CHAPTER XVIII : THE COMPLAISANT LOVER.
Two interminable days to go till Friday. I felt like calling her on the phone both days now that relations with Mrs. Fremantle were reestablished but did not feel I should show my abject need for her. Funny little humans that we are, we sometimes need the help of a little uncertainty, a little mystery to reinforce our appeal. We met at eight on the dot at South Ken. She was so attractive in a red summer dress, lightly made up with a touch of eyeliner emphasizing the vivid blue of her eyes, a slender blue necklace and a pair of discreet earrings showing now and then through her blond hair. We kissed and held each other tightly. When we separated I pulled off the earrings. Why did you do that? she asked. You are far too beautiful to need these, I said, handing them to her. She smiled and put them in the tiny purse she was carrying. They are my mother’s, she said, ordinarily I have no use for jewelry.
We got in the train and out at Piccadilly Circus. The usual assorted crowds were milling around full of energy and good cheer. We walked rapidly up Shaftesbury Avenue to the Globe Theatre. The original Shakespeare Globe Theatre was being reconstructed somewhere along the Thames and the name, Globe, was given to the current West End theatre which was later renamed, The Gielgud Theatre. Graham Greene’s The Complaisant Lover was a two-act comedy with Ralph Richardson and Paul Scofield. It basically describes, with restrained British humor, a situation where a married man who due to age is unable to satisfy sexually his wife accepts the intrusion of a lover in his marriage while pretending ignorance of the fact. He is the great big-hearted cuckold who is quite well aware of his wife’s infidelity but his love for her makes him turn a blind eye and thus makes him a figure of ridicule. We laughed heartily with Diana and at the intermission, sipping our cup of champagne, I said, so far there is no similarity to our predicament, we must wait and see what the second act gives. She was slightly annoyed and said she half expected a return to my usual nagging. No, my dear, not yet, I said. Usual nagging? Why are you so self-centered and unfair? I shall wait for the second act and if I make a comment it shall be cool and civilized. The second act was where the husband reveals in an emotional monologue that he was all the time aware of the goings on but his great love prevented him from bringing it up and ruining his wife’s happiness through petty egoism.
We left the Globe in a good mood and as it was still early I suggested a meal somewhere in Piccadilly. No, please George, we’ll start arguing about the play and about us. Piccadilly seems to bring us bad luck. Let’s go home. There was a huge, shining, brightly lit self-service place just beyond and I pulled her towards it. Okay, I said, before we go in, just a short recapitulation to get it over and done with. He knew it and I know it, he loved her and, if anything, I love you even more, he is no longer able but I am, he is not a petty egoist and I can’t afford to be one. So what is the solution? Doris Day sings it in that awful song, Que sera, sera. For me at least. Over and out. Diana laughed and we entered the shop, took a tray each and chose a few plates from the racks of prepared dishes. There was a large variety of small bottles of wine. Red or white? I asked Diana. Let’s have white today, she said. I picked two German Rieslings and two glasses and we walked into the half empty eating area. We sat and I opened the bottles and poured it in the glasses. We clinked glasses, sipped the wine which was cool and delicious and talked a little. My mind was on her. My eyes glued on her blue eyes. On that lovely smile. What a beautiful girl she turned out to be. Truly she was nowhere near as good when I first met her. That cannot be, but so it seemed to me. Was it because I am in love with her? It’s all in the mind, of course. Intimacy very often has that effect. There is no other explanation.
I told her Annie was leaving on Sunday and she said she saw her yesterday evening. It was a sad parting but certainly not final. Her married life will be one of constant movement and many opportunities for reunions will surely present themselves. I asked her if she started on the Female Eunuch and she said, not yet. Didn’t have the time. My father arrived yesterday unexpectedly for a few days. On Sunday I shall be going to Brighton with him to visit his brother. He has taken over my room and I sleep with mummy. Why? I asked. Because he snores too loudly and mummy cannot sleep. So there is no sex between them? I ventured. Oh, for heaven’s sake, George, what a question! He is nearing retirement from the service, he must be over sixty. Why are you laughing? she asked. I can’t tell you. Oh come on you silly boy. Well, the way you said it sounded as if he was retiring from servicing your mother. She laughed. That was rather crude, she said, I didn’t know you have a dirty mind. Well, I said, I am sure you know somebody who has a dirtier mind than I. She understood and scowled, annoyed. I was silent for a moment. Why did I start on that theme again? What good would it do? I am sorry, Diana, I said, I didn’t mean to annoy you. Actually I don’t believe in dirty minds and forgive me the insinuation I made about Edgar. It was unfair. The human mind is an abyss and the most awful thoughts occur to the noblest and worthiest of us. One cannot put one’s thoughts in a straitjacket. Dirty minds are the ones that think of hurting, cheating, calumniating, enslaving and murdering their fellow humans. She smiled. I forgive you, she said. And I forgive you, I replied just to keep things in balance. Why? she asked, what did I do? Never mind, I replied. No, I want to know, she insisted. Well, for turning me into a compliant lover. You see, she cried. Just as I said we are bickering again. Let’s get out of here. But we haven’t eaten a thing yet, I protested. I’m not hungry, she replied. Okay, let us at least finish our wine. She did not answer but picked up her glass and took a sip. She was adorable even when she was angry. My mind started racing for something to say to thaw the chill that had formed.
