Принц Папа Жан


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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