Baboon

STARRY SKY

She bought oysters and fresh tuna and smoked salmon. She thought she might also like lobster, but changed her mind— she was so perky and rosy-cheeked and the fishmonger was flirting with her — and finally she settled on crab. It was windy and cold, her bicycle accidentally fell over and the fishmonger came running out to pick it up, and on top of this, he loaded all her bags into the bicycle basket; there seemed to be no end to his helpfulness. He smiled and she laughed, he waved enthusiastically when at last she walked off, reeling under the heavy load. She hurried. She dropped her keys. She saw beauty in the most ugly and dejected face. She threw money around: a huge bouquet of lilies, white wine, red wine, liquor, champagne, mangoes, beef, bread and cake from the city's most expensive bakery. She hauled it all home and took a bath. But she didn't stay in long. She was nearly out of her mind in love. She rubbed moisturizer all over herself, did her hair, and made up her face. She put on her new lingerie, ah, lacy and silky, then the dress and the midnight blue high heels, which she could hardly walk in, but she did, she could do anything, and all these objects were so beautifying, precious, cheering, and largely the reason for over-drafting her account.

But there was also the visit to the hair salon, the dance lessons, the copper pot, and the organic duvet. Not to mention the couch and the whole collection of music, purchased to make an impression on him. Him. He came in the late afternoon, and they stood in the entryway for more than half an hour kissing. At last he was sweating so much it was dripping from his hair, he still had his coat and hat on. Finally she unzipped his pants. They rolled around on the floor in the narrow hallway, and he accidentally ripped her dress to shreds pulling it down over her hips. They were about to faint from excitement. But then it was over so quickly, they couldn't control themselves. She moaned with pleasure, the tears streaming down her cheeks. He couldn't stop kissing her face, her shoulders, her small soft fingers.

Then they were hungry. He turned on the light. She was beaming. They drank heavily as they ate one delicious course after another, but it wasn't enough, they were insatiable, it was nearly impossible to wait for the next time—as soon as they got up from the floor or couch or bed they wanted to do it again, and when they couldn't drink any more coffee or wine, or eat another bite — they were almost unhappy that they had to wait until when they could again. .

But what happiness! They couldn't sleep, work, think (except about each other), couldn't eat (except with each other); they had cold sweats and shivered and called each other a minimum of ten times a day. He lost weight. She gained ten pounds. For no apparent reason he came down with three ear infections, she suffered with an itchy rash, then he broke out all over his face, she lost a lot of hair — but none of this worried them, as long as they could rub against each other like a dog humping its owner's leg. They rubbed, they pushed and picked and caressed, they tore and scratched and squeezed, they opened like floodgates and unbelievable, enormous waves poured out of them, an old sorrow, a joy, the actual past surged out, while they lapped up the other's water, letting themselves be flooded, filling themselves with caresses, kisses, and sweet words.

* * *

Now they were really drunk. He fed her whipped cream from the cake. She got a sudden surge of energy, and jumped up to put some music on, shouting, "Now we're going to have gin and tonic!" and they did, she crawled onto his lap, then suddenly he wanted to dance, and this was exciting, they hadn't danced together yet, it was thrilling, a turning point, hot. In the middle of it they had sex again, this time she was bent over the kitchen counter, a large knife fell and pierced the floor an inch from his foot, the back of her head was resting in a little mound of parmesan cheese, his sleeves soaked up tomato sauce from the cutting board. The music blasted from the loudspeakers. She howled, he hummed. The semen ran thick and white down her inner thighs. She wiped some up with her finger and licked it clean. He was overwhelmed by joy and gratitude. Now it was his turn to nearly whimper. He lifted her up and carried her to the bed. They were drunk, she felt like throwing up, he had to pee, but neither of them wanted to spoil such an unforgettable moment, neither wanted to get up and abandon the other. They fell asleep with their shoes on. The next morning they had nasty hangovers. But then it was time for coffee. And that's how it went. Lunch at one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city. More coffee. Then to the movies, holding hands and getting turned on in the dark. Sex in the bathroom of a bar. More coffee. Sleep a little (they didn't sleep). Everything all over again, nonstop, for almost five months.

At work, he sat at his desk staring at the phone. He couldn't concentrate, his colleagues smiled at him, he saw her in every face, heard her in all the pop songs, and whenever he closed his eyes, he saw an image of her head thrown back, her face's violent beauty, her mouth open when the orgasm rolled through her body.

