Section Sixteen
Voices screamed and voices blared as cheery threats were yelled from a passing car. She looked back. Two youths were waving from the open windows of a car. Thankfully, it was still moving. She realised that she had walked some distance. The Castel dell' Ovo looked like it had risen a foot or so more from some swamp.
She stopped, and sat down side-saddle on the sea-wall, long legs crossed, blue-jeaned in mufti, comfortable. She felt hot. Angry-hot. She looked down at the boulders. Cats had crawled out to hunt there: cats and rats - a mutant menagerie of stalkers. She turned to face away from the sea. Lovers, a pair on either side of her, snuggled up against the sea wall. They seemed to reincarnate lovers from the past, seemed to conjure up new scenarios from snapshot conversations at coffee-kiosks, seemed to frame her solitariness.
-Oh, I don't believe this place. -So florid. -So ramshackle. -There just aren't any constraints. -There's just no structure. -Still, sign of the times, I suppose. -Spirit of the Age. -Enterprise Culture. -But this place is Enterprise Culture gone mad. -Camorra Enterprise Culture. -Still, what the hell. -Let's go for it. -We're here now.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a hydrofoil returning from who knows where - Ischia? Pròcida? - churning up the sea, streaming back towards safe harbouring.
She pulled out her notebook. Uncapped her pen. Stared at the blank sheet of paper. -Where are you? -I know you're lurking somewhere. -I will not be beaten by this city or this piece of paper. -Come on - speak to me! -Your voice is out there somewhere.
She put her pen down for a while. Gnawed on a patch of thumb. Gazed out to sea. -But it wasn't always like this, was it? She riffled backwards through the notebook.
Notebook
But - finally - one time it's not like that. One time, we go to his place. Old Victorian house, converted into flats. He invites me in for a coffee even though he's already said he doesn't normally drink it at night. Too much caffeine. Doesn't sleep too well. Wouldn't have stopped him that first night, though!
It is dark. Dangerously dark. He fumbles with the key in the gloom.
I want to get him in me. He thinks he's got some political manoeuvring to do to get me where he wants me but in truth all the manoeuvring he has to do is physical once he's got me where I want him. He continues to fumble in the lock. I slide a couple of fingers down my pants there in the street. I am soaking wet.
He finally gets it open. I twang back into a state of proper dress. He gestures me forward. Points up the stairs. I can feel him looking up my skirt. He follows me. Catches me up at the landing. It is chilly enough to see your breath but he is so close, I daren't even shiver. We step down to the plastic-tiled kitchen.
"Coffee?"
"John, I don't want coffee. I want to fuck you! And that's what you want to do, too." I can hardly believe my own ears. Did I really say that? He looks dumbstruck. Gobsmacked. He puts down the kettle and moves towards me.
It is dark. Dangerously dark.
I wake up blurred but certain. Now I'm for it.
She stopped, and sat down side-saddle on the sea-wall, long legs crossed, blue-jeaned in mufti, comfortable. She felt hot. Angry-hot. She looked down at the boulders. Cats had crawled out to hunt there: cats and rats - a mutant menagerie of stalkers. She turned to face away from the sea. Lovers, a pair on either side of her, snuggled up against the sea wall. They seemed to reincarnate lovers from the past, seemed to conjure up new scenarios from snapshot conversations at coffee-kiosks, seemed to frame her solitariness.
-Oh, I don't believe this place. -So florid. -So ramshackle. -There just aren't any constraints. -There's just no structure. -Still, sign of the times, I suppose. -Spirit of the Age. -Enterprise Culture. -But this place is Enterprise Culture gone mad. -Camorra Enterprise Culture. -Still, what the hell. -Let's go for it. -We're here now.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a hydrofoil returning from who knows where - Ischia? Pròcida? - churning up the sea, streaming back towards safe harbouring.
She pulled out her notebook. Uncapped her pen. Stared at the blank sheet of paper. -Where are you? -I know you're lurking somewhere. -I will not be beaten by this city or this piece of paper. -Come on - speak to me! -Your voice is out there somewhere.
She put her pen down for a while. Gnawed on a patch of thumb. Gazed out to sea. -But it wasn't always like this, was it? She riffled backwards through the notebook.
Notebook
But - finally - one time it's not like that. One time, we go to his place. Old Victorian house, converted into flats. He invites me in for a coffee even though he's already said he doesn't normally drink it at night. Too much caffeine. Doesn't sleep too well. Wouldn't have stopped him that first night, though!
It is dark. Dangerously dark. He fumbles with the key in the gloom.
I want to get him in me. He thinks he's got some political manoeuvring to do to get me where he wants me but in truth all the manoeuvring he has to do is physical once he's got me where I want him. He continues to fumble in the lock. I slide a couple of fingers down my pants there in the street. I am soaking wet.
He finally gets it open. I twang back into a state of proper dress. He gestures me forward. Points up the stairs. I can feel him looking up my skirt. He follows me. Catches me up at the landing. It is chilly enough to see your breath but he is so close, I daren't even shiver. We step down to the plastic-tiled kitchen.
"Coffee?"
"John, I don't want coffee. I want to fuck you! And that's what you want to do, too." I can hardly believe my own ears. Did I really say that? He looks dumbstruck. Gobsmacked. He puts down the kettle and moves towards me.
It is dark. Dangerously dark.
I wake up blurred but certain. Now I'm for it.
© 2006 by Adrian Benson
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