Something to make you laugh, Diana. I remembered a quotation of Germaine Greer. It goes, I have always been principally interested in men for sex. I’ve always thought that any sane woman would be a lover of women because loving men is such a mess. I have always wished I’d fall in love with a woman. Damn. Diana smiled. Why are you telling me this all of a sudden? I am sure you’re thinking that loving a woman is such a mess, she said. I suppose, I said, loving in general is a mess but we are not animals who only mate during their estrus by hook or by crook in a frenzy. Man, and I mean man and woman, apart from reproductive purposes enjoy recreational sex. Would you say, my darling, our sex is recreational? Diana took another gulp of wine. She was interested. What do you think? she asked. Well, insofar as we are not reproducing or trying to reproduce, I must logically define it as recreational. But for me, Diana, at the moment, it is more like estrus with the only difference that it is ongoing. There are no moderate or indifferent periods like the animals. It might change when I get used to you and then it might become recreational in name and in fact. But my darling, at the moment I am obsessed, I think of you all the time. She laughed and, thankfully, forgot she wasn’t hungry and we started eating.
What with our dinner and little arguments time passed and we left in a hurry to catch the last trains. The seats were occupied in the carriage we entered and we stood holding the straps, swaying occasionally with the movement of the train. With our free hand we hugged one another. I kissed her cheek and lightly bit her ear. Will you be going home or will you come with me? I asked her. As you wish, she smiled cunningly. You know what I wish, I said. I only asked because your dad is at home. You only asked because you are a tease, she said. And stop biting my ear to get me worked up. Is that why you removed my earrings? Yes, and it’s just the beginning. I need to remove the rest. My, my, you are becoming a lady-killer in leaps and bounds. One has no choice when confronting an enchantress of many men. Diana pinched my side so hard, I gave a yelp and then laughed as the doors opened at South Kensington.
Cairo is a city that never sleeps. It is third world. It is crowded and dirty and noisy but you can go out at two in the morning and find people circulating, find something to eat, a bakery, a small grocer to buy cheese, some salami and local baladi bread. Perhaps also a beer Stella and almost certainly a coffee house for tea, coffee, an oriental hookah and loud music. And cars and taxis with sleepy good-natured drivers to take you home or to a hospital. South Kensington, by twelve was in deep slumber. It was drizzling as we came out of the station. The streets well lit but deserted. The drizzle was almost imperceptible and visible only under the street lights. There goes my dress, said Diana. It’ll get all creased up. Never mind, I said, we won’t be needing it tonight. We hurried home almost at a run. We were hardly drenched when we entered my room. I helped her slide down the zipper at the back of her dress and told her that dresses like this needed a husband or a boyfriend to zip and unzip. Or a mother, she said laughing. Or a compliant lover, I murmured under my breath. What? she asked. Nothing, I said. Then stop muttering because I’m not that stupid and my hearing is sharp. I hung the dress up in my cupboard. It’ll be as good as new by tomorrow, I said.
