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The sand was not the same. It would never be the same.There are moments which simply cannot be repeated, which, no matter how much we love to re-live, are different from what we like to experience again. In that night the sand was wet like wild arousal and the beach seemed different, though it was the same beach.
“We are far away!” Irina whispered. “Far away from anything stopping us, which cannot stop us, which it is we who stop it together with time itself!”
Her fingers were caressing my chest. Our lips pressed together in a passionate kiss.
How could I ever think I could deny myself that kiss? My hand was under her dress and under it, it was like the wet sand under our bare feet.
We are the closest to ourselves! Close to all that we desire, that is desire, we ourselves are that desire…The desire of all time that we wish to devote to each other… I was sinking into her. In her arms and lips. I was losing my existence in hers. Losing my soul in hers. My flesh, hard as iron, was trying to preserve under itself my essential being, so fragile and vulnerable. My thoughts sought to preserve me from love. Part of me neave ceased screaming that could not happen, had not happened… But the truth was we were again on the same beach. Just the two of us. It was autumn but the weather was that of summer.
Then I could not stand it any longer. As soon as I composed a successful poem I felt I wanted to see her more than ever. Crucifying colours in words, and words in verse, it, my love, was resurrected and went up to higher dimensions of voluptuousness.
“Who are you?!
A ghostly beam of white light
coming from time immemorial…”
It was perhaps unwise but everything developed apace. Was it the verse, was it my flesh who could not bear to be parted from hers? I changed all my decisions and yielded to my emotions.
I forgot I was laughing hysterically and my laughter had turned into a moan and then into silence. I forgot about the painting which my brush was reluctant to execute. I went out of my studio and my lips were repeating the sontaneously produced verse. I walked without direction. I felt I was going to her and did not believe I was doing it. I got into my car. My lips went on versifying:
“Nature joined mother earth,
to give birth to insane beauty…”
I wanted to see her again. Naked, embarrassed, frank.I wanted to be unaware of why I was embarrassed when what Ihad to feel was solely wild joy. I wished her to touch my mouth with her fingers as if admonishing silence; I wanted to rub my lips up her arm and then to press them eternally along her delicate neck, till finally time itself ended in the infinity of mouths pressed against each other while my hands caressed her breast…
“Invented of created by God,
delight of everything on earth and in heaven…”
I was with her. Slight fear through wild joy peered from her glance. She still did not believe I was with her. Like me, she did not believe that could happen, yet happy with this incredible fact… We were alone in her flat. Materius might return at any moment but it was too late for us to be sensible, now.
Driven away or personified,
thoughtful, you peer into the night…”
She is in a long red robe with a deep slash. Neighing, growling, I pull it up and wind it round her waist. Flapping like a fish out of water, groaning wildly, she tries to disentangle herself from the shoulder straps but is too excited to make a single precise move apart from the intercourse which follows. I tear the shoulder straps. She scratches her breasts. Sucks mine. My hand plunges into her vagina. We sharply tear ourselves apart. Look into each other’s eyes. With embarrassment, tenderness and wildness. I cannot say to her: “I missed you! I tried to forget you but I desire you immensely…” I can say nothing other than recite:
“I looked for you along the Milky Way,
a star shone in all my life
so that two auras of a single dream can touch…”
She touches my lips with a finger. Wants me to be silent. I zig-zag with my lips up her arm like the snakes in the painting. Materius can come back any moment now and I want to kiss her shoulder for centuries on end. I’m sucking her breast and – already forgetting where we are – we take our time…
“You came to me with braided hair
of forest violets,
with eyes, shining like balls of fire…”
We made love. Upon the piano. Her voice reverberated against the strings. A soft melody for piano and an orchestra of furies making love. A tender, passionate, perverted, melody… The walls vibrated against the sound. They echoed it many times and it was reverberated from our bodies. Each note was an eye – the eye of a fish…
“I want to be a fish! To swim naked in the water! Let’s make love in the water!
“Like a witch you prepared the poisonous brew
and I drank the dregs of the love potion…”
Her dress hung around her waist; her fingers are painfully stuck into my shoulders; her lips convulse with ecstasy; her eyes betray insanity.
“I missed you!” she groans.
Lightnings touched the flesh and rain wetted it.
Thorns and bushes tore the memories of passion…”
“I can’t go on without you!” her voice rings out against the strings and her elbows beat upon the keys…
“But we continued on our way
along the road the hardened destiny…”
I collapse under the piano.The lid bangs down heavily.A heavy ringing.The moon shrinks. Irina screams:
I still do not believe we are together and only hours before I was far from her, trying to forget she existed. My existence I also wished to forget…
“Spellbound, our bodies joined and parted.
Hardened flesh spilled the seeds of voluptuousness…”
We drew breath for an instant and again joined bodies.As in the poem which was ringing out in my memory. The words I did not utter, I turned into action. I could not write down the verse before trying to live out its poetry. I could not stay desperate and sick in my studio. I had to see her. Or my heart would have grown dumb like an unspoken verse. Only when our bodies convulsed for the second time that night in voluptuous spasms did I realize what I was doing , what I wanted to do as soon as heard her voice on the phone.
“I want to make love in the lift, the one in which we met!”
“And on the moon?”
“And on Venus!”
“Sweet figs!” I kissed her breasts. “And in a crate full of sweet figs!”
“What about on horseback?”
“And in coffin?”
In a capsule where all air has been pumped out… The room seemed tiny to me.What were we doing here? In her home, by the family hearth? We had to be somewhere else…
“Now we’ll put on our clothes and drive off in the car. Without choosing the direction. It will find us…”
“I want it to be perverted and nice! Wild! Like on horseback…”she almost neighed which made me smile… It would have been still more perverted and nice than she could ever have expected.
”Sensibility unlocked the drive towards perfection.
Darkness became mad light and our faces shone upon it.”
We were lying on our backs on the floor.We held hands and were silent. Understanding nothing. Misled by our own selves. Desiring more, having everything. We tried to pierce the celing with our glances.Tried to explode in schizophrenic forgetfulness and not to be condemned to make love punctuated by separation and touch each other in the teeth of being forbidden to do so. Tried not to be Irina and Papa Jan but those of our doubles whom we saw on the river bank making liberated love.
“I want us to be there!” I whispered to her.
“At the seaside… – you have guessed it…”
“Flying amid the elements of our emotions.
Moments and days were devoured by memory…”
Smiling, holding hands, we went out of her flat. A neighbour stared at us with the eyes of a fish. Glassy. Not understanding. Amazed to madness.In the car we were already kissing. Everywhere. Excited, I switched on the engine. I did not pay attention to the direction of the road. I was kissing my beloved and only from time to time looked ahead and into the mirror.The car was racing ahead. Irina’s eyes, sunk in the visible, seemed to be dreaming. I asked myself if I was not also dreaming and how was it possible for us to escape just like that. I dropped my hand onto her lap. Warm, pulsating with passion. Real. No, I was not dreaming. Alas, I was not.
My God it wasn’t a dream!
