she’d seen Francisca now, hadn’t she? How could she ever hope to compete with her? She had to find some way out of this mess.
It seemed nothing short of a miracle, but the car started with no problem at all the following morning. It was almost as if it had broken down on purpose, the old pimp. At dawn, they sprung apart and climbed stiffly out of the car, slithering down the slope to cup their hands and drink from the stream, and then they left. The air was cold, the colours still dull, but as the sun came up with its rosy light, the glistening leaves once again resembled drops of congealed blood.
Neither Penny nor Marcus spoke the whole way home, as if divided by something better left unsaid. Each kept to themselves, and when they arrived at their destination Marcus said goodbye to her on the stairs without even looking at her.
‘No need to get sentimental now!’ Penny shouted at his receding back. He didn’t turn around, but raised an arm and gave her the finger before disappearing from view.
10
MARCUS
I can’t tell if Penny is naive or just stupid. As soon as I see her all dressed up like that, it makes me want to turn the air blue with my curses. I hold back because there are old people around and because I swore to myself to pay her as little notice as possible. Having discovered that my private parts would gladly bump into hers, despite what I claimed, I’ve barely said a word to her. The less she speaks, the less I stress. When she talks, it makes me want to look at her mouth, and from there a whole flood of obscene thoughts rushes through me. I keep repeating to myself: I don’t want to fuck Penny, I don’t want to fuck Penny. When actually I want to fuck her so much.
This is totally weird for me, because generally I don’t think like this – when I like a woman, I either do it or I don’t, and then bye-bye.
This time, I think about what I’d like to do to her and with her, but I don’t do it. And I have no idea why not. What the hell is the matter with me? I’ve seen quite a few naked women, many of them way more beautiful than her, so why have I been in this constant state of excitement ever since watching her get dressed, while she was completely unaware I was spying on her?
What does it all mean? Why do my pants swell with a throbbing erection every time I remember her back and that slender spine?
If I had any time to waste, I’d go see a doctor in case I have some mysterious illness, but I’m too busy for that, so instead I’ll just try to resist her.
You know, I’d really like to strangle her because of what she’s wearing today. Not only because of the effect it has on me, but because of what I think it’ll do to other guys. I realise that, in a sense, she’s my responsibility today, and if someone steps out of line I have to intervene, but I’d like to avoid that. The little idiot doesn’t realise that if you’re made of meat and have two legs then you’re not going to go unnoticed, especially if you put them on display in a dress that barely covers your ass. I repeat: Is she naive, stupid or just a provocative bitch?
So this guy who peeks at her through the car window with his zipper down – half high, half drunk, and who knows what else – I really wanna give him a good kicking, but I manage to hold back. I need to stay calm. I need to stay calm. I have to think of Francisca and how she’ll be out soon. Like I always say, everything else is shit.
She comes out of the prison as pale as a corpse and staggers around, looking like a little girl in her mother’s high heels. I have to hold back the absurd impulse to steady her.
She tells me about her meeting with Francisca in a weak and toneless voice, and then she falls silent, like all her batteries have run out. I ought to be happy, but no – I’d love to know what she’s thinking, but she won’t answer me. She turns her back, treats me like a stranger. OK, so I am a stranger, but I