My First Two Thousand Years; the Autobiography of the Wandering Jew (twj-1) by George Sylvester Viereck & Paul Eldridge

Author:George Sylvester Viereck & Paul Eldridge [Viereck, George]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: love_history, adv_history, religion_rel, antique_myths
Publisher: Sheridan House, Inc.
Published: 1963-03-19T05:00:00+00:00

“You are an old hag! I shall never cross your threshold again!” Don Juan shouted from the next room.

“But señor, is it my fault? How could I tell?” Doña Cristina whimpered.

“Why don’t you instruct your women more adroitly?”

“She says she tried her very best, señor, but you were not in the mood to be pleased…”

The door opened brusquely. Don Juan came out. Doña Cristina, bent in two, her arms outstretched, followed him.

“Señor, señor!”

He threw her a purse. “Take it—and do not let me see your face again.”

“What is money to me if– —”

Don Juan placed his hand upon the hilt of his sword. “Go away—or I shall run you through like a sow.”

She snatched the purse and rushed out. Around her neck I noticed two fingermarks, which I recognized as Kotikokura’s.

“The stupid calf!” Don Juan exclaimed, walking up and down the room. His eyes were swollen a little from lack of sleep, and his face was drawn. He looked his age.

“Why do men rave about virgins, señor? They are awkward and clumsy and afford no satisfaction. Nobody wants wine which has been unfermented. Why do they insist upon virginity? The hen will cackle about it too. Don Juan was not in the mood! Is it for a man to be in the mood or for a woman to create it? Only boors are really hungry. A gentleman’s appetite is stirred by an apéritif. Not in the mood! Had she had an ounce of brain or training, or lacking these, an instinctive flair– —”

I remembered my experience with Poppaea. Had Don Juan failed to be—Don Juan?

“Perhaps, señor,” I suggested, “you were distracted by something or other?”

“Perhaps. The fool Fernando came into my mind again and again, I do not wish to kill him. Why did he act like an idiot?”

“Is it really so important if he continues to live or not?”

He looked at me. “No! To the devil with him!” he shouted.

He walked up and down, his hands upon his back.

“And that Jewess has disturbed my thoughts. She is a virgin too—like all young Jewesses. But she cannot be so stupid! Besides, she is beautiful. How can such an abominable race produce such an exquisite creature, señor?”

“The roots of roses are set deeply in the mud.”

“That is true, señor. She is a rose. Her roots are in the—Ghetto.”

Kotikokura opened and shut his fists, grumbling: “Woman” from time to time.

“She is protected like a king’s treasure. My very name is sufficient to alarm all Jews.”

Don Juan resumed his walking. His shoes glittered like golden mirrors every time he broke the reflection of the sun, while his temples shone like thinly hidden ivory.

“Are the women of your country, señor, also mainly foxes and geese?”

“I have traveled in many lands, Don Juan, and have known women of all races and of all colors. Everywhere man complains against them. Woman has been compared to all creatures, wild or tamed, and still has not been explained.”

He looked at me, placing his hand upon his hip and closing a little his eyes.

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