“The paint dried up on the canvas
shaping the touched up shape of bewilderment…”
“We are fleeing!” she whispered and embraced me. Then she placed her leg on my lap. She sat in a riding posture upon me and pressed her lips on mine. Her hand was inserted under my shirt. We lost the road. Barred by a beautiful vision it no longer existed.A small part of my consciousness feared an accident. Afterwards I ceased to care about accidents I thought we had already had one as we had permitted to ourselves to divert our eyes from the road and drive on blind, drunk with delight, solely by the will of providence towards a fall or the shore of delight. I did not see the road I did not want to see it. I wished to lose myself in her embraces. To dissolve her in mine. To crash right in the moment of supreme delight so that we’ll be forever in hot passion…
“This is madness! This is freedom!” she screamed. “A total fertilization before fate overtakes us…”
“Before the appearance of a Messiah!”
“Kiss my breasts! Take your hands off the wheel… I want us to pass through flames… I want it…
Somehow from the sidelines I saw the zig-zagging car. That was really madness. Cold thrill of horror froze my body as I realized what we had been doing but at that moment no force could have torn me away from her caresses and make me see better the road I had long lost behind her figure. She jumped up and down on my lap and screamed…
“Love me… love me… love me…”
The car continued its dangerous dance along the motorway.
“The words reflected the lust of the Universe.
The illusion of existence intertwined with eternity…”
I heard a car horn.The huge truck which drove past only milimetres away from my car spared us as we were forgiven by fate. Irina was convulsing orgiastically. The wheel slipped from my hands. It was insanity.It was beautiful. My entire body experienced a thrill. She, too. I was sucking her breast. With one hand I caressed her thigh while the other hand was slipping from the wheel. My foot was off the gas but Irina stepped on it full force.
It was beautiful…
I felt us merged with eternity. We had no chance of survival. We could have our final thrill before death experiencing it with the fullness of a whole life. In ecstasy. In total ecstasy…
“The neurons on the body were taut with expressiveness.
Thrills crawled on the sensitive erogenous areas…”
We were now on the sand, excitingly wet.Providence had forgiven us.I abandoned the experience on the road and having arrived at the shore of our dreams, happier than ever, we again abandoned ourselves to caresses…
“Eros was in waiting
of the total fertilization before the appearance of a Messiah.”
She became god-mother to the picture with the many snakes.
“How did it come off?” she asked caressing my head.
“I missed you and you turned into a verse,” I replied. “And I wanted you to hear it…”
“Is that so?”
“No. I did not wish to destroy my feeling for you, satisfying myself with a verse, when I could have the entire you…”
Meditating, we turned passion into a luxury.
The perfect promotion of exotic delight…”
“Divine clitoris!” I playfully said, passing my finger along the tender flesh.
“Am I to hear it?The poem, that is.” she asked me playfully.
“It’s too early yet. Very early… Divine lips…”
“We have escaped,” said she, embarrassed. “And are still naked… And the sun will rise soon…”
“I already know how the painting with the snakes is to be called, even before finishing it: ‘Total Fertilization Before the Messiah’s Coming’!”
“You seem to have said it to me already!”
No! We both have said it to ourselves. Sound after sound. Expressing it to the smallest nuance… We might have crashed but survived…
“In order to continue making love…”
“Yes…” I whispered, while the verse still poured out:
“Sunk in the whirlpool of vanishing reality,
we sometimes emerged from dreamlike nirvana…”
“How long will we continue fleeing, Irina?”
She did not reply. She said we had fled. In fact, that was the first night when we were not fleeing. Till that night we had been doing it all the time. We fled from each other, from our feelings, from that beach!
“Materius needs me!” she told me simply and laconically. “But let’s not think of that. That night was ours and it mustn’t end sadly. Don’t think we are separated. Don’t believe that the night is ended after all. It was so beautiful. As though impossible.”
“It was impossible. I have grown perverted. My love I cannot have – merely pitiable sweet projections of it in the bodies of other women. Having the same divine clitorises and lips. But merely women, not you. You desired Pluto, didn’t you?”
“And the highest peak on Mount Vitosha. No, on the Himalayas! And in a crate full of fish!”
“But why should others enjoy my love?”
“But I’m not jealous. Discover me in them.”
“Do you think that’s possible?”
“No,” she replied.
“We wandered and stumbled in the reality of life.
Petrified statues rose from our footprints…”
“Will you tell me the verse sometime…”
“You may have heard it already, not with your ears though…”
“With my fibres”
“And with the aura…”
“Fog erased the shadows
of the transparent spirits that were being born…”
I feel cold…
“We cannot be forever on the run, Irina…”
“But aren’t we – all the time? Believe me, I don’t want to hurt Materius. Please, love me like tonight. With him is another woman. She resembles the one who is now with you and sometimes they share the same body but they are different women. Have yours. The wild one. The forbidden one. The eternal escapist. The one doomed to be yours with only a part of herself though with her whole heart. See? You’ve made me spout trivialities. I don’t like to blame Eros’s jokes on my heart…”
“O, yes!” said I somewhat ironically. “Your poetry is different. Too intellectually elevated to acknowledge that a muscle ball can sometimes be more eloquent than all written books which it is it in fact that has written them all. We feel better when we ascribe everything to fictitious gods like Eros, for instance, instead of admitting that precisely that ball of muscles is Eros himself… We feel better beguiling ourselves with poetry instead of being poetry!”
“Don’t get bitter!”
“I can’t help it!” every word I uttered pained me. “It will be daylight after a while and we’ll be on our way back. You’ll get back to the family hearth. You’ll again be the model wife and will insert me in your next poetry collection as a verse. It will surely be a very intellectual exercise because only thus will you be able to still your heart. Only that way. With much reasoning… And I… I won’t tell you my verse. I’ll whisper it when I’m alone… Because it resembles a confession… A disorderly confession… Many concepts without sound linkage… Like our life, exactly. Like our love. Powerful emotions. Explosions. No consistency. In one instant we bury ourselves, in the next we help each other gain resurrection, only to kill each other once again…”
“Please, don’t talk like that,” she was on the verge of tears.
I was spoiling it all. The splendid night. The delightful experience. The joy of us being alive and had lived our life in accordance with our wishes. I had nothing to grumble about. Sometimes one instant was enough for you to take everything from life and now it lasted an entire night.
“The picture gallery was becoming a lovers’ temple.
Like candles our bodies melted in time…”
“I want you to fill the ocean with your sperm!”
“But that’s impossible!”
“Mine at least you can!”
Just one phrase from her was enough to arouse me again and I tried to fill up not hers but the entire ocean.
Then I became sad again. And she was full. Glad. Happy. Desiring. Immensely pleased.
“Why all that melancholy, Papa Jan! You live the way you want to. You can’t realize it, but it is so. Or we would have met earlier. You have the woman. Why do you need the female divinity of unhappy love? Don’t be sad…”
“Well, you have interpreted it all. Again you have interpreted it and placed it the way it should… And in the place it should… Philosophy puts everything in its due place, even when it admits to knowing nothing.Even when love itself is in question which it alleges not to understand.”
“Love, or sexual thrill?” for the first time her voice sounded cold.
“If for you it is nothing but a sex thrill, you may be right to ask that question.
“With energy from above it dominated over obstacles.
It directed the telepethetic beam
of bioenrgetic interaction…”
“Why don’t you bite off my nipples? Do it, since you want to cause pain out of love!”
She was right. I wounded her for no particular reason. One cannot cure a wound with another wound.
