No Wesley! Not Paco. Not Paco. Not Paco. The plaster wall next to the loft bed said not Paco. The cramped space between his matrass and the ceiling whispered not Paco. His breath, quickened by nightmares he’d forgotten, begged not Paco. The memory of an infuriated Wesley emerged in front of the wall. “Yes, just like you were! Paco wants me to rape him. He’s begging for it.” Despite the fact that Wesley spoke English instead of Dutch, because Paco was there, and despite the fact that there was not an ounce of regret in Wesley’s aggressive attitude, Lars was relieved that his secret was out. Rape. It even had a name. A name spoken out loud in the kitchen of the old student house, heard by him, by Wesley, and by Paco, who was sitting on the kitchen bench in a high closed red dress with cut sleeves. With his sculpted lean arms he was a striking Michelle Obama imitation. [...]
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Een klein opgewonden vlekje in de fuchsia string. Ik lach ernaar terwijl ik plas, en maak vellen wc papier nat onder de kraan. Met mijn adem in dep ik ijskoud de binnenste schaamlippen en het gladde vocht rond de ingang. Gebonk op het raam naar de tuin. Twee handen vormen een figuur tegen het gebobbelde ondoorzichtige glas. “ Hartje!” roept Valentijn. Ik hoor de sigaret die tussen zijn lippen wiebelt. [...] “Don’t introduce a new character unless you know how the story ends.” It is not uncommon for new dates to curiously inform if they are going to make it to my blog. Samuel was even disappointed I didn’t mold our failed affair, or perfect one-night-bliss depending on how you look at it, into a steamy erotic story. And Feline too, must have known I would write about her one day. We just never thought it would be under such stressful circumstances. [...] Niet Paco. Niet Paco. Niet Paco. De gipswand naast zijn hoogslaper zei Niet Paco. De benauwde meter tussen het bed en het plafond zweeg Niet Paco. Zijn adem, snel en gejaagd van nachtmerries die hij was vergeten, smeekte Niet Paco. De woedende arrogante kop van Wesley doemde op voor de muur. “Yes, just like you were ! Paco wants me to rape him. He’s begging for it.” [...] At the sound of the door, two small shadows make their way towards us. “ Ah! You’re a cat woman.” Samuel’s big sweater fills my tiny hall. He places a messenger bag onto the saddle of my bicycle. He squats down, big fingers plucking through the white fur. “That one is diabetic,” A wide smile crosses his face. “So was mine! You give it insulin too?” [...] |
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Copyright 2011 L.S. Harteveld. Design by AlfaBetty, code by Valentijn |
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