She swept the young man’s arms off her again, but she could neither know nor see how successfully.
Their desperation no longer had personal boundaries.
They grasped each other with both hands, to keep each other from being able to grab or put up a defense. Neither one could tell why or against what. Awkwardly they knocked against all sorts of sharp, blunt, and hard surfaces. While they clung to each other with incredible strength, pressing each other to the seat, their fingers keeping them from moving, a powerful sense of strength and grim hanging-on pervaded their skin, their bodies. One couldn’t tell which one was stronger. The mink coat slid off her shoulders and was caught between them, but finally it left her bare neck free, and in the light penetrating from the outside the radiant hills of her breasts in the black dress were revealed to him. With pure muscle power alone, they were getting nowhere. She yanked her head away from the kiss, even though Kristóf wanted nothing more than to avoid it, to avoid her lips, fragrant with the heavily applied lipstick.
Don’t you dare touch me, whispered the full, round, well-painted lips with their vertical grooves and the maddeningly white teeth in this mutual stupor of resistance. He wanted first to kiss her neck, despite the woman’s strong objection, though he didn’t know why. Suck it in, with its fragrance, then quickly if clumsily lick it clean, as if atoning for his aggressiveness; then senselessly, completely senselessly, nibble and bite all around this inviting, glistening part of her body; but he was also ready to stop at once since there was something extremely servile in him, childlike, beastly, something he did not feel or had no reason to feel for Klára, and it was impossible for him to do something that was not authentic and never would be. Then they bit at each other, painfully and awkwardly, as though they’d lost any inhibition about biting. And by now they were each in their proper place in the universe. Somehow they had to nibble their way across the other’s face, flitting to nose, chin, ears, eyebrows, and jaws, to pat and feel the elevations of the unknown celestial body. At the same time — almost unconsciously, a little ashamed and reluctant — they emitted all sorts of word remnants, incomprehensible to the other.
Until they found lips, which seemed never to have existed before, and then they were surprised to arrive so suddenly at the center of their mutual sensations.
It was too much.
Her lipstick was too flavorful for Kristóf.
The squeezing of their fingers did not let up.
On each other’s lips, having barely dipped into each other, they recoiled.
I’ll break in half, let me go, her whispering lips demanded.
Because of the steering wheel or gearshift or their own excitement, their bodies were wedged into impossible positions as they panted at each other. Now they didn’t know what to do with each other or with their reflexes, and therefore didn’t know what should come next; the obstacle may have been their own excitement. Yet their lips foolishly returned and opened into each other, alluringly and threateningly, which relieved the tension and the feeling that they were infinitely helpless and ridiculous.
But at least they shouldn’t let their tongues do as they pleased; they should retract them. They mustn’t lose their manners or concede their dignity; they must not easily surrender their independence. It would have been intolerable to get stuck to each other by tangled, stiffening tongues.
Their tightly gripped fingers could not let go, and that sealed their discomfort.
I lied to you.
Kristóf had to say this out loud, and he did, almost directly into her mouth, that he had lied.
What did you lie about; the temperature of the woman’s voice seemed to fall as she asked this.
I lied, but I don’t know how or why.
You’ll probably tell me.
I will, but frankly it really bothers me, it’s such a primitive lie, and that makes me such a lousy person. And now I have to tell you, please don’t be angry, I’m ashamed and I hate myself for it.
Come on, out with it, let’s have it, come on.
It’s not the School of Physical Education where I’m studying.
Klára said nothing, turned silent and stiffened.
What an ass you are, she said quietly a moment later, more calmly and contentedly than before.
I wanted to impress you.
I was wondering about that a little, because I heard from Terike that you were going to some teachers’ college.
I wanted to say something better than that, I admit it, to look stronger than I am, because I’m weak. I have no will of my own, believe me.
Laughable, she said, peacefully and contentedly, how laughable you are. All men are equally laughable, them and their wills.
I know, but I don’t even have a will.
And you’re laughable too, and how.
I know.
Why must every man be so laughable.
But women don’t lie less than men.
I don’t care about women, Klára answered, on the attack, thrusting her lips dangerously close to his. I am not a woman but myself, I am alone, just me, and don’t forget it.
Don’t threaten me, because I’m not afraid of him.
Look who’s getting on his high horse.
I can’t open myself more than this with you.
Your lies don’t surprise me, and I don’t care about them, you understand.
But it did move you a little, you must admit.
You can go ahead and lie again, don’t worry about it.
They hesitated about exchanging at least one little kiss before he replied. As if they were weighing what was more important, the kiss or the words.
I can promise you, if you want me to.
I’ll give you full autonomy in lying, if in nothing else.
They had a good laugh at this, which freed them briefly from the threatening urge to kiss, though their fingers did not loosen.
I’ll never go to bed with you, Klára continued, serious and calm because she’d decided to rely on words. Don’t get your hopes up about that.
I won’t.
You can still be a very good friend if you behave yourself, but in my book you’re a marked person, and that’s that.
I know. That’s why I told you about the lie.
Suddenly Klára felt a strong animosity to herself; it made her lips tremble. As she kept looking at this hapless young man. Once again she had managed to steer herself into an impossible situation. For her, men — except for Simon — meant nothing but impossible situations, concerning which her upbringing had provided no advice or suggestions.
Come on, what do you know, she asked impetuously.
I’m done with such things.
Come on, what kind of things are you done with.
I don’t want to go to bed with anyone anymore, I know that, and not with you either. I’m over that now. You definitely don’t have to be afraid of me.