The Erotic Potential of my Wife by David Foenkinos

Author:David Foenkinos
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781846591792
Publisher: Saqi

4

Laurence lifted the dish to get a nose-full of the aroma from the veal paupiettes. She felt good in her comfortable kitchen, and took advantage of this evening among friends to decompress; she would soon be in the finals of a competition critical for her international career. Her coach had given her ten days off, but she had not been able to stop herself hitting the ball, working on her mythic wrist stroke; well, we know. It was Marcel’s brilliant idea to invite Hector and Brigitte for dinner. She was happy to see her husband’s friend again. She did not really know why, but for almost two years now he had studiously avoided her. Well, she did have some doubts, actually. Hector was scared stiff of her since the testicle fondling incident. However, from her point of view, this had only been an expression of affection. So it was also to straighten things up that she called him to the kitchen.

Socially, he could not refuse.

He entered the kitchen and witnessed the paupiettes’ preparation, his face white and blood cold. Or the opposite.

‘Can I help you with something?’

‘Yes, I would like for us to have a chat, one second … well, you see … I don’t understand why you’ve been fleeing me all this time … When you left for the United States, I thought that it was because of me …’

In saying what she had just said, Laurence advanced slowly but surely towards Hector, she’d wanted to pacify their relationship, excuse herself for her sexual aggression; however, upon seeing him, this best friend of Marcel’s, a low impulse itched at her, an irrepressible impulse like in the time of Racine tragedies. She then rushed towards him, Phedre of paupiettes, and in wanting to catch Hector’s testicles once again, her hand collided against a hard surface. In anticipation of that evening, and due to an all-in-all justified apprehension, Hector had protected his crotch with a footballer’s shell. Laurence screamed, and immediately, everyone crashed into the kitchen. They rushed to the emergency room, and the diagnosis was unambiguous: Laurence had sprained her little finger. The next morning, this was largely related in sports newspapers: Laurence Leroy forfeits final. The two fans she had in Evry cried.

Hector felt guilty. All professional athletes should have the right to fondle the testicles of those they find attractive – with no aggravation. Gérard, before Ouarzazate-Casablanca, must have had a field day. He felt so guilt-ridden, and this burden was too heavy to carry (let’s not forget that he already had to bear his abnormal attraction to the Brigittian window washing). The morals of the French would be lowered because of him. With horse riding and fencing, ping-pong is one of our biggest sources of pride. We are a physical people! Yet now we were nothing more than a bunch of sprained little fingers.

What has just been related is not quite exact, and this hors-piste of reality must be attributed to Hector. His imagination has travelled towards the worst.

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