98
LEONARD COHEN
the morning might have happened, but the air was jammed with
the static of impatience.
Where was it? The shame of a lie reduced me to a childhood
ordeal. The green crumb had disappeared from the shelf, and half
my proof, there was no hashish to certify that I dreamed at some
romantic expense.
- The woman must have knocked it off dusting.
- Do
you mind getting off your knees?
I had been ready to search through the generations of sticky
dust under the bed, and when I faced her a second later I knew I
must not mention the thing again, or else display myself as a kind of
cripple which I took pride in not being: hashish simply has never
meant that much to me. I began to undress her, which was the only
manly exit from my lie. When necessary she assisted me politely and
that was the only deviation from her military indifference. She didn't
have that inner-lighted translucent skin some blondes have, her
shoulders were freckled, and her breasts were pointed like little honey
pyramids, that is all I remember of her body. She allowed me to
arrange her on the narrow bed but she gave nothing when I lay
beside her, keeping her arms by her sides.
- I don't feel anything.
- Neither do I, and I don't expect anything.
My solitary orgasm waited for me easily but I did not want to
claim it. It would have been a very minor oblivion and I was not
willing to disarm for so short a flight, it would have been stolen
charity and she would have watched me all the way, assuming total
power in the second I was gone, and I suppose that an old habit
insisted that I teach her something, or at least have my turn at
teaching. She moaned unexpectedly and pulled me hard against the
first thrust of her hips, and for a minute her small smooth body drew
me through all the ritual of passion. Then she relaxed abruptly.
- I was just faking.
- That's fine. Don't destroy your record with something genuine.
- Now you're faking. Move, I want to get dressed.
After she had adjusted her wide white collar and smoothed down
her skirt she picked up my two
books
from the shelf. I had got into
bed, anus beneath the covers, seized with anger. I promised myself
that I would not speak another word to her, that was all the mystery
