Incest

It was a village in Isère. It must have happened there. He looked for a pharmacy far out of the way to get Vaseline. He found some. He didn’t look before trying, but after. I was complaining. He told me to appreciate my luck, very few men did this, it might be a rare or maybe even the only chance in my life to experience it, this sensation that certain women, that many women adore and they complain that their husbands don’t do it, nor, most of the time, do their lovers.

Stop

I asked him to stop. I told him I didn’t see any advantage and I was scared of becoming disturbed, very scared, he saw the advantages: on the contrary, this way you know it’s a man who loves you. In Isère I wore a Shetland wool turtleneck sweater I liked a lot, red and tan. He loved it too, why? Because it flattered my breasts. This sweater I loved disgusted me, I’d have preferred he just like the sweater. He took pictures.

The watch

Grenoble isn’t far away. My birthday isn’t far off either. My birthday is not a date that matters to him but we’re so close, he’s going to give me a present, we shop for it together, it’s a silver watch, with a rigid wristband also made of silver.

The clementines

He has gotten some groceries. He’s naked. We almost never leave this house in Isère. But we go on walks, he loves nature, he loves the calm, he likes to hike in the mountain and along trails. Whenever he meets anyone, he says hello clearly. It’s polite. That’s what one does. He does. I have to, too. I have to be polite. He puts clementines on his penis for me to eat. It’s disgusting, disgusting disgusting disgusting.

Food

I met him in the Strasbourg train station buffet. He had ordered choucroute. Choucroute for lunch. It’s the specialty, the station buffet’s choucroute was meant to be good. He ate a lot at lunch. People who eat a lot at lunch disgust me. They often smell after. I hate the smell of food on someone’s breath. The smell of medicine or fatigue on someone’s breath, fine, but from something they’ve eaten, revolting. The worst being: garlic, raw onion, shallots, sauces, béarnaise, chives, even meat, especially at noon. I discovered restaurants with him, good restaurants, pleasant restaurants, with stars, I know what the symbols in the Michelin guide mean, stars, forks and spoons. Red, black. I often ordered smoked salmon. I discovered frogs’ legs, with toast, grilled, hot, warm. Sometimes though the conversation dragged. And the prospect of a nap weighed on me. When I was born, he was thin, there was a period when he was fat, at the time, he was average. He looked like Jean-Louis Trintignant, a less handsome version, he had the same smile, the same teeth, not the same voice, the same mouth, the same lips, the same type. He wore same kind of sportswear.

I’m not looking to accuse him. Monsters only exist in fairy tales. I’m not looking to accuse or excuse him. Only one thing counts, the mark. He left a mark on me.

Phrases that accompanied the gestures

The week in Strasbourg when the others were away on vacation. I spend my vacation in their home, it goes badly, everyday I get yelled at. For the milk, for the keys, I remember one phrase. We’re in the marital room, “the marital bedroom,” I had suggested sleeping in Mouchi’s room, “no, the marital bedroom” said with a certain irony, a quip, a game, everything is funny. He is stretched out and I’m seated on the edge of the bed. He looks at me, I’m above him, he says “you are beautiful, very beautiful, you will be able to get yourself very handsome men.” Such a gift, such an opportunity, to have very handsome men, I’d never imagined, I’d never have dared, to go after such very handsome men. This is good news, unexpected news to me, but “you could have gone after” would be more fitting now. Because I realize that even if I could have, it’s finished now. He announces this piece of news, he’s the one who announces it, no one before him had announced it, his news is rotten. The fruit comes from dirt, it would have been a beautiful piece of fruit.

“You have very soft skin, like your mother.”