I had no business saying anything other than that I wished to say. I wished to say I was happy. Very much so. And if I said that I could be speaking the truth. One is only true to one’s happiness. Even the miserable ones. Those devoted to the opposite sign to that of their wishes. Unconsciously, the soul produces whatever it wants to. Even when it fails,it has passed through the garden of the Eden of the thrill of bliss, impossible to be consciously realized. I was probably happy for possessing Irina only at intermittent moments. For being in love and despite the lovers’ craze for possession I do not possess her I was probably happy because my beloved was a voluptuous thrill and the poetry of the soul weary of the whips of the flesh. I was happy probably because I had to violate the rules of the game. Or because I could not do so. Or because I was living in a dream. Or… Or…
Because my lot was not to have a predestined woman but many. Frivolity and prettiness. Innocent perversions, not love but loves. Multiple images instead of an image. Penises scattered in all directions instead of family fidelity. A craze instead of composure in art. Aesthetics instead of ethics. And over and above all that satanic disorder – the beautiful woman as a priestess in the darkness of perdition and beauty… And my out-of-place musings at the moments when I had the opportunity to enjoy the thrill… To drink the sea out of the cup between her thighs. The fountain of voluptuousness with the taste of salt. To add more sperm to the incredible cocktail. More sperm than bile from unshed tears…
O, love why are you so melancholy even on your native shore?
Why are the stallions of eroticism bruised by your whips?
Why is your coach, broken, abandoned by the side of the motorway of life along which now dash growling, stinking dragons, spewing burnt out gases?
This is happiness for some people, no matter how absurd that sounds!
You, girl, are happy in your melancholy! In your inability to enjoy your own sweetness!
“As the god-mother of ‘Energy Lyzism’
you felt full in your universal solubility…”
I came to. We were not on our beach. A lot of time had passed. Had I been dreaming? At that moment I did not know. I had awakened from one dream and as if in an instant had sunk into the next. I had smeared paint all over myself. As in the old days when I was alone in my studio in Assenovgrad. I do not recall our way back that morning. I remember we again made love in motion. It was truly delicious…
“It cannot go on like this!” I remember saying to her.
“It’s magnificent!” she replies delighted. “Do you really wish everything in your life to be systematic?”
“We cannot any longer deceive the old man. He also loves you.You must make him feel a man! Then you can even forget me. You only have to make him feel a man!”
“It’s you who made me feel a woman!”
Pleasant flame. Infinite cold in the Land Beyond Any Criteria.
“Thought sends passions into exile, my friend! Materius cannot attain his body without having passed through all the circles of the inferno of that exile. A rather long way before he touches me as you do… He needs a wife, a friend, an intellectual partner but I would forever be the mistress of some other. In fact I now know: of you alone.”
“Enough of this poetry. Be more humane!”
“Poetry makes me human. Otherwise I am a wild cat…”
I recall us parting that way. I went away aimlessly. Days after that I went back to her…
“You must be crazy!” her scream was full of delight.
We are both crazy… This time we “escaped” closer to home… In the foothills of Mount Vitosha. Under the gaze of many hikers. While she was groaning over me, with the corner of an eye I saw our doubles.They were watching us.They may have been the same ones we saw that night by the river. Enigmatic. Nameless man and woman with faces like ours. With bodies like ours who were enjoying their visual thrill.Weren’t they a product of the imagination…
“Juices, colours, hues, bodies, nature and love
dissolved under the gaze of God the Creator…”
“Papa Jan, you are a tremulous mind, about to fall ill due to your dangerous proximity to Beauty!” gayly speaks Materius, as he looks at photos of my pictures. I feel like telling him he does not even suspect how close I am to Beauty and how real is the danger of the illness he is speaking of. I am pained because I love him, yet deceive him. I am pained because he and I are not one man and his wife is not two women. I am pained because philosophy ends where life begins, because he, the genius cannot discover the formula to rid us all three from the haunted love triangle… I break out laughing like mad. Materius looks at me bewildered. I am more bewildered than he and it is infernally funny to me.
A love triangle. An enchanted circle. A most wonderful verbal geometry according to which the triangle at one moment becomes a vicious circle…
I laugh like crzy…
“You are rather infantile!” Irina tells me when she found out I was laughing at my discovery of the circular triangle. Naturally, my dear. Only a child can forgive that satanic sense of humour with which we love and love our fellow man… I will again lift your thighs and everything will fall into place or at any rate will fall into place before being derailed again… My laughter dies down. I have again gone back to her from somewhere. We are again alone. We are making love like the time before, near the piano…
And so, step by step
we’ve reached the basilica of the doomed.
The magician-priest was drinking the blood of the sacrifice…”
We parted. For the umpteenth time I told myself that we had experienced everything will see each other no more. I went back to my atelier in Assenovgrad with my unfinished painting and already had the strength and inspiration to add to it all that was lacking. For three endless nights and days I worked on it. In the end I poured kerosene upon it and set it ablaze. Burning a part of me I hoped to purify myself. Next day within a few hours I had repainted it only to realize it was still incomplete. Something was lacking. Then I convulsed in a nightmare. On my skull was a gaping wound. Like a blow with an axe. I was smiling with that sly expression of infinite a somewhat melancholy insight, so typical of Materius. I was sitting on the edge of a hospital couch and was smiling; my body was weak, in danger of losing its enormous head at any moment. I was the degenerate and was also Materius. The two men loved by Irina had merged into one. And that man was sick and degenerate instead of being perfect… I felt saved when I awoke from the nightmare.
I touched the unfinished painting and what followed was no dream. Nor was it a hallucination of “a tremulous brain gotten sick from its dangerous proximity with beauty”. It was a miracle, an actual miracle. One of the snake-like women stepped out of the painting and kissed my lips tenderly. The lips of the second one, wet and passionate, sank into my lap. I found myself in the picture where evrything was sincere and beautiful, where I boldly made love to the bacchantes unafraid they might tear me apart, where I did not have to hurry anywhere, nor think of what I would lose when the night ends, where the night could not end, where the night was Irina herself, who had chosen to make me happy with different faces of her many-faced splendour…
“Standing before the altar of votive service
we repeat conjuring mantras:
I am not in the picture; I am in my Sofia studio. Irina and I are putting the finishing touches on the painting. We glue the snake skins we had collected the day before while on Mount Vitosha…
“Would you believe me if tell you that for nearly half-a-year I have been living in a dream?” I ask her.
“Since the night we ran away?”
I nod affirmatively.
“Since the night I collapsed with delight.When I did not want you to die in that verse of mine. It is constantly sounding in my head. Even now. It eats at my memory like a computer virus. Sometimes it even makes me happy.”
“Molten by the priest’s magic, we left trance-existence…”
“One night I had a revolting nightmare: I and Materius were one man. Degenerate…
“We are all degenerate. It makes us beautiful. Otherwise we would have been perfect.”
“Yet, if we open our eyes in an instant and see how degenerate we are we’ll disgust us.”
“We won’t open them!” she replied while gluing the tail of a snake onto the vagina of the woman depicting her in “Total Fertilization Before the Coming of a Messiah”.
She gave a moan. She passed a finger along the snake skin and jokingly slapped the bottom of her double in the painting.
“It’s a treat,” she laughed. “Sometimes I am really her…”
“I opened my eyes. The splendid flesh had gone.
It even vanished from memory,
like scalding lava it slid between my fingers…”
“And when you are not her?”
“Well,then?” she came up to me and sat on my knees. “I am a poetess, bored with much life.”
“Only the picture on the wall remained with the dear image.
Do you exist, or did I invent you?!”
