Russell Hoban - Angelica's Grotto

YOU THINK SOME WOMEN WANT TO BE RAPED?

NOT ALL OF THE TIME BUT I BELIEVE THAT ANYONE WILL CONSIDER ANYTHING SOME OF THE TIME.

HAVE YOU EVER CONSIDERED RAPING A WOMAN?

NOT VIOLENTLY — I’VE NEVER HAD THAT MUCH CONFIDENCE.

HOW THEN?

IN FANTASY ONLY, WITH THE WOMAN MADE HELPLESS IN SOME WAY.

THE WOMAN AS A HELPLESS VICTIM.

AS I SAID, FANTASY.

WHAT ABOUT THE BLACKNESS OF THE RAPIST IN THIS STORY?

THAT DEFINITELY HEIGHTENED THE STORY. THE FACT OF HIS BEING THE OTHER ADDS TO THE EXCITEMENT. ONE CAN’T HELP THINKING OF BLACK MEN AS BEING MORE POWERFUL SEXUALLY THAN WHITE MEN.

WHAT ABOUT THE ANAL INTERCOURSE? DID THAT ADD TO OR DETRACT FROM YOUR PLEASURE?

WHAT DO YOU THINK?

YOU TELL ME.

‘This woman that I’m talking to isn’t the one in the photographs,’ Klein said to himself. ‘In my mind she doesn’t look like her or smell like her and she’s not naked or in her underwear.’ The woman he imaged now was short and stocky, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt and horn-rimmed spectacles; her hair had grown shorter and her smell was not quite as seductive as before.

WE WERE TALKING ABOUT ANAL INTERCOURSE, said the screen.

WELL, THE ANUS IS NOT QUITE THE APPROVED ORIFICE FOR INTERCOURSE, IS IT. SO PENETRATION THERE HAS THE APPEAL OF THE FORBIDDEN AND IT’S MORE INTIMATE, MORE EXCITING TO THINK ABOUT, ESPECIALLY IF THE WOMAN IS UNWILLING. MONICA DIDN’T SEEM ALL THAT UNWILLING, ACTUALLY. BY THE WAY, WHAT ARE YOU WEARING?

THIS ISN’T THAT KIND OF CHAT. THIS PORNOGRAPHIC FANTASY THAT YOU’VE JUST WATCHED, WOULD YOU SAY IT WAS EVIL?

I’VE HAD FANTASIES LIKE THAT OFTEN ENOUGH — I’M SURE OTHER MEN DO AS WELL. I’D NEVER WANT TO ACT THEM OUT EVEN IF I WERE ABLE TO. BUT WHEN YOU PUT SUCH WORDS AND PICTURES ONSCREEN FOR THE GENERAL PUBLIC THERE’S NO KNOWING WHOM YOU’RE REACHING. AND IT COULD WELL BE THAT NAMING AND SHOWING A FORBIDDEN ACT IS LIKE CALLING UP A DEMON BY SPEAKING ITS NAME. SOMEONE JUST ON THE EDGE OF ACTING OUT HIS FANTASIES MIGHT LET HIMSELF GO ALL THE WAY AFTER SEEING IT. SO I’D HAVE TO CALL IT AN EVIL THING.

THEN BY VISITING THIS WEBSITE ARE YOU SUPPORTING EVIL?

WHAT ABOUT YOU? IN OFFERING THIS MATERIAL WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?

CONTRIBUTING TO THE EVIL IN THE WORLD THE SAME AS YOU BUT I’M DOING IT IN AN EFFORT TO UNDERSTAND PORNOGRAPHY AND THE ENORMOUS DEMAND FOR IT , OK? I HAVE MORE QUESTIONS.

SO ASK THEM.

DID MONICA’S MONDAY NIGHT AROUSE YOU SEXUALLY?

IN A MANNER OF SPEAKING.

WHAT WILL YOU DO ABOUT IT?

TAKE MYSELF IN HAND.

HOW OLD ARE YOU, RUGGIERO?

SEVENTY-TWO. HOW OLD ARE YOU?

TWENTY-EIGHT. ARE YOU STILL A PLAYER?

ONLY WITH MYSELF. IF I HAD AN INNER VOICE I WOULDN’T BE TELLING YOU ALL THIS.

EXPLAIN PLEASE.

THE VOICE IN YOUR HEAD THAT CENSORS WHAT YOU’RE GOING TO SAY, I HAVEN’T GOT ONE ANY MORE.

THAT COULD GET YOU INTO ALL KINDS OF TROUBLE.

IT HAS. NOW I’M TRYING TO MEET UP WITH MY IT. (He didn’t want to bring Oannes into the conversation.)

AREN’T WE ALL? I FEEL FOR YOU, RUGGIERO. MAYBE I CAN BE YOUR INNER VOICE FOR A WHILE. YOUR WORDS LOOK LONELY. HAVE YOU GOT A PARTNER?

NOT ANY MORE.

WHY NOT?

MY WIFE DIED TWENTY YEARS AGO.

HOW?

SUICIDE.

WHY?

TIRED OF LIVING, I GUESS.

WHAT MADE HER TIRED OF LIVING?

CAN WE TALK ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE? ARE YOU MARRIED?

GOD FORBID.

WHY DO YOU SAY THAT?

MARRIAGE IS FOR PEOPLE WILLING TO GIVE UP THEIR FREEDOM FOR SOMETHING THAT IN MY OPINION IS NOT WORTH HAVING.