Give me your bathrobe, I need to go to the bathroom. Do you think Omar is around? I doubt it, I said. It’s his last day of bliss with Annie. Tomorrow she’ll be preparing her things and will probably tell him quite simply and sensibly to make himself scarce. On Sunday he’ll be in the doldrums and on Monday he’ll start searching for consolation in the parks and coffee bars. Perhaps he might even do a bit of studying. How cynical you are, Diana said. No, no, it’s his character. I wish I was like him. Do you really? she asked. Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes I envy the looseness of his attachments, his egocentric outlook on life. Was that aimed at me? said Diana with a smile. No, my darling, I am what I am and as such a captive, a virtual prisoner of my sentiments. That doesn’t sound very flattering, she said. Sorry, I said, it was badly expressed. I meant to say I love you. And not just that, I want nothing else. Oh, my darling George, she said. I love you too. We were close, she took two steps and fell into my arms. We started kissing passionately, bruising our lips and entwining our tongues. She stopped suddenly, removed her bra and panties and started unbuckling my belt. I helped, tore off my shirt, trousers and underwear and we fell on the bed kissing wildly, caressing savagely and moaning quietly. The condoms, George, quickly. I entered her and the bed started squeaking and quivering. It was not coitus reservatus, it was coitus maximus and it did not last very long. We finished in a swoon and after a while Diana got up, took the bathrobe and went to the bathroom. I washed my face, my teeth at the sink and then my genitals hastily, dripping water all over the floor. Then I stretched on the bed. My confusion persistent and intense.
The lassitude that comes after such exertion did not stop my brain agonizing intensely. She does love me this girl. It was perhaps the first time she expressed her love for me spontaneously, explicitly and with such violent longing. It was ever more puzzling this imposition of silence between us concerning Edgar. Her refusal to sever their relationship, and while explaining how their bonding developed and giving away freely details of their intimate sex life and the perversity that surrounded it, refused to give me its present status and her future intentions. I could not be certain that she did not enjoy sex with him. That she had not developed a taste for the mild sadism that she was called on to exercise. Yet with me she was never anything but normal. Passionate but conventional. Uninhibited because she was vastly more experienced, had been through a small part of the abyss of perversion, whose depths can be frightening, and had, of necessity, assumed the role of my sexual educator. Furthermore, I found her excuse that she did not want to hurt Edgar by summarily dismissing him in the same manner I hurt her, difficult to believe. I did not think it was in the nature of woman to stick to a man out of pity.
She came in, my unlikely enchantress, smiling, and threw off her robe. She went to the sink and brushed her teeth with my wet toothbrush. The light was on. We never switched it off in that moment of frenzy when irresistible urges fused us together. I feasted my eyes on a body that inexplicably fascinated me. Inexplicably, because it was not even an approximation of the normal full-bodied figure that is considered sexy. The face, delicate and refined matched its fragile adolescence. The blue eyes had a rare radiance which could not be ignored and her expression cheerful and not a bit sleepy. Shall I put out the light? she asked. No, I said, we have to talk. Oh, George, don’t spoil our wonderful mood. I’ve washed myself and I’m squeaky clean. You can lick me wherever you want. Her smile was coquettish. She sat beside me momentarily and I could smell the soap she used and the toothpaste on her breath as she bent to kiss me in a deep, exploring kiss before her tongue licked my lips, my nose and burrowed in my ear. I laughed at these crafty maneuvers to put me off our talk. Diana, listen to me. For once I am sure you love me, I said determined to thrash it out. She was startled and looked at me. Are you that obtuse? she asked with a laugh. Yes, my dear, perhaps I am because I have not had much experience in life and what little I had was from books. And though I have read of courtesans and messalinas who played around with many men at a time, I have not read of a lovely, normal, educated and loveable girl with two lovers. It troubles me, you know, because so long as I was unsure of your real feelings I assumed this was a possibility. But a while ago I really believed not just that you loved me but that you were in love with me. I just cannot understand your psychology. I have no desire to disparage Edgar nor to demand that you stop seeing him. I just need to know what is going on in your mind.
Diana did not answer. A glimmer of annoyance appeared on her face and disappeared. She kissed me passionately. She took my hand and put it between her opened legs. This is where a woman likes to be rubbed, she said, but gently, gently, and preferably with a wet finger or a tongue. It is where female feeling is mostly concentrated. Saliva is a very good and handy lubricant. You can do the same on my behind. Will you lick me a little, my darling? You mean sixty-nine? I asked. No, sixty-nine is very nice but distracts from the full sensation because you are occupied at the same time in pleasuring your partner. No, just a little licking of my cunt. Gosh, Diana, I joked, that terrible word again. She laughed. Nothing is terrible in lovemaking except selfishness and hurting your partner. The scientific word is cunnilingus, by the way. It has been known and studied for centuries by oriental sages and courtesans in the past and normal, educated English girls in our time. Get up, George, and get on your knees on the floor. She turned around diagonally on the bed and opened her legs. Her surrender, her vulnerability and her need were touching. So was the fascinating spectacle she offered me. She guided me step by step to her desire, her preferences, her sensuality, enjoyment and gratification. Which were mine as well. And I learnt a basic lesson from my beloved Diana, that half the pleasure one derives from lovemaking is the pleasure one gives. After a while and much sighing and moaning we exchanged roles and her competence in the art of fellatio was remarkable. I had no previous experience to compare it with but I doubt if there could be one iota of improvement. While at it she fitted me with a Durex and we went on to a long-drawn session of sociable lovemaking with talk and experimentation and witticisms and pauses until in utter exhaustion we finally reached our orgasm.
