The Princess of Burundi

Five

He felt drawn to the moss peeking out from under the snow. If it had been summer he would have stretched out on it for a little while, taken a short rest. He breathed deeply. Once, twice. She had turned on a lamp in the living room. He was able to catch a few brief glimpses of her.

“I am a forest warrior,” he said aloud.

It was an appealing thought, that he was a creature from outside, approaching the warm windows from the moss and the darkness.

Suddenly a light went on in the bedroom. She was naked from the waist up except for a light-colored bra. She opened the closet, took out a sweater, and pulled it on in a motion so quick that he swore. He wanted to see her. How he had dreamed about those breasts!

She remained in the bedroom, turning this way and that in front of the mirror, making some adjustments. She walked closer to the mirror and leaned forward. He had to do the same in order to keep watching her. The distance from the window to the tree he was hidden behind was around five meters. He sniffed the trunk. A smell of moisture, nothing else.

She turned off the light and left the room. He waited for ten minutes before gingerly approaching the patio and crouching down behind the railing. What was his plan? Indecision caused him to hesitate. He’d thought he had it all figured out, but now that he was here, so close to one of his tormentors, it no longer seemed appealing.

Vincent Hahn felt himself going back twenty-five, thirty years. There had been moments of greatness even then, moments when had he decided to turn the tables. These intentions, however, inevitably crumbled in the face of reality. She still had the power to unnerve him, a fact that infuriated him but did nothing to help him throw off these feelings of inferiority and passivity.