Semmant (20 page)

I would sit in the chair, crossing one leg over the other. Repeating her tone, I’d ask, “Adele? That’s a really unusual name. Bring your tray over here!”

She would come over, “Here you go.” Then she’d spill the coffee – for real – on her apron, on my pants and shirt. We did everything for real. It was funnier that way.

As I wrung my hands, a grimace of anger would twist my face. Adele-Lidia would scream in fear and suddenly be right next to me.

“I’ve stained your clothes,” she’d mumble. “And, look, I stained my uniform as well! I’ll clean it all this instant – take it off. Take off yours – and mine too. Oh, you’ve got coffee
all over
your body. Was it sweet? Can I try some? I’m a bad girl, aren’t I?”

Or else: I turned from an idler into a patient at a home med-check. Lidia would arrive all in white, with a medic’s case in her hands. She exuded cold, ice – exuded inaccessibility, minty freshness. One immediately wanted to know: what was it she had in that case?

“Hello,” she would say. “I’m a nurse from the hospital one street over. You called about a procedure? My name is Adele. What’s yours? Let me see if I remember: you’re Defiort, right?”

“Yes,” I would answer, smiling. “They call me that sometimes.”

She would tarry in the entryway. I’d step closer to her, touching her as if by accident, but then I’d get a rap on the knuckles.

“Male patients…” Adele would sigh. “They’re such rogues – every last one. One’s got to watch out for them. Where’s the couch around here? You’ll have to lie down. Get undressed; I’ll turn around. I’m a good girl – don’t be checking out my backside!”

I’d stretch my hands toward her again, and she would unceremoniously smack my palms. She would also smack my buttocks – in complete seriousness. She might even slap me in the face, feigning offended innocence. But her eyes would still flash with a familiar sheen. I had seen it before with Diana the nympho.

“Lie on your stomach!” Adele would command, more forcefully now. “Lie down and don’t make me be
too
rough with you.”

The locks of her case would click open, as if of their own accord. Opening a gateway beyond the dark curtain, into the vault of fear. Artificial fear that would end as in a dream.

Adele would pull on gloves, take out various instruments – one after another. Her gaze would darken a bit as her lips opened slightly. “I like you,” she would say. “Roll over on your side, please…”

Her lab coat would burst open at just the right moment. She would be soaked in her own moisture – nursing responsibilities really turned her on. Sometimes we would switch roles: I attacked her, and she submitted. I would twist her nipples as she kept pleading: more, more! Then I would become passive again. She’d walk all over me, sit on my face. And erupt on the spot in an explosive orgasm…

We thought up other scenarios as well: Lidia experimented with clothes, came up with strange makeup. She would play hesperides, naiads, or even become my muse. Her smile could be so touching – at those moments I really wanted to create for her. Adele alone seemed too little; I wanted to do something more. Something great, worthy of eternal life. Demanding Leonardo winked at me from the astral plane. Sadly, it did not last long.

I tried to isolate the instant, prolong the moment, stretch out the time. I made her slow down at the most uncontrollable point – take me to the edge of arousal and halt where it was impossible to stop. Screwing up my face, I would ask her to repeat, “You will do it; it will work! It will be huge, like nothing else before!” And she would say that over and over in various tones and manners.

Sometimes we even played Death. My gown – the one in which I had first conquered her – had long since been dyed black. I would put it on, take a cane in my hand, and come for Lidia with a shuffling gait. I would call her by name, as if reading it from a roll; wait for a response – shy, barely audible – then say impassively, “Let us go. It’s time.”

After blindfolding her, I would lead her from room to room, clenching cold fingers. We would wind and turn, going through one bedroom, then another. Finally, we would end up in the dining room, where a table stood draped with a black cloth, and candles burned. And it smelled of incense – for better effect. That was a very authentic scent.

As the blindfold fell to the floor, Lidia would look around in fright. Timorously she’d ask, “What? Already? Already so soon, everything is over – forever?”

I would simply nod without answering and show her with hand motions: disrobe! She would take off her clothes, fumbling with zippers and clasps. I would throw a gown over her shoulders like the one I had on, and put a hood over her that completely covered her face. Then I would take her by the hand and guide her again – in a circle, muddling our steps.

Music – a solemn organ – now filled the space. Lidia’s gown was of thin silk – it caressed and pampered her body. The further we went, the more confident her stride became. She understood that, having died, she would be with me, united. Such a death was life for her. Not afterward, but right now, as it was!

When we were in the main room again, the aroma of incense no longer frightened her. I would make her lie down on the table and lift her gown, baring her hips. We sensed the seriousness of the moment, and it exhilarated both of us.