She came to it on her own after a short rest. I thought she had gone to sleep and got up to turn off the light and she asked me to turn on the bedside lamp. It is such a difficult decision, George. What is? I asked. Leaving Edgar. It is not just the gratitude that I owe him for delivering me from virtual depression and not even my feelings which inevitably arise towards a person with whom one is intimate. I mean with whom you have had sexual intercourse for some time. I am a sensual person, or is that not apparent, she said laughing, and much of it I enjoyed. Even the masochistic practices he often needed to get aroused and reach orgasm were to a certain extent acceptable because I saw the need he had for them. They brought a strange sort of variety to our sex. All that was okay. However, I was never in love with him. I have to use a word you dislike, George, to express a sort of affection and concern for him. Yes, I was fond of him. I saw his life leading nowhere with his painting which I did not rightly appreciate or understand and his stubbornness to persist with it where he might perhaps have taken some other path or profession in his life. Like Reginald he had this idea that because of his art he was a superior person, an intellectual. But just knowing his friends and the people he frequented one could not fail to see what a self-delusion this was. His friends were time-wasters, empty-headed, football-loving louts. She laughed. My father is a football nut but, I daresay, he’s not a lout. I mean, everything was disheartening, the sleazy clubs he frequented in Soho, the parties he went to where you would not doubt the level of degradation with all the drinking that went on, the deafening music and pitiful girls who would go with anybody for the asking. What more can I tell you?
You can tell me, I said, what you propose to do about it. Listen, George, I hope you’ll believe me when I say I never told him or hinted a thing about you. I refrained because he is unpredictable and I did not know how he would react. These last few weeks I have been steadily distancing myself from him. I have not gone to any of the parties where he asked me to go. I told him they were degrading and we are quarreling because of that much more often than before. I ask him why he requires my presence when he can have any one of the girls there. I hope in this way a break will come naturally and not cause him the kind of depression he rescued me from. Come on Diana, I said, I cannot believe that our sensitive Edgar will founder in any sort of depression. She looked at me annoyed. Perhaps you know him better than I do, she retorted. In any case, George, I already told you and I give you my word that by the time you return from Egypt, I shall be through with him. Won’t you miss the kinky stuff? I asked. Sometimes, I tend to say things that are better left unsaid. Comments and jokes that have second meanings that I neither intended nor thought about. She looked at me with a questioning smile. Are you teasing me or are you being nasty? she asked. If you want an estimate, I said, it’s three quarters teasing and a quarter malice and if you are addicted perhaps I can help with the perversion, I taunted. Oh yes? she asked with a smile. You think so? Shall we give it a try? Why not? I said. Okay, here’s a sample. I shall ask you to tell me you love me, and you have to answer, yes mistress. As many times as you can stand it.
I was really curious. Diana stood up on her knees and straddled me at the level of my stomach. She looked at me with an ironic smile. Ready? She asked. I said, yes. Okay, tell me you love me, she commanded in a loud voice. Yes mistress, I love you, I said. A terrific slap landed on my left cheek. She gave me no time to recover. Do you love me, slave? she asked viciously pulling my hair. Yes mistress, I love you, I said again. A slap with all the strength of her left hand landed on my right cheek. Tears started welling in my eyes. Tell me you love me, punk, she cried pulling my face by the ears to her mouth for a savage kiss. Yes, mistress, I love you, I said for the third time and received another resounding slap. Hey, that’s enough, Diana, I cried. Okay, then, we have other little games we can try. Would you prefer me to sit bare-bottomed as I am on your face until you suffocate or shall I bring along a strap-on dildo next time to sodomize you? Or maybe a length of rope to tie you up and torture you a little? she said laughing. I wiped my eyes. Is my baby crying? she cooed softly and bent to kiss me tenderly on the lips. I’m not crying, I said annoyed. My eyes just watered from the blows. But I am shocked. You’re a tough cookie, old girl, and tell me if I’m wrong, but I think you enjoyed it. No, George, not with you. She was my darling Diana, again. With him, then? I asked. Not even with him but he needed it to get aroused. These are the unfathomable depths of the human psyche and, believe it or not, I feel richer for the experience. And stronger. She stretched next to me, hugged me and we kissed tenderly. I love you, George. There’s no one else for me. Let’s go to sleep, she said, it’s already past three. I switched off the bedside lamp and felt complete with her naked body next to mine.
