“It continued like this for a while before she finally went away. I was left among the ruins and burnt-out slums and wandered aimlessly through them…” – THE BLACK PELICAN
A different face peeped through the makeup – one I didn’t know – and unfamiliar lips moved with the desire to hurt me as much as possible. “Do you think I was happy with you?” she asked. “You have no idea how tired I am of you and your whims. You’re like a strange place where dead ends lie at every corner and one always has to step carefully to avoid the trap… And Jules is so pleasant,” she added with a sigh, her eyes boring into me. “I just relax with him. And don’t you dare to touch my husband!” she screamed. “He’s a saint, he suffers, but he’ll never leave me. You, of course, would have already kicked me out, without a second thought…”
“It was the Russians who pushed me to the very edge – and left me there, on the edge, barely keeping my balance…” – SEMMANT
I wanted to fight the whole world, to demolish everything in my path. I drank a lot and got into drunken brawls. It became easy for me to insult anyone for no reason. Bad rumors spread about me, many of them true. I stopped getting invited to join projects, interviews, or anything else. It got to the point that it was hard to make a living. I started to give private lessons – for the sons of Arab sheikhs or the progeny of the nouveau riche from Russia. It was the Russians in particular who pushed me to the very edge – and left me there, on the edge, barely keeping my balance.
They were twins, very young girls, from faraway eastern Siberia. They didn’t like to study, but adored gin and tonics and an unabashed ménage a trois. We spent passionate hours in my Paris apartment, and they blew my mind with their identical pink asses and chiseled legs. When I was with them, I forgot about everything. It was a welcome release, as if the destructive whirlwind had lost all its strength. I just wanted this time to go on and on without end. I sensed that something dreadful was waiting beyond it, something from which there was no salvation.
“Esther moves like a panther and looks like an expensive whore. Her nipples burn like hot coals, even through her starched white blouse…” – SEMMANT
I’m writing this in dark-blue ink, sitting by the wall where my shadow moves. It crawls like the hand on a numberless sundial, keeping track of time that only I can follow. My days are scheduled right down to the hour, to the very minute, and yet I’m not in a hurry. The shadow changes ever so slowly, gradually blurring and fading toward the fringes.
The treatments have just been completed, and Sara has left my room. That’s not her real name; she borrowed it from some porn star. All our nurses have such names by choice, taken from forgotten DVDs left behind in patients’ chambers. This is their favorite game; there’s also Esther, Laura, Veronica. None of them has had sex with me yet.