Mai at the Predators' Ball by Marie-Claire Blais Read Free Book Online

reassured Adrien, saying that was no ghost coming toward them over the sun-brilliant green, really nothing, no one at all he said, though he’d feared it might be true that Charly was nearby and coming closer in the chauffeur uniform she’d been wearing lately for her new employers, Daniel wondered how she’d been able to worm her way into those rich peoples’ villas in such a short time, and who exactly were they, rich reclusive ladies no one ever saw in town, no, Mai’s dad reiterated, no way our friend Adrien’s coming out on this golf course alone now Suzanne’s gone, but he couldn’t finish his sentence because Mai interrupted him, saying Papa, why don’t you just admit she wasn’t just taking a trip to Switzerland or anything like that, just say it Papa, she’d written to her daughters on blue lotus paper long ago to say she was weak and faltering and no longer could embrace her life, go on and say it, just say it, Robbie did tell Petites Cendres, I don’t know which wig to wear tonight, the blonde or the redhead, Cobra often steals the pink one topped with feathers right out from under me and then tears off down the stairs to be first in the street, and only Yinn gets to wear those boots someone brought him from New York, you know the ones with leather laces that come up around your thighs and high, tapered heels like blades, I don’t know how he can walk in those all night without taking a tumble, always his nose in the air somewhere above us, and when he rubs his face against you, you get a brush from those curled eyelashes, then in his raw, guttural voice, he says don’t be late Robbie, when I’m in Los Angeles you get to replace me, and not too much playing around with those rubber sex toys, okay Robbie, they’re dumping carloads of college kids on us, so use a bit of restraint okay Robbie, yeah he talks to me like that, scolding like, then Yinn works me over with those capable hands of his and those erotic eyes, he adjusts my fake boobs, just air bubbles, that’s all they are, I can tell he likes all flesh, and not even women leave him cold, that’s why everyone gets that comforting lingering touch, so many lonely lives he seems to think to himself, it’s his look, I can’t let it go, and whether he’s wearing a new dress, say one he designed himself and spent all night making, so it’s light and airy with butterfly wings and Japanese motifs that move with his body, his hips, and the skirt is slit up to the thighs on both sides to show off his legs, women’s legs, though in a boy’s outfit they’d look too thin, still, curved and perfect between the stripes of this winged dress, the legs of a slightly scrawny kid, everything for Yinn being part of the art of illusion, the stuff of dreams, he exults in the knowledge of all this as he walks along the street, outlined and detached with the pale rays of the full moon on his face, deigning to belong to all and sundry without yielding, come on in he says to passersby, the girls are waiting for you, come on in, Robbie, Cobra, we’re all here in the cabaret, he despises crowds and the stain on his soul on the verge of blossoming forth, yet here he is, bored and intact, were he that divinely superb woman perched on glass heels, he’d spit on the ground just like when he was small Robbie said, but no he had to stand straight and still, when he went back inside the bar he’d slip in next to Jason for a moment, as though in complete abandonment, he’d hike up the narrow black strip of a slip over his almost hollow stomach, the girls are ready I suppose, he’d ask Jason, this G-string’s killing me, Christ will this night never end, why can’t we just go and lie down on a beach the two of us, sweetheart, okay if everything’s ready, let’s start the show, boy what a crowd, what do you think of my dress Jason, I got the idea from my mother’s dresses, you ever notice how elegant she always looks, no sulking, she’s tough on you but she does