The 1st Deadly Sin

Part VI
1

“I didn’t want him to suffer,” he said earnestly, showing her Bernard Gilbert’s ID card. “Really I didn’t.”

“He didn’t suffer, dear,” she murmured, stroking his cheek. “He was unconscious, in a coma.”

“But I wanted him to be happy!” Daniel Blank cried.

“Of course,” she soothed. “I understand.”

He had waited for Gilbert’s death before he had run to Celia, just as he had run to her after Lombard’s death. But this time was different. He felt a sense of estrangement, withdrawal. It seemed to him that he no longer needed her, her advice, her lectures. He wanted to savor in solitude what he had done. She said she understood, but of course she didn’t. How could she?

They were naked in the dreadful room, dust everywhere, the silent house hovering about them. He thought he might be potent with her, wasn’t sure, didn’t care. It was of no importance.

“The mistake was in coming from in front,” he said thoughtfully. “Perhaps the skull is stronger there, or the brain not as frail, but he fell back, and he lived for four days. I won’t do that again. I don’t want anyone to suffer.”

“But you saw his eyes?” she asked softly.

“Oh yes.”

“What did you see?”

“Surprise. Shock. Recognition. Realization. And then, at the final moment, something else…”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure. Acceptance, I think. And a kind of knowing calm. It’s hard to explain.”

“Oh!” she said. “Oh yes! Finitude. That’s what we’re all looking for, isn’t it? The last word. Completion. Catholicism or Zen or Communism or Meaninglessness. Whatever. But Dan, isn’t it true we need it? We all need it, and will abase ourselves or enslave others to find it. But is it one for all of us, or one for each of us? Isn’t that the question? I think it’s one absolute for all, but I think the paths differ, and each must find his own way. Did I ever tell you what a beautiful body you have, darling?”

As she spoke she had been touching him softly, arousing him slowly.

“Have you shaved a little here? And here?”

“What?” he asked vaguely, drugged by her caresses. “I don’t remember. I may have.”

“Here you’re silk, oiled silk. I love the way your ribs and hip bones press through your skin, the deep curve from chest to waist, and then the flare of your hips. You’re so strong and hard, so soft and yielding. Look how long your arms are, and how wide your shoulders. And still, nipples like buds and your sweet, smooth ass. How dear your flesh is to me. Oh!”

She murmured, still touching him, and almost against his will he responded and moved against her. Then he lay on his back, pulled her over atop him, spread his legs, raised his knees.

“How lovely if you could come into me,” he whispered and, knowing, she made the movements he desired. “If you had a penis, too…Or better yet, if we both had both penis and vagina. What an improvement on God’s design! So that we both might be inside each other, simultaneously, penetrating. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

“Oh yes,” she breathed. “Wonderful.”

He held her weight down onto him, calling her “Darling” and “Honey” and saying, “Oh love, you feel so good,” and it seemed to him the fabric of his life, like a linen handkerchief laundered too often, was simply shredding apart. Not rotting, but pulling into individual threads; light was coming through.

In her exertions, sweat dripped from her unshaven armpits onto his shoulders; he turned his head to lick it up, tasting salty life.

“Will you kill someone for me?” she gasped.

He pulled her down tighter, elevating his hips, linking his ankles around her slender back.

“Of course not,” he told her. “That would spoil everything.”