text: Que Son My Lolita 
   
   
   My Lolita 
     
     
     
     
     
   
   One 
   
     
   Wake up with a headache. The room spins. I close my eyes for a few minutes, and when i open them again, the lamp on the night table stands firm, and everything else stands firm. Too much alcohol last night. Alone. When was the last time i drank in company of others? Too long. Can't even remember how long. I struggle to get out of bed, and tumble into the bathroom. I have to go to work. No matter how sick i feel. I live in a basement studio where there is no sunlight. So i don't want to stay home during the day. Besides, i can sleep on the job and no one complains. I am a loner, a sick and old wolf disowned by the pack, and i live alone in the jungle called New York City. I have no friends or relatives in this city. But i have a brother in California whom i see once in a while. The last time i saw him was five years ago when he was vacationing, and he stopped by to see me on his way to Europe. I am not bothered by my aloneness. In fact, i enjoy it. 
     
   My partner left me ten years ago. She could not bear living with a loser, a non-achiever, one who has no ambitions. Like most women, she sees men as providers. She wanted this and that and she wanted me to do this and that--in her words, to make her proud, to make our life better. But i refused to get involved in her schemes. I knew she loved me, but after a few years trying to change me into a person she thought i should have been, and failed--she quit. I said to her that i am what i am and don't try to make me into somebody i am not. All i want is a roof over my head, a job to go to everyday, feeling content and secured --- nothing else. I look at the people with ambition and i feel sorry for them. What is the point of killing oneself for a few extra dollars? Power, prestige, fame, money, ect ... the things that make a man considered successful .... mean nothing to me. In fact, if i needed to die right now, i would be willing to. Ha ha ha, but it must be for a good reason though, like to save the life of a three year old boy. 
     
   Coming back to the apartment one day i found a note from her saying that she wanted out. I checked the apartment and sure, she was gone: all her personal stuffs were gone. Down to her toothbrush. I knew this day would come. So i was not surprised. I sat on the couch and thought what am i going to do now? Should i look for her and ask her to come back? No. Everyone is entitled to freedom and what they do is what they do because they are free to do what they do. So i dropped the idea of looking for her. But even if i had wanted to look, where should i start? She had relatives and friends in the city and in various states, but i did not have their telephone numbers. Oh come on, give it up. What a ridiculous idea: looking for a woman who rejects you and bringing her back against her will? That is super stupid. A man does not do that. 
     
   So i settled into the aloneness. For two months, i did not hear from her. I thought about abandoning the apartment and moving some place else. Not that the apartment reminded me of her, oh yes it did, but that was not the point. The point was i want some place cheaper. I could not afford the high rent of a complete apartment I should find a studio. Or maybe just a room in a boarding house. 
     
   One day she called and asked me how i was. Fine, i said. She said she was ok. Where are you? I asked, but she refused to say. I could not id where the number might have originated. She might be using a calling card. She might still be in New York, and not too far from me. Or she could be 10,000 miles away. I told her i am moving out and she said ok. Then we fell silent. Then we said goodbye. Just like that, a person disappeared from your life and you might never see that person again. Not even unto death. I was terrified at the thought. 
     
   Then i moved into a basement studio. It has two windows looking out to the sidewalks but all i see are walking feet. There is no sunlight down here. However, at the end of the hallway, i can go into the backyard where i can see the sky. I feel like the man from Dostoievski's Notes From Underground. There are an elderly couple in the room next to mine. And in the other room also next to me, there is a young woman. Down here, people rarely see each other even though the proximity is very close. An occasional hi and hello here and there and that is it. But we can sense each other's presence very clearly because the walls between us are thin: at midnight, the old man coughs, the old woman nags, and the young woman's whispering on the phone. And me? Complete silence. 
     
   I go to work everyday--been on the same job for ten years. Working for the city's welfare department. I have two thousand dollars in the bank. And the amount has stayed the same. Up then down, then up then down, hovering at two thousands. Enough to survive a short emergency. Each night, i drink a six-pack of beer or a 750 mil bottle of wine--and i pass out. No natural sleep. In the morning, i wake up with a slight headache, and go to work like any normal person. "Normal" in the sense that you have a job and a regular income and you never miss a day of work. Except when you are on the verge of death. I am a civil servant. On this job, which provides bullet-proof security, people don't quit to look for better opportunities, but they either retire or die on the job. What do i want? I prefer retirement but i am afraid that i may drop dead on the job. I have diabetes and high cholesterol plus a diseased liver--and i am an alcoholic. Some mornings i come out of the hole in the ground and think that i may drop dead on my way to the train. It is a real fear. Because i experience lightheadedness and shortness of breaths in the morning. So i avoid taking the deserted streets. Instead, i walk along the big avenue where there are people and traffic, because the chance of my being found and taken to the hospital is better than if i was on the empty streets. 
     
