Jacky S - Suburban Souls, Book I

Lilian kissed me rapturously and promised to write to me soon.

“Not at all,” I answered, “I want to see you as soon as possible.”

“No, no; you must wait.”

“Then you don't love me. All right, darling, let all be over between us.”

“Oh! No, do not say that,” and she showed great concern and alarm, as she always did when I spoke of a real farewell.

“When do your parents leave?” I asked.

“On Tuesday, the tenth.”

“Then I shall take the nine o'clock train on Tuesday night. You can bring the dogs out at a quarter past nine, and I'll walk about the Avenue de la Gare up to the Place d'Armes, until I see you.”

“Perhaps I'll come and perhaps I shan't.”

“I'll bring you a pretty book I want you to read. It is all about cruelty, with pictures.”

“Oh! I should like that!”

“And it is in French too. I have never lent you a French book yet. Now perhaps, you will come out to get the volume, which is quite decent and proper, and meant for young girls at school.”

She laughed, and gave me her luscious mouth, as we finished our little walk. I wished her parents bon voyage, and promised to keep Papa supplied with papers during his absence. Mamma said Lilian had such a lot of work to do that she could not go with them, which was a great pity.

I did not believe Mamma. They were leaving Lilian at home for a purpose. What was it? Was it for me? I began to think I was not of much importance. She had other lovers-real ones-who she did not want to stay away from, for interested motives. Or did Mamma, now knowing Lilian was on an equality with her, refuse to travel in her company? These were the little mysteries I never was able to solve, with many more, which I hope will not bother the reader as much as they did me. I rather liked getting on the track of this series of traps and pitfalls. I felt my sense of penetration growing very acute, and was as pleased as the schoolboy who deciphers a rebus, knowing that the year before, I had been totally unable to reason as I could then.

January 10, 1899.

I popped the first volume of the original edition of Justine et Juliette (by the notorious Marquis de Sade, in ten parts, with 101 engravings,) in my pocket, and at nine p.m., well wrapped up, with a good cigar in my mouth, I took the train to Sonis. I was scarcely out of the station when I met my charmer, who I noticed, without saying anything, had freshened herself up, and put on a very nice hat and cloak.

Lilian began her old trick of trying to tease me by asking me ironically why I took the trouble to come down and leave my warm fireside. She also made a fuss when I wished to kiss her. So I retorted, and told her that I found she lacked all true feminine tenderness and pleasing politeness.

“I do not mean the ordinary politeness of society, which is a kind of light varnish which cracks and peels off at the slightest scratch, but true politeness of the heart; that which is to be found in worldly manifestations, as well as in sentiment, and in sensual affairs, just the same as in social associations.”

Lilian said I was too serious.

“And I find you are not serious enough. You must not think I only want your body. I am very fond of you; fonder than you think. I can have lots of women's bodies. I want something more, and that is why I am here. But I shall not get what I desire at Sonis. Here I find only falsity, trickery, and little villainies. And you are such an awful liar, too!”

“I'll not have you call me a liar. I am not a liar!”

I begged her pardon ironically and asked her how she had got on with her lovers during the last three months.

“I have no lovers,” she answered snappishly, “I have had a letter from Gaston and that's all.”

“What did he say?”

“Oh! A lot of filth,” she replied contemptuously.

“Do you mean to tell me that you have been twelve weeks without spending?”

There was no answer.

“l really thought you had somebody who had cut me out. Let me see, there's the lieutenant. And you have been all this time without a man's member to play with?”

“No, I haven't!” She was getting angry now.

“How many have you had?”

“Fifteen!” she exclaimed, in a nervous, staccato manner. The words came through her teeth, when she was in a passion, as if clicking automatically from a talking machine.

“A good many! And I had hoped to see you married shortly. I should have liked to have left you with a good husband.”

“Who would have me without a dowry? And then we never see anybody down here. You are the only person we invite. But I have told you I could not play a part, or imitate with a man the love I did not feel.”

“You want a man who you could love as you do your Papa. Oh! Not me-Mr. Arvel, I mean.” I paused for a reply. None came. “You do love him. How beautifully you made him that suit of flannel pajamas. Did you really cut it out yourself?”

“Of course I did.”

“You are very clever. You can make dresses, hats, and cook. I noticed how well the trousers were made. They were really trousers and not loose pajamas. Did you take the measure of the trousers yourself?” She was silent. “How nice! I wish you would do that for me. I should like to feel your fingers fumbling with the tape between my legs.”

“You are always the same; quite obscene.”

“True, I am an obscene devil. I am a sadistic wretch. A disciple of the Marquis de Sade, whose masterpiece I am going to lend you to read. I have brought you the first volume. I glory in my shame, because women love us; we are dirty beasts, expert in every vile caress. We leave aside all mawkish sentiments. No birds, and flowers, and soft music with us. Am I not right, my darling daughter? Answer me, my child!”

“I'll not have you call me your daughter, nor your child. I do not like those terms of affection now. And I will not be your slave either. All that is over. I won't call you Papa any more!”

She said this rapidly and with genuine accents of rage. I drew my own inference from this strange outburst. Of late Papa had been using these words to her, and in my mouth they jarred on her nerves.

A strange thrill stirred me. I had frequently told her to seduce Arvel, so as to be mistress of the house, and I felt sure the thing was always in the mind of the stepfather. She had laughed at my vile imagination, as she called it. Had I been the indirect means of this guilty understanding? Had I driven her into his arms, only to lose her myself through my own bad advice? If so, I deserved my fate.

But no, the true reason why I had often persuaded her to give way to him, was because I always saw that it was bound to happen, even if the act had not been really consummated during the past winter; during the long evenings beneath the lamp, when Mamma had gone up to bed early, soon after dinner, leaving Pa and Lilian alone together. To sum up: I should think he had always had his hands under her petticoats, more or less, from childhood, and her final fall would be insensible.

“I'll be your mistress, but not your slave, nor your daughter,” she continued.

“Whatever you like, Lilian, as long as you tell me that you love me. You do love me, do you not?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then say so. You have never said to me: `I love you!'“

“l love you! I love you! I love you!” She said this with the same nervous clenching of the teeth. It was an effort for her, under a feeling of annoyance, to be forced to utter these words which she did not feel.

Decidedly, she did not care for me, and she started off once more to talk about her millinery business and how she wished to open in Paris, Each time I met her and heard her speak, I noticed more and more the emptiness of her heart. I allowed her to continue her discourse unchecked, and she always returned to a series of vague complaints, when she would make out that we could be much happier and see each other more often, if I could help her by finding a small capital. The more she asked, the more quiet and calm I became. I pointed out the folly of her projects. I also added that I had no money and, without beating about the bush, informed her that I was heavily in debt as well.