Trafika Europe 13 - Russian Ballet

Judeophile

“And he’s, ah... how does he...” “Everything is alright with him, he’s a good man, he’ll be a good husband, I love him. But that’s not what this is about; I suddenly felt that I needed you... That I can’t do without you. Without your hands, the way you caress me... And everything else... Even the poems... and so I re-read what you had written to me and... And I called you.” And that is how my first “love” ended, before it had barely commenced, and my first love affair with a married woman began. First and foremost, it taught me not to assume that you are the only one (I wasn’t even her only lover). To feel yourself to be “the only one” is to sense the significance of your own existence – that is what attracts a man in his love for a woman. Love is a warming blanket for our sense of vanity. Sometime around the end of September, she left for Algiers. Her husband, older than her by some three years (she finally showed me his photograph,) a tall young man, an agrarian type, typical representative of “the pillar of the establishment,” a graduate of the exclusive institute for military interpreters (Arabic to French,) was employed at the Ministry of International Affairs. Toward winter, Vera Petrovna also got married

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