Chapter 7 Chapter Two (2)

I was completely immersed in the rhythm of my movements.Even forget about this girl.For me, it's a blank time: maybe I don't exist at all right now.When I came back to my senses, the movement between my fingers relaxed, her feet were resting in the basin, and I hung my head. I dried my right foot, turned to the other foot, rolled up the leg of her wide panties to her knees, tried to drive myself away from drowsiness, and began to wash her left foot. "Sometimes this room gets very hot," I said.The weight of her legs on my waist was not light.I continue to wash. "I'll find a cleaner bandage for your feet," I said, "but not right now." I pushed the basin of water away and dried her feet.I found the girl struggling to get up on her own, and now I think she's going to have to fend for herself.I closed my eyes.A heavy force made the eyes close, to savor the wonderful feeling of dizziness.I stretched out and lay down on the carpet.Immediately fell asleep.Waking up in the middle of the night feeling cold and stiff.The fire has gone out and the girl is gone.

* * I watch her eat.She ate like a blind man, with eyes looking into the distance and movements by touch.She had a good appetite, the appetite of a robust young country woman. "I don't believe you can see," I said. "I can see. There's nothing I can see straight ahead, it's just—" (she strokes the air in front of her like someone cleans a window). "It's a blur," I said. "It's a blur. But I can see out of the corner of my eye. The left eye is better than the right. How am I going to walk if I can't see?" "Did they do it?"

"yes." "What did they do?" She shrugged and said nothing.Her plate is empty.I filled it up again with the bean stew she seemed to particularly like.She ate too quickly, hiccupped with one hand over her mouth, and smiled again. "Pacman's a fart," she said.The room was warm, her coat hung in a corner, her boots were tucked underneath, and she wore only a white smock and drawers.When she's not looking at me, I'm just a gray figure drifting back and forth on the edge of her vision; when she's looking at me, I'm a vague shadow, a sound, a smell, a source of vitality— — fell asleep washing her feet one day; fed her bean stew the next;

I made her sit with her feet in the basin and rolled her panties up to her knees.Now that both feet are in the water, I can see that the left foot is more inward than the right, so she has to stand on the outside of the foot for support.Her ankle was thick and swollen, and the skin at the wound was purple. I started washing her body.She took turns raising her feet for me to wash.In the milky lather, I knead and massage her flabby toes.After a while, I closed my eyes again and drooped my head.This is an obsession. After washing the feet, I then washed her legs.In this way, she has to stand in the basin and lean on my shoulder.I rubbed her legs up and down with my hands, from ankle to knee, from back to front, kneading, stroking, rubbing.Her legs were short and thick, as strong as a calf.Sometimes I move my fingers behind the knees and feel her calf, digging between the muscles.In turn, my hands fluttered like feathers between my buttocks.

I helped her into bed and dried her with a big warm towel.I trimmed and cleaned her toenails, but sleepiness came over me in waves, covering my whole body and mind.I hung my head and fell down in a dazed state, but I still remembered to put the scissors aside carefully.Then, I lay down next to her with all my clothes on.I took her legs together in my arms, put my head on them, and soon fell asleep. I wake up in the dark with the lights out and the smell of burning wicks.I got up and opened the curtain, and saw the girl curled up sleeping there, her knees arched against her chest.I touched her, and she snorted and curled up even more. "You're going to catch a cold." I said.But she heard nothing.I covered her with a blanket and added another.

* * The washing ritual began first, and she was naked for a full wash.I wash her feet first, then her legs, the sides of her buttocks.The soapy hand was walking between her thighs, and I didn't think I was curious at all.She raised her arms as the wash reached her armpits.I washed her stomach and breasts.I brushed her hair aside and washed her neck, her throat.She is very patient.I rinsed her off and wiped her dry. She was lying on the bed, and I rubbed her body with almond oil.I closed my eyes and let myself immerse myself in the rhythm of wiping.The flames rose high and roared in the hearth.

I have no desire to enter this thick and strong body that is now shining brightly in the firelight.It's been a week since we last spoke.I feed her, use her body—if my strange way can be called use.There was a time when her body would go stiff when an affectionate touch touched her; now, I bury my face in her belly or put her feet between mine, She doesn't have that resistance anymore.She resists nothing.Sometimes she would fall asleep while I was still there.She slept soundly, like a child. For me, under her blank gaze, in this warm room, I would feel no embarrassment even if I was naked, with my thin calves, baggy genitals, fat belly, The drooping breast of a wretched old man and the wrinkled neck of a turkey.I felt like I could walk up and down the room naked without noticing, and sometimes I would stay warm by the fire or read in a chair when the girls went to bed.

However, in the process of scrubbing her, I fell asleep more and more easily, fell asleep on top of her as if felled by a sharp axe, and woke up dizzy an hour or two later , drowsy, thirsty as hell.This dreamless sleep seemed to me like death, or enchantment, a complete blankness, something that happened outside of time. One night, while I was rubbing oil into her scalp and massaging her temples and forehead, I noticed a gray crease in the corner of one of her eyes, as if crawling with a caterpillar whose head was wedged into the under the eyelids. "What is this?" I asked.Caress the caterpillar-like scar with your fingernails.

"They made it," she said.Pushed my hand away. "Does it hurt?" She shook her head. "Let me see." The thought in my heart became more and more clear, I must find out the origin of these scars on her body, otherwise I cannot let her go.I parted her eyelids with my index finger and thumb, and I could see the whole of the "caterpillar" in the pink inner fold of the eyelid.There is no other trace, this eye is wounded here. I examine her eyes.I am also being scrutinized by her, but can she see—my feet, several parts of this room, the misty halo, the center of the halo, is me, is it a blur, or is it blank?I moved my hands gently in front of her face, observing the changes in her pupils.I don't see any response.She didn't blink.But she smiled. "What are you doing? You think I can't see?" Her eyes were brown, so dark they were black.

I touched her forehead with my lips. "What did they do to you?" I murmured.My voice was sluggish, and my feet were already shaking due to fatigue. "Why didn't you tell me?" She shook her head.The dizziness was coming back to me soon, and my fingers touching her buttocks felt criss-crossed and uneven under the skin, an unreal feeling. "Nothing could be worse than we imagined," I mumbled.I don't know if she heard me or not, and she didn't even respond.I fell heavily on the couch and pulled her to my side, yawning. "Tell me," I wanted to say, "don't keep it a secret, pain is pain." But the words were lost.My arm was still around her, and I pressed my lips to her ear, trying to speak, but my eyes were darkened.