“You are a philosopher,” I told her. “Can you explain to me the strange things that have been happening to me since that night? I am no more mentally ill than is safe for me and those around me. Yet I forget many things. Other things happen to me which a rational mind can’t believe in.”
“Auto-editing of memory. You would rather have beautiful memories than real ones. You prefer to remember things not as they happened but as you saw them. You have ended a phase of your life to which you return with your ‘edited memories’. You find that more interesting. Will you tell me the poem with which that night started?”
“Do you exist, or did I invent you?!”
She looked at me questioningly.
“That was the poem,” I told her, smiling. We both laughed.
“This time your really surpassed yourself. Usually, you are not all that sparing of words and so convincing!”
We laughed more freely. I kicked at the painting. I took Irina under the arms and placed her on the canvas as though on an oblatory skene. What followed was not sex but a peculiar religious erotic ritual, a sacrament neither of us saw differently from all other occasions we made love. It was the end of a phase in my life. The end of a poem. The end of an infinite string of thrills. After it we would be different…
“Do you exist, or did I invent you?!
In dreams, the memory of your presence
brings sorrow back.
Lived joy, misery, sick time
planted flower, withered by the frost of life.
Faded thrill, the fire won’t die,
nor would the tremour of my soul…
Who are you?!
A transparent ray of white light…”
The poem ended. So did sorrow. I was ripe enough to love her and not to suffer and to derive still greater joy from old sorrows.
The hourglass, having counted our dulcet thrills, had covered the shore with a golden blanket for lovers…
Our shore; which after that night would not make me suffer, pondering things which must only be experienced. The ritual ended and making love began.
It was on the outskirts of Balchik… The first world exhibition of balloons. Pictures by me, tied to balloons filled with hydrogen, were about to fly to the four corners of the world so that I could share my art and inspirationwith the birds and then with the lucky ones who would discover the fallen paintings each of which for a long time now was priced at millions. Ever since Irina and I started to meet whenever we wanted to not caring much whether we were being seen or heard such ideas frequently occurred to our minds. Exactly, o c c u r r e d . I don’t even recall now if the exhibition venture with the balloons was or was not her idea but it does not matter. We were of one mind during those months. She and I, though so very unlike, often merged not only corporeally but also intellectually. When the balloons were let fly in search of lucky discoverers we two sailed in a fisherman’s boat after them.We saw them off till they disappeared in the sky like the breasts of an unhappy love. I touched mine. I locked her fast in an embrace and hers was desperate.
“My breasts won’t melt this way!”
“I don’t want to be a bird but a fish which drifts away and returns…”
“And which most fully experiences the ecstasy of love because it takes the spawn with her entire body.”
The entire catch was under our feet. Tons of still living fish. Irina jumped into it, sinking up to her knees. She took off her bikini and I jumped upon her almost tearing my bathing trunks.
“Now we’ll experience this orgasm with them!”
“Now we’ll experience this orgasm with them!”
We fell into the heap. Thousands of fish eyes were looking at us with their extraterrestrial looks. All were taking part in our love play. They slid along our bodies, into our embrace, slapped us in the face with their smooth bodies, suffocating, kissed us passionately, desperately with open mouths. We experienced what they did during orgasm.Sex with thousands of fish on a stolen fisherman’s boat. Universal total fertilization before the deaths of thousands – our orgasm was the fullest.
“I want to be a fish… to be a fish… to be a fish…”
Under me her body moved exactly like a fish. A fish had penetrated her open asshole… I penetrated quickly from in front and shoved another fish into her mouth. She herself caught two in her hands and then scores of the creatures, as if realizing what they were invited to, began jumping upon us again.It was fantastic. In a human way, we remained perverted and the things we were doing was perverted but at the same time we were fish like all those unfortunate creatures which would soon be food on the table of some housewife or other.
“You wanted to be a fish, didn’t you?”
She said nothing. It seemed she was imagining it, because she kept opening and shutting her mouth like the miserable creatures around her and I availed myself of the moment to enjoy a quick French kiss. And ejaculated right on time. Amid tons of scales and spawn, because just after that we were found out by the coastline guards who had been on the lookout for the disappeared fisherman’s boat. When they let us go, we did not wash. We still stank of fish, yards away, and our bodies were covered with scales. Our hotel was almost empty. We made a round of the rooms and spawned our roe. We made love till our legs could no longer support us, till our eyes popped out, our bodies get stiff, our brains stop thinking – in each and every room.I don’t know how many times we did it.In any case, it was withing human capability. I don’t know how many hours it lasted. In any case, it was for longer than we could absent ourselves. We did it in all possible ways; I even felt like penetrating into her veins and I think I did it. Without hurting them. Simply, while caressing them with my penis I felt I was discharging my fluid, yet I saw no traces of it on her. Some would say, of course, after so many times there would be nothing to discharge!
But no!I got re-charged with sexual energy from somewhere else.! From the universe, from the world, from Nature. It was always like that when I was with Irina. I am extremely delighted, satisfied and satiated. I do not think of another woman but with her I want it all to go on forever. When things between us were not yet settled, understandably, we thought it was our last time. It was not so since a long time now. Now we even tried to channel our thoughts of it being like that. Out of superfluous perverted romanticism we were not only profoundly but absolutely sure we would meet again and again till parted by death alone. After that – one never knows.
We could have been reincarnated as fish in love or flies in love which could do it flying. One night, assisted by long meditation we has transferred part of our consciousness onto such small creatures and it was fine.We flew about the room, preparing the fifty-thousandth generation to torment humanity, till finally we crashed upon the window again awaking in our own bodies upon which two flies had fallen. I still keep them in a box. It had all been so brief and so splendid – us, experiencing the Lunar Orgasm in them. In its fullness and its total eclipse.
We have also made love upon horses. And like fish. We have experimented with all things that are not r e a l l y perverted, like tearing up of veins and shoving a penis in them or discharging sperm.What happened, however, was different: I was rubbing her arm with my penis when I felt I climaxed most powerfully, most fully and most unburdeningly exactly upon the vein. There was no sperm.It seems it had passed into her in some trans-bilogical, contactless manner, because at that moment I felt my own biological energy field inside the body of my beloved.In an instant she was altered, becoming stronger, more liberated but much more aggressive.Aggression is desirable in sex when it is shared. This time, however, it was a question of aggression, trensforming itself into tenderness. It was savage, masculine aggression. If I had long hair, she would have grasped it, pulling my head backwards and shoving her non-existent penis into my lips, parted in the uttering of a groan of pain.Instead, I began tenderly kissing her clitoris and thighs, zig-zagging with my lips down them. I sensed the hurricane passing and Irina becoming the same Irina, though she was now carrying my fruit inside her.
Then it all subsided. Even the nearby waves seemed to have become quieter. I wonder if, after a total orgasm like that it only seems so to us, or really the whole environment perceives it and quietens down with us.We were lying close to each other.Our bodies were still warm and red, smelling of fish and freedom. The sun was setting and our full moon was again above us.
“I’ll soon be the same!”
“Which of them all?” I smiled at her.
“The witch who performs her rituals under a full moon. Naked, she takes men’s hearts and women’s bodies. Mixes male and female sweat with cow’s milk. Adds two drops of her own blood. Plus two drops of the blood of a boar and a rabid dog. Then she milks the moon, reflected in a copper full of the magic potion and then she rubs her breasts with it in order to take the strength of the full moon, to take the strength of the tide – the tides of the earth, of all hearts, lungs, testicles and vaginas…”
“You have never performed such rituals!”
