Read Online The Chameleon Fallacy (Big Bamboo Book 2) by Shane Norwood - Free Book Online
Authors: Shane Norwood
Tags: thriller, Crime Fiction, Paris, New Orleans, Heist, chase, hit man, multiple viewpoints, reality warping
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the Moors. There was nothing else she could do. She slid behind it, flattened herself against the wall, and froze in a kind of terrifying ecstasy. She listened to her father, rummaging around, moving closer and then away and then closer again. It was such exquisite suspense that she found herself becoming physically aroused. She wasn’t sure what her father would do if he discovered her. He was, after all, a virtual stranger. She was almost hoping he would, just so she could find out. Then her mother walked in.
Leire dreaded her husband’s visits. They were a torment to her. She would spend days in the chapel praying for the strength to resist and deny him, knowing all the while that it would be futile. Then when their passions were spent she would fly into a rage, and cry and scream and fall to her knees and beg for forgiveness, for although they were married in the eyes of God, in the eyes of God Oier Marinelarena was a faithless adulterer, an unbeliever and a barbarian, and to lie with him was to profane the name of the Lord, and she would run and bathe and try to cleanse herself but she could not, and Oier would laugh his great bull laugh and reach for the bottle.
Arantxa had never seen her mother naked. In fact, she had never seen another living person naked. She had never seen her mother with her hair down, and was shocked at how long it was. She had certainly never seen her father with his pants down, and was shocked at how long it was. Arantxa was able to observe all through a hole where the tapestry had frayed through.
Oier and Leire went for each other with such ferocious intensity that it was not immediately clear if they were fucking or fighting, and in the final analysis there were so many lesions that the distinction was a minor one. Oier grunted and snarled like a rutting boar, and Leire screamed and cried and prayed. And if this whole scene were not shocking enough for the poor secreted Arantxa, her mother did the unthinkable. She began to curse and blaspheme.
“ Fuck me fuck me I hate you you pig bastard I love you fuck me I hate you filthy shit cunt God damn you to hell for all eternity I love you you sow fucker you Godless sodomite oh fuck me oh please oh God forgive me.”
Oier had Leire pinned against the table and he abruptly stopped and pulled out, and she fetched him a clout across the chops and split his lips, and he chastised her pendulous breasts with vicious slaps, and spun her around and twisted her hair around his fists and violently forced her to the floor and mounted her in the forbidden and sinful passage and she screamed as if she were Joan of Arc tortured in the flames and Oier bellowed as he came and roughly extricated himself and struggled to his feet and Leire rounded on him like a lioness and punched him full in the nose and he staggered back against the wall and lost his balance and reached out and grabbed the tapestry for support and wrenched it from the wall.
In the recriminations that followed, the whole story came out. Leire retreated in shame and silence behind her cloistered walls, never to reemerge or speak another word to either husband or daughter. She did not protest when Oier took Arantxa, as if that which she had feared had been inevitable since the beginning and she had always known it would be so. And although she never laid eyes on her daughter again, she prayed for her immortal soul every day until the day she died.
A year with her father was all that was granted to Arantxa, for he died intestate in a bordello in Barcelona, in April of the following year, leaving her in a shit hotel on a whore-infested side street off La Rambla, with the equivalent of three hundred dollars and nothing else. Three days later, she stole her first watch, sold it, and took the train for Paris. And thus the die was cast.
***
“ Listen, son, any sumbitch who ain’t never travelled ’cross the states on a Greyhound bus don’t know shit about America. Sitting there in
Leire dreaded her husband’s visits. They were a torment to her. She would spend days in the chapel praying for the strength to resist and deny him, knowing all the while that it would be futile. Then when their passions were spent she would fly into a rage, and cry and scream and fall to her knees and beg for forgiveness, for although they were married in the eyes of God, in the eyes of God Oier Marinelarena was a faithless adulterer, an unbeliever and a barbarian, and to lie with him was to profane the name of the Lord, and she would run and bathe and try to cleanse herself but she could not, and Oier would laugh his great bull laugh and reach for the bottle.
Arantxa had never seen her mother naked. In fact, she had never seen another living person naked. She had never seen her mother with her hair down, and was shocked at how long it was. She had certainly never seen her father with his pants down, and was shocked at how long it was. Arantxa was able to observe all through a hole where the tapestry had frayed through.
Oier and Leire went for each other with such ferocious intensity that it was not immediately clear if they were fucking or fighting, and in the final analysis there were so many lesions that the distinction was a minor one. Oier grunted and snarled like a rutting boar, and Leire screamed and cried and prayed. And if this whole scene were not shocking enough for the poor secreted Arantxa, her mother did the unthinkable. She began to curse and blaspheme.
“ Fuck me fuck me I hate you you pig bastard I love you fuck me I hate you filthy shit cunt God damn you to hell for all eternity I love you you sow fucker you Godless sodomite oh fuck me oh please oh God forgive me.”
Oier had Leire pinned against the table and he abruptly stopped and pulled out, and she fetched him a clout across the chops and split his lips, and he chastised her pendulous breasts with vicious slaps, and spun her around and twisted her hair around his fists and violently forced her to the floor and mounted her in the forbidden and sinful passage and she screamed as if she were Joan of Arc tortured in the flames and Oier bellowed as he came and roughly extricated himself and struggled to his feet and Leire rounded on him like a lioness and punched him full in the nose and he staggered back against the wall and lost his balance and reached out and grabbed the tapestry for support and wrenched it from the wall.
In the recriminations that followed, the whole story came out. Leire retreated in shame and silence behind her cloistered walls, never to reemerge or speak another word to either husband or daughter. She did not protest when Oier took Arantxa, as if that which she had feared had been inevitable since the beginning and she had always known it would be so. And although she never laid eyes on her daughter again, she prayed for her immortal soul every day until the day she died.
A year with her father was all that was granted to Arantxa, for he died intestate in a bordello in Barcelona, in April of the following year, leaving her in a shit hotel on a whore-infested side street off La Rambla, with the equivalent of three hundred dollars and nothing else. Three days later, she stole her first watch, sold it, and took the train for Paris. And thus the die was cast.
***
“ Listen, son, any sumbitch who ain’t never travelled ’cross the states on a Greyhound bus don’t know shit about America. Sitting there in
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