Talking to Ourselves: A Novel by Andrés Neuman Read Free Book Online Page A

sounds grotesque, but besides the sorrow we both shared it aroused me to imagine that the body penetrating me and making me come was fading, was almost a ghost.
    That night there was a storm. It rained with a vengeance. There were loud claps of thunder. Trees swayed and objects banged about. We heard it all from the bedroom while we were making love. During the final moment I felt suspended. I was able to think with complete lucidity. Or rather I contemplated ideas that came unbidden. As Mario began to ejaculate, I could picture myself fixed in that instant, fucked for eternity. Knowing at thesame time that if it were possible to remain there forever, nothing would make sense. Not even pain, not even an orgasm. For a second the storm seemed joyful. Then the lightning made me very afraid.
    In order not to feel inferior in the face of Ezequiel’s scientific knowledge, I made a list for him of the different verbs in Spanish that describe an orgasm. In Cuba, for example, the say
venirse—to draw near
. I like that verb because it suggests moving toward someone. It is a verb for two. And essentially unisex. In Spain they say
correrse—to run
. Which implies almost the opposite. Taking off at the end, moving away from the other. It is a verb for men. In Argentina they say
acabar—to end
. It sounds like an order. Like a military exercise. A Peruvian woman friend calls it
llegar—to arrive
. Put like that, it sounds almost like utopia (and it often is). As though you were far away or needed more time. Her husband says
darla—to give it
. Curious. That sounds like an offering. Or, being pessimistic, like a favour done to you: here, take this. In which case it doesn’t surprise me that my friend never
arrives
. In Guatemala they say
irse—to go
. A clear statement of abandonment. They need only add:
after you’ve paid
. In other countries they say
terminar—to finish
. Frustrating. It sounds like someone barges in and interrupts you halfway through. Here, though, perhaps because we are frontier people, we say
cruzar—to cross over
.
    Are there places where they name women’s orgasms? Where they say
I’m drowning, I’m dissolving, I’m unravelling, I’m irradiating?
    I asked Ezequiel which verb he liked best. He replied: That depends, Professor. When I’m on top,
venirme
. When I’m underneath ,
llegar
. If I pick you up,
acabar
. From behind,
correrme
. When you blow me,
terminar
. When I’m outside you,
irme
. It depends.

    Unable to sleep. At seven o’clock I gave up and got out of bed to see the sunrise. It felt like it rose too quickly. Everything happens more quickly than it ought to in summer.
    I went out. It was hot. I waited for the shops to open. Standing in front of doors. Like an addict. I bought a lot of food for the day after tomorrow. Chicken, turkey, veal, low fat cheese (so as to feel less guilty), fruit yogurt (Lito hates the plain, sugar-free ones I eat), Coke (caffeine-free, of course, otherwise there is no getting the little angel to bed), good red wine, oranges, grapefruit, legumes for Mario (he needs lots of iron), vegetables for me, sweets for everyone. Then I found a see-through bra and knickers with suspenders. I’ll wear that tonight.

    I call and call, but they don’t answer. Every time this happens, I imagine Mario knows everything and is silently punishing me. Last night I dreamt he found Ezequiel hitchhiking on the motorway. He gave him a lift in the truck. And the two of them went off and left me on my own.
    Lito doesn’t reply to my messages. Mario doesn’t call, and neither does Ezequiel. I have taken two aspirins and an antidepressant . And have drunk two cups of strong coffee. I find it impossible to read. I feel horny. I think a lot about jumping out of the window. I want my husband and my son to come home now and not to come home. I want this house to return to normal and I will never be normal again. I don’t want to see Ezequiel any more. I want to call Ezequiel and tell