Love Hotel by Jane Unrue

Author:Jane Unrue
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: New Directions
Published: 2014-12-03T16:00:00+00:00

Day 4

Next morning figuring good idea to go back where I’d started I was in the reading room again. Grand hall watched over by elaborately framed dark portraits shining facelessly from where they hung upon the walls. Illuminated by the ceiling lights was dust from far too many solitary arid paths picked up then carried in by lonely people who had somehow made it to that place that seemed consumed by feelings of true heartbreak

although entering into there was to attempt to lose oneself in notions of imaginary heartbreak.

While the guidebook raved at its collection much of which could be requested quickly fetched what left a more immediate impression was the smell of alcohol enhanced with body odor. Wanting to look at the people responsible for the smell competed in me with not wanting to look at anyone who might look back. Also snaking its way in between these divided desires was an irrational but profound physical impulse to look at the smell itself.

It was a place that sat about in rags an edifice that looked out at the world with such a weightiness a gloominess that truly was dismaying. All those loiterers. Staff workers. Authors. Characters in the books. They all had lost resistance. On that day in fact it seemed as though the whole thing

books as well

had just passed out.

Having situated myself at the end of one of the reading tables I decided that I would go back to the hotel as early as possible check in eat dinner early go out look for him. Unless

I told myself

the seat adjacent to my seat now filling in

Unless I get to bed get up then catch the first train home show up tomorrow night for work. The question is I told myself how do I kill this afternoon.

It happened

as she told it

three months prior to the day when he was born.

Not me he reassured me winking leading us out to the VERANDAH. (Night Two.) Him he said. He was so giddy as compared to her right now. The difference: night to day. He pointed to a padded chair said Please. She said Sit down. He said I’ll get the glasses.

In her story it was morning when a gentleman first knocked upon the door. Then late that night a figure showed up at her bed. The gentleman in the doorway was deformed. The figure at the bed was feminine though in describing this mysterious figure she did not say female. She did not say woman.

With one match she lit the cluster of short candles in the center of the table while he hurried to get the bottle open. I had understood it that the figure was an apparition she said seating herself across from me. He said I can’t remember sitting down beside her. Was it someone in the family? Someone that we knew?

A sadness sifted like pale sands behind her eyes as she replied that it was neither friend nor family. She said But the love that I was sensing from this presence made me feel as though it had to be connected to me.

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