Curt Leviant - Kafka's Son

“Exactly what I was thinking. Probably one of the thoughts I wanted to say but missed saying: I’ve never been kissed like this before…. And you know what?”

“What? Tell me.” Again that low, pussycat-fur whisper, in a slightly different key signature than “Really?”

“Your eyes are glowing,” I said.

I imagined hearing her tender “Really?” again.

But Katya said softly, “Yes, they’re glowing, and — you know what?”

“What?”

She smiled. “We fall into the same rhythm, don’t we?” “Yes. What? Tell me.”

“I love the way you touch me,” said Katya. “You have such a beautiful, tender touch.”

“It’s not really me, it’s you. You inspire me. After all, you’re the touchee.”

“Still.” And then she laughed. “Touchee. I like that word too.”

“Kiss me,” I said.

She rolled on top of me and bent her head over mine. Slowly, fervidly, with touching deliberateness, she kissed my lips, going from one edge to another; she kissed every centimeter of my cheeks, she kissed my nose; she brushed her lips over my eyes; she kissed my temples, my forehead, my chin. She moved unhurriedly, brushing her hair back once in a while, and I heard each kiss, rhythmic as a pulse. She kissed and lingered on my earlobes, and then, with a little moan, returned to my lips. And I felt her love overspreading me like a soft blanket of stars.

“Listen, Katya, I want to tell you something…”

“Mmmm,” she said, not opening her eyes.

“There is nothing better than this. Forget what I said about Bach and Vivaldi. Nothing in the world. Nothing. Not riches, not fame. Not ambition or success. Not films. Not prizes. Not power or honors. Not the Cannes Festival or Golden Globes or Academy Awards. Not glory, not achievement. Nothing. This. This is the sine qua non. The top of the ladder. To lie next to someone you love who shares your feelings. It’s almost too good to be true. When we’re like this, we stop time, don’t you think? We remove ourselves from space-time and create our own little celestial cocoon universe. Isn’t that so, Katya?”

“Yes,” she said. It was a still Yes, a nuanced Yes, a Yes, where the “e” went up, then descended, and the “s” was breathed out softly, slowly. “I love it when you say my name.”

“Really?” I said, and she — aware that I was teasing — clasped her hand over my mouth.

When she let go I kissed the palms of her hands and the tips of every finger.

“We’re on the same wavelength, Katya. Like giving each other dark chocolate at the very same time and buying it in the same shop. It’s unbelievable. Incredible. We’re one heartbeat.”

“Yes,” she said.

I gave her a look, waiting. She understood.

“We’re one heartbeat,” Katya repeated.

“Remember what I said before? The more I kiss you, the more I want to kiss you. The more we kiss, the more I like you. The more I like you, the prettier you become. The prettier you become, the more I want to kiss you. Does that make any sense?”

“Yes. Yes yes yes. Yes, it does. It does.”

I hesitated, but then I said it. “This happens to a man only once in his lifetime.”

“That sounds like it comes from a book,” Katya shot back at once.

“Maybe it’s something I wrote. And somebody swiped it. It’s probably Leviant. The minute I write something, that word-thief nabs it and puts it into one of his thoroughly unreadable, certifiably meretricious books. Then, when I say it— my very own words— people, into which category you fall, assume I’ve arrogated someone else’s thoughts. As if I can’t come up with—”

“I was just kidding—”

“—let me finish. As if I can’t come up with an original phrase of my own once in a while, an original remark like, and then he drops his excitable little voice to a passionate murmur like this: This happens to a man only once in his lifetime.”

“You’re sneering,” Katya said, but a smile danced at the corners of her eyes. “I’ve never seen you angry before.”

“I’m not sneering. I’m hissing. But, regrettably, Leviant doesn’t have any sibilants in his name, so I can’t even hiss. If he had a normal name like Stanislas Cystos, I could hiss to my heart’s content…. The fact that some plagiarist swiped my line doesn’t make the remark any less true.”

Katya, laughing throughout my mock narration, now gave me one of her delightful smiles.

“Katya. Sweet Katya. My darling Katya. Kick that door shut— that magic door you pulled me through into that magic garden of that enchanted never-never land — and keep me, Katya, and hold me there.”

She shut her eyes dreamily. In slow motion she shut her eyes. She shut her eyes to let the wave of my words inundate her.

“Would you like to hear that ‘There is nothing better than this’ speech again?”

“Yes,” she whispered, and hugged me so tight I felt I was part of her.

“There is nothing better than this. Nothing in the world. Nothing. Not riches, not fame. Not ambition or success. Not films. Not prizes. Not glory or honors. Nothing. This is the sine qua non. The top of the ladder.” I spoke into her hair, her ear, her cheeks. And I felt her nodding. Yes, yes, yes.

Then, from the floor, she picked up the bag of chocolate I had given her. She took one pistule and held it between her teeth. She lifted her chin and gestured to me. I drew near and bit off a piece.

“Outwardly you’re happy,” Katya said. “But I still feel a bit of sadness in you. I see it. I feel it.” She placed her hands on my cheeks. “Your sadness makes your cheeks cold. Why? Tell, tell me.”

“You’re right. I’ve tried to forget it while I’m with you but it keeps surfacing…. You see, and that’s why I wanted your blessing, I made an important film and my cameraman didn’t deliver the video.”

“Did you call him?”

“Yes. He doesn’t pick up.”

“You’ll get the video.”

“You think he’ll deliver it.”

“Yes. He will.”

“You sure?”

“Yes…I missed you.” She ran her index finger from my temple to my lips. I kissed her finger. “At first, when we met, I didn’t think twice about you.”

“After we met I thought maybe once about you,” I said. “Maybe less than once.”

Katya smiled and said: “But then, the more I saw you, the more I understood you were someone special.”

“Special or very special?”

She smiled again. “Very special. Someone who makes a very special effort to ruin my only scene in my very special first film.”

“So why did you disappear, Katya? I thought I lost you forever.”

“But I knew where to find you.”

“You did? How?”

“I saw you that day in K’s room.”

“Oh, my goodness. I sensed something floating by, caught just the shadow of a shadow of you. Thought it was someone familiar. I even asked K who it was, but he said, Ask Eva; that’s her department. But I never did ask her. Can you imagine? I thought it was a waitress or a salesgirl I’d seen once.”

“It was. The marionette salesgirl.”

And she gave me that radiant smile with the dimple in one cheek.

“So why didn’t you stick your head in and say hello? It would have relieved me of lots of worry and stress.”

She shrugged. “It had to play out differently. The way it did.”

“Destined that way?”

“If you wish. Yes.”

“Katya, sweetheart, would you like to hear my little speech again?”

Actually, this time my request was a little joke, a kind of self-parody. I really didn’t expect her whispered, “Yes, of course.”

And I said those words again as she pressed me tight.

“There is nothing better than this. Nothing. Nothing in the world. Not fame, not riches. Not prizes or honors. Not films or festivals. Nothing. This is the sine qua non. The top of the ladder. The best thing in the world.”