Cold Skin by Albert Sanchez Pinol

Author:Albert Sanchez Pinol [Albert Sánchez Piñol]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781847676207
Publisher: Canongate Books
Published: 2009-09-24T04:00:00+00:00

Indeed, the boat was exactly where Gruner had indicated. It was a small cove, camouflaged by trees and clumps of moss which clung to the wood like a skin disease. The dinghy’s interior was flooded. But a cursory inspection revealed that the source of the water was rain, not leaks. It did not take much effort to empty the little boat and remove the encrusted vegetation.

Thus, all was in readiness for my expedition. The only hurdle remaining was that Gruner should accompany me and agree to commit a valiant suicide. My mind was already made up. A rare calmness of spirit came over me. The cove was shaped like a horseshoe and no larger than a small stable. It shut off the horizon; the open sea was barely visible. I watched how the waves jostled fitfully against the boat’s sides. Although we would surely die, it would be the death we had chosen. It might be considered a privilege under the circumstances. I stood calmly on the beach for quite a while. I did nothing more than clean my nails. I reflected on my past as the manicure progressed.

Life is but a small thing. However, humans have acquired the rather tiring habit of brooding on their fleeting passage through the world. My first childhood memory and my last glimpse of civilisation filled my mind’s eye. The first thing I remembered was a port. I was perhaps three years old, or thereabouts. I was seated on a high chair with dozens of other children alongside. But out the window I could see the dreariest quay in the world. My last memory was also of docks. That was all one could see from the ship that carried me away from Europe to the island. Yes, life is but a small thing.

The mascot was seated on a throne of moss, hands grasping at her crossed ankles as she leaned against the wall of tree trunks. Her eyes were lost in some nonexistent infinitude. It made such a natural and fitting scene that my eyes were pained by her pauper’s rags. But let us not play innocent: I already knew what I wanted even before removing that ripped jersey. I was close to death. When one is faced with mortality, such ethical quibbles are but dust in the road. I would most surely die, and the mascot was the closest thing resembling a woman within my reach. I was going to perish, and hearing the moans and sighs emitting from that body, day after day, had made me indifferent to moral scruples.

What took place, however, was most unexpected. I had foreseen a brief copulation, sullied and brusque. Instead, I entered within an oasis. At first, the coldness of her skin sent me a-shivering. But our temperatures calibrated themselves to some unheard-of degree in which such concepts as hot and cold became meaningless. Her body was a living sponge spilling forth opium. My humanity was annulled. Oh Lord, how wonderful it was! All women, whether

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