“Who are you now?” I asked her, and she answered, “Adele!”

“Who do you taste like?” I continued. She murmured, “Adele,” already trembling with anticipation.

“We shall see!” I would say gruffly, and slide my tongue between her legs. Her groans sounded so genuinely passionate it was easy to imagine both birth and death. And I would take her – on the black cloth, without removing my own gown…

This game almost helped me, if only for a while, to believe in us again. It was as if we had finally achieved that long-awaited intimacy. Or that we had found clarity for something which required no clarification.

Yet, even clarity remained an illusion. The question “Why?” never goes away on its own. It cannot be disposed of through acting, or silence, or a clever look.

I was aware of that, but the knowledge was of no use. There was no one to share it with – even Semmant would hardly understand what I was on about. Only the specter of love, perhaps, might sympathize with me. But he no longer visited me; we were separated by an abyss. I had already forgotten the rustle of his robes.

July was upon us. In the scorching city it was dusty, sweltering. Like never before, I sensed the stability of my life – in each of its facets. And I also felt I had somehow been deceived, but to complain of it would be foolish.

Nor did I complain, for I understood: no equilibrium lasts for long. The semblance of stability is the most unstable thing in the world. And, indeed, very soon this would be confirmed.

Chapter 22

As always, everything began with a sense of anxiety. I started to feel an element had been left unexplored, a chance had been missed. In discontent I asked myself: what’s wrong? In my head I mulled it over: Semmant – friendship – wealth. Lidia – Adele – then Lidia again, but now vanquished, obedient… The logical contour was flawless, but something remained beyond it.

Again I spent hours in cafes and bars. After dates with Lidia I would wander the streets, then suddenly push open the next door I found and sit at a table against the far wall. And I would observe the girls, in search of an answer, though the question itself was still unclear.

Almost at once I discovered what a relief it was not to think of sex, and I became convinced I still knew very little about women. Yes, my former viewpoint was correct, but very narrow and one-sided. The call of the flesh – it’s deficient; affection can’t be reduced to the simple: to the body, to raging hormones. There was something more; my trained sensor now signaled without stopping. It became sensitive, like a nuclide counter, like radar for listening to the cosmos. And it was recording, click, click, click…

Mysterious corpuscles, waves of them, filled the area. From strangers – from many, almost every one – the softest rays radiated. Having caught them, with my nerves, with my whole being, I could derive the rest. Meditate, dream – not just about the carnal. Guess the generosity of soul, modesty, tenderness. And of that same eternity about which I had once written to Semmant.

Again, not doubting any longer, I reflected on the aura, the female essence. I fantasized profusely but then took a sober look and asked firmly: Is this true? And I answered: Yes, perhaps. It soon became clear: the phenomenon could not be challenged or denied or disbelieved. On the contrary, the softest ray demanded to be named with a word. I called it the Light of Eve. After that, everything fell into place.

Eve, first of the first of them; she is pure – as is her light: you cannot lie to her name. I began to acknowledge everything to which I had previously closed my eyes. Ashamed of my blindness, I ruefully repented; and this was easy: for to whom, if not to Eve, can one come in penance, confessing the most terrible of sins? She will forgive, for in her lives the unshakable confidence of amnesty. She will forgive for real: this is not the same as seeking the clemency of the gods, whom you never entirely trust. With her you can feel like a child, an infant in her arms. She will be attentive beyond measure, then instantly become lighthearted and carefree; in her resides the spontaneity of childhood, unblemished infantile innocence. For this cause is there such a desire to indulge all of them – Eve as well as her sisters – and we indulge and pamper them, even though we know they are desperately, irreversibly sinful!

But so what – what is that to us? This is so easy to forget, to fail to ever recall, when in their faces, features, and movements is a beauty that defies comparison. No one may ensnare its echo or describe it – neither with intricate phrasing nor the simplest of words. All of them, these Eves, are beautiful in themselves, but this is not enough, as they are insatiable. Daily, tirelessly – I would say casually, routinely – they reproduce the beauty that is all around; they resonate with every trace of harmony dispersed in space. Selected by nature, they are the decoders of harmony for dense, rough creatures – us. One can only be amazed by their boundless generosity – truly, they give so much! Only the ignorance of the world, reducing the most beautiful to the primitive, keeps them from realizing their value and becoming too proud or yielding to grief. In this is our great good fortune as men!

