Read Online The Lesser Bohemians by Eimear McBride - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Eimear McBride
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Music there. Quiet here. Then it comes, in its light and white-light. From the start, it has me. I am unprepared. Paralyse in its image. Forward to breathe as birds fleer from the Virginâs dress. The stamp of it. Weight in me. All down my neck. Going farther than I know how to be. Rain. Pool and bottles. Soft book in flames. You want to be happy but there are more important things. Iâm not only lost though. Iâm unmade by the intent. Scalded by the too beautiful eye of it. How the far side of despair is reached by faith but not life. And there, beneath its great cathedral arc, let its loneliness be all of me. Relinquish the bounds of myself to become just a girl, another person in this world, who life is running out of now. He, letting my hand slip into his hand, says nothing but looks also burned now. So in this â belief or no belief â find we two are the same.
Still and stay it, as all the others drain. Each in our own life but palm to palm. I do miss her, he says then lets go of me and gets up.
Silenter walking down Haverstock Hill. Hands in my pockets. Cigarette on his lips. Me growing pink-faced in the chill while he stays white and fine, staring off into the winter light, higher and further than I can see. Looking up, Iâd like to ask him things but he hasnât the face for it now.
At the Steeleâs he says How about a drink?
Thanks, I say as he puts down the pints. Sip and smoke til the tongue unwinds. How many times have you seen it? I ask. Four or five maybe. Do you like it a lot? Yeah, he says I like how it takes a while to adjust but once you shift yourself into his time Jesus    what you get to see, was that your first time? Yes. What did you think? Itâs beautiful but    do you think there are more important things than happiness? Yeah, of course there are, he says But itâs pretty hard to do without    or face not having again. And his life opens a little to let me look in. I want to ask more so badly but say Iâm glad you took me. Thanks for coming with, he smiles.
And itâs almost five when I say So    Iâve got to go not cool enough for any Ask for my number, wonât you? Well, if you have to. I donât have to but    you know   I should probably wash. You smell alright to me, he says. Thatâs because I smell of you, and I catch his eye but he only goes Yeah well    I smell of you too. Will he ever ask? Ask . I â reluctant â get up. He also goes to with Iâll walk you back. No, no, you stay put and Irish myself from what I most want      thanks for a lovely weekend. Yeah, he looks into his pint It was great. Jesus Christ . Well     bye then. He stands up now, to give me a Shit! Youâre bleeding! What? You have a nosebleed. He dabs and Fuck I havenât had one in years. Sit down, I Put your head back. He obedient does and quiet wiping ensues with what I find in my pockets. He is so white though and dark under the eyes Should we go across to the? No no Iâll be fine, he says and God how stupid is this? But itâs a bad one. It takes an age to clot. On both our fingers by the time he says Look, if I promise not to haemorrhage all over you would you like to do this sometime again? Jesus, I thought youâd never ask! Slow starter, he grins Always was, but showing the blood on his teeth. I write my number on a beermat and one for theschool. Go on then, he says Iâll give you a call, and we try not to kiss goodbye too much because of the blood. Beyond the door though my bottom lip licks of rust. So lick it out into the chill on Haverstock. And that is the end of the day.
*
Whoâs been doing the mauling? she asks, in the changing room, as I don everything unedifying for ballet. No one, I say but with hair up high a fine dog of teeth marks are plain and press the blistered memory of his room.
Still and stay it, as all the others drain. Each in our own life but palm to palm. I do miss her, he says then lets go of me and gets up.
Silenter walking down Haverstock Hill. Hands in my pockets. Cigarette on his lips. Me growing pink-faced in the chill while he stays white and fine, staring off into the winter light, higher and further than I can see. Looking up, Iâd like to ask him things but he hasnât the face for it now.
At the Steeleâs he says How about a drink?
Thanks, I say as he puts down the pints. Sip and smoke til the tongue unwinds. How many times have you seen it? I ask. Four or five maybe. Do you like it a lot? Yeah, he says I like how it takes a while to adjust but once you shift yourself into his time Jesus    what you get to see, was that your first time? Yes. What did you think? Itâs beautiful but    do you think there are more important things than happiness? Yeah, of course there are, he says But itâs pretty hard to do without    or face not having again. And his life opens a little to let me look in. I want to ask more so badly but say Iâm glad you took me. Thanks for coming with, he smiles.
And itâs almost five when I say So    Iâve got to go not cool enough for any Ask for my number, wonât you? Well, if you have to. I donât have to but    you know   I should probably wash. You smell alright to me, he says. Thatâs because I smell of you, and I catch his eye but he only goes Yeah well    I smell of you too. Will he ever ask? Ask . I â reluctant â get up. He also goes to with Iâll walk you back. No, no, you stay put and Irish myself from what I most want      thanks for a lovely weekend. Yeah, he looks into his pint It was great. Jesus Christ . Well     bye then. He stands up now, to give me a Shit! Youâre bleeding! What? You have a nosebleed. He dabs and Fuck I havenât had one in years. Sit down, I Put your head back. He obedient does and quiet wiping ensues with what I find in my pockets. He is so white though and dark under the eyes Should we go across to the? No no Iâll be fine, he says and God how stupid is this? But itâs a bad one. It takes an age to clot. On both our fingers by the time he says Look, if I promise not to haemorrhage all over you would you like to do this sometime again? Jesus, I thought youâd never ask! Slow starter, he grins Always was, but showing the blood on his teeth. I write my number on a beermat and one for theschool. Go on then, he says Iâll give you a call, and we try not to kiss goodbye too much because of the blood. Beyond the door though my bottom lip licks of rust. So lick it out into the chill on Haverstock. And that is the end of the day.
*
Whoâs been doing the mauling? she asks, in the changing room, as I don everything unedifying for ballet. No one, I say but with hair up high a fine dog of teeth marks are plain and press the blistered memory of his room.
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