     
     
     
   
   Two 
   
     
   So i live in this basement. My daily routine never changes. Wake up at 7, out of the basement at 8 and walk to the train. Get to work at 9. Lunch at 1. Leave the office at 5. Home at 6. Wash the sweaty feet. Lie on the bed. Look at the TV. Drink a beer. Two beers. Three beers. At 8 i come out to look for food. While continue to drink. Walk into the lottery joint for a game or two. Check emails at the neighborhood internet cafe. Come back to the basement at about 10. Drink some more and take a sleeping pill. Pass out at around 11. Deep "sleep." More like a coma. Nightly coma. Very few dreams. Then at 7 the next morning, the alarm clock shakes. Another day. 
     
   Do i feel lonely? No. Do i need a companion? Not really. Am i horny and do i need fucks? Sure do. That is how i keep the local prostitutes in business. Besides the irritating desire for intercourse with a female once in a while--and i can either jerk off or take a whore to a hotel--i am fine. Yes, i feel fine most of the time. But i have not mentioned that i take 60 milligrams of Prozac everyday. That' s how i stay fine, perhaps. Or is it all make-believe? I am not sure, but taking anti-depressants has been a daily habit for years. 
     
     
     
     
     
   
   Three 
   
     
   One Friday evening after food and drinks i go into the neighborhood's internet cafe. Its interior is illuminated only by the light of the computer monitors. Silence. People bury their heads in the games or in whatever they are into on the computers. I pay three dollars and take a seat in a corner. This place is called the Easy Cafe. Next to me is a teenager playing a game. Next to him is a Jew guy with a skull cap. We are on the edge of the largest concentration of orthodox Jews in the country. I wonder about the Jew guy, what is he doing here at this hour of a Friday night? He should be home observing the Sabbath. I position myself comfortably in a high-back chair and open my last beer of the night, a 22 ounce Old English. I log into my account. I have two hours. I sit and sip my beer. Friday night. What do you do on a Friday night, a loner like you? You drink in a bar. You eat in a Chinese takeout. And now you sit in this dark corner in front of a blue monitor. And you feel like killing yourself. Suicide is never a bad idea. I can walk to the subway right now and throw myself in the track of an oncoming train. Big deal. That will end it. End what? The life. This life. This stinking life of mine. Sure, you say that you feel "fine." But what does fine mean? It depends on how you define fine. Like Bill Clinton says when he is interrogated about his tryst with "that woman." It all depends on the meaning of the word "is." Same with fine. People understand "fine" differently. Just like Bill Clinton has different definitions of is. He beats the rap by cleverly defining the word is to his idiotic prosecutors. When you ask someone how are you, and they say i am fine--how are you supposed to understand that? Fine? What do you mean fine? I don't know what you mean by fine. Fine may mean i am feeling like shit but why should i tell you? I want to spare you the indignity of having to sniff my shit. Besides, i know you don't care. Or fine may mean i am feeling nothing. I am a bag of meat and bones and fat and blood and other liquids and this mixed-bag has no feelings. I get up in the morning and go to work with an empty head and a cold heart. I do my work in the same state of mind. And the day drags on just like that. I am a robot. But of course, if someone suddenly punches me in the face i will feel pain and anger. But that does not mean i feel pain and anger, just this body. But things like that have never happened and i don't think they ever will because i am a "nice" guy. I stay out of people's ways, especially crazy people. So i am fine. The only times i feel not fine are when i am drunk like a skunk--in high spirit-- and do crazy things. Like trying to score drugs right under the noses of the cops. Which normally when sober i would not do. Or when i trip on ecstasy which causes me to feel blissfully overwhelmed with love for mankind. But most of the time, i am just fine. 
     
   I sign in to my email accounts and all i find is junks. I delete them. The last time someone sent me any personal emails was ages ago when i was carrying out an online dialogue with a woman 10,000 miles away, in Sai Gon. We met on a networking website and hit it off great. Messages were exchanged continuously for almost two years, twice or three times a week. She confined in me the most intimate details of her life--including what day of the month she normally bleeds. I had no reason to doubt her sincerity and truthfulness. But i did not have much to tell her about me, except about my work and my loneliness. We sent each other pictures. She was looking for long-term relationship. I don't have that for her but in my emails, i gave her the impression that i might be able to do something for her on that mater. She was in her early thirties, and for a lonely woman of that age, time has run out. Then she found someone, not an abstraction in cyberspace like me, but a person in the flesh, real and tangible, and on location. She wrote about the man she found, and i assumed the role of a counselor, and i was a damn good one. Then she broke up with the guy. And soon after, she found another but this one ended in disappointment too. She kept going, and reported to me her affairs with this and that guy, and asked for my advices which i was always ready to give. Did i like what i do? No. I would rather have her in bed with me. But there were an ocean and a continent between us and i did not have the time or the money to overcome them. 
     
