"Please don't."

But he grew tired of hearing me plead. He reached into the pocket of
my parka and balled up the hat my mother had made me, smashing it into
my mouth. The only sound I made after that was the weak tinkling of
bells.

As he kissed his wet lips down my face and neck and then began to
shove his hands up under my shirt, I wept. I began to leave my body; I
began to inhabit the air and the silence. I wept and struggled so I
would not feel. He ripped open my pants, not having found the invisible
zipper my mother had artfully sewn into their side.

"Big white panties," he said.

I felt huge and bloated. I felt like a sea in which he stood and
pissed and shat. I felt the corners of my body were turning in on
themselves and out, like in cats cradle, which I played with Lindsey
just to make her happy. He started working himself over me.

"Susie! Susie!" I heard my mother calling. "Dinner is ready."

He was inside me. He was grunting.

"We're having string beans and lamb."

I was the mortar, he was the pestle.

"Your brother has a new finger painting, and I made apple crumb cake."
"Why don't you get up?" Mr. Harvey said as he rolled to the side and
then crouched over me,

His voice was gentle, encouraging, a lover's voice on a late morning.
A suggestion, not a command.

I could not move. I could not get up.

When I would not - was it only that, only that I would not follow his
suggestion?-he leaned to the side and felt, over his head, across the
ledge where his razor and shaving cream sat. He brought back a knife.
Unsheathed, it smiled at me, curving up in a grin.

上一页  [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] 下一页