* * *

It ruined them. They didn't care. They bought a house. Then they wanted to go to Spain. Then New York. They drove through Poland on a motorcycle. They got married in Las Vegas. Then they had a child. And just two weeks after the birth, they were at it again, they simply fucked between the baby's feedings, there were no problems with fatigue or sour breast milk, there was only them, wild and giddy, and now, as well, a deep, rapturous love, there was nothing they couldn't do together, the world became a place they could easily conquer, lock, stock, and barrel, no expenses spared, or fear that it would all come apart. They felt transformed and continually reassured each other of it: We have transformed each other, miraculously, and there was no end to the blessings.

* * *

But then, anyway, something happened. He met a man. And that man came closer and closer. Work took them around the country, they were employees in the same firm. It was late summer. They sat in the car listening to music. Closer and closer. All of a sudden his floodgates were opened. It poured. It unfurled. Vague fantasies were thrown into relief. The desire was inevitable. He had never thought that he actually would. But this man would. Then he was suddenly on his knees and took it in, there at the hotel. A starry sky, everything blinking. To be soft like that, almost round, giving, receiving, like a whore, a child, it nearly tore his mind in pieces, and that was exactly what was so good, so deeply, liberatingly good. He was astonished. He felt fulfilled, when he went from him to her, completely liberated, and the opposite direction, completely vital — he could freely shift between being her man (responsible, loving), the child's father (tender, attentive), and then take his lover's cock in his mouth and do everything he's told.

Pure happiness.

* * *

And her. She feels it's just getting better and better between them, and she didn't really understand how it could get any better. She watched with admiration as he dried himself after showering. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. He grabbed her buttocks and sniffed deeply into her hair. They laughed and opened the window so the steam could get out. They went for a walk in the forest. Their child tried to balance on a huge stack of stripped tree trunks. A pheasant ran across the path. It rustled and pulsed on the forest floor; a mild and gray February day. He swung her around, she laughed again. Her hands found their way to his bare back. He kissed her eyes. They were so happy. And for a long time, nearly three years, only better and better; the lover brought a friend, and now there were two men to serve; he was busy, but it was completely worth it. He didn't feel in the least bit guilty. Because she inspired strength in him. They loved each other with such intensity that they could only grow together.

* * *

But then the child saw her father kissing a man in a passageway. She was coming home from preschool with her grandmother. And the child saw that it wasn't a completely ordinary kiss, because her father and the man went on kissing, but the most disturbing part was that the man was holding the nape of her father's neck as if he were pushing him down. The child stood completely still.

In the evening she told her mother, "I saw Daddy kissing a fat man." Her mother laughed. "What kind of nonsense is that?" He was in the kitchen drying the dishes. He froze. "That was probably one of Daddy's friends." Then she tucked the child into bed. He was changing the bulb in the range hood. "Did you hear what she said?" "No, what?" "That she saw you kissing a fat man!" He smiled. "Were you kissing a fat man, honey?" She couldn't stop herself from giggling. He shook his head laughing and began screwing in the bulb. "Kids! It must be some damn Oedipal complex!" They laughed. The bulb lit up white in the range hood. But she became quiet for a moment scraping her nail on the varnish of the counter. She looked at him with tear-filled eyes. "Honey, why are you crying?" He put his arms around her. "Honey, you're crying over nothing?" He stroked her hair. She calmed down, and smelled the pit of his arm: pine forest, earth, warm rain.

* * *

He was more careful. No more kissing in the passageway. New meeting places. But still sex. At least once a week. He was dependent on it, he needed it. But then his lover called it off. He had found someone else and thought that their relationship had dried up. It was hard to hide his disappointment. He laid new flooring in the dining room. That helped. He made love with her frequently. That also helped. Time passed. After awhile their finances were secure. Another baby was born. They helped each other with chores at home, they enjoyed their children, they really made it work. Suddenly, one winter evening, when he was still awake working, it came over him. Strong and burning. He drove downtown and parked outside a bar that he knew from his teenage years. He and his friends would amuse themselves laughing excitedly and with condescension at the leather-clad men coming out of there — now he came out of the dark with a tall, middle-aged man, and went to a nearby club that the man was a member of, they undressed, they washed, they found a place to do it, around them were others doing it, there was panting and a smell of sweat, which made him completely delirious.

* * *

By chance a few years later she finds the midnight blue shoes at the bottom of the closet while looking for something else. There are coffee stains on them. She caresses them smiling. That was the day I bought oysters, and he ripped my fancy dress to shreds. She's naked, rummaging around on a shelf with underwear. It's a big one, and she's happy she has it. He bought it for her, but then realized he also liked having her put it in him. It surprised her, to be doing something like that. That she even enjoyed it. And it had surprised her that he let her do it. But, she thinks shutting the closet door, there is such a connection between us. We're marked by each other. Then she puts the shoes on and looks in the mirror. Still beautiful. Her skin is dull and white in the dim light. He's already lying in bed, settled and ready. "You're so wonderful," he whispers pulling her down to him.