Julia

The evening takes the faintly lit room in its lazy embrace. Julia has just finished washing her body under the shower. It seems even paler than usual against the backdrop of brightly coloured towels hanging in the bathroom. She rubs in some aromatic oil and looks at her face in the mirror, lost in thought. The sound of an engine starting can be heard through the open window. He is waiting in bed. Julia is rubbing the oil into her dry skin. Slowly. Her skin greedily devours the greasy drops of oil. It is white. Like a china bowl, Julia thinks. He is lying in bed. Waiting. The sound of the car fades away. Julia lingers in the bathroom longer than necessary. She takes too long to comb the wet black hair that falls onto her shoulders. The hair feels cool. It sticks to her skin as if wanting to kiss her. With a pensive look she pulls the comb rhythmically, untangling the hair that got tousled as she washed it. The comb makes a sound. A rustling, whistling sound. He is waiting. Lying in bed. Julia hopes he will fall asleep. She is applying anti-wrinkle cream to her face. Against the past. Against time. Against the inevitability of aging. Very slowly. She hopes he will fall asleep.

Julia, he calls out. Why are you taking so long? She gives a start. She puts the comb down and twists her hair into a huge knot. I’ve knotted my head, it flashes through her mind as she turns off the bathroom light. She is naked. The tiny pubic hairs between her legs are breathing cleanliness. Her bare feet pitter-patter on the cool lino. She crosses the room lit by a single small light in one corner. Her white body floats above the rug. She looks like a ghost. I’m coming, she says. I did promise, she tells herself. They haven’t made love for three months but to her it seems like an eternity since they last did. Have they, in fact, ever made love? Slowly she approaches the bed, cautiously placing her feet on the rug like an animal nearing a trap. He is naked, too. Julia studies his big dark body, the chest hair, the curved toenails and the scar on his knee. She doesn’t look at his face. Julia, he says, reaching out his hand to her. She hesitates. Standing by the bed she examines the little cushions of his palm. They are white. Like her body. As if her body had painted his hands. I did promise, she thinks, and the thought forces her to sit down on the edge of the bed.

His breathing is heavy. Julia feels his glance touch her back, move along her spine and stop at her bottom. You are beautiful, he says. She examines her white arms casually. It’s been a while since we made love. An eternity, Julia thinks. He leans towards her. Slowly. Julia feels as if a shadow were approaching her. A large bird of prey. She starts to shiver and her alabaster skin comes out in goosepimples. You’re freezing, he says and Julia can tell from his voice that he is turned on. He is right by her side. Shivers run down her spine. He sniffs Julia’s back, taking his time. She feels his nostrils inhaling her like some enormous vacuum cleaner, siphoning off bits of her skin and the scent of soap. She feels as if he’s going to snuff her out. She is still sitting on the edge of the bed. He cups her breasts in his hands. Impatiently. He squeezes them with his huge hands. As if he were squeezing out a lemon, she thinks. Her breasts look helpless in his hands. Taken aback. They don’t know what expression to make. Julia looks at his face. It is filled with excitement, it’s burning with excitement. Like a pot of milk that has boiled over. She has promised him. Paralysis grips her for a second. An animal caught in a trap.

He lays her on the bed gently. She feels as if she were falling off a cliff. She’s trying to save herself. To find something firm to hold on to. There’s something I’ve got to tell you, she says hurriedly. Something I saw today when I went shopping, Julia whispers. An animal trying to escape from the trap. Later, he whispers back, and Julia can feel the first kisses showering her belly. They are hot. Like boiling oil. They run, creating a thick film over her body. A film that prevents her from feeling anything. What I saw… says Julia. Later, later, he says, covering her mouth with one hand and spreading her legs apart. She doesn’t feel anything. She can only hear. Hear his grunting, smacking, savouring. Greedily, getting his fill of her taste. Of the void inside her. Julia tilts her head back. Her eyes check the books on the bookshelf. All meticulously sorted. They are covered in dust. When I went shopping I saw… Julia whispers.

He doesn’t hear. Deliriously he is groping the thin skin of her pink genitals. He’s trying to penetrate her crotch, set it on fire. Burn through it. She rasps. Does it feel good? he asks but Julia doesn’t reply. I did promise, she tells herself.

Julia doesn’t feel anything. She is looking. At the books. The dust. She lets him turn her body around, lets him do as he pleases. She did promise. She lets him penetrate her. Images flash through her head. Such as the painting she saw on the wall of a ground floor flat. On her way to the shops. A curtain on the window moved aside for a moment and she saw the painting as she walked past with her shopping bag. The picture showed a large red eyeball in a glass. She didn’t have time to look at it. Not properly. The painting was covered by the curtain. Now it has surfaced in her memory. She has plenty of time to examine every detail in her mind. The blood-red eye. The fine veins in the white of the eye. The eyelashes. The desperate way the eye was staring through the glass. She’s got plenty of time. Meanwhile he’s riding her body. Really hard. A wet cliff.

As her memory traces the infinitely black pupil of the eye, the sound emanating from his throat tells her that he has climaxed. The wet cliff has fallen off her. Julia, oh Julia, he gasps. He’s lying next to her white body. Well, I did promise, didn’t I, she thinks. Julia sits up, the image of the eye vanishes. She can no longer recall it. They are silent. He raises himself to light a cigarette. They are silent. The voice of a drunk coming home from the pub can be heard through the open window. He is smiling. With contempt, it seems to Julia. So what was it you saw on your way to the shops? he asks in a normal, unexcited male voice. Julia remains silent. She is trying to go back to the picture but her memory can no longer conjure up any part of it. Later, she says, it’s not important now.

He flicks his ashes into an ashtray and says: We forgot to turn the light off. Somebody might have seen us. Julia shakes her head. The curtains hide everything, she says and goes to the kitchen to get herself a glass of water. Looking at her bare shoulders he draws on the cigarette. What is it, Julia? he says, pretending to try to understand her silence. Nothing, she replies and takes a sip of water. There is no eye in the glass. Nothing, she says again, just water. He sighs. A long, protracted sigh. The sigh sounds like the sea hitting a cliff. You’re my wife, Julia, these things are normal, he says, trying to interrupt the silence. She says nothing. She watches the water in the glass. The surface of the water quivers along with her trembling fingers. She raises the glass and looks at it against the light. She spots his eye in it. It is brown. I know, says Julia and tips the remaining water into a plant pot. I know everything, she says.

They are silent again. He puts out his cigarette and starts reading a magazine. It has a big red car on the cover.

On the way to the shops I saw a picture in a window, she says. Hmm, he says, and keeps reading. But I guess it’s not important, says Julia, casting a questioning look at her husband in bed. Hmm, he says, without raising his eyes from the magazine. Julia strokes her brow. Small beads of sweat stick to her hand. She pauses in surprise. What is it? he says, giving Julia a bored look. Nothing, she replies. Nothing, that’s the point, says Julia, wiping the dust off the books with her fingers. The voice of the drunk coming home from the pub can still be heard through the open window. Exhausted, Julia finishes dusting the books and wipes her hands on the white curtain.