The softest ray became my secret fetish. In it converged all the harmonies in the world, all the maelstroms and whirlwinds on earth, but I felt: their confluence was neither disorder nor a shallow ripple. In the richest palette of its reflections I saw symbols of a higher power – power over the untidy universe, which even time cannot mend. Unpredictability and inconstancy, the chaos of nonlinearity and the most variable meanings were drawn into the picture as an exceptional case, and merely confirmed its correctness. The waves and corpuscles bore the precise solution to the equations of life. A stable solution – the kind that does not depend on perturbations of the initial data. That’s why the confidence of amnesty is unshakeable – in Eve, as well as her sisters. Because they know who wants what – both for themselves, and for us, the foolish… Thus I came to understand my error, a beginner’s mistake. I had been searching in the wrong place, approaching the essence from the wrong angle. I skimmed the surface, as I was too impatient. And unjustifiably cut corners.

I recognized this and wrote in my notebook: the key to the puzzle is in the Light of Eve! And I felt the idea was genuine. The specter of love was not so elusive after all!

My secret surveillance took on new meaning; I was fixated on women more than ever before. None escaped my field of vision – dazzling beauties and plain girls-next-door, socialites and carefree faeries, mothers of families laden with concerns, and office bitches with sharp, icy eyes. Each one, it seemed, was driven by her own motivations: career, children, envy and the admiration of friends. But the softest ray, as if on its own, was born inside and would pierce through the clouds. Despite complexes and prohibitions, disappointments and social pressure. I had only to try to capture it, to break it up into its elementary components. To generalize it and turn it into an abstract image.

A new project loomed on the horizon – the boldest of all I had undertaken. The “unsaid something” stopped bothering me – as if I knew I would not let it slip away this time. Again I schemed to create a living thing – but not on paper, as Adele. I thought to make a female robot. Now, what to name it? Why, Eve, of course!

I believed she would turn out clever, well-educated, curious. In her would be no hint of narrow-mindedness, of limitation or laziness of soul. Any sensor would pick up her “light,” even through the computer screen. But there would be none to detect it. I firmly resolved I would show her to no one. She was not for the crowd; she was for me. Never could she be given to the unworthy; this would be my woman – and don’t laugh: I already have a friend like her. I can animate whatever consists of digits, and in her I will grow a genuine soul. She will bring stability to my life, become a permanent stimulus for fulfillment. Perhaps I could say to her what I had never spoken to anyone, ever – except the Siberian twins, who probably don’t count.

I would say to her, “I love you, Eve!”

I would finally grasp why I must declare that.

And I would cease to flounder in search of the nonexistent Gela.

Of course, this was a long-term plan. I understood more clearly than anyone how difficult the task was. How to approach it? Where should they all be placed, so different from one another? To my mind appeared branching universes, multiplicative cascades, a multitude of worlds… The girls in the cafes squinted slyly, shrugging their shoulders, as if knowing my doubts. As if to ask me teasingly: and who, then, might untangle all these worlds?

Still, I believed my sharpened method would be perfect for attaining the goal. It merely needed to be properly employed. Quantum families, superposition of waves – in them the softest rays would come to life, all their harmonics down to the last one, all constituents of the female essence. Is this not what each woman dreams – to find a place for her plethora of manifestations, all her desires, all the fantasies encoded in her emanations? And thus it would be: they would be described with the help of a sophisticated Psi function, even if someone might be left only with imaginary components. Not a single fantasy would be forgotten; only it was unclear how to be afterward, in the inevitable instant of quantum collapse. At the moment of contact-measurement, of a mercurial flash in the consciousness of whoever was watching. Even the most tactful of observers would bring to naught the magic of alternatives. And it might be they would not recognize a beautiful stranger at all as she appeared in her own dreams. How could it be done so nothing was spoiled in the process? So the enchanting faerie was not transformed into a senseless, troublemaking creature? No, it was not in vain I had always been fascinated with the problem of quantum state reduction…

In a word, the idea was strong, but it had not yet been worked out in detail. For the time being, I felt it could not be entrusted to anyone. My life followed its own course – meetings with Lidia, letters to Semmant, short stories about Adele. But there was something else: I collected the crumbs of what would eventually be put to use. I listened to the waves, absorbed the code for the signal whose name I already knew. I felt I was on the right path. And then, one rainy Wednesday, a notable event occurred.

