55 292
The Lover
55
The rape was being staged
from close proximity by a
mind that made no effort to
be discrete. On the contrary,
it exuded emotion, proud
and confident in its power.
Alisa rolledher eyes, casually
observing the piles of white
flowers, the moving heads,
the wicker baskets and the
cageswithgoldfinches, until,
between two perplexed
shoulders, she laid eyes on
the barren stand, under
which Eugen the monk
slumbered. Watching his
lowered eyelids, relaxed
face and ears reddened with
exertion, she was struck
with the same desperate
passion that had struck half
the women in the Flower
Market. Hesitating, she
went over to the honey
stand, from where the
impatient, snake-like desire
was emanating.
Alisa walked alongside the
rows of jars, up to the white
chair.
The monk was bent like a
currant branch. He knew
very well that Alisa was
looking at him. He had
heard her steps, had felt her
pulse and had tasted her
cloud-like soul. However, he
remained frozen. The April
sun warmed the top of his
head, and in the darkness
of his being, the millions of
warriors fed him with the
joy of victory.
Another
woman
had
become attached to him.
But Alisa did not see it that
way. She was disturbed and
was almost overwhelmed by
panic, but not enough to not
feel the light tremors of the
invading soul. The monk’s