wrestling hold. His cousin is delighted, his aunt annoyed.
SHE zooms downhill, so long. A one-way trip. She collapses along her longitudinal axis. Off we go, down we go. The trees, the small staircase with the wild rose hedge, the people shoot past her, vanishing from her field of vision. They’re yanked upward. Her ribs are crushed, the guy’s chest hair disappears over her head, the edge of his bathing suit shifts by, the strings on which his testicles are suspended come into view. Relentlessly, the small, red Mount Everest crops up, and underneath. A close-up: the long, fair, downy hairs on the upper thighs. Suddenly, the descent halts. Main floor. Somewhere in her back, her bones crack crudely, hinges grind: they were squeezed together too hard. And she’s already kneeling. Hurray! The guy has once again succeeded in catching a girl unawares. She kneels before her vacationing cousin, one holiday child in front of the other. A thin varnish of tears shines on HER face as she peeks up into a mask of mirth, which is bursting at the seams. This good-for-nothing has really done it to her, and he’s happy about his victory. She is pushed into the Alpine earth. Mother is shocked at how badly her child is treated by the local adolescents—this gifted daughter, who is usually admired by one and all.
The red genital pouch sways and dangles, it swings seductively before HER eyes. It belongs to a seducer, whom no onecan resist. She leans her cheek against it for only a split second. She doesn’t quite know what she’s doing. She wants to feel it just once, she wants to graze that glittering Christmas-tree ornament with her lips, just this once. For one split second, SHE is the addressee of this package. SHE grazes it with her lips or was it her chin? It was unintentional. The guy doesn’t realize he’s triggered a landslide in his cousin. She peers and peers. The package has been arranged for her, like a slide under a microscope. Just let this moment linger, it’s so good.
No one’s noticed anything, they’re all busy with lunch. The guy releases HER instantly and swings back one step. For propriety’s sake, he’ll do without the foot kiss that usually concludes the exercise. He sways back and forth to limber up a bit, hops embarrassedly into the air, and then dashes off in long leaps. The meadow swallows him up; the women summon him to lunch. The guy has flown away, he’s jumped from the nest. He remains silent. Soon he’ll vanish into thin air. A couple of buddies dash after him. Off they swoop. Mother mildly condemns him in absentia for his wildness: She’s gone to so much trouble preparing lunch, and now she’s left holding the bag.
The guy doesn’t return until much later. Evening hush everywhere, only the nightingale warbling at the brook. They’re playing cards on the veranda. Butterflies, half unconscious, circle the kerosene lamp. SHE is not attracted by a bright circle. SHE sits alone in her room, isolated from the crowd, which has forgotten her because she is such a lightweight. She jostles no one. From an intricate package, she carefully unwraps a razor blade. She always takes it everywhere. The blade smiles like a bridegroom at a bride. SHE gingerly tests the edge; it is razor-sharp. Then she presses the blade into the back of her hand several times, but not so deep as to injure tendons. It doesn’t hurt at all. The metal slices her hand like butter. Foran instant, a slit gapes in the previously intact tissue; then the arduously tamed blood rushes out from behind the barrier. She makes a total of four cuts. That’s enough, otherwise she’ll bleed to death. The razor blade is always wiped clean and then wrapped up again. Bright red blood trickles and trails from the wounds, sullying everything as it flows. It oozes, warm, silent, and the sensation is not unpleasant. It’s so liquid. It runs incessantly. It reddens everything. Four slits, oozing nonstop. On the floor and on the bedding, the four
SHE zooms downhill, so long. A one-way trip. She collapses along her longitudinal axis. Off we go, down we go. The trees, the small staircase with the wild rose hedge, the people shoot past her, vanishing from her field of vision. They’re yanked upward. Her ribs are crushed, the guy’s chest hair disappears over her head, the edge of his bathing suit shifts by, the strings on which his testicles are suspended come into view. Relentlessly, the small, red Mount Everest crops up, and underneath. A close-up: the long, fair, downy hairs on the upper thighs. Suddenly, the descent halts. Main floor. Somewhere in her back, her bones crack crudely, hinges grind: they were squeezed together too hard. And she’s already kneeling. Hurray! The guy has once again succeeded in catching a girl unawares. She kneels before her vacationing cousin, one holiday child in front of the other. A thin varnish of tears shines on HER face as she peeks up into a mask of mirth, which is bursting at the seams. This good-for-nothing has really done it to her, and he’s happy about his victory. She is pushed into the Alpine earth. Mother is shocked at how badly her child is treated by the local adolescents—this gifted daughter, who is usually admired by one and all.
The red genital pouch sways and dangles, it swings seductively before HER eyes. It belongs to a seducer, whom no onecan resist. She leans her cheek against it for only a split second. She doesn’t quite know what she’s doing. She wants to feel it just once, she wants to graze that glittering Christmas-tree ornament with her lips, just this once. For one split second, SHE is the addressee of this package. SHE grazes it with her lips or was it her chin? It was unintentional. The guy doesn’t realize he’s triggered a landslide in his cousin. She peers and peers. The package has been arranged for her, like a slide under a microscope. Just let this moment linger, it’s so good.
No one’s noticed anything, they’re all busy with lunch. The guy releases HER instantly and swings back one step. For propriety’s sake, he’ll do without the foot kiss that usually concludes the exercise. He sways back and forth to limber up a bit, hops embarrassedly into the air, and then dashes off in long leaps. The meadow swallows him up; the women summon him to lunch. The guy has flown away, he’s jumped from the nest. He remains silent. Soon he’ll vanish into thin air. A couple of buddies dash after him. Off they swoop. Mother mildly condemns him in absentia for his wildness: She’s gone to so much trouble preparing lunch, and now she’s left holding the bag.
The guy doesn’t return until much later. Evening hush everywhere, only the nightingale warbling at the brook. They’re playing cards on the veranda. Butterflies, half unconscious, circle the kerosene lamp. SHE is not attracted by a bright circle. SHE sits alone in her room, isolated from the crowd, which has forgotten her because she is such a lightweight. She jostles no one. From an intricate package, she carefully unwraps a razor blade. She always takes it everywhere. The blade smiles like a bridegroom at a bride. SHE gingerly tests the edge; it is razor-sharp. Then she presses the blade into the back of her hand several times, but not so deep as to injure tendons. It doesn’t hurt at all. The metal slices her hand like butter. Foran instant, a slit gapes in the previously intact tissue; then the arduously tamed blood rushes out from behind the barrier. She makes a total of four cuts. That’s enough, otherwise she’ll bleed to death. The razor blade is always wiped clean and then wrapped up again. Bright red blood trickles and trails from the wounds, sullying everything as it flows. It oozes, warm, silent, and the sensation is not unpleasant. It’s so liquid. It runs incessantly. It reddens everything. Four slits, oozing nonstop. On the floor and on the bedding, the four
Similar Books
