Love Doesn't Work by Henning Koch

Author:Henning Koch [Henning Koch]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Short Stories (single author), Fiction
ISBN: 9781936873012
Publisher: Dzanc Books
Published: 2010-12-01T05:00:00+00:00

XIII

The days that followed were very busy:

I spoke to a notario about the planning dispute with the municipality, and was assured that the matter was largely political and could be resolved by means of delicate negotiations and a modest sum of money. This was duly deposited in the appropriate pocket. An inventory of the contents of the house was drawn up, everything valued and insured, and a specialized warehouse in Buckinghamshire sent a lorry down to pick everything up.

It goes without saying that all this cost me a great deal. In fact, I had to raise money on the equity of my London home. I even paid off the cleaner and got her to mop the floors and dust the rooms before everything was locked up and the key ceremoniously placed in Archie’s hand.

She was grateful, and gave me a kiss. On the cheek.

It was a boiling hot day as we set off in the car. Archie was unbuttoned. A bead of sweat in the tiny hollow at the base of her throat burst its banks and moved downwards, coalescing like fat butter on hot toast, then gathering pace, breaking into a gallop as it delightedly found the tightening, shimmering crevice between her orbs.

I fought an insane urge to lean forward and stop its progress with the tip of my tongue. Then I was overwhelmed by disgust. My eyes, moving upwards and alighting upon her right-hand nostril, focused on a long black hair, slightly curled and tipped by a crustaceous nodule of snot.

Some pox, some infectious emotion raged through me. In a mere second the garden had turned rank, somehow. Her skin grew pockmarked. Her breasts swelled in an exaggerated manner, became large shapeless sacks filled with clear aspic, trembling each time the car went over a bump.

Ultimately this distaste that arose in me was a help. I could draw a deep breath and look out the window. Maybe after all I would be able to forget about Archie, or at least relegate her to the second division? Given that she no longer cared for me, would not this be the best thing to do? Or should I pursue her, declare myself? If I did, would she once again transform herself, unfold her body, cleave to me and give me passage?

Ultimately, sexuality dominates us, takes our time and attention away from more important things. And for what? What is woman, after all? Isn’t she just a sort of fruit that wanes into a soft, dissipating over-ripeness? Yes. Woman falls into the yellow leaf, in the words of the Bard. Man also has his penance to pay, in the form of castration and loss of erotic powers—only his mozzarella gut is capable of growth. Everything else in slow retreat.

There’s a double penalty for man. Post-menopausal woman enters a sort of blissful state of repose, out of which she continues to have full recourse to her sexuality, but man must pay for his sensual transports in blood. He wakes in a cold sweat, ever alert to the test, ever aware of his growing weakness.

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