see her again, taking another break from the hectic city life.
I had planned to be there sometime in the first week of January, after. I had spent Christmas day and New Year Eve with my parents and siblings. But about three weeks before the year ended, we got a letter from a relative in Buenos Aires, informing us that my grandmother, who was eighty-eight, was in hospital and that she was expected to die at any moment. As my mother was not feeling well, it was agreed that Uncle Miguel would travel to the capital city and stay there as long as necessary. But before he left he asked me to help Aunt Jane look after the farm.
Despite the sad event, I was happy to leave earlier than I had expected. So I packed up right away, throwing a couple of books and a few magazines for us to read in the evening and also enough batteries for the radio and the torches. My uncle could never get the inefficient state-owned company to supply the farm with electricity as it was in a far-flung corner of the province, about 35 miles off the main road, at the end of a winding, dirt lane. Except for the tractor and truck in the shed, the old, colonial style house, with its oil lamps at night, was really a 19th- century enclave.
When I arrived that evening, we stayed up, talking about my grandmother’s serious condition, and catching up on our lives. The first week we toiled all day long and by the time we sat down for supper, we were exhausted. Then work slowed down and we could afford to read or play games after supper. On the 24th I did not even work in the field, and as we had already done the shopping, we had enough supply to tide us over a week. So after I had fed the horses and cows in the morning, I could wind down for the remainder of the day.
To ward off the heat of the day, I sat in the shade of the big tree at the side of the house. I had just started poring over Sigmund Freud’s
Just before noon I had temporarily succeeded in putting out of my mind the erotic thoughts about Aunt Jane. I had never made love to a woman yet and my sex drive was extremely powerful, and that day the hidden hunger for her, which had unfurled from some nook in my self, came over in waves down my groin until I felt a tightened, hard package in my pants. At lunch we were discussing Nietzsche’s
I wanted her so much, yet at the same time I wished this craving for her had not started. I had to do something to engage my attention. Accordingly, I saddled up the sorrel mare, took the shotgun, and rode ten miles to the moors where I had set three days earlier some bird traps to catch partridges. But when I got there I was not myself; mysterious, conflicting forces seemed to have overwhelmed me. I got off and tethered the mare to a shrub. It had rained the night before. The afternoon sun sucked out the moisture from the wet earth and I could feel the hot waves of vapour rising up as I walked. Two partridges had been caught, but I set them free and I did not feel like going shooting. I was thinking of her. I went back to the mare, slid the shotgun in the scabbard, got on and cantered back home.
The sun slipped down in the west behind the mountains, plunging the heavens in diaphanous saffron and aquamarine. Below, nature’s colours had been subdued by murk, which crept out from the forest, the sugar cane field, and out of the well. Dim light streamed out from the out-kitchen. Aunt Jane was making dinner. I picked up the torch and went inside. I lit the lamp in the bathroom, took off my clothes, and got into the tub. The water was lukewarm and nice on my nakedness.
As I soaped my body, my mind slunk back to the thoughts about Aunt Jane. I imagined her naked coming out of the river with water dripping down her body. Rivulets ran across her belly down her pubic region, her wet skin shining in the sun. I reached out to pick up the sponge from the window sill and I noticed her underwear next to it. I slowly rubbed my body with her wet briefs. Then I got up and wrapped them around my glossy tight stick. I pretended I was deep inside her as I rubbed my self back and forth. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Aunt Jane watching me through the door which I had left ajar. I turned to look but she was gone. Or perhaps I had just imagined that I saw her watching me. I became even stiffer at the thought that she was watching me. I derived great pleasure being watched by her. Then her voice calling me to dinner from somewhere in the house interrupted my train of thoughts.
At supper we were quiet; we did not even mention the fact that it was Christmas Eve. She seemed restless and avoided my eyes as though she felt embarrassed about something.
“You are not eating,” I said, “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she said.
After dinner we unsuccessfully tried to entertain ourselves with a word game. Then she said she was tired and that she was going to sleep. I lingered there for a while thinking. Then I went to bed myself, too. But once in bed I was not able to sleep, so I sat up. I tried reading, but it did not work. I was extremely anxious. If I could find a way to tell her the only thing I had held back – how much I needed her.
It was about midnight when I got up for a glass of water. As I came out of my bedroom, I looked across the hall. To my surprise, a chink of light faintly spilt out from under the door. Driven by burning curiosity, I stealthily moved closer to take a peek. Fixing one eye on the keyhole, I could see only her head which rested on a pillow. In that dim light she seemed to have a troubled expression as she looked up at the ceiling.
I drank the water then I came out onto the verandah. The world outside was blinded by a moonless, pitch- black night. Only the stars above twinklingly witnessed my behaviour as I skulked around to the other side of the house. Slouching down, I approached her bedroom window. The warm summer breeze played with the white, lace curtains, which were partially open. The sheet on her bed was pulled back. I could make out her whole body. She squirmed restlessly on the bed for a while, then pulled up her white gown, exposing her plump legs. My heart pounded with excitement as I swallowed. Her hand slid down her body and underneath her black briefs as she slightly opened up her legs. Watching her fingers move under the cotton fabric, I began shaking. I came back into the hall and stopped in front of her bedroom door, hesitating. Not being able to bridle my over-flowing lust any longer, I went in.
She quickly pulled down her gown as I went in. But once I closed the door behind, she stared at me intently. “I love you, Jane, and I need you and want you,” I finally said, as I stood there. I took off my underwear and I showed off an inflamed club which protruded long and red. She took off her gown and said; “Come to your mum.” Then she got off her briefs, and I lay down at her side. My lips crushed against her big mouth in a long deep kiss. Then my tongue slid down her white skin and began suckling at her strawberry-like nipple. It felt so nice, so sweet as she took my hand and put it down in between her legs and guided me to rub her where she liked most. She moaned. Then I kissed her plump leg as I slid my warm tongue up her thigh. She opened wide her legs and I pushed my tongue deep into her wet slippery cave. I licked, and licked, and licked, as if I were her little cub. And I licked a hardened tiny toggle of flesh I had found in her blonde bush. And she shivered and shook with delight. Her happiness made me immensely hard. And my thick burning rod with a red, throbbing bulb on top wanted her so desperately as I snugly shoved into her cosy wet sheath. She sighed, moaned and screamed as I moved, and rocked, and rammed in hard back and forth, slowly, relentlessly, for a very long time, as if forever; and then we began losing ourselves to become one in the silence of the night.
THE CASTLE OF COMMUNION by Bernard Noel
Translated by Paul Buck and Glenda George
WHO HAD BROUGHT me back? I felt I had rolled against sky before the final splash of light carried me through my door. Not so, I was lying on my bed. The new moon was smiling down at me. As our eyes met, she turned aside, picked up a goblet and held it out to me – and night immediately flowed back, recaptured me.
I went. The wave was strong, its crest carried me. I went towards an island that looked like a high table set on the sea. The wave set me down at its foot. I saw the cliff, then again the sky, unless it was the steep of the cliff
