forlorn scream, a drawn-out “Elder Brother—” It must be her. However, without looking back again, he went through the boarding gate.
4
Warm and moist, writhing flesh. Memories start returning but you know it’s not her, that sensitive delicate body that had let you do anything you wanted. The big, robust body pressing hard on you with unrestrained lust and abandonment totally exhausts you. “Keep talking! That Chinese girl, how did you enjoy yourself with her and how did you abandon her just like that?” You say she was a perfect woman, the girl wanted only to be a little woman, and wasn’t wanton and lustful like her. “Are you saying you don’t like it?” she asks. You say of course you like it, it’s what you dream about, this sheer, total abandonment. “You also wanted to make her, that girl of yours, become like this?”—“Yes!”—“Also turn into a spring?”—“Just like this,” you convulse, breathless. “Are all women the same for you?”—“No.”—“How are they different?”—“With her there was another sort of tension.”—“How was it different?”—“There was a sort of love.”—“So you didn’t enjoy yourself with her?”—“I enjoyed her but it was different.”—“Here it is just carnal lust.”—“Yes.”—“Who is sucking you?”—“A German girl.”—“A one-night prostitute?”—“No,” you call out her name, “Margarethe!”
At this she smiles, takes your head in her hands and kisses you. She is straddling you, kneeling, but her legs relax as she turns to brush aside a loose tangle of hair hanging over her eyes.
“Didn’t you call out the wrong name?” There is an odd ring in her voice.
“Aren’t you Margarethe?” you ask back, not comprehending.
“It was I who said it first.”
“Don’t you remember? When you asked, your name had already come to my lips.”
“But it was I who said it first.”
“Didn’t you want me to guess? You could have waited a second more.”
“I was anxious at the time, I was afraid you wouldn’t remember,” she admits. “When the play finished, people from the audience were at the theater door waiting to talk with you; I was embarrassed.”
“It was all right, they were friends.”
“They left after a few words. Why didn’t you go for drinks with them?”
“It was probably because I had a foreign girl with me that they didn’t hassle me.”
“Did you want to sleep with me then?”
“No, but I could tell that you were excited.”
“I lived in China for years and, of course, understood the play. But do you think Hong Kong people would?”
“I don’t know.”
“A price has to be paid.” She looks moody again.
“A very moody German girl,” you say with a smile, trying to change the atmosphere.
“I’ve already told you that I’m not German.”
“Right, you’re a Jewish girl.”
“Anyway, I’m a woman,” she says wearily.
“That’s even better,” you say.
“Why is it better?” That odd ring in her voice returns.
You then say you had not had a Jewish woman before.
“Have you had lots of women?” Her eyes light up in the dark.
“I guess quite a lot since leaving China,” you admit. There’s no need to hide this from her.
“When you stay in hotels like this, do you always have women to keep you company?” she goes on to ask.
You’re not as lucky as that. And when you stay in a big hotel like this, the theater group that invited you would be paying for it, you explain.
Her eyes become gentle and she lies down next to you. She says she likes your frankness, but that is not you as a person. You say you like her as a person and not just her body.
“That’s good.”
She says this with sincerity and she presses against you. You can feel that her body and her heart have softened. You say, of course, you remember her from that winter night. After that she came especially to see you, she said she happened to be passing. She was on the new bypass of the city
4
Warm and moist, writhing flesh. Memories start returning but you know it’s not her, that sensitive delicate body that had let you do anything you wanted. The big, robust body pressing hard on you with unrestrained lust and abandonment totally exhausts you. “Keep talking! That Chinese girl, how did you enjoy yourself with her and how did you abandon her just like that?” You say she was a perfect woman, the girl wanted only to be a little woman, and wasn’t wanton and lustful like her. “Are you saying you don’t like it?” she asks. You say of course you like it, it’s what you dream about, this sheer, total abandonment. “You also wanted to make her, that girl of yours, become like this?”—“Yes!”—“Also turn into a spring?”—“Just like this,” you convulse, breathless. “Are all women the same for you?”—“No.”—“How are they different?”—“With her there was another sort of tension.”—“How was it different?”—“There was a sort of love.”—“So you didn’t enjoy yourself with her?”—“I enjoyed her but it was different.”—“Here it is just carnal lust.”—“Yes.”—“Who is sucking you?”—“A German girl.”—“A one-night prostitute?”—“No,” you call out her name, “Margarethe!”
At this she smiles, takes your head in her hands and kisses you. She is straddling you, kneeling, but her legs relax as she turns to brush aside a loose tangle of hair hanging over her eyes.
“Didn’t you call out the wrong name?” There is an odd ring in her voice.
“Aren’t you Margarethe?” you ask back, not comprehending.
“It was I who said it first.”
“Don’t you remember? When you asked, your name had already come to my lips.”
“But it was I who said it first.”
“Didn’t you want me to guess? You could have waited a second more.”
“I was anxious at the time, I was afraid you wouldn’t remember,” she admits. “When the play finished, people from the audience were at the theater door waiting to talk with you; I was embarrassed.”
“It was all right, they were friends.”
“They left after a few words. Why didn’t you go for drinks with them?”
“It was probably because I had a foreign girl with me that they didn’t hassle me.”
“Did you want to sleep with me then?”
“No, but I could tell that you were excited.”
“I lived in China for years and, of course, understood the play. But do you think Hong Kong people would?”
“I don’t know.”
“A price has to be paid.” She looks moody again.
“A very moody German girl,” you say with a smile, trying to change the atmosphere.
“I’ve already told you that I’m not German.”
“Right, you’re a Jewish girl.”
“Anyway, I’m a woman,” she says wearily.
“That’s even better,” you say.
“Why is it better?” That odd ring in her voice returns.
You then say you had not had a Jewish woman before.
“Have you had lots of women?” Her eyes light up in the dark.
“I guess quite a lot since leaving China,” you admit. There’s no need to hide this from her.
“When you stay in hotels like this, do you always have women to keep you company?” she goes on to ask.
You’re not as lucky as that. And when you stay in a big hotel like this, the theater group that invited you would be paying for it, you explain.
Her eyes become gentle and she lies down next to you. She says she likes your frankness, but that is not you as a person. You say you like her as a person and not just her body.
“That’s good.”
She says this with sincerity and she presses against you. You can feel that her body and her heart have softened. You say, of course, you remember her from that winter night. After that she came especially to see you, she said she happened to be passing. She was on the new bypass of the city
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