We woke up at nine, again with the bang of Omar’s door. We kissed and smiled and I told her it was the start of Omar’s two-day deprivation syndrome. That bang said it all. It was louder and worse tempered than usual. She kissed me and said, aren’t we lucky to be together? Shall I get up and brush my teeth? In a while, I said, we have more urgent business and your breath is as sweet as your smile. We made love, merrily, playfully, with increasing compatibility and knowledge of our quirks and needs, and then got up to what was by now a Saturday morning routine. Toilet, brushing of teeth and dressing, in between caresses and kisses. I kept checking the weather from my window. The day was cloudy and gray, more dusk than midday, with a continuous drizzle that would not stop. We went down, nevertheless, to Lyons at South Kensington with the partial shelter my umbrella provided for two persons. It was an unusually harmonious breakfast. Most of our differences alleviated to a certain extent. Not entirely adequate for me but at least with the belief that Diana did love me. That she would break out of the psychological incarceration of pity and sense of responsibility towards a person who helped her when she needed help. We talked between the mouthfuls of eggs and toast and the sipping of tea. Her appetite was healthy. She was one of those people who remain slim irrespective of the amount of food they consume. I asked her whether her father would inquire where she spent the night. She said her mother would probably tell him vaguely, with her boyfriend. I told her I felt proud to be the holder of that title and she looked at me and attempted to smile with her mouth full. But ordinarily, she said after swallowing her food, I don’t think he would ask. When I lived with him in Paris, I often stayed overnight at Reggie’s and he never interfered. For him, I was over eighteen and a responsible adult. As for us Middle Easterners, I said, we are still children to our parents even after we are married.
It was still raining when we left Lyons. Our Saturday walk annulled. We walked to the bus stop in the wet streets and reduced traffic. Most of the shops were open for business but the clientele was missing. Even the two small supermarkets that tend to be crowded on Saturdays. Only the betting shops were buzzing with optimistic losers. Despite our huddling closely under the umbrella we could not avoid getting wet at our uncovered edges. We waited for the bus in a comparatively waterproof embrace and when the bus was in sight I urged her to take the umbrella but she refused saying the bus stopped quite near her house and she would make a dash for it whereas I had a long way to walk back home. We kissed and she said good bye my complaisant lover. I love you very much. We kept on waving like little children until the bus went out of sight. With the usual sense of loss, I started walking home. I thought of Annie. I should be going to her to help her pack but was too exhausted. I went to my room, flopped on the bed in my slightly wet street clothes and slept.
I went to Annie later, as soon as I woke up. The rain had stopped and the sky’s gloom brightened somewhat. My nap dispelled to some extent the hollow feeling of Diana’s absence but another void was looming, Annie’s departure. In a way, our pending separation, after the linkage of a lifetime, was a new and intricate element in our lives. It was an interdependence that strangely enough was loose but solid. The responsibility I felt for her and her dependence on me drew us very close without necessarily the constant physical proximity. Each led a quasi-independent existence and there were days we did not see each other but not a moment when she was absent from my consciousness. I climbed the stairs and knocked at her door. She opened with her hair disheveled and the room in a mess. Two large suitcases lay opened on her bed, and clothing and shoes were strewn on the table, armchairs and floor. Hello, darling, she told me smiling. I kissed her. It was the first time she called me darling and it touched me. Come in, I’m almost finished. Almost finished? It looks as if you’re just beginning, I said. Yes, yes, almost finished. Most of the things I want are packed. Much of what you see will be thrown away. A smile. By you, if you don’t mind. Fine, but have you had lunch? I asked. Not yet, she said. Then comb your hair and let’s go down for a bite.