“Oh, I don’t smear such disgusting potions upon my breasts!” she sweetly smiled.
“I manage to observe the moon in your eyes and it will sink into my psyche. After that I make love to you with its strength and all tides and give myself to love!”
“And you turn into a fish…” she smiled.
“I’m a fish when I swim naked in the sea. Alone at night I expect you to come into the body of the sea god, sometimes into that of a sea monster. Today we only participated in the total fertilization of the fish.”
My head spinned. I believed that and feared lest it be true. It continued floating inside my skull.I recalled our feelings hours before while we writhed along the dying fish in ecstasy and agony, covered in sea drops, spawn and scales With every fibre of mine I experienced the ecstasy.Every inch of our flesh was a sex organ. Even the aura was an erogenous area, aroused and swollen like a nipple, spreading miles around us and sensing the arousal of lips when kissing, touching the departing balloons hung with paintings. We made love in water and air, touched the nearby shore and made love on it, loved in the fish bodies under the cover of every grain of spawn. Though we were simply lying upon the fish and Irina’s legs tightly clasped my waist while her hands held two of the bigger fish, we were not making love merely with our bodies. We were something more than bodies, or if we were, those bodies, opening onto Nature’s whole orgasm, managed, in a way unknown to man to make “unperverted” love to all of Nature.Outside the cells into which fish spawn.
I was gripped in horror by the thought that this could really be a great Discovery. I am not even aware, how that thought occurred to me amid all those experiences, first as a hypothesis and then as picture called “Immaculate Conception” which I swiftly confided to my beloved.
“Penny for your thoughts,” she said.
“Do you know why I’m Papa Jan!” I laughed. “Because I have eaten quite a lot to grow so big…”
She also smiled, briefly. She was probably wondering what the matter was with me. That matter which was still of interest to her was swelling once more but my thoughts were preoccuppied with something else and I was sweating with inspiration.Before my eyes I visualized the picture which a moment before had merely been an idea, a philosophical challenge with great theosophical value. The value of all heresies in order to strengthen religious dogma or to make a dent in it with a view to upcoming heresies and the next, greater, strengthening of dogma.
“Immaculate Conception!” the naked Virgin whose cells are open to the entire universe. Having conceived from the fish spawn, discharged into the air.
Irina looked at me amazed. Then she merrily laughed and kissed me.
“Now they’ll actually proclaim you Pope…”
She laughed but I was serious because I visualized the picture. God, please forgive me, if you are the one people appeal to. Sometimes I still believe in you and often when embarking on my way I call upon the Holy Virgin to keep watch over me. Forgive me, you – sole God of Love – if I who see it differently from most worshippers, am erring.
“The Virgin in a rather voluptuous posture,” whispered I to Irina. “Above Her – the angel and fish. Flying fish. A great many fish. Curved spaces. Geometrical fantasies while She experiences an orgasm.The greatest,the most sensual, the purest. And the most total. The orgasm of the entire mankind! The orgasm, till today unfelt, till we ourselves experienced it. Out there, in the fisherman’s boat. It is still vibrating in our bodies…”
Irina kissed me.
“Then let’s waste no time. Let’s take the rest of it before it is gone. I want us to swim once again.”
We didn’t bother to dress. We jumped down from the terrace. Night had fallen. A passionate night of summer. With the caress of sea wind and still panting with the hot day that had passed.A night like a woman after full lovemaking.A night of drinking youths and short skirts. A night of youth and much more love.Above all, a night with a full moon. Our night, when we, still under the spell of what we had been through, like alcoholics wanting more and more and more superfluous dizziness, naked, ran to the shore.
We waded into the waves. Subsided until a short time before,they were again agitated or perhaps we, excited, felt them to be so. The moon shone upon our shoulders when we in a long, long kiss, up to our knees in water, felt the new surge of the infinite cosmic forces of giving oneself to love…
Irina did indeed seem to have milked it and taken away her strength. With her love, she was imparting to me all the earth’s tides and the tides of all lips, genitals, hearts…
“Let’s become fish!”
“Let’s swim naked…”
“Under the pictures lost into providence…”
We fell silent. We pressed our lips together just like the moon sucks in the witch’s copper. Her legs were twined round my waist. Our groans merged with the splash of the waves. My lips were kissing her breasts and when they were parted from them splashes replaced them. One wave, mightier than the others, knocked us over. Our faces were under the water surface. They appeared somehow extraterrestrial. Human, yet of the ocean. Belonging to people living in the ocean. In a boundless country love is also booundless. We did not wish to stick our heads out, we kissed underwater. She fell on her stomach over me and I penetrated her. The ocean was carrying us away but we were not humans but were fish. We were not afraid of the ocean stream, as we were not afraid that the stream of life will carry off our love. It was so incredible, it so powerfully experienced the Full Orgasm that even if that happened, the felt joy would not be taken away from us. It was to flourish in the spawn carried off by the typhoon and tossed up and down by the wind, would enter, soft, caressing and tender, through the window of a lonely girl, gazing at the full moon. On her budding breasts and stomach it would splash in the form of male semen and female juices; it would turn into creeping ants under the skin which would descend down the skin towards the tender velvet and would possess it with her own hand, while her eyes, fixed at the moon, see upon its face our own tattooed
ones. Harmonious spirituality and fatal flesh, tender inspiration and wild passion would fuse together.Two faces, male and female upon the face of the moon. Faces human and of fish, chained in the madness of passion, liberated by universal harmonious love which breaks any and every chain…
The stream continued carrying us into the open sea when, just before I exploded, Irina unstuck herself from me and after a masterly swimming exercise turned round and took it into her mouth. I saw her spine, writhing, flexible, like that of a snake, shining in the moonlit water and then everything disappeared from my vision. I experienced it.
I was flowing out, all of me, devoured by the Abyss of All Abysses – predatory, greedy, madly loving, infinitely selfless and infinitely voracious, as deep as the Universe itself. I felt smashing the palate like a fallen meteor and reaching the brain. I splash amidst the brain convolutions, flow along them and we tremble from our mutual touch. I came to before I had swallowed water. Everything returned to its regular place. The waves, radiant under the moon, the fish jumping on the surface Irina’s smiling face and the now distant shore. Everything was in its normal position before my eyes but they did not yet see things clearly because I was still dizzy with what I had experienced and failed to realize what had happened. More than once before I had finished inside her mouth but this time there was something different… The writhing fish spine!
The sensation prior to it!
The day, full of emotions and experience!
The writhing spine!… I’ll paint it some day… I’ll paint it… I was still dizzy… I recalled the sensation which seemed to repeat itself… I spilled my semen in her lips as soon as touching them. I smashed the palate and penetrated the brain, flowing amidst the brain convolutions. I was absorbed by the cells which produced flowers. Wild forest flowers. Thoughts… verses… Crazes…Inside the head of a godlessly beautiful witch who wanted to milk the moon… The curved spine!
