Eka Kurniawan - Beauty is a Wound

Beauty hoped to meet that old man, that kind angel who liked to appear out of nowhere, but he never visited her anymore, not since the prince had come, despite the fact that she had a lot of questions, like what a girl was supposed to do to prepare for her first date, what she should say or do if the prince seduced her, what she should do when he knocked on her window and she opened it, and, if they had to talk, what should they talk about. She wanted to discuss everything with the kind angel, but the old guy never appeared.

In the end she just wore an ordinary everyday dress and began to wait in earnest once night finally fell. Not on the veranda, but in her own room. She sat on the edge of the bed, obviously quite nervous, her ears perked up, like a job applicant who waits nervously for her name to be called, anxious that she would miss the sound of the knock, that might be gentle and quiet. Every once in a while she would stand up and peek out the window curtain, but there was nothing but the view of the yard with its plants all black in the dark, and she sat down again on the edge of the bed, just as anxious as before.

Then she heard the knock, so soft that she had to strain her ears, and then she heard the knock again, three times. With mixed emotions, half-running, Beauty went toward the window and opened it.

There stood her prince, with a rose just as usual.

“May I come in?” asked the prince.

Beauty nodded shyly.

After handing the rose to Beauty, the prince jumped through the window into the bedroom. He stood for a moment, looking around, slowly walking back and forth from one corner of the room to another, and then turned to look at Beauty, who had just closed the window without locking it. The prince sat on the edge of the bed, and gestured for Beauty to sit beside him. The girl obeyed, and for a moment they both were silent.

“I have been wanting to meet you for so long,” said the prince.

Beauty was quite flattered so she didn’t ask where he knew her from.

“For so long, I have been wanting to get to know you,” the prince continued, “and for so long I have been wanting to touch you.”

That made Beauty’s heart race. She didn’t dare look at the man, and her whole body suddenly felt cold as the man touched her hand, and held it so gently.

“Might I kiss the back of your hand?” asked the prince. Beauty hadn’t even responded, or maybe she was unable to reply, when the prince kissed the back of her right hand.

Their first date was dominated by the words of the prince, while Beauty mostly stayed mute, embarrassed and shy, occasionally nodding or shaking her head, and then turning embarrassed and shy once again. They spent an hour and a half like that, until it was time for the prince to go home. He left the house the same way he had come: jumping through the window. But before he left, he made plans for their next date.

“Wait for me, just as you were waiting for me, this weekend.”

In any case, that weekend Beauty vowed to speak. She would not stay dumb, nor just nod and shake her head, embarrassed and shy. She had to speak and do whatever was necessary so that the prince would not get bored with her. The old man never came again, but Beauty stopped caring. She had found his replacement, who was better looking, and kinder, who flattered her, who often seduced her, and who maybe even loved her. Her heart pounded waiting for the weekend to come.

Just as he had promised, the prince came that weekend, still carrying yet another a rose. He came in through the window and sat at the edge of the bed with Beauty. Then, taking the initiative, Beauty asked in an unwaveringly timid voice:

“Where did you get that rose?”

“From your yard.”

“Oh really?”

“I’m short on cash.”

They chuckled.

Then the prince once again took Beauty’s hand, and this time Beauty returned his grasp. Without asking if he might, the prince kissed the back of her hand, making Beauty return to her old habit. All embarrassed and shy. She felt him begin to gently stroke her hand, with a touch that was so soft and lulling it made her float, just like someone who was slowly drifting off to sleep. Then suddenly she had the man right in front of her, his face was right in front of her face, and it made her heart pound harder and harder. Before realizing what was happening, that face was approaching, and she felt her lips touched by the lips of the prince, then felt the prince crush her lips, making them quite wet. She tried to return his kisses, and began to feel that it wasn’t only their lips, but now their tongues that began to play roughly. They kissed for a long time, almost half an hour, until it was time for the prince to take his leave and go home.

“I’ll wait for you next weekend.” This time it was Beauty who spoke, and the prince nodded with his enchanting smile.

Those kisses were quite impressive to Beauty, and she hoped the weekend would come as quickly as a flitting fly, which comes and goes and comes back again. She was still feeling their heat the next day, and she was still feeling it the day after that. She remembered, step by step, how they had arrived at the moment of the kiss, and it made her heart tremble every time she thought about it.

And so it was, at their next meeting, that kisses were the first thing they said to one another. They started practically at the windowsill, with Beauty standing in her bedroom and the prince still standing outside. Finally the prince climbed through the window into her room and Beauty closed the shutters, but the whole time they never unlocked their lips. The kisses continued inside the bedroom, with Beauty pressed to the wall and the prince pressed up against her body, wild and full of desire.

Slowly but surely the prince’s naughty hands began to slide under Beauty’s dress, and the atmosphere in the room grew hot. They took off their clothes piece by piece, dropping them to the floor, until they were bare and the prince embraced Beauty and carried her to the bed.

“I am going to teach you to make love,” said the prince.

“Yes, teach me,” Beauty replied.

So they began. Beauty was still a virgin so she moaned, caught between her feelings of pain and pleasure, causing a ruckus and making Rosinah stand outside the bedroom door, confused. She opened the door (that Beauty had forgotten to lock) and saw only Beauty’s naked body bouncing up and down on top of her bed. She just shook her head in a sad and solemn manner, closed the door gently, and left her. Meanwhile the prince continued to destroy Beauty’s crotch, making her bleed but also making her scream in exquisite joy.

Her prince always came in through the window but Beauty always waited for him on the veranda, because she wanted to witness the moment of his arrival, driven by her uncontrollable longing. They made love every time they met, sometimes twice, and felt like the happiest couple in the world. Beauty didn’t wonder why Rosinah couldn’t see the prince, or why when Dewi Ayu rose from the grave and returned to the house and forced down the door, she couldn’t see the prince either. They had been feeding on a regular diet of miracles in that household, and so she didn’t feel amazed. After all, Rosinah had never even seen the old man angel either, even though Beauty could see him.

Then Beauty got pregnant.

But even after she realized that she was pregnant, Beauty still waited for the prince to come, and they made love. She never told the prince about her pregnancy, because she was afraid it would ruin all their happiness.

Until one night, not long after Dewi Ayu had once again vanished into the world of the dead, as Beauty was lying naked with the prince in her bed, resting after making love, a man broke down the door with an air rifle in his hand. He was a man of short and chubby stature, with a sad air about him. He shivered a little in terror when he saw Beauty’s face, but his gaze quickly shifted to the prince, filled with rage.