Читать книгу Crocodile Tears онлайн

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She has observed other couples in her life: many, truth be told. She hates thinking about it. Even more than that, she hates repeating it and knowing she will repeat it, she struggles every day to repress these memories and above all to repress the impulse, and for long stretches of time she is successful. But sometimes there is something like a glimmer, a spark that becomes a fire, and off she goes and sets up her telescope or stops in front of her downstairs neighbours’ door. Ursula has known where to look for many years.

There is a small warning that her wait is over: the woman puts down her book and, instead of kissing the man on the cheek and turning off her bedside light, she strokes his hair and then strokes him again, beneath the sheets. The man puts down his book, turns to her, moves the sheets aside, strokes her neck and kisses her ears. Ursula breathes heavily, following the feline movements of the man and the woman as they touch each other; she watches as one of the nightgown straps falls, she closes her eyes, sighs, opens her eyes again. She watches them lick one another, imagines each taste, each texture, she can smell the musk of their sweat. She pants. The two have commenced their mating ritual, the man is sitting and she is on top of him, they rock 52rhythmically, the woman’s head is tilted back and, squatting, she moves up and down, up and down.