No, it was not the spine of a fish but that of a panther, a black panther. A strange species, living in the water. It had the form of a woman who, when sexually satisfied under a full moon, turned into a panther in an instant. This is a trick of the imagination She simply seemed like a panther to me. Her spiritual loftiness and good manners are traits in Irina’s character which in no way at all prevent her being wild sometimes exactly like a predatory panther. And it is like a panther I will paint her some day.In that respect, in fact, Irina is not all that much unlike many other tender kittens on two legs who can murmur sweetly when caressed on the back but capable of tearing you to pieces the very next moment. I was familiar with that aspect of Irina’s because in that, as I said, she was not unique.Other aspects of her had slipped me. Such as were not frequently met with. Such as have no analogies in real life. At least not in that kind of life which is knowable and can be written about in a book by a writer, or captured on canvas by an artist. Such aspects were only to be perceived. By few lucky ones under the eternal full moon. The writhing spine… The lips where her vagina has been a moment before. The breakthrough!
I pour out my fluid over it!I let it drink and enjoy touching it. I am ecstatic… Was there really sex on the brain? Only hours before it had seemed odd when I imagined I had penetrated her veins and now something far more incredible was happening to me.
“What happened?” I shouted at her while she, resembling a nymph laughed at me swimming around.
“Nothing, my love! Simply, the full moon! A priestess of arcane skills can dissolve everything in everything else on such a night. She can open non-existent doors…”
“Ah, you!” I laughed and rushed after her. We swam fast further into the sea.In a normal condition we would have thought that unreasonable, the shore being rather distant, we, being rather exhausted, but after the experience in the fisherman’s boat, in the hotel and that which happened a moment before we threw reasonableness to the winds and now we were not human beings but fish who did not fear not being able to make it back to the shore, because their home is the sea and not the land.
“I’ll love you in the air… I’ll love you in the fire… And on land again… And in the water again… And in all the elements… And I’ll mix them… And you’ll mix them, too… And they’ll dissolve… They’ll be smashed like atoms and we’ll absorb their mushroom in bodies… Because you are aware how doors are opened and absorption takes place…” I shouted at every few metres as I, panting, swam after her and she – after the horizon.
I caught up with her. Our bodies intertwined. We touched each other. Tenderly, with the fingers of hands and feet. We overturned and our tongues frolicked on erogenous areas. We rose above the waves and kissed. We dipped downwards and swam towards the bottom of the abyss, till our lungs were blazing with shortness of air and for a kiss above the surface of the water.And again swimming further on, dipping, touching with fingers of hands and feet, frolicking of tongues on the erogenous zones, rising above the waves and kisses, diving deep down and swimming further out into the sea, till we saw several dolphins. Swimming, they danced round one another and pecked at their genitals. Then they made love. Merrily, like humans, but more freely.A whole group of playful dolphins, playing the game of love.We watched them long, delighted. At last only a pair remained. We swam towards them and like them did what we had been doing before meeting them. Though the dolphins were busy frolicking, watched us and only for brief moments looked in another direction. Apparently, they, too, enjoyed our love game as we did theirs… I cannot say how long we stayed far out into the sea and how it occurred to us at all that we had better go back, lest our strength failed us on our way to the saving shore…
Gradually, yet swiftly, the mood changed. With every passing second we became aware what we had done.We had overdone it, the same way as when we made love on the road with my hands on the steering wheel.
“After total passion! After the latest temptation! What remains? Death! What the hell, this is not our first game like that.Our love is suicidal. We gave each other supreme delight which could not be topped by the perception of death. The lunar orgasm! The new moon! We are killing ourselves!”
What nonsense! We are frivolous to death. Literally to death. Oh, Lord!
A metre after metre I was making progress. Initially, she was far ahead of me but she began dropping behind. She lacked my stamina and my routine of fighting off death.
Yes, besides being an artist, I am also an adventurer and very much a hothead at that. I have travelled a lot and have been anywhere. I have gotten lost in Siberian deserts of snow. I have trodden upon a mine and have had to stand motionless for an eternity while rats gnawed at my legs. More than once I have been far out into the sea, drained of all strength under much less romantic circumstances….* I have survived in all those cases thanks to Divine Providence and a wild lust for life in the name of all I have had and still have. Richer souls than mine have failed in such circumstances. At the moment I feared very much for Irina. Very much indeed! She did not possess my will to live. Nor would the milked moon help her reach the shore. My darling! My darling! Our love would have killed her. But no! I simply h a d to manage it somehow.I would support her as much as I could. I am not stronger than her for nothing. I am a man after all! I had a surge of energy. I mobilized my strength to the limit, even doubled them – we were two, weren’t we? I would rather save this cosmic woman than myself.
It is strange that when one is ready to sacrifice oneself for one’s beloved one does not regard that one as his own possession. Only then! Maybe one loves more, maybe less… I was getting very close to her… My leg went numb. For one terrible moment I thought I was drowning. Without glory! Without having succeeded at nothing for my love other than causing her death.
To cause her death out of love, out of passion. In order for us to meet as snails or more miserable humans in the next re-incarnation when we had a Lunar Orgasm. I did something Idon’t know what. I was petrified yet my body moved on the surface above the waves even faster and stronger than before. I had sobered up completely and realized only now how crazy we had been.
“Irina, we must learn to stop before we reach this point! Beyond it, all meaningful sense is gone…”
I caught up with her and grew now deadly fearful. She was swimming but screaming with passion.
“We’ve got there! We’ve got there where is no more! We’ve got to the limit. We are dying, my love! Dying out of love!”
I had to slap her and shake her but that day I had penetrated her blood and her brain sharing with her the universal lunar orgasm. Something had happened which robbed me not only of bodily strength but of my very own soul; in parallel with that I realized that the shore was still very far away and the stream rather fast for us to manage, exhausted as we were.I felt the sweetness of surrendering to death. I also felt the horror of losing so much but her kisses was what remained. Full of sadness, I could yield now to the only delight – very brief at that – at the very moment I was losing everything. We were kissing and no longer making headway towards the beach but only kept afloat on the waves. I sensed that soon we’d no more be able of doing even that.
The waves absorbed us and at that very moment my feet sensed firm support. The contact was a pleasant one. It was with the beloved creature. In an instant I realized I was on the back of a dolphin. Then I saw that Irina, too, was waving her arms like a sea bacchante, riding upon another dolphin and giving out wild screams. They were the same dolphins, the ones we observed making love and which observed us doing the same. They had saved creatures similar to themselves.
“Darling!” she shouted.
I felt an emotion stronger than death. Survival At long last, on the beach.At long last subsided in silence. Sunk in our own selves, beyond the memory of the past day and a large portion of the night. Yards from each other, creassed only by the wind.
“Do you suppose we leav an imprint upon the wind?A picture of a second’s duration. Not simply air but a picture” Irina, absorbed in thought, asked of herself rather than of me.
“I recall the underwater exhibition,” I say more to myself than to her. “In the swimming pool at Assenovgrad… It marked the start of my exhibitions ‘Water – Air – Fire – Earth’ … We have all existed first in water though we were made of clay; water is our earliest memory. Tonight I have convinced myself of that…”
“Yesterday you staged and exhibition in the air. Why?We still live on the Earth, don’t we?”
I broke out laughing spontaneously till I almost choked. Till there were tears in my eyes and my diaphragm ached. I paused for a while and again broke out laughing.
“What is it!” Irina asked and just as I was about to subdue my laughter, infected by it, she began laughing this time, re-igniting my crazy laughter.
I managed to say it.
“Well, some have done it in the air, too, and therefore must have dwelled in it.Do you remember when we were flies? Well, Salvador Dali was rather keen on flies. He smeared honey and excrement upon his body and felt absolute sexual delight from them creeping upon him…”
Irina gave a false laugh as if to say “How very funny!”
