Part 11. . . Reality in the Twilight Zone
It was just force of habit that awoke Neshe at his usual time.
Snama was fast asleep, having rolled away from his groin, oblivious to everything now, in the abandon of someone who has newly rediscovered her shamelessness.
For long moments Neshe just sat there, looking at her, flat on her back, one arm thrown to the side, the other crooked, the palm resting below her left breast, her thighs spread wide.
The rose tinged brands on either side of her yoni were like guardians to her citadel, guardians he had placed to ever remind her of himself, no matter who entered that coral portal.
He bent, quickly placed a soft kiss on her yoni, and left.
She had been left to her own devices, without any intimation as to where he had gone, when he would be back, what they would be doing ...?
And yet she found herself completely at home.
She had no idea how the servant became aware that she was ready for breakfast.
She had just dressed, and was thinking of going out of the room when she was requested to let know what Madam would have.
The servant did not mention his master, and she did not inquire.
She just asked him to serve what Neshe usually had, and she was.
Crisp, thin loaves of unleavened bread, fried in butter, a rich, aromatically spiced omellete, a pitcher of freshly expressed carrot juice with a tangy bite, which she was later to learn came from a few wisps of ginger shredded into the carrot. And rich, creamy coffee afterwards.
She made a mental note of talking to Neshe about the richness of his diet.
When she was done, she was given a pile of local English newspapers, a cell phone, was informed that all numbers where Neshe could be reached had ben entered into it, as well as the number of his doctor. And that if Madam wanted to explore the town on her own, a car was waiting.
She declined, thinking "I'd rather explore what's here first."
She had the freedom of his home. A quick round of the grounds, then a rather more leisurely round inisde.
But that was not to be. The first room she entered was his library, and that was that.
Like the man himself, the room was a study in contrasts. Sparse yet elegant and luxurious. Comfortable as a workplace yet stately.
It was a large room, full of double backed open faced bookshelves, most of them full of volumes neatly arranged and organized.
The shelves lined three walls, and a dozen units stood free on the floor, arranged in rows of three each, with narrow aisles between them. The arrangement was such that a part of the free wall and a corner of the room had become a segregated alcove furnished simply with a small round table and a computer workstation.
It was what she found on the table that kept her ensconced in one of the three deep and comfortable leather upholstered library chairs around the table, Neshe's diary.
At first she only picked it up to examine it's construction, and flipped through oberserving changes in it's rythym, both flow and tension showing in the handwriting. She read the last entry first...and the power of his confidence in making the statement he made to himself there literally shocked her. At that moment the somewhat heavy, leather bound diary did slip from her hand to the floor.
Just as she reached to retrieve it, the servant appeared to inquire her pleasure for lunch. She picked up the diary, and replacing it on the table she said once again, she'd have what Neshe usually has.
She was served, in the library, at her request. And what came up made her forget the mental note she had filed away in her mind regarding Neshe's diet.
It was a medium sized bowl of simple, tossed up salad, consisting of carrot, cucumber, and apple cubes, with salted, boiled beans thrown in.
Of course, accompanied by rich, aromatic coffee afterwards.
Once the servant had gone, she read the newspapers Neshe had so thoughtfully provided, and caught up with the issues in the media.
After some time her gaze wandered to the clock.
She decided to take a little nap before getting dressed to greet Nehse, who, the servant had volunteered, would come home around six.
The lilting trill of the cell phone caught her right in the middle of pulling on her petticoat.
Stretching herself halfway on the bed, she scooped the phone and brought it to her ear in one fluid movement, and was surprised at the breathlessness of her whispered hello.
"How's the lovely one?"
"As usual" she chose to answer as he was wont to do.
He laughed.
"Rested?"
"Aanh. Yes."
"The brands? Any problem?"
She felt a thrill course through her body.
"None at all. They seem as if they've been there forever."
"Aaah"
She could feel his smile.
"And, you, in my home?"
"At home . . ." she couldn't say more, nor any less. Then asked,
"How long will you be?"
"Im just about on my way." He replied. "Actually there's a Hindi passion play running at one of the theatres here. A depiction of the ordeal of Lord Rama and his wife Sita. I have had a box reserved for us, if you'd care to go?"
"Isn't that question a bit belated, since you've already had the box reserved?" She couldn't refrain from asking.
He laughed.
"Point scored!"
Then . . .
"I'll be home in a while. We'll dine out, and then we'll go see the play."
"You'll find me ready." She said.
She distinctly felt as if he had kissed his phone before signing off.
"Incorrigible romantic" his own description of himself echoed in her thoughts.
 Reality.......Part 12 |
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