   One Christmas, we exchanged gifts. I mailed her a copy of "The Lover," one of my favorite books, and she sent me three books. For the first time, i saw her handwritings. It was gentle and soft. But in the end, i lost all hope of intimacy with this woman because by silent agreement, we had become friends---whatever that meant. Besides, for me, it was a game, i was not serious. And i was also indecisive. If i had wanted to get serious and gone all the way with her, i would have to spend upward to ten grands for traveling, wedding, and other marriage-related things. I don't have that kind of money. I thought that if i proposed to her, she would not reject. But perhaps she knew my ambivalence, so she kept me at bay as a friend and an advisor on matters of the heart. I became a lap for her to dump on, a shoulder for her to cry on. During the course of our correspondence, she was involved with three guys, and all broke her heart, then beat it. 
     
   Then one day, i flew to Sai Gon: i was on vacation. Once in town, I called her on her cell phone and she answered with a sleepy voice even though it was near noon. This was the first time we talked on the phone, and her voice sounded sweet. I introduced myself, but she did not seem excited or surprised at all. However, we agreed to meet at a cafe. 
     
   On the day of the meeting, i went to the cafe one hour ahead of time. The rendezvous was at 11 am. I arrived at 10 and started drinking. It was a sidewalk cafe. I had a vague idea of how she might look: a slim and tall woman, with long hairs, a bright smile and sad eyes. Because i had seen her pictures. And she might know what i look like also. I drank a strong local brew beer call 333. I read the newspapers, sip my beer and once in a while looked up and observed the people. It was already hot. Ten thirty: two beers. Ten forty-five: three beers. Eleven: four beers----and no sight of her. I had said to her that i wanted to see her just once, and after that we did not need to see each other again. Eleven fifteen: five beers and still no sight of her. I put the papers down and scanned the scene and the people parading on the on the sidewalk. It was a Sunday morning. She was late, or what? Eleven thirty: six beers and no one approached me with a smile. The waitress stood a few feet away, ready to replenish my beers. The way i ordered beer after beer, she knew i was a serious drinker. The temperature rose higher as the day wore on, and i started to sweat. A few tables away, a couple were putting their heads together and feeding each other ice cream. I signaled to the waitress for another beer. Eleven forty-five: seven beers. The buzz in my head was now getting louder and louder: i am feeling drunk. Noon: eight beers. Then i stood up, paid, and walked out. I took a taxi back to my hotel. I called her, but there was no answer. I said to myself, that's it. 
     
   Two months later, out of what i did not know, i wrote to her, but she never responded. Another person disappeared from the life. 
     
     
     
     
     
   
   Four 
   
     
   So that Friday night i sit with a head as empty as the inside of a barrel. It is crowded in the cafe tonight. The kids have no school tomorrow so they are here to play games. I tap on the keyboard, for no particular reason: www.myspace.com. I sign up for an account, using a false name. In the profile, i say that i am 100 years old and here to network, to look for friends, and things similar. I say that i am interested in women, aged between 20 and 35. I add that i am a heavy drinker and a chain smoker, and that i have no religion, no children and no favorite tv show. In the "about me" section, i describe one of my typical drinking binge. After completing the profile, i start to browse. Within an hour, i make at least 50 friend requests. Then my two hours at the PC are up, and i go home. I take a pill and pass out. 
     
   Sunday night i return to the cafe. It is only 10 o'clock. I log into my myspace account. Most of the people i request friendship with return with a yes. I read carefully some profiles of the people who are now my "friends." 
     
   One person attracts my attention. According to the profile, her name is D, 19 years old, living with family in Sai Gon, and an art student. Her "heroes" are her family, from her parents down to her little nieces and nephews. She posts sample of her artworks and they don't look bad at all. She paints and draws scenes of nature, houses, portraits, and some cartoons. Her profile picture shows a beautiful smiling face with long black hairs and pearly eyes. A very childlike young woman. So i run into an artist, a beautiful young artist. I like art. And i like artists. And here is a promising young artist, still growing, and still in school to hone her skills. There is something innocent about her that captivates me. She seems full of fun and curiosity. I cannot imagine what she might be curious about, but the curiosity is in her eyes. Her face is oval, almost round--the type that i like. She posts a picture that shows her standing by a window, flashing a V sign, the way kids do when taking pictures. I send her a message thanking her for accepting me as a friend; and i suggest that we communicate by private emails, not through myspace. I include in the message my email address. Two days later, she writes to me at my personal address. Another ghost. 
     
     
     
     
     
   
   Five 
   
     
   On the web, deception is the practice. I deceive too when i get on it. I have about ten email accounts with different names and all with false information. Sometimes it's hard to keep track of them--which account for what purpose and with whom. I use two passwords for all of my accounts, to eliminate forgetfulness. With this girl, i use an E account. But is it a girl or an 80 year old grandma? The author of this attractive myspace profile might be an 80 year old grandma, or whoever, out for some harmless fun. Just like me, a 47 year old man, hiding my real age by saying that i am 100 years old. Of course whoever read my profile know i am joking, but they don't mind because they are joking and lying too. No one requests my "friendship," though, because when they browse, they don't look for a