The Troublesome Offspring of Cardinal Guzman Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: Louis De Bernières
so sorry. I did not mean to be a nuisance. I believed that you liked me to come. But if you wish, I will not come any more.’
It was a very bright night because there was a three-quarter moon, and the Southern Cross was clearly visible, and I was astonished and moved to perceive that her eyes were filling with tears and that her lips were quivering like a little girl’s. Instantly I felt overwhelmed with guilt at my insensitivity, and without thinking about it I went down on my knees before the place where she was sitting, and put my arms around her. I hugged her, patted her consolingly upon the back, and rocked her back and forth as my own mother had used to do. ‘Ena,’ I murmured, ‘you must not cry. I like it that you come here, because it makes a big difference to me. I am never lonely any more.’
She sobbed upon my shoulder a short while, and then lifted her head. We looked at each other a moment, and I kissed a tear from her cheek. She moved forward, closed her eyes in exactly that fashion sooften depicted in romantic movies, and kissed me very shyly and very softly upon the lips. I felt the familiar old knot in my stomach, and soon, of course, the kisses became more passionate, and the embrace more horizontal. There came a point when I knew what to say, knowing that I meant it: ‘Ena, I have just realised that in all this time I have grown to love you.’
‘I knew it,’ she said. ‘Or at least I thought I did.’
‘What did you think that you knew? That I loved you or that you loved me?’
She pouted, and said, ‘Both, of course. But please do not send me away.’
The next evening when Ena arrived I very naturally put my arms around her and kissed her. Or rather, I tried to kiss her. She pushed me away and hit me so hard that I honestly believe that I could not have been more greatly stunned by Muhammad Ali in his prime. I tottered on my feet, and, feeling much aggrieved, I said, ‘Ena, you spent two hours last night kissing me. Now why should I not believe that you would like it just as much tonight?’
She seemed very surprised. ‘Did I?’
‘You know very well that you did.’
She paced back and forth with her fingers to her chin, as though she were deciphering a recondite code, and then she giggled mischievously, came forward, put her hands on my shoulders, and whispered very sexily, ‘Did you like my little joke? Kiss me all you like.’
‘Most amusing,’ I said, still feeling offended, and we began to kiss. On this day she seemed much surer and more expert than she had been the night before, and once more I was astounded and confused. ‘Why do you kiss differently from yesterday?’
‘I have a different kiss for weekdays,’ she said. ‘Yesterday was Sunday. And I have been practising.’
‘What?’ I expostulated, feeling violently jealous. ‘Who with?’
She smiled again. ‘With no one. I have been practising by forcing my tongue between the segments of an orange.’
‘You are a liar,’ I said, ‘but kiss me some more, according to the correct kiss for the day of the week.’
Naturally, one thing leads to another, but I did not go to bed with Ena for another two months. It was not because she was a frightened little virgin; in fact she seemed very interested in ceasing to be one atall. It was because I needed to be sure in my own mind that I really preferred to forget about my unrequited love in Mexico City, and accept Ena with the proper dedicated enthusiasm that one owes honourably to a virgin who is in good faith. Furthermore, I earnestly wanted to enter into this at the right pace, so that it was all unrushed, perfectly romantic, without unfair pressures, so that we would have the opportunity to hone our emotions to the finest point of intensity.
It was Ena herself who, one evening when we were talking by the lights of the hurricane lamps, stood up and took the cigarette from my mouth. She crushed it in the dust and proffered me her hand. I took it and she led me
It was a very bright night because there was a three-quarter moon, and the Southern Cross was clearly visible, and I was astonished and moved to perceive that her eyes were filling with tears and that her lips were quivering like a little girl’s. Instantly I felt overwhelmed with guilt at my insensitivity, and without thinking about it I went down on my knees before the place where she was sitting, and put my arms around her. I hugged her, patted her consolingly upon the back, and rocked her back and forth as my own mother had used to do. ‘Ena,’ I murmured, ‘you must not cry. I like it that you come here, because it makes a big difference to me. I am never lonely any more.’
She sobbed upon my shoulder a short while, and then lifted her head. We looked at each other a moment, and I kissed a tear from her cheek. She moved forward, closed her eyes in exactly that fashion sooften depicted in romantic movies, and kissed me very shyly and very softly upon the lips. I felt the familiar old knot in my stomach, and soon, of course, the kisses became more passionate, and the embrace more horizontal. There came a point when I knew what to say, knowing that I meant it: ‘Ena, I have just realised that in all this time I have grown to love you.’
‘I knew it,’ she said. ‘Or at least I thought I did.’
‘What did you think that you knew? That I loved you or that you loved me?’
She pouted, and said, ‘Both, of course. But please do not send me away.’
The next evening when Ena arrived I very naturally put my arms around her and kissed her. Or rather, I tried to kiss her. She pushed me away and hit me so hard that I honestly believe that I could not have been more greatly stunned by Muhammad Ali in his prime. I tottered on my feet, and, feeling much aggrieved, I said, ‘Ena, you spent two hours last night kissing me. Now why should I not believe that you would like it just as much tonight?’
She seemed very surprised. ‘Did I?’
‘You know very well that you did.’
She paced back and forth with her fingers to her chin, as though she were deciphering a recondite code, and then she giggled mischievously, came forward, put her hands on my shoulders, and whispered very sexily, ‘Did you like my little joke? Kiss me all you like.’
‘Most amusing,’ I said, still feeling offended, and we began to kiss. On this day she seemed much surer and more expert than she had been the night before, and once more I was astounded and confused. ‘Why do you kiss differently from yesterday?’
‘I have a different kiss for weekdays,’ she said. ‘Yesterday was Sunday. And I have been practising.’
‘What?’ I expostulated, feeling violently jealous. ‘Who with?’
She smiled again. ‘With no one. I have been practising by forcing my tongue between the segments of an orange.’
‘You are a liar,’ I said, ‘but kiss me some more, according to the correct kiss for the day of the week.’
Naturally, one thing leads to another, but I did not go to bed with Ena for another two months. It was not because she was a frightened little virgin; in fact she seemed very interested in ceasing to be one atall. It was because I needed to be sure in my own mind that I really preferred to forget about my unrequited love in Mexico City, and accept Ena with the proper dedicated enthusiasm that one owes honourably to a virgin who is in good faith. Furthermore, I earnestly wanted to enter into this at the right pace, so that it was all unrushed, perfectly romantic, without unfair pressures, so that we would have the opportunity to hone our emotions to the finest point of intensity.
It was Ena herself who, one evening when we were talking by the lights of the hurricane lamps, stood up and took the cigarette from my mouth. She crushed it in the dust and proffered me her hand. I took it and she led me