Black Heart, page 15
She moved back down so that she was spread out against him, one heating the other. Her lips were very close to his quivering length. She let go of him long enough to reach down between her own thighs, wet her fingers in her own lubrication. She coated his penis, returned to her languorous stroking.
Her mouth opened and she breathed against him, forcing her breath out hot and hard. She had not directly touched the upper half of his penis as yet, and now her head moved so that he thought it was about to happen, arching up to help make the
connection.
But Lauren had another goal in mind, her open lips engulfing his balls, humming slightly so that he felt the vibrations and his
eyes squeezed shut.
Tracy felt his heart hammering so hard against his chest he thought the skin and flesh above it beat with its force. Cords along the insides of his thighs seemed stretched, elongated in a kind of pleasurable pain that built but somehow seemed incomplete.
Then Lauren moved her head back up and took him inside her mouth, groaning deep in her throat at the taste and texture. The reactions the prolongation of his ecstasy brought out in him stirred her so strongly that she suspected she might come again when he did. She had thought that impossible without any direct physical manipulation, but now it seemed to be happening.
As she felt him expanding inside her mouth, his balls tightening just beneath, she felt the familiar throbbing between her thighs, about to radiate through her whole body. She clampc" her legs together, twisting slightly so that her mount pressed against the rough fabric of the sofa pillow.
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'Oh!' she almost cried, swallowing the exclamation as Tracy exploded in her mouth. She licked and sucked, using her tongue as well as the insides of her cheeks, loving the feel of him there, the pleasure she was giving him after all the pain.
She wanted him. Again. She had never felt so sexually wild in her life. She had never felt so alive.
He might have been an animal but he was not, though he was totally at home in the wood. He stood within its silver-dappled confluence: ancient oak and maple joined together some distance from the river, petering slowly out into tangled undergrowth at the end of the far slope where the cornfield began.
As he moved through the forest's dark serpentine depths no bird lifted away from his line of passage or was disturbed from its slumber, no nocturnal creature - rabbit or vole, chipmunk or stoat - bounded from his path. He was accepted and therefore ignored.
Through the dense night the flat expanse of the cornfield could be seen, still and skyed. He scented the lingering dampness of the rain as he wound his way through the wood. He found a comfortable spot and sat down, crosslegged. Directly above his head, a horned owl ceased preening its wing feathers, swivelled its great icon head, its enormous golden eyes watching him with passive curiosity.
The pale watery moonlight passed over him as if he were merely another undulation in the ridge. He was hidden as completely as if he were cloaked in the darkness of the night.
He felt the peace envelop him as if it were a component of the wood itself. He thought of Lok Kru: Preah Moha Panditto M he slid to the forest's floor. He felt the dampness of the soil through his thin trousers, the soft mattress of windblown leaves, sprinklings of bark and nut husks. They were home to him, he te't as one with them. He began to chant, to cleanse his mind Jnd, more importantly, his spirit. He called to the vinheanakhan, he spirits of his ancestors, to gather around him, to add their enormous strength to his. He felt them as he began to expand Ou(ward into the void, lifting his head to kiss the sky. His lips opened
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Natno tassa Bhagavato, Arahato. Samma-Sambuddhassa! Natno tassa Bhagavato, Arahato. Samma-Sambuddhassa! Namo tassa Bhagavato, Arahato. Samma-Sambuddhassa!
and encompassed the world.
Beyond the cornfield, the warm yellow lights of a house could be seen, two tiny squares of illumination, a second night
sky.
From the inside of his black cotton blouse he extracted two
sheets of onionskin paper. On each was drawn a circle divided up into twelve equal sections. Glyphs were drawn within some of these, more glyphs ran down the right side of each sheet.
Carefully he spread out each sheet so that they lay side by side.
These were horoscopes, prepared by him several days before.
On the left was his own. It showed the heartbeat of his life, the
ridges and rills, the valleys and clefts. Like all such charts it did
not predict the future but, rather, personal tendencies. This was
most important to remember. It had been the first lesson he had
been taught as a child learning the difficult art. It was so difficult
primarily because it depended so much upon interpretation. It
took years of training and, beyond even that, a sensitive's touch,
to accurately read the portents.
His eyes shifted to the second chart. The tall man had obtained for him the birth place and date of Moira Monserrat. Those bits of information were all he needed. From both charts he had been able to fathom the right day and time their paths should cross. Quickly he gathered up the onionskins, set fire to them, rubbing the black ash between his fingertips. His head turned He had become aware of another presence. A small brown hare sat crouched on its hind legs within the labyrinth of the cornfield. Its long ears twitched as it looked nervously this way and that. Its sides were panting as if it had had a long run.
The night beat on quite still - almost no wind coming down into the cornfield through a swale in the hillock.
His nostrils flared briefly as the red fox came trotting through the stalks of corn. His head turned as if he, too, were searching for something; in that moment he seemed like a blind man, J' ascetic in simple robes of dirt-scrubbed cloth.
