These Blenches Gave My Heart
Life is fair I must confess. I am indebted to Erika Amor for the years 1946 and 1947 which were marked by the full flowering of the fairness. It can be expressed thus—that she did not imagine me a shy person, determined not to disobey. I had an idea she liked me and I chose her.
Her father said, “Stay with my daughter.”
I agreed to, not impolitely. Lots of times it was a pleasure to be with her and I was frightened. (Some days they tell you what you said and that makes the blood flow out of your face so that all of the color goes out of your face.)
She accepted a glass of liquid and I took her to the window where she talked.
“Bring me the towel,” I said. “You can lie down here instead of there.”
Arms folded up over her torso—being thoroughly stretched through the torso—her hips are stuck. Her hips roll finally. From the excitement I rub her under-lip. I spank the girl flat. She is near now.
The green chair under the phone?—that was hers and the dark wood chair under the window?—that was hers—untouched by the sex, the ax.
Across the way is a cozy Hungarian restaurant with its Kugelhopfs and sausages and The Roving Finger Barber Shop which has been there since 1930. Much of the shop is going to be demolished to make way for Malaysian Crafts.
I feel that my only big problem over the past year has been to trim myself with enough devils, beautiful women, owls, and hooded figures that will be of more interest than anything else I can make clear. Blank.