WHAT MY WIFE AND I HAD WAS WORTH HAVING. ‘What exactly did we have?’ he asked himself.

WE MUST COME BACK TO THAT SOMETIME. ANYBODY SINCE HER?

NOTHING THAT LASTED VERY LONG, AND THERE’S BEEN NO ONE FOR A LONG TIME. The Angelica in his imagination, though no longer the beauty in the homepage photograph, was not unattractive, he decided, mumbling his thoughts. ‘Good ass, heavy thighs and a lot of coarse pubic hair. Her smell is strong and funky; I like it. She probably tastes a little acidic.’

DO YOU MISS HAVING A WOMAN? she was asking.

YES, AND THERE’S THE DISMAL FACT THAT A MAN WHO CAN NO LONGER GET IT UP IS NOT IN A STRONG BARGAINING POSITION WHEN LOOKING FOR A NEW WOMAN.

MAYBE IT’S TIME FOR YOU TO HANG UP YOUR TACKLE AND PUT ALL THAT BEHIND YOU.

ALL THE SAME, I’D STILL LIKE TO HAVE SOME OF IT IN FRONT OF ME.

THERE ARE MANY WAYS OF GIVING PLEASURE.

INDEED. MAYBE ONE DAY I’LL ADVERTISE IN THE LONELY-HEARTS COLUMNS: LITTLE OLD AQUARIUS, SINGLE MALE, NON-SMOKER, SENSE OF HUMOUR, LIKES MUSIC, ART, LITERATURE, CAN’T GET IT UP BUT WOULD LIKE TO GO DOWN ON LIKE-MINDED FEMALE. EXPERIENCE UNNECESSARY.

HOW OLD WOULD YOU LIKE THE FEMALE TO BE?

ANYWHERE BETWEEN TWENTY AND FIFTY. DEFINITELY NOT AS DRIED-UP AS I AM. IF I RING UP THE NUMBER ON YOUR HOMEPAGE, WILL YOURS BE THE VOICE I HEAR?

YES, BUT WE CAN TALK ABOUT THAT LATER. NOW COMES THE BIG QUESTION: WOULD YOU SAY, RUGGIERO, THAT YOU LIKE WOMEN?

ARE YOU ASKING THIS BECAUSE I ENJOYED THE ANAL RAPE STORY?

I’M ASKING, THAT’S ALL.

I’VE ALWAYS THOUGHT I LIKED WOMEN. I’VE ALWAYS NEEDED A WOMAN; I’VE ALWAYS WANTED WOMEN. AFTER MY WIFE DIED THERE WERE WOMEN I LOVED. BUT NOTHING BETWEEN MEN AND WOMEN IS SIMPLE. IT’S POSSIBLE TO LOVE WITHOUT LIKING. DO YOU LIKE MEN?

I’M NOT SAYING.

IS THAT YOU IN THE PHOTO GALLERIES?

YES.

HOW CAN YOU DO ALL THOSE THINGS?

I WORK OUT.

YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN — CAN YOU POSSIBLY LIKE DOING WHAT YOU DO IN THOSE PICTURES?

I DON’T DO ANYTHING I DON’T LIKE TO DO.

IT SEEMS TO ME YOU MUST BE CHAINED TO SOME KIND OF ROCK.

LIKE EVERYONE ELSE I’M CHAINED TO THE ROCK OF REALITY.

I CAN’T BELIEVE THE WOMAN I’M TALKING TO IS THE ONE IN THE PHOTOS.

BELIEVE WHAT YOU LIKE.

BY THE WAY, WHO WROTE THE MONICA STORY?

I DID. WHY DO YOU ASK?

THE POINT OF VIEW SEEMS MASCULINE.

WHAT YOU CALL THE MASCULINE POINT OF VIEW IS NOT A DIFFICULT THING TO IMITATE. MEN DO IT ALL THE TIME.

I NEED TO KNOW MORE ABOUT YOU.

I DON’T NEED YOU TO KNOW MORE. NOT YET.

WHEN? THIS YEAR, NEXT YEAR, SOMETIME, NEVER?

MAYBE SOMETIME. THE PHONE NUMBER ON THE HOMEPAGE IS USUALLY ENGAGED. USE THIS ONE IF YOU WANT TO TALK TO ME. GOODBYE FOR NOW. X

IS THAT A KISS I SEE BEFOREME?

FROM MY LABIA MINORA. TILL NEXT TIME, RUGGI.

Klein wrote down the telephone number, disconnected from the Internet, and switched off the modem, visualising her kiss as he did so. His fantasy partner that evening was the imagined Angelica in the horn-rimmed glasses. When he went to sleep he dreamt that he was hurrying down a rainy street at three o’clock in the morning, seeing her ahead of him and hearing her heels on the pavement. He walked faster and faster, then began to run, but he never caught up with her.

HOP-ON HOP-OFF AT 100 STOPS ON 7 ROUTES, said the London Pride Sightseeing Bus parked in Southampton Row by Russell Square. Its redness was of a piece with the hard sunshine of the end-of-October day. The driver sat at the wheel; there was no one else on the bus.

‘They’ve all hopped off,’ said Klein to himself, ‘speaking French, German, Spanish, Greek, Russian, Polish, Urdu, Hindi, Arabic and goodness knows what else. They’re speaking those languages out loud and they’re speaking them to themselves in their heads, even the children.’