A. Yehoshua - A Late Divorce

A couple entered the café and came over to say hello, a chubby girl dressed in white with short-cropped hair and smiling, mischievous eyes and a tall young man whose hand rested on her shoulder. The girl glanced at me inquisitively, her pants stretched tight over her thighs. The little pimp pulled her toward him and she bent down to kiss him, baring for a moment the dark ivory globes of her breasts, before being led by her partner to a table in the corner. Something about her eyes and short hair sent a stab of pain through me. The young man came back to us and whispered a few words to my companion, who listened judiciously.

“She’ll be here soon…. Would you like to drink something stronger in the meantime?”

“No, thanks. I have to be on my way. I’m in a hurry… I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time on me…”

“Why worry about it? It’s my time. And I’ve enjoyed spending it with you…’’

I noticed him follow my glance to the girl in the corner, who sat smilingly holding her friend’s hand and bobbing her head pertly.

“Maybe you like her? Just say the word… let me know…”

“Who?”

“The one who just said hello to us… in the corner…”

“Who?” I tried acting innocent. “Oh, her. Yes, I think she’s nice… but why do you ask?”

His face lit up all at once.

“Very nice! A real personality… she’s a student, you know.” He grasped my hand. “Allow me. You won’t regret it. Now I see what your taste is… you won’t 1‹ disappointed…”

He rose, crossed the room to the chatting couple, made a sign to the girl, and whispered something in her ear. She blushed, taken aback, then glanced my way with her large, gleaming brown eyes and ducked her head shyly. She was gentle, not at all hardened. And yet she was pleased. I caught my breath, the blood pounding away in my heart. My hand shook. I’ll punish her. It’s my right to. For two years I’ve begged and gotten nowhere. The pimp came slowly back to me, sat down without a word, and offered me a cigarette. I glanced down and when I looked up again the girl had already slipped out the back door. Her friend had opened an evening paper and was reading it. Across the street the bus was still waiting. Two teen-agers boarded it and then got off again.

Home. She’s probably having a fit. Who needs this insanity. And all the money too.

“Come.” He touched me lightly.

I still played innocent. “Where to?”

He threw me a hard look.

“You’re just like a child. A stubborn one. Come on, it’s only to say hello to her. Just to say hello. To get to know her.”

“Not now… some other time,” I murmured, rising and putting a friendly arm around him. We stepped outside, pausing in the doorway for him to regard me with a despairing smile.

“Just come say hello to her. She’s waiting for you. You can arrange to meet her some other time… it isn’t nice to stand her up…”

And patiently, expertly, without losing his calm, he steered me into a narrow side street. All at once I was back among the shoe stores, only on the opposite sidewalk. Boots and sneakers filled the dark display windows. In the back of one of the stores a small bulb still burned. We stepped into the hallway of an apartment house. The man pressed the handle of the first door and opened it. “Just say hello to her. Act your age! What are you afraid of? This is strictly on the up-and-up.”

I was in the lit store. I could see myself reflected in its mirrors, thin and gray, the scratch on my face like a string of tiny pearls, my tie over one shoulder, my jacket badly creased. Next to a divan were some inclined stools for trying on shoes and shelves with samples of ladies’ footwear. Empty shoe boxes and white tissue paper lay scattered on the floor. Shoes had been sold here a short while ago, there was still a human smell about the place. She stood at the back of it, near the cash register, examining a shoe with a spiked heel. Close up she was not so pretty; her perfume was cheap and there was a small scar by the side of her mouth; but the special charm of her eyes, that humorous gleam, was still there. No choking up this time. Which thought turned to slow desire. She looked at me calmly, tossing her head with a deep, natural grace so unlike the manner of a whore. She sat on the divan, about my age, perhaps a year or two older, and placed one leg on the stool in front of her, her pant bottom rolled up to reveal a plump, smooth, creamy-white foot. I stepped toward her, still holding my black briefcase. She glanced at it with a bright, intelligent look, waiting smilingly for me to put it down. I laid it on the carpet and sat on the stool like a salesman.

“What’s your name?”

“Natalie.”

“Natalie? Really? How lovely… are you Israeli?”

“For the time being.”

I laughed abruptly.

“My name is Tsvi.”

“You’re not from Tel Aviv?”

“I used to be. Now I live up north, near Acre.”

The need to leave a trail of lies in self-defense.

I stroked her foot. Her skin was warm, sweaty, smooth to the touch. I undid the buckle of her old, worn shoe and slipped it off her foot, which she let lie, white and puffy, on the slope of the stool.

“What size do you take, madame?” I asked suddenly, feeling myself go scarlet.

Firmly she set down her other foot, presenting me with it. I unbuckled the shoe, slipped it quickly off, and threw it aside. With an awful lust I fell upon her feet, kissing the dust, the Nubian loess, the faint stink of callused skin, the smooth underarch, the human flesh. Swooning, I licked them, my pants bursting with desire, with my hideous love for her, lifting her feet and sticking them into my mouth, nipping them lightly while she laughed with alarm and strange pleasure, her eyes shutting light. I dropped from the stool to the carpet, still licking and biting, beside myself, dizzy with desire, grunting like an animal, abandoning myself to the depths. Glassily she stroked my hair and hauled my thin tie in like a rope. Suddenly, though, she took fright and pulled her bare feet away.

“Don’t. Stop that! Get up and come over here.”

And I did, filled with a passion I had never felt before, struggling to undo her blouse and pants. She pushed my hand away and slipped out of her pants herself. Brown lingerie parted along a hidden zipper, revealing a large, scar)’ brown navel. My love, I whispered. My dearest.

“Help me, please.”

She didn’t get what I meant.

“Can you help me?”

She made a face. “What do you want?”

“You know. Help me in.”

And standing there I began to come even as I went down on her. A failure. Here too? Panic took hold of me. She spread her legs wide, reaching for my wet cock, grimacing with disgust.

“Wait a minute! Hang on there. You’re shooting your load. Hang on!”

I buried my face in her, trying to hold it, feeling her warmth, her legs wound around me, shuddering with each jet that squirted as though from a little heart, still coming while I kissed the white fabric of her blouse, searching for her eyes which she denied me.

At last she threw me powerfully off.

“Was I in you?”

“Sure, sure. Don’t let it worry you.” Her voice was suddenly harsh, impatient. “Don’t tell me that this was your first time…”

“Of course not. What makes you think that?”

She rose, looking away, and quickly zipped up her pants. She ran a hand through her hair while casting me a querying look of concern. I zipped my pants too, took out my wallet, and gave her the thousand-pound note that I’d gotten from father.

“This is what he and I agreed on.”

“Who’s he?”

“That man…”

“Since when does he do business for me? Hand over another thousand.”