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The fox's quick knowing face lifted somewhat, one eye sparking m moonlight as it scented Then it was off at a dangerous sprint At that moment, the hare ceased washing its face with jerky erratic swipes of his forepaws Its flanks quivered, its forepaws coming down hard on the tilled earth
It jerked suddenly, its body lifted into the air by the force of the fox's vicious attack A sharp crack like a bolt of heat lighting resounded, doubling, trebling across the ordered expanse
He sat immobile, listening There was nothing left in the cornfield but the chirruppmg of the insects and a dark path of moisture that was soon absorbed by the earth
The first erratic gusts of a freshening northerly wind touched his cheeks, ruffled his black hair in a mother's caress He lifted his head as the fox had moments before Already gauzy tendrils were extending skyward to diffuse the moonlight Soon the moon He could feel the sharp drop in pressure and he knew there would be rain soon
He looked beyond the cornfield to the night sky with the two moons The house lights were blinking on and off as a branch from a Japanese maple on its lawn swayed back and forth in the wind It seemed to beckon him onward The universe knew what was about to happen
Rain stuttered against the leaded windowpanes, driven like tears along the glass The wind coughed like a hound on the hunt, the sky was filthy with storm
Moira lay on the high bed, the covers thrown off Despite the change in weather she felt hot and uncomfortable Unable to sleep, she had reluctantly swallowed a sleeping pill, lay down to await its effects But it had not relaxed her and sleep was still far away
Moira got up off the bed Her legs were trembling with fatigue and an excess of emotion and she could feel the triphammer of her heart banging inside her nbcage In a daze she *alked unsteadily over to the window, drew back the curtains, Peered out
Darkness Shadows on shadows, shifting in the wind eddies ^'ghtsounds and the rush of ram came to her Nothing more
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I
She turned away and went downstairs; the thought of sleep now made her itch and the rumpled bed, so large and empty, brought back images of John.
Her lips opened and she spoke his name in prayer. 'Why?' she whispered. 'Why did you leave me?' She hated him then, more than she had hated anyone in her life. And the force of that staggered her, a physical blow that brought her to her knees. She sat heavily on the stairs, the cold wood against her buttocks and the backs of her thighs. She put her head in her hands, running her fingers through her thick hair. 'Oh, Christ,' she breathed.
Of course she did not hate him; not really. She loved him with the fierce abandoned pride one feels for one's first true love of adulthood; felt now that most terrible of pains when that love
is gone.
She wrapped her arms around herself, rocked gently back and forth. She had given herself to him, opened up her heart and he had responded with the cruellest deed of all: he had forsaken her with all her desires opened rawly to the world.
'Oh, God, oh, God!' she cried softly. 'What will become o'
me now?'
'All right. That's enough,' Atherton Gottschalk said. He twisted
around in his chair. 'Come on over here.'
'Just a minute,' his wife said. She was deftly manipulating the controls on an Atari unit. On the twenty-four-inch TV screen facing the foot of the bed, the last four evil ships of the Space Invaders were blown to electronic dust.
'Roberta,' Gottschalk said. It was late, well past midnight. But his evenings always seemed as long as his days. Work piled up while he made his clandestine visits to Kathleen and it just had to be dealt with. 'Enough already.'
They both knew he did not mean it. Gottschalk loved the upsurge in these computer games. That the generation currently growing up should be addicted to such games of obvious military bent encouraged him.
Yet he missed being with his wife. If only he did not have to sleep. Then he could have his cake and eat it, too. His most severe inner voice admonished. Now is that a way for
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the next President of the United States to thmk? You are not lusting m your heart, boy, but in other, more productive areas He laughed If it was good enough for that reprobate Tack Kennedy, hell, what was wrong with him doing it7 Kennedy's trouble, Gottschalk knew, was that he didn't keep his mind on business Otherwise the foul-ups at the Bay of Pigs and in Vietnam never would have happened Had they been planned correctly who knows where we'd be now, Gottschalk thought A sight more secure in the world than we are now, that's for
sure
He watched his wife as she scrambled across the bed towards him She was in every way a physical contrast to Kathleen Her body was fleshy where Kathleen's was trim, her hair was long and brown, her eyes black
'It's about time you were finished,' she said in her low, throaty voice 'It's a quarter to two Time all decent folk were safely in bed ' She made a lunge for him, laughing 'But not asleep1'
Her palm struck him just over his heart as her lips closed over his and, despite himself, he shuddered
Once, in the middle of an awesome time of monsoons off the coast of Southeast Asia, the then future senator had thought he was having a heart attack His father had died of massive coronary occlusion, his grandfather of a debilitating stroke Gottschalk had heard that such things were hereditary However, since he lacked the courage to discuss the topic with his doctor, it forever remained a nebulous, and therefore much more terrifying fear, inside him
Roberta's salacious grab had made him feel again the acute vulnerability he suspected lurked within his heart It was an ungovernable fear which he could admit to no one, not even his wife
Gottschalk took her in his arms, rolled her back onto the bed They grappled like teenagers, laughing while beside them, unattended, the lasers shooting at random were at length overcome by Space Invaders landing
Roberta touched him between his thighs and he growled low n his throat, relaxing The phone rang
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Gottschalk, cursing mightily, disentangled himself and rolling to one side, picked up the receiver.
