The attorney rested his patience in the palm of his hand. Time was stretching on, the consultation had already exceeded its actual worth. He turned his head back to the woman seated in front of him. He’d stopped listening to her minutes ago. His distraction focused on the woman’s legs, which she crossed and uncrossed. They had too much flesh for so little clothing. Resigned, the advocate returned to his duties as listener. The woman put forth her reasons for having left her husband.
—My husband snores.
—And that’s a reason? There are more people in the world snoring than sleeping.
—Yes, mister attorney, sir. But this husband of mine snores backwards.
—Snores backwards?
—Yeah, he only snores when he’s awake.
The attorney thought to himself: here is a woman of piss and vinegar. And he asked for more information, a firmer foundation. But his client continually wandered back to a story as useless as glasses in the hands of a blind man.
—Now you look closely at me here, sir. You think I’ve gone senile? No, no—you don’t have to answer that. The answer is clear as can be, it’s in your eyes, mister attorney, sir. But this husband of mine is a big old soul. If you’d only seen him: towering, broad-reaching. But only from the neck up. Because on the lower levels, from the waist down …
—I’m sorry, Miss. But these details …
—Details? It’s exactly these details that result in children! You’ll excuse me for saying so, sir, but you, sir, were born on account of a detail, mister attorney, sir … Intimacy doesn’t intimidate me. We only call it trash because the smell twists our nostrils. But getting back to my husband, before the trail goes cold. If only you knew what a little Casanova he was. Night never fell, mister attorney, sir. How did he become like this? I’ve spent years asking myself, mister attorney, sir. You know what he says? That I don’t turn him on because I spend my whole life crying. Now you tell me, is that a reason? Sure, it’s true, I really do enjoy a good cry. I can’t go a single day without spilling a little bit. But, for him, my former-ex-husband, this never used to be a problem. Before, he would clamber all over me, he never once slipped on my tears. It’s only recently that he stopped visiting my body. And you know why? You know why he suddenly stopped? It was because he kissed me with his eyes closed. Yes, that’s it, he would kiss me with his eyes shut tight. You, mister attorney, sir, you’ll forgive the intrusion, but how is it that you kiss?
—How do I kiss? What sort of question …
—Don’t tell me that you haven’t been kissing, mister attorney, sir … Don’t respond if you don’t want to. But you, sir, know as well as anybody: a man can’t ever kiss with his eyes closed.
—I know what it is they say about this, that you lose your way and your soul, that sort of thing … But I don’t worry about such things. In fact, I don’t close my eyes.
—And don’t you ever start, mister attorney, sir. If you do, there’s no way back.
The doctor of jurisprudence turned his attention back to the elegance with which the woman crossed and uncrossed her legs in her chair. The woman, all of a sudden, grew quiet. And stayed that way, on pause. Later, she scooted her chair closer to him and whispered:
—Now, mister attorney, sir. Don’t you start covering for my husband. Don’t be a devil of an advocate …
—It’s backward, miss.
—Backward? We’ll see about that later. You know something, mister attorney, sir, I’ve been watching your eyes. Do you cry much, sir?
—Me? Cry?
—Yes, there’s no shame in it. Tell me.
And, having said this, she got up from her seat and sat on his desk. Her knees brushed up against the responsible attorney. The woman passed her fingers along his face and said:
—I’ll bet you don’t know how to have a proper cry, doctor. There’s a certain technique to it, you know. I’m quite an expert on the subject. I’m a graduate in sadnesses, I’ve done all the coursework. Suffering—what’s suffering? Suffering is a road: you walk along it, forwards along its endless distance, to reach another side. This other side is a part of ourselves that we’ve never known. I, for example, I’ve already travelled far and wide within myself …
The woman hopped down off the desk and made a spot for herself on the attorney’s lap. The man, knowing he was in the wrong, didn’t do a thing. He seemed to abandon himself to her. The woman continued her advances.
—I’m going to give you a crash course in crying. Don’t make that face. Men cry, yes, they do. They just have their own way of doing it. I’m going to teach you how to get the tears flowing.
—But miss, in all honesty …
—In all honesty, in all honesty. Listen up, learn something. There’s no reason to be ashamed. First, do the following: gather up not that most recent and justified reason for sadness. It’s not healthy to cry out each heartache one at a time. Each time we cry, we need to cry over every heartache from every life we’ve ever lived. We have to summon old wounds, bundle together every disappointment we’ve ever had. As if we were constructing a dike to stop the flow of water. Here, see what I mean? Let me rest my hand on your chest. Come on. Unbutton your shirt, mister attorney, sir. Yes, right here. This is where all the rivers and their tributaries are going to swell until there’s a flood. Suddenly, you’re going to see, mister attorney, sir: everything bursts and the waters gush forth. Crying is a moment of torrid passion: when we finish, we’re tired, like our bodies after making love.
The well-behaved lawman had already lain down lower than the sunset. His tie, unhoisted, danced in his client’s hand. Inexplicably, one of his client’s shoes rested atop the computer. The woman saw to the jurist’s horizontality.
—Tell me, mister attorney, sir: would you like to cry with me now? Now, there’s no reason to be afraid. And there’s another, second commandment in the sobbing arts. You should never cry alone. It’s very bad, it’s harmful to your sadness. Crying alone invites evil spirits. If you want to shed a tear then cry together with someone else, two souls in tune.
She pulled his face towards her half-bared breasts. She herself unbuttoned her shirt even further. She felt the attorney’s damp lips on her breast. But more than that, she felt his tears, abundant waters flowing forth. His tears were so large that they tingled as they ran down her body, tickling her. The two of them proceeded to follow the law that demanded that each body be a cup: turn it over and it spills across the floor. The two of them, were their lives to end at that moment, could be said to be not in an immoral but an immortal position.
And that’s the scene upon which, to her great shock, the attorney’s secretary opened his office door. The jurist and his client, in each other’s arms, the two of them spilling tears everywhere. Why they were gushing tears as though a dam had broken, the secretary didn’t understand. What astounded her most was seeing the way the doctor kissed: his eyes shut, closed tighter than the door the secretary shut to separate herself from that shocking scene.