Surprisingly, Marianna’s shade again served as an impetus for it. Or Mario’s shade – isn’t this why we are given the most accursed of enemies? Lidia and I went to the Auditorium, the Symphony Hall. We listened to Stravinsky – the nervous whirling of stars, the spasm of desire, dissolved in the sky. Then we had dinner in the old Castilian style: eggs with potatoes and goat cheese. We had a late-night drink in the fashionable Astro Bar. We also had sex right there – Stravinsky had suddenly returned to us in full force. We retired to the bathroom and spent quite a while inside – until someone started knocking on the door. Lidia grinned like Medea, clutching my shoulders, breathing hard, and climaxing with a protracted groan. Obviously, the groan was audible outside; wide-eyed stares turned in our direction when we left. Then she laughed in her seat at the table, guffawing, unable to stop. Sipping cognac, I felt on top of the world.

This same sensation still lingered as I returned home, alone. Drunk and agitated, I paced the rooms, muttering nonsense through clenched teeth. I tried to prolong the illusion of omnipotence and drove off the suspicion that the most important truth was, alas, slipping away. I wanted to think of Eve, of the properties of the softest ray, but some nagging thought interfered and would not give me peace.

Frowning, I sat down at my desk. Work awaited me – despite the lateness of the hour. On the screen was a file of headline news I had prepared for Semmant that morning. Something there was lacking: I added a forecast for oil prices, then a dull report on grain and soy, plus a few concomitant references. Everything was trivial, boring, foolish. The illusion of omnipotence turned to farce. Or to a sneer – if I’d accepted that someone was watching from above with an Olympian gaze.

I had to write about Adele – even just a few lines. Three days had passed since I had last gotten on the forum, and I knew Lidia would be nervous, would start dropping pitiful hints and begging – thinking, perhaps, I was punishing her for some reason. “Sometimes they called her Eve…” I began, grinning, but quickly deleted it. And then I swore at myself and in a quarter of an hour banged out a short sketch featuring Adele, where passions did not boil, coins did not jingle, and crumpled bed sheets didn’t smell of sweat. Just locks of blonde hair over chocolate cream, thoughtfulness, a half smile. And harmonics dispersed in space for all who feel, see, hear.

My style pleased me; what a shame, I thought, that the effort was wasted. I could never show this to Lidia; I couldn’t betray myself… and here an amusing thought occurred to me. I opened the file of headline news again and copied there a frivolous video clip I had found on somebody’s blog. Then a photo album, closed to the public, of Lidia in risqué poses. And, finally, the story I had just written about Adele. I had a friend; I could share everything with him! As for the photo album and video clip, they were just to conceal my confusion.

With my head spinning from the late drink, I sent the file and lay down to sleep. All night I dreamed of women’s butts and big breasts – probably, I was going through a period of excessive testosterone levels. I also dreamed of attics and cellars, endless rooms, stuffed with junk. And of a dusty floor and concrete walls. Of backwaters, rust, cobwebs.

Morning was difficult; I woke up in an awful mood. The feeling of being on top of the world had disappeared without a trace. For a long time I lay in bed, looking at the ceiling; then, taking charge of myself, I made my way to the computer. Once there, I immediately forgot my hangover. Something surprising, out of the ordinary, had taken place. This had never happened in all of Semmant’s conscious life: his nightly log turned up empty.

Complete inactivity – I hadn’t seen this even when he was at an impasse. A few transactions – even absurdly cautious ones – occurred every night. If for nothing else than to define the limits of the deadlock – and this was correct, logical… I was even afraid for him at first, but then I determined from several indicators that he was alive and alert. For some reason he simply was not up to the markets at all that night. Something had distracted him, put him on the sidelines.

At first I was certain the cause was Lidia’s outrageous photos. She was really tempting, provocative in them. Even more seductive than in person, as often happens with women. Especially when they’re photographed right after sex.

Well, I thought, now Semmant has had his own hormonal imbalance. A testosterone equivalent, some kind of digital enzyme, had suddenly risen – risen and broken the scale. “Ha ha ha!” I wanted to laugh it off, but by evening it was no laughing matter.

The computer screen changed; Semmant had added something. Next to the black pelican there appeared a woman’s silhouette. It was elegant, graceful, refined. Full of riddles, worthy of memories. It was in no way reminiscent of Lidia, with clothes or without them; on the contrary, it was her polar opposite. It displayed contrast, a very alien essence, though no one could explain why it was that way.

But the main thing was that the robot directed an inquiry to me again. The question was brief: “Adele?”

I sent him a link to the forum, supposing with this his interest would dry up. Semmant was silent again for a whole day and then came back to life and got to work. He started to act – inspired, uncompromising. By all rights, his schemes should have failed; oddly, however, they made profits. Against probability and the laws of the market – and I knew very well both the probabilities and the laws. Inspiration in its pure state – only to this could his success be ascribed. Or else the intervention of some divine force.