'What is it?' he barked testily into the instrument.
"It's late, I know. But I thought it would be the best time.' I
He recognized Eliott's voice. 'Oh, it's you.' His tone softened immediately. 'What d'you have?'
'The Fdmpire's aloft.'
'Terrific.' Everything was right on schedule.
Til have a packet for you in a week or two at the outside We just want to build up enough data. But, unofficially, I car tell you the plane's fully operational.'
'In every aspect?'
'Yes.'
Gottschalk was thinking of XITLIS. Incredible. He was already
thinking of a bullet vote.
'Good news, I take it?' Roberta said when he put down the
phone.
'The best,' he said, smiling. And reached for her. The Space Invaders were massing again, lowering on the screen.
Moira, on the edge of sleep, might have fallen into a black hole. She contemplated the end of all things. Sitting still on the stairs, the study of dust consumed her. She hovered at the precipice
of time, horrified.
Without John, she wondered what there was about life that should hold her. And should she find someone else, what would be the point? Death lurked around every corner, delighted to snatch away not only life but joy and hope as well. Moira felt there was none of those within her now. Abruptly, not even this benign house in the country seemed friendly any more. She was as alienated from it as she was from everything else. The night closed in claustrophobically. She desperately wanted to get up and turn on all the lights, to banish the darkness from this, her domain, but she lacked even the strength for that simple act.
Rain lashed the windowpanes, struck the roof like an angry beast and the wind howled eerily through the cracks in the
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house, just as if the world were singing the dirge she felt welling Op inside her
With a great effort, she dragged herself downstairs No lights were on and when she reached the ground floor landing she heard a curious banging At first, she thought that one of the shutters had come loose in the storm but she found they were all intact She stood very still then, naked and shivering, her skin raised in gooseflesh She listened
The phone began to ring and she started She felt sweat break out on her upper lip, in her armpits She felt very exposed She went into the kitchen, reached for the receiver
It was then that she saw the kitchen door was unlocked and open It was swinging back and forth, banging against the wall with the gusts of wind
She took one step towards it to close it She felt the wetness of the floor against her bare soles, rain running in on her, spattering her legs
Moira gasped, her head whipping around, as she felt the slithering vicehke grip tightening around her neck and waist, forcing all the air out of her
She heard a whispered chanting in her left ear, scented a sharp spice she could not identify She was still trying to scream But as if in the grip of the darkest nightmare, she found she could not She tried to open her throat but it was blocked She began to gag as if her body needed to vomit in order to clear her throat
She saw no face, no personification of the being who engulfed her It was as if her own fear, her death wish had magically been given life and now sought to destroy her And in a blaze of light, powerful in its revelation, Moira saw that she did not want to die In the grip of death, she battled for life with all her might and soul She opened her mouth, closed it with great force on the flesh pushed against it She felt flesh tearing a great hot gout of blood running down her throat that almost choked her
The strength of determination was in her The sweetness of drawing breath, of watching a sunrise, of a friend's love, of a child's innocent face, an afternoon's picnic, the parade of days and nights stretching out before her The pleasure of her own 'Mure children's warmth, her grandchildren's excited laughter,
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the adventure of growing old in the world, of living, of living1 All these things and more she now longed for with a passion sht never thought possible.
Her head shook back and forth as she bit deeper and deeper into the flesh and at last she was released. She wanted to scream but all she was capable of was a great stentorian wheezing as her hungry lungs drew oxygen out of the air.
Even half-stunned as she was, she felt something coming -f, her and, instinctively, she raised her arms to protect her face. Sh j heard a soft whistling like an old man calling pigeons in the park Moira screamed. She recoiled. It felt as if a bolt of pure energy had smote her. Her wristbone was shattered. Liquid fire blazed along the nerves of her arm with such intensity that the entire
limb began to tremble.
Another blow rocked her and she reeled drunkenly, crashed to the floor of the kitchen. Rain struck her but she did not feel it. Blood coursed down her forehead, into her eyes. She blinked, swaying on one knee. The whistling came again, gentle, admonishing just before the side of her head above her ear, seemed to explode outward in a shower of fiery sparks.
Moira's cracked lips opened and closed but all she could do was pant like a dog. The blows came again, in measured cadence, on the top of her head, against her forehead. She toppled backward, one leg under her. She could not move. She stared up at the ceiling. It was alive now with shadows that seemed to be calling her. One of them loomed over her as large as a mountain and she glimpsed through her one remaining good eye a flash of silver. Like the pointed finger of God it flew down at her in a blow. She was deaf to the soft whistle this time, at last anaesthetized to the pain. But she knew she was going, that all the people she wanted to meet, all the things she wanted to do, were beyond her now. A void swept upward to cradle her, to exchange the darkness for the light and, as it did so, she thought of John and the chance she had of seeing him once again.
Khieu stood back, staring at what he had wrought. His mind was filled with the hideous images of war; his country burning'