I went on in a serious tone:
“We have come out of the ocean but are not yet living on the earth, although we tread upon it, feel and think about it. With our tread, with our emotions and thoughts we live where they lead us. In heaven or in hell. We aspire to heaven. We even believe in eternal bliss but one moment of heaven is bought with a hundred years of burning in the hell of passions and the vicious circle of rationalization, remorse, dissatisfaction. This is the symbolism of my series of exhibitions.”
“And the earth?”
“We start living on it when we are underground. When we give life to innocents who exist without thinking.!”
That night we could make love on the earth, too. Had we died together.
“I wish it and yet don’t wish it to be so.”
“So do I, my beloved!”
“Irina, we must go back,” I told her tenderly. We kissed goodbye. I could hardly imagine how she was to return naked to her husband but she is a woman. She would surely find a way.
As soon as I smelled my pillow I fell asleep.
“You recall everything as in a dream because it is period of your life which belongs to the past and it has remained with you as you prefer it and not as it has actually been!” Irina spoke to me while I myself was walking along the bank of the Chaya, looking for her, though I knew she was in Sofia with her husband.
A car pulled up alongside. A pretty brunette with long curly hair, springtime green eyes, an athletic body with lots of sun tan smiled charmingly. Wasn’t I at Balchik and wasn’t I doing an exhibition in the air? I shuddered with horror. It had all been a fantasy!
“Come on in, swell guy, don’t you recognize me?”
I recognized her inside the car. She was the sex athlete.She and her Stallion had given shelter from the rain to Irina and me. She took me to the place where I had seen her fucking with her Superman. She pushed me over onto the stones and started riding my like a race horse. In the air I saw the balloons flying my paintings. Around them flew a shoal of dolphins. The sex athlete’s partner emerged from the bushes. “How very pretty!” said he joining the act, and strated screwing her in the
behind… Then she turned into Irina while he… He was a stranger to me. A horrible creature with bluish face and huge black lips, hairy arms, ending in nails. Instead of groaning from the arousal, he laughed sardonically. Irina’s face was wrinkling till in the end over me was an old hag and finally a skeleton. My penis broke against her pelvic joint, my sperm filled her bones and they burst into pieces. I penetrated the creature but it was a woman by now.At first demoniac like the one who was behind Irina but gradually becoming a woman till at last turning into Irina herself…
“You have penetrated into my bones as well,” she screamed. “In a full moon I can open all doors.”
“But that isn’t you!”
The dolphins were now flying lower. Just over our heads.
“But who were these after all?”
“But that isn’t you!”
“It wasn’t I before you met me. You were not with me before I met you! I wasn’t really with you before you penetrated my blood and my brain! You were not truly with me but with old projections of women, superimposed upon myself, till your love penetrated my bones, too! Some day we’ll make love together on the earth as well…”
I recovered my senses. It was only then that the nightmare began. We were swimming far away from the shore. The unexpected salvation. The dolphins.The shore. Our quiet return. There can be no survival for suicidal love. Just as with drink and drugs. You simply have to give them up. Only that way can you survive. You cannot have it without killing your beloved with it…
I sank. I wished to swallow water and everything to end at last. The hallucinations of an impossible salvation.The passions I felt for her. The damned lust for life which still kept me on the surface. The damned lust for Irina which was killing me. The damned lust for a woman who kept me alive. Damned lusts. Why couldn’t I drink up the sea I was drowning in if I was so thirsty? Yes! Because it tastes salty, same as love and sex. Doesn’t slake the thirst but aggravates it. Well, soon we were going to make love on earth. Or in heaven, if it exists. Or rather in the fire if a hotter fire at all exists than the one who seared us in the past day and night.
Instead of swallowing water I floated to the surface and screamed:
“Hold on, hold on!”
Death’s cold embrace enveloped me like a wave. I swallowed water. I felt a pleasant touch and a firm support… The dolphins!? Who believes in them nowadays!? I think only children!
We were by the river. Heavy rain was pouring down. This is how death looks.
I opened my eyes. I was surrounded by life-guards on the beach.
“Is she alive?! I shouted.
“These nighttime swims aren’t all that safe,” one of them said and smiled. “She recovered consciousness before you. She said the dolphins had pulled you up. They can’t have come to the beach with you. What saved you, do you think?
“I believe I love her more than I love myself!”
“How is she?”
“We picked her up! We didn’t find your clothes. We’ll have to provide you with bathing trunks. What saved you, do you think?”
“One never knows, I’m sure. What about you, a life-guard?”
“There is no one nuttier than an artist or a poet but you, Papa Jan, are to give me an autograph.”
“It’s yours, Mich Buckanan!” I laughed. A fine morning.Sunny, yet cool. The morning after the first death, after the first complete Lunar Orgasm. Morning and life again! But for how long? As long as it’s possible.At that moment I realized I have the will to fight the waves for hours, to wander about ice deserts for days and to stand upon a mine and be bitten by rats for an eternity but did not have the strength to fight love, more dangerous than the waves, more cruel than the ice desert, more slowly and excruciatingly deadly than the rats biting an man standing still.And yet pleasanter than life itself.
9. Rupite. Inspiration and mystery. Cosmic touch. A night before we departed Irina felt something kissing her on the cheeks, lips, breasts, which was not flesh. Prior to that we had been together and she was so emotionally spent that I did not believe it was acase of unsatisfied libido.For a long time I had known I satisfied her completely.What is more, I was the only one who could open the door to her sexual inhibitions and make her behave that way, as for instance in Balchik and often after that. Almost always when we are alone and want it, we make love. The rest of the time she turned into the charming, worldly woman, a poetess of spirituality and wife to the celebrated Materius Rozenkreutzer. She could smile so that the man on whom that smile is bestowed might think he has a thermonuclear generator inside his pants. She could whisper sweetly in someone’s ear during a party about spiritual striptease, about the torn clothes of the raped earth and the voluptuous whisper of words which fulfils all youthful forbidden desires, about the skepticism within her splendid breasts, till in the end the listener finds himself in a delirium as if bitten by two thousand Spanish flies. She could bestow such a look in the eye as to be able to kindle fantasies about Trojan wars, swords, blood and numerous manly deeds of valour in the name of that look. But she could not be a woman apart from that beautiful shell. I often asked myself how I had won that honour.
My momentary fits of jealousy were out of place. I could not seriously think that the evening after we fulfilled a long-cherished dream of ours, viz., to make love in the lift in which we first met, she would be touched in her fantasy by a stranger or even me, since the episode in the lift, brief as it was, exhausted her emotionally. Yet I could not refrain from asking her on our way to Petrich:
“I should have tipped that friend of ours more generously, do you think?” I meant the technician at the Cultural Centre who saw to it that the lift should be immobilized for an hour. Irina was cross.
“Did you realize what you wished to ask?”
“You have dreamed of being touched at various intimate spots. Well, I don’t mean the cheeks. But what is an hour inside a lift to the woman who was prepared to be drowned for passion’s sake?”
