on,” she said.
Adele couldn’t reply. She couldn’t find the words, nothing to express the gushing wound, the devastation she was feeling. What in God’s name was her mother talking about?
All Adele could think to do was to walk away.
It had begun to snow again. It snowed all that day and into the evening. Adele made supper in a trance. No one seemed to notice. She cleaned up afterwards and then slipped unseen out the back door. She had to pick up the potato sack full of coal and two cans of bully beef that Manfred had promised to steal that night from his billet on Ducrot Street.
When she pushed open the gate, Manfred was standing there. This was not possible. He was supposed to hide the sack and leave. That was their arrangement. They met only in the park. Nowhere else. Ever.
“Hello,” Manfred said, the word a puff of frost floating in the air.
“What are you doing here?”
He didn’t answer.
Adele looked in a panic up and down the dark lane. Manfred tramped across the snow and held her against his great army coat. He pressed his icy face against her cheek, her hair, her neck.
“What’s the matter?” Adele whispered.
“I could not stay away.”
“But you have to!”
“All I can think of is you.”
Adele relented a little, leaning against him. “All I can think of is you.”
“I love you,” Manfred said, almost sobbed, kissing with lips that felt unnaturally warm despite the frigid air.
Manfred had never said those words before. Such words. Adele felt as fluid as a sea, a warm sea rushing in. “I love you, too,” she said, and instantly thought of her mad mother. “I love you,” she whispered, but it sounded like a cry.
“Where can we go?” Manfred’s eyes looked enormous in the dark, his lips a startling red, his beautiful face suffused with some kind of soft-glowing agony. “Where can we go?”
Adele pushed open the door that led into Old Raymond’s cottage. It was as dark and cold as a cave.
Manfred began to unbutton his greatcoat. He opened it and they pressed together and began to kiss again. Adele could feel his hand moving outside her clothes, slipping inside her clothes, touching everywhere.
Although she’d successfully avoided thinking about it, she’d always known that the preceding days of kissing, embracing, touching, trembling would inevitably lead to this, and now it had. She must stop it somehow.
She could feel Manfred lift her up as if she weighed nothing at all, and then let her down again on Old Raymond’s mattress. It felt like being put on a patch of ice. She’d only thrown a sweater over her shoulders for the short run out for the potato sack.
She began to shiver. She watched the dark wings of Manfred’s coat open and spread above her. A giant bird. A winged god from Dresden.
He slipped out of his coat, and half-resting on top of her and half beside her, he pulled the coat over both of them. Now they were hidden from everyone. Adele closed her eyes. Soon she felt Manfred’s hand again, and his hungry mouth, and now she knew with a fateful certainty that she wanted his hand, wanted his mouth. It was hopeless to fight against such feelings, hopeless to struggle against such an over-whelming, exquisite thing.
It didn’t surprise her when it hurt, it just made her more aware of what he was doing, what they were both doing. She bit his ear in token reprisal, she scratched his neck.
And it didn’t really hurt all that much, either, or for all that long. Manfred trembled, moaned, froze in mid-air as if he’d been transfixed by an invisible arrow, and then slowly sank down on top of her.
They lay quietly for some time. Adele began to feel a raw hurting between her legs and something trickling, warm and wet, as if they’d melted something down there in all their exertion. They’d melted together, slippery and warm.
Adele kissed Manfred’s closed eyes.
“I am sorry,” he said.
“Don’t be,” she whispered.
“Yes.” Manfred raised himself on
Adele couldn’t reply. She couldn’t find the words, nothing to express the gushing wound, the devastation she was feeling. What in God’s name was her mother talking about?
All Adele could think to do was to walk away.
It had begun to snow again. It snowed all that day and into the evening. Adele made supper in a trance. No one seemed to notice. She cleaned up afterwards and then slipped unseen out the back door. She had to pick up the potato sack full of coal and two cans of bully beef that Manfred had promised to steal that night from his billet on Ducrot Street.
When she pushed open the gate, Manfred was standing there. This was not possible. He was supposed to hide the sack and leave. That was their arrangement. They met only in the park. Nowhere else. Ever.
“Hello,” Manfred said, the word a puff of frost floating in the air.
“What are you doing here?”
He didn’t answer.
Adele looked in a panic up and down the dark lane. Manfred tramped across the snow and held her against his great army coat. He pressed his icy face against her cheek, her hair, her neck.
“What’s the matter?” Adele whispered.
“I could not stay away.”
“But you have to!”
“All I can think of is you.”
Adele relented a little, leaning against him. “All I can think of is you.”
“I love you,” Manfred said, almost sobbed, kissing with lips that felt unnaturally warm despite the frigid air.
Manfred had never said those words before. Such words. Adele felt as fluid as a sea, a warm sea rushing in. “I love you, too,” she said, and instantly thought of her mad mother. “I love you,” she whispered, but it sounded like a cry.
“Where can we go?” Manfred’s eyes looked enormous in the dark, his lips a startling red, his beautiful face suffused with some kind of soft-glowing agony. “Where can we go?”
Adele pushed open the door that led into Old Raymond’s cottage. It was as dark and cold as a cave.
Manfred began to unbutton his greatcoat. He opened it and they pressed together and began to kiss again. Adele could feel his hand moving outside her clothes, slipping inside her clothes, touching everywhere.
Although she’d successfully avoided thinking about it, she’d always known that the preceding days of kissing, embracing, touching, trembling would inevitably lead to this, and now it had. She must stop it somehow.
She could feel Manfred lift her up as if she weighed nothing at all, and then let her down again on Old Raymond’s mattress. It felt like being put on a patch of ice. She’d only thrown a sweater over her shoulders for the short run out for the potato sack.
She began to shiver. She watched the dark wings of Manfred’s coat open and spread above her. A giant bird. A winged god from Dresden.
He slipped out of his coat, and half-resting on top of her and half beside her, he pulled the coat over both of them. Now they were hidden from everyone. Adele closed her eyes. Soon she felt Manfred’s hand again, and his hungry mouth, and now she knew with a fateful certainty that she wanted his hand, wanted his mouth. It was hopeless to fight against such feelings, hopeless to struggle against such an over-whelming, exquisite thing.
It didn’t surprise her when it hurt, it just made her more aware of what he was doing, what they were both doing. She bit his ear in token reprisal, she scratched his neck.
And it didn’t really hurt all that much, either, or for all that long. Manfred trembled, moaned, froze in mid-air as if he’d been transfixed by an invisible arrow, and then slowly sank down on top of her.
They lay quietly for some time. Adele began to feel a raw hurting between her legs and something trickling, warm and wet, as if they’d melted something down there in all their exertion. They’d melted together, slippery and warm.
Adele kissed Manfred’s closed eyes.
“I am sorry,” he said.
“Don’t be,” she whispered.
“Yes.” Manfred raised himself on
Similar Books
