Chapter 8

“You’d better apologize for being so careless that time.”

“But I’m not joking! There’s nothing I want as much as that! Can I do it now?”

Anna took a step back. The smile slowly drained from her face. She realized the bum really did want to piss on her.

You would have given a great deal to understand what she was feeling at that moment!

“Omar, let’s continue what we were doing...”

“I can’t ... daughter, I’m going to do it right now!” the janitor cried, angling himself at her. Anna gasped and ... ran! Omar hesitated for a second, then ran after her! You froze in shock as the heroes of your home movie disappeared from the frame.

Frantically, you pull up the recording from another camera, punch in the time. Annette is running, her breasts bouncing. Behind her runs the old man, his belly bouncing. There is something in the way your wife runs ... as if she were a nymph fleeing a satyr. As if she has no real wish to avoid the fate of being drenched by a bum’s urine, and this is all a game! You switch cameras -- on every one Anna is running, Omar behind her. The old man would never have dared do this if he had not felt a silent YES from Anna! Or is that only what it seems like, with lust speaking in you? Annette is meditating right now -- could anyone imagine she was pissed on today?

By the time the old man is barely shuffling, trying to catch the nymph, they have ended up in the bathroom. Anna stops running, looks him in the face, says nothing. The seconds stretch out, but you can feel they are going to burst any moment.

“There’s the toilet. Use it,” your wife says at last. Your gaze jumps from her to the place above, where the camera is mounted. It is well hidden -- you would never spot it. Are you absolutely sure only you have access to these recordings? What if someone is watching you right now, seeing what you are doing?

You shake your head and go back to the video.

“I want it on you,” the old man says stubbornly. Exhausted from the chase, he looks even older, as if he had been cast from the same mold as the copper pots at your grandmother’s cottage.

“What, should I hold out my hand?”

Annette flicks her porcelain hand.

“Hold out your cheek.”

“What?!”

Anna is so astonished she drops her composure.

“That’s an order!”

Omar seems to have decided: all or nothing. To stake everything on his reckless desire. He is so tense you can almost hear his brains creaking like peanut shells. Your wife and the bum stare at each other without blinking, without looking away, as if locking horns with their eyes. Annette could easily deal with him. The old man is barely standing after chasing the beauty around as if on a leash. But it seems she cannot deal with herself. That is familiar to you, is it not? This woman, a successful yoga teacher, has everything. As do you. Everyone has their own idea of happiness -- fine. But why do people sometimes turn away from their very own happiness? And not even in sacrifice to some higher goal -- no. For no clear reason at all! The Devil’s whisper? Is there something seductive in stepping off a height into the void? You might be living under the stars, but instead you are masturbating, while Annette in your phone kneels before the toilet, sweeps her hair to one side, and bends toward the bowl.