“Sometimes much more! The lift was filled with passengers. I did not know you and was on my way to my husband’s lecture. I chanced to touch a stranger. Something happened. A demon awoke inside me of whose existence I had not suspected.At that moment all others vanished and I yielded, though with some trepidation at first, to the stranger’s caresses…”
It was exactly like that last night. She was timid as before the exhibition in Varna. I was to touch a virgin yearning. I myself felt like that. Everything was OK till we entered the lift. As soon as the doors behind us closed and we realized we were alone, we forgot we were lovers. Excited, we were afraid of violating the distance between fear and pleasure. Excited, we overcame the fear but it went on in the moment when despite it we yielded to pleasure. At that moment of absolute lust we seemed to be killing our innocense and with it, our souls. We violated more grossly the life of the one we loved than we did when we nearly drowned. While taking off her dress I did not bite at her breasts but barely touched them with my lips but the sound which came from her made me realize the touch was much more painfully sweet than when I bit them. I was not licking the magic clitoris but barely touched the velvet crown around it but her knees trembled as if her secret attractions were touched by lips for the first time. After that we continued more tenderly than ever though in the end we got hot and broke the mirror…
“In an instant, everyone disappeared. I was alone with the stranger and in yet another instant I lived with him through such experiences I have had all the time prior to that with him. It was splendid..”
“And yet, those caresses. There are passions we don’t suppose exist, not that I can be jealous of them…” (Yet, I was, damn it!).
“Please, Jan!” she put her hand on my thigh. “Believe me. I regret being a woman! If I have any forbidden and secret sexual urges, they are linked to my quite conscious desire to be a boy. On that night someone was touching the woman but it was different… Different even from the spawn…”
We both laughed.
“Yes!” she went on with a smile. “It wasn’t some impudent angel taking advantage of my unconscious condition. Simply, something touched me. It may not even have been a person but a mysterious force. You know I have given names to all metaphysical forces, but that one… That one was different, you see…Now I believe we’ll get to the clairvoyant…”
“And why did you at all doubt that?” here I was about to get cross. She, like others, had acknowledged that I am a man to whom nothing is impossible that can be done by man. I am a rare breed for which no “can’t be done” exists. I am an artist and a poet but do not look like an intellectual precisely because there’s nothing I can write or paint that I can’t also do in life.Maybe that’s the answer to the question about my seemingly absurd success with Irina. I get cross like a child whenever anyone doubts something I have said I can do.
“Jan, you are being childish again! You know I am now confident of your abilities.However, I have been waiting for so long for the meeting with Granny Vanga that when that became possible I got surprised.”
Yes, she knew I could and would arrange that meeting for her. And indeed that seemed the real reason for my success with her. Besides wishing to be a fish and a boy, Irina wished also to be a knight. Like in the Middle Ages. Rushing on horseback and sword in hand in the night. A knight errant in constant search for adventure. She knew it was impossible for her to be a knight but like a girl of fifteen she believed she would find her knight. The one for whom nothing was impossible. I have always sensed that and forever, without consciously realizing it, I have endeavoured for her sake more than for everyone else to storm the impossible and fighting it, to narrow its compass metre by metre.
“And what do you think that force was?” I abandoned the topic of what’s possible or impossible which irritated me.
“Maybe it is aware of the fact that I was born in order to be touched. With love. By the unfamiliar. By the superhuman. Maybe that is the prophecy I expect!”
“Let’s hope it’s as tender as all that!” I had no reason to be ironical. We drove on in silence and in memories of the lift. Irina kept caressing my thigh. In a way that was pleasurable but not provocative.
We both were worked up over our meeting Vanga, the clairvoyant. I was also somewhat afraid, though I could not share my fearfulness. What had caused me to worry for a long time now was the most pleasant experience in my life in which there had been thousands – what am I saying, hundreds of thousands – of unpleasant things. For the matter of that, the pleasant ones numbered billions. In spite of that, nothing could compare even remotely with what we experienced at Balchik. But it worried me, as well.What we felt that day in the car, racing in the opposite lane against lorries, could have been a chance, isolated, simply wild urge. What we did with ourselves at Balchik could not have been any of that. The first time we had not had time to think but the second… And there w a s a second time! When something is repeated it becomes systematic. An all too familiar truth. I feared standing before Granny Vanga lest she should say I had to choose between the love thrill and the safety of us both. At the same time I was hoping she would say something else about us. Something that would make me glad. Oh how glad I would be a single good word about our relationship!
The joy would have carried me over the lunar orgasm… It would have caressed me like a mysterious ghostly hand in the night… Had it not been touching Irina?… At last I stood before Granny Vanga.
“You have come from another age, Papa Jan!” she told me… Then I saw her eye. The seeing one. It hung a few inches above her head and something bright was showing through it. Something that made me close my eyes for an instant. When I opened them I saw her as a quite normal old woman, except for the powerful radiance emanating from her.
“You were born to be great and for people to follow you…”
“Please, say something about Irina! Or, no, don’t say anything! Please, better not! I won’t believe you should you say something untoward, although I know that myself and although you are the greatest clairvoyant!”
“You are going to paint me some day but I shall be no longer here! You painting will cost as much as all other pictures you have sold up to now and will be bought by a person who like you has come from another age in order to be great and be followed by people just like you. After that painting there will be others which will cost even more and more but that one will perhaps be dearest to you… You however will be for ever moving along… Because you are the Prince…”
I failed to understand her last words… I could not say, as I was going out, whether I was glad or not at her not saying anything about Irina. Maybe it had to be so. Yes, clairvoyants should not say things we make our destiny through our individual will but only things already predestined by God Himself and which we cannot change yet we wish to know of, or things we can change solely through God’s intervention, heeding the words of His prophets…
All of a sudden everything became sunnier, pleasanter, more lively. My last thoughts were much more encouraging than should Vanga have said some day Irina would enter the temple with me, in a bridal dress. It transpired that God does not object to our relationship. Over it the Devil did not hold greater sway than we ourselves did. So, everything was a matter of personal choice and love. So, everything was up to us to decide: with reason, if possible, if not, with our passions…
“Penny for your thoughts,” I asked Irina when we were outside.
“Nothing about us, and I’m glad!”
It is marvellous when the one you love thinks like yourself. That way you seem to be reading each other’s thoughts. Erotics of the mind! Fantastic!
“She foretells me great success. Abroad.”
I was glad. I was happy about the prophecies about ourselves we both had heard. Hand in hand, we reached the mysterious lake. All of it enveloped in mist and fragrant vapours. That same lake by which a mysterious whirlwind had lifted Granny Vanga when a girl and when she alighted back on the ground she could not see any longer but she could prophesy.
I put my hands on Irina’s shoulders. We kissed. In the mist our faces were no longer visible. Our bodies also vanished in the fog.We touched each other without seeing ourselves.We felt the trembling flesh like never before. Livelier, more sensual, more innocent, more self-desiring.The flesh of watery orgasm. Drenched in mineral vapours, resembling human bodies touching each other. Groaning with human voices. Purified, in the mineral spring, of the desire for self-destruction. Feeling angelic love for each other. Constructive love. Not a jot less passionate, yet different. Still wet and happy, we got into the car… I already saw with my mind’s eye the painting of Vanga’s image. A spiral with her face. In the uppermost corner, I and Irina, embraced like Adam and Eve, spirits in Granny Vanga’s skull, open for revelation, surrounded with symbols and memories of mine and hers…
“You will paint it but I will not be here…”
Her words were sad, yet I was happy. Happy about the fact that over everything Irina and I were feeling and doing for each other did not hang the dark cloud of suicide. I was also happy about what we had experienced by the lake. It was indeed pleasanter than ever before. And briefer, too!
All too brief, in fact!
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