinking of her when he should be working, he would be constantly tired from her attentions. He had always concluded that he would be losing far more than he gained.
But, lying by her side, sensing her stir and stretch, everything seemed different. Maybe the time had arrived.
She put a hand on his chest and kissed his shoulder. 'Sukui-san,' she murmured. 'It's been a long time. You know how to direct a woman's passions.'
Sukui felt a surge of emotions that he would normally have rejected, but now he sorted them, tried to itemise exactly how he felt. Mono often made him feel this way, helpless and glad about it. 'Mono, you are very accomplished.' He took a calming breath. 'Mono, would you come—'
She sat and then climbed off the thin mattress that was her bed. She didn't appear to have heard him, she didn't appear to recognise the effort he was having to make to squeeze the words out and he stopped helplessly. She wrapped herself in a purple kimono and tied it at the waist with a cream obi. His passion spent, Sukui could assess her beauty more objectively now and still he was impressed. She moved quickly around her room and then, seeing Sukui still lying on her mattress, she threw one of his shoes at him.
Dressing, he realised that it could never work. He admired her looks, her grace, and also her discipline and dedication to her work, but underneath it all there was the raw edge of the streets. There was a wildness that Sukui associated with the most basic elements of nature. Like the sea, Mono controlled herself but she could never be tamed; a man could sail across the sea but always in the knowledge that he might easily be swallowed into its depths.
Kasimir Sukui shuddered and pinned his skullcap into position, suddenly glad that he had stopped himself from inviting Mono back to Alabama City.
'Shall we go?'
Mono was by the door and Sukui nodded, suddenly aware that MidNight had been happening without him. 'Yes,' he said. 'Let's go.'
Chapter 6
Two hours into MidNight the streets were alive. It was a phenomenon Kasimir Sukui had documented repeatedly in his diaries. It was a synergy, a multiplication of parts. The crowds of the streets of Orlyons were like an animal, alive and eager. Hungry.
In the Gentian Quarter the crowd-animal was nervous, twitching and jinking at the slightest provocation. Mono tugged at Sukui's hand. Her grip was delicate and he felt that he might lose her, at any moment, to the crowd. She led him along a smooth pavement, across the Rue de la Patterdois, and through a jumble of stalls, set up to sell pleasures to the night. Passing through the Leaning Arch they skirted around a knife fight, ignoring a tout who offered them miserly odds on the outcome. 'Three-twenty for a cut throat,' he called, but Sukui was not interested, the variables were too great and the likelihood of a rigged contest was high.
Mono released his hand and disappeared.
Looking around, Sukui recognised a landmark: across the street was the drinking house known as Salomo's. He crossed over, pushed through the door and surveyed the packed room for his companion.
Mono stood in a doorway on the far side of the bar. She nodded and then let the door close. She was like that. If he had wanted her to hang on his arm in public she would have charged him more. He did not mind about that, he was not vain. He knew what she was like when they were alone and that was enough.
Sukui made his way across to the door. It was to be a closed school, but buying him in would be no problem for Mono. His throat felt dry already. The smoke in the bar was thick and a proportion of it was heavily narcotic. He entered the
But, lying by her side, sensing her stir and stretch, everything seemed different. Maybe the time had arrived.
She put a hand on his chest and kissed his shoulder. 'Sukui-san,' she murmured. 'It's been a long time. You know how to direct a woman's passions.'
Sukui felt a surge of emotions that he would normally have rejected, but now he sorted them, tried to itemise exactly how he felt. Mono often made him feel this way, helpless and glad about it. 'Mono, you are very accomplished.' He took a calming breath. 'Mono, would you come—'
She sat and then climbed off the thin mattress that was her bed. She didn't appear to have heard him, she didn't appear to recognise the effort he was having to make to squeeze the words out and he stopped helplessly. She wrapped herself in a purple kimono and tied it at the waist with a cream obi. His passion spent, Sukui could assess her beauty more objectively now and still he was impressed. She moved quickly around her room and then, seeing Sukui still lying on her mattress, she threw one of his shoes at him.
Dressing, he realised that it could never work. He admired her looks, her grace, and also her discipline and dedication to her work, but underneath it all there was the raw edge of the streets. There was a wildness that Sukui associated with the most basic elements of nature. Like the sea, Mono controlled herself but she could never be tamed; a man could sail across the sea but always in the knowledge that he might easily be swallowed into its depths.
Kasimir Sukui shuddered and pinned his skullcap into position, suddenly glad that he had stopped himself from inviting Mono back to Alabama City.
'Shall we go?'
Mono was by the door and Sukui nodded, suddenly aware that MidNight had been happening without him. 'Yes,' he said. 'Let's go.'
Chapter 6
Two hours into MidNight the streets were alive. It was a phenomenon Kasimir Sukui had documented repeatedly in his diaries. It was a synergy, a multiplication of parts. The crowds of the streets of Orlyons were like an animal, alive and eager. Hungry.
In the Gentian Quarter the crowd-animal was nervous, twitching and jinking at the slightest provocation. Mono tugged at Sukui's hand. Her grip was delicate and he felt that he might lose her, at any moment, to the crowd. She led him along a smooth pavement, across the Rue de la Patterdois, and through a jumble of stalls, set up to sell pleasures to the night. Passing through the Leaning Arch they skirted around a knife fight, ignoring a tout who offered them miserly odds on the outcome. 'Three-twenty for a cut throat,' he called, but Sukui was not interested, the variables were too great and the likelihood of a rigged contest was high.
Mono released his hand and disappeared.
Looking around, Sukui recognised a landmark: across the street was the drinking house known as Salomo's. He crossed over, pushed through the door and surveyed the packed room for his companion.
Mono stood in a doorway on the far side of the bar. She nodded and then let the door close. She was like that. If he had wanted her to hang on his arm in public she would have charged him more. He did not mind about that, he was not vain. He knew what she was like when they were alone and that was enough.
Sukui made his way across to the door. It was to be a closed school, but buying him in would be no problem for Mono. His throat felt dry already. The smoke in the bar was thick and a proportion of it was heavily narcotic. He entered the
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