Esterházy Péter (hungarian novelist):She loves me
She loves me (12)
There's this woman.She hates me.Her eyes are as grey as mine,
and since mine are as grey as my mother's, when our eyes meet, it's like I've
made it home.From a distance her body is like a girl's, from close up,like a clay pit.
Her arms are heavy, her lips grainy, like raspberries.She bullies me all the time.
Tells me not to worry (Don't worry, be happy!), she's fine, her health couldn't be better,
she's one hundred per cent OK.And she slaps me on the back, like a mischievous child.
Besides, she as born under a lucky star, she feels.After all, so many wonderful things
happen to her.They come in droves.For instance?For instance, my face.The way it can whatchamacallit, beam.And that look of surprise!...And no man has ever said thank you to her,
at least, not quite like this.But I mustn't take it to heart.I see only her lap, neither her heavy arms, nor her raspberry lips, nor the little-girl clay pit.Please!Pe-lease!I shriek, squeal, beg.Could that be what she has in mind?Could this pe-lease be my thank-you?
And that her head's been spinning ever since, the world turning round with her, oh so much ecstasy, so much abundance, and she can feel everything once again, like when she was a little girl, her body, it sings, it tingalings, it breaks into song, and can't I get it through my thick skull, it has opened up, like a flower.But I mustn't take it to her.