evening?"
"Perhaps
he was just trying to create an intense atmosphere," said Honora.
"To
make the dream stuff seem more real," Ella agreed.
"That's
probably it, Brother Cousins," said Lee, raising a laugh.
"You'll
agree with anything she says if it'll help you get into her pants," said
Brad. Lee groped for the laser riposte, but it wasn't there.
"Looks
like we've found our lowest common denominator," said Ella.
"Lowest what? You were the one who turned the discussion into a
blue movie."
"You
have to be honest if you're talking about dreams," Honora said angrily.
"You shouldn't abuse people's honesty by taking advantage of what they
say in the sessions."
Brad
lamely mimicked Honora's soft Fermanagh brogue. "Would it be the priest or
the professor gave you that idea now?"
"Honora's
right, we've got to have confidentiality," said Lee decisively.
"So
you're after the Irish one as well, are you?"
"If
you intend to get fucking mouthy about personal things said in the sessions no
one's going to open up. That's the point."
Brad,
taken aback by Lee's sudden aggression, shrugged. "I didn't realize we
were such a serious bunch of kiddies."
"We
are," said Ella, "is the point."
"Yes,
we are, is the point," said Honora.
FOUR
Only people with no imagination
have to resort to their dream life
—Fransisco
Umbral
The dreamwork seminars
continued, measured against the advance of spring.
Lee persevered in a knot of frustrated lust for Ella and blamed this condition
for the temporary abandonment of his studies. The late night sessions in Ella's
room continued, but they never brought him closer to her. Ella usually invited
Honora and other people from the dreamwork group back to her draped cavern,
where he had to satisfy himself not with the hot, honeyed sex of fantasies,
but with fluting, undergraduate conversation and a long stick of hand-rolled
tobacco which supposedly contained something interesting, but which only ever
burned his throat. Even Brad Cousins, who was always patently
uninvited to these sessions, often managed to insinuate himself into the
barricade of languid bodies that blocked any prospect of physical intimacy with
Ella.
Against
all contrivance, Lee always seemed to find himself sitting opposite and away
from Ella, a kind of dumb agitation corrugating his brow as he fidgeted and
gazed over at her. She would sit on the floor with her legs drawn up under her
and lecture someone—probably about the coming revolution—while making gentle
karate chopping motions at the air in front of her as if she were neatly
slicing her argument into digestible chunks. Occasionally, just occasionally,
she might look up and grant him the special intimacy of a brief smile. Like
any starving man, he showed a pathetic gratitude for these meagre crumbs.
On
the rare moments he did find himself alone with Ella, he balanced himself on
the edge of her bed like a jungle cat waiting to pounce but never feeling that
the moment was quite right. After the initial mistake he had made on the first
night, he felt sorely inhibited. In any event, in the absence of a crowd of
bodies, Ella set up another kind of barricade—an unbroken mesh of words; a
tirade of original ideas, rehashed theories, speculations and unproven assertions
which constituted her semi-occult excursions of the past or her left-wing
projections for the future.
"I'm a fucking revolutionary,"
she said, on many an occasion.
Once Lee, who knew different, decided to throw down the intellectual
gauntlet. "No you're
not," he said.
"Yes I am."
"No you're not."
"Yes I am."
"No you're not."
"Why am I not?"
"You're just not."
"Why not?"
Lee got out before things got too deep. "Never mind."
Nothing
much was happening. And it wasn't happening in Lees dreaming activities any
more than it was happening in his sex life. In fact he couldn't see much
difference between the two. Both seemed to involve some futile speculation
which was failing miserably to produce
"Perhaps
he was just trying to create an intense atmosphere," said Honora.
"To
make the dream stuff seem more real," Ella agreed.
"That's
probably it, Brother Cousins," said Lee, raising a laugh.
"You'll
agree with anything she says if it'll help you get into her pants," said
Brad. Lee groped for the laser riposte, but it wasn't there.
"Looks
like we've found our lowest common denominator," said Ella.
"Lowest what? You were the one who turned the discussion into a
blue movie."
"You
have to be honest if you're talking about dreams," Honora said angrily.
"You shouldn't abuse people's honesty by taking advantage of what they
say in the sessions."
Brad
lamely mimicked Honora's soft Fermanagh brogue. "Would it be the priest or
the professor gave you that idea now?"
"Honora's
right, we've got to have confidentiality," said Lee decisively.
"So
you're after the Irish one as well, are you?"
"If
you intend to get fucking mouthy about personal things said in the sessions no
one's going to open up. That's the point."
Brad,
taken aback by Lee's sudden aggression, shrugged. "I didn't realize we
were such a serious bunch of kiddies."
"We
are," said Ella, "is the point."
"Yes,
we are, is the point," said Honora.
FOUR
Only people with no imagination
have to resort to their dream life
—Fransisco
Umbral
The dreamwork seminars
continued, measured against the advance of spring.
Lee persevered in a knot of frustrated lust for Ella and blamed this condition
for the temporary abandonment of his studies. The late night sessions in Ella's
room continued, but they never brought him closer to her. Ella usually invited
Honora and other people from the dreamwork group back to her draped cavern,
where he had to satisfy himself not with the hot, honeyed sex of fantasies,
but with fluting, undergraduate conversation and a long stick of hand-rolled
tobacco which supposedly contained something interesting, but which only ever
burned his throat. Even Brad Cousins, who was always patently
uninvited to these sessions, often managed to insinuate himself into the
barricade of languid bodies that blocked any prospect of physical intimacy with
Ella.
Against
all contrivance, Lee always seemed to find himself sitting opposite and away
from Ella, a kind of dumb agitation corrugating his brow as he fidgeted and
gazed over at her. She would sit on the floor with her legs drawn up under her
and lecture someone—probably about the coming revolution—while making gentle
karate chopping motions at the air in front of her as if she were neatly
slicing her argument into digestible chunks. Occasionally, just occasionally,
she might look up and grant him the special intimacy of a brief smile. Like
any starving man, he showed a pathetic gratitude for these meagre crumbs.
On
the rare moments he did find himself alone with Ella, he balanced himself on
the edge of her bed like a jungle cat waiting to pounce but never feeling that
the moment was quite right. After the initial mistake he had made on the first
night, he felt sorely inhibited. In any event, in the absence of a crowd of
bodies, Ella set up another kind of barricade—an unbroken mesh of words; a
tirade of original ideas, rehashed theories, speculations and unproven assertions
which constituted her semi-occult excursions of the past or her left-wing
projections for the future.
"I'm a fucking revolutionary,"
she said, on many an occasion.
Once Lee, who knew different, decided to throw down the intellectual
gauntlet. "No you're
not," he said.
"Yes I am."
"No you're not."
"Yes I am."
"No you're not."
"Why am I not?"
"You're just not."
"Why not?"
Lee got out before things got too deep. "Never mind."
Nothing
much was happening. And it wasn't happening in Lees dreaming activities any
more than it was happening in his sex life. In fact he couldn't see much
difference between the two. Both seemed to involve some futile speculation
which was failing miserably to produce
Similar Books