We walked to South Kensington and entered Barino’s. It was past two and the place was practically full but mostly for coffees and chats at this hour. A commotion of voices and laughter and the movement of waitresses delivering orders and removing cups and saucers of people that left. Englishmen unlike people in southern Europe and the Middle East, have an early light lunch and an early dinner. They are frugal consumers of their less than tasty cuisine and are trim and sprightly in contrast with their overweight, thick-waisted counterparts abroad. We found an empty table and ordered Barino’s specialty, a meat and sauce dish with boiled potatoes and the accompanying bad habit of a coke. I looked at her and as I always did, thought what a lovely girl she was. Not excessively beautiful but very, very attractive. So, I said, we have come to a turning point in our lives. Yours and mine. I never thought I would miss you so much but I shall. In fact, I feel the sense of privation even now, before your departure. She smiled cheerfully. Always the sensible, balanced person. Are you reconciled with this marriage? I asked. Yes, it is the only subsequent rational step I can take in my life. It is almost my fate. Oh for heaven’s sake don’t use the word fate, I said. You have a choice. What choice? The dream of finding a young, rich, good looking man to fall in love with and live happily ever after? Tasos is as close to it as I can get. Waiting for the prince might never happen. I will live a good life with him and build a family and children. You did like him didn’t you, George? He’s nice, polite, educated and he seems to love me. I haven’t met his family, of course, but his career will keep us away from them and that’s an advantage. And then, a woman, unlike a man, cannot wait too long. As the years go by, her field of available choices shrinks and after rejecting one option, the next will probably be worse. I never considered being a career woman. We grew up in a happy family and that’s what I want to create. Good, Annie, I said, you put my mind at rest. How are you getting on with Diana? she asked. Oh, much, much better. We have reached a temporary modus vivendi. She promised to sever her relationship with Edgar soon. Annie smiled. I hope so, she said. She came to say good bye the day before yesterday and told me she was in love with you. Funny that this relationship went through all these convolutions.
We left Barino’s after a cappuccino and walked back to her room. While she continued packing her things I made several trips to the bin in the street below and threw unwanted clothes, underwear, old shoes, slippers, notebooks, drawings and diagrams. She left for the next tenant her plates, glasses, and cutlery duly washed, her bibelots and the painting reproductions on the walls. A small part of a life had ended. But life goes on and a new tenant would soon amuse the walls of the room, if only they had eyes and ears. By eight we had finished and sat on the armchairs for a little television. I would have to return it to the rental shop Monday morning and consign the room to the landlady. An hour later my eyelids felt heavy and I kissed Annie and returned home. Omar was not in his room but even if he were I would not have tried to see him. I did not know in what sort of a mood I would find him. Next day bright and early I helped Annie bring down her suitcases, found a cabbie and we drove to the West London Air Terminal on Cromwell Road. She checked in and half an hour later I kissed her good bye as she boarded the bus for the airport. I shall be there at your wedding, I told her to cheer her up because she was crying after hugging me tightly. Good bye my lovely, sensible Annie and good luck.
I returned home totally depressed. I never imagined my sadness at Annie’s departure would be so extreme. All through our life we were never intimate. Our natures and personalities differed. She was tenderly feminine, sentimental, and quietly but resolutely sociable with an affinity towards romantic attachments with boys her age or slightly older. It was never very clear to me where her interest lay at any particular moment for there were always boys lurking in the background, many of them my friends and classmates and in their absence, during our summer holidays, a handsome young fellow would, more often than not, materialize at her side. Since I was at the bottom end of the sociability scale our progression through adolescence was a mutually tolerant separation of activities and hence of limited intimacy. To her credit she tried to integrate me many a time in groups where she was an unassuming eminence grise but her sisterly efforts confronted an impregnable castle of shyness. Consequently, I should perhaps not have been so utterly shocked when Omar told me that she was not a virgin. But I was. At that instant I felt an instinctive, culturally derived shock and distress that in a very short time turned to admiration. She had dared this sixteen, or seventeen, or eighteen year-old girl to defy the community taboo and seek her need, her pleasure without their permission. And she had done it while maintaining her esteem and self-respect with her friends. This and the rest of her qualities, optimism, good humor, a realistic outlook on life, tenderness towards me, all this, I came appreciate during these two years in London and this Sunday, an hour after her departure, an hour after she cried because she was leaving me, or, why not, perhaps for some other reason, I missed her awfully.
I tried to read Schultz but even his mad antics could not cheer me up. I certainly could not read texts on government or political philosophy and did not even try. I just lay back on my bed which still had the faint odor of bodies and sweat, of lovemaking and D