“No,” muttered Pastor Trilby. “Nothing else…. They searched the house so thoroughly.”
K’Simah frowned and took the letter.
“All those years; and all I get is this lousy piece of paper. Disgusting. Otis, you… you… you…”
Snatching the paper out of the pastor’s hands with disgust, he stormed off.
“Well hoo-hey chicken,” Marcus sleazed from the door of the Amber Hornet. “Another angry black guy, huh?!”
Pretending not to hear him, K’Simah tore the letter, only half-succeeding. It fluttered in the breeze, eventually flapping into the face of a started Saul Friedman.
***
Les pierres que je t’avais jetée,
Dans mon coeur sont méchants fixé.
Pas mal, ma chérie!
“The stones you threw at me, are evilly ge-fix-et in my heart!”
But what of the gender? One might suppose someone with such purity of artistic aspiration might be a little more attentive to the grammar. Fixé, fixée, a great deal hinges upon the subtle nuances; n’est-ce pas? Is it not so, ma belle Cassie?
Ma fenêtre dehors
Les fleurs gardait toujours ses tristes odeurs
“Outside my window, the flowers ever retain their mournful smell.”
Most evocative, dear girl.
Et pendant cent-mille mois entiéres,
Tous les mois, et douces et tant amères,
Excellent use of the double ‘and.’ Exquisite!
Et pendant cent-mille mois entiéres,
Tous les mois, et douces et tant amères,
“And for a thousand months, no less,
All the months, so sweet and yet so bitter.”
La passion m’énivrais
Tel joie si enfin je te revoyerais!
“With passion I was drunken
Such joy if I were yet to see you!”
It’s sly!
Mais finalement je prenais à te maudire,
Ce voyou detestable, il t’as dis:
“But at length I began to curse you
This violent thug, I said to you.”
Toxic femininity… A most bourgeois malady, madame!
Pourquoi je dois toujours salir
T’es pas content ici?
“Why must I ever back-and forth?”
But nay!
“Why must I ever go out
Are you not happy here?”
T’as pleuré, ah! Ce cru blasphème,
Et je n’ai pas reconnu quant même,
“You cried, ah! This most crass of blasphemies, and I did not know you, all the same.”
Again, the technicalities of language. Not quite up to par…
T’as connais l’angoisse de ta désir,
Enfin je t’ai lassé san espoir
“You have known the anguish of desire
In the end, I left you without hope”
Syntax and proper niceties aside, a deft parallelism, it shall be known to cover a multitude of sins! Or pêchés, if you will…
Pas de retour, ô Jonathan!
Helas! Pas de retour?
“No return, O Jonathan!
Alas! No return?”
L’audacieux est resolu disparaître?
Deux ans et moitie, tous ces mois
“The audacious one, he is resolved then, to disappear?
Two years and a half all these months…”
Ah, que c’est triste! But is it not sad then, after all!
J’ai t’emparer de toi tout ton être,
Ô belle madame!
“I have seized from you all your being…”
Why the infinitive form?
“O beautiful, O beautiful!”
Mais t’as donne un beau univers à moi,
À moi, quel infâme abîme!
“But you have given a beautiful universe to me,
To me… Notorious and brutish, the abyss!”
How very trite.
And yet, more or less charming.
After a fashion…
The grammar and spelling, and other such ‘technicalities’ of form, however, are utterly damnable!
***
Ruby Chandra de Montevideo turned and raised her glass to Senator Bubble.
“For the National Interest, and for Him alone,” she gasped, breathless with anticipation, and brimming over with whatever boundless tremors joy and blissfulness she was more or less capable of mustering.
“To the Unity of Our Common Humanity,” Bubble grunted, as his hand slithered ever further up her skirt.
Dickie Klindel gazed cold and dully at the unfolding tryst.
Not a single drop of sweat or semen disturbed the empty gloominess of his silence.
Ruby shrieked with ecstacy, as Bubble’s warm, chubby Tennessee trouble-truncheon exploded between Ruby’s pale white pay-me-back-pineapples.
Bubble withdrew, rampant streams of diarrhea leaking from his ass.
Ruby’s eyes glazed over in horror, and presently threw herself into compulsive vomiting. The two sexually diverse guardians of a purity unlimited and without stain eventually collapsed on the floor, practically comatose with the disgust and ennui of a pro-choice political class pushed to the very limits of depravity and morally bankrupt, irredeemably degenerate civilization depravity.
Still Dickie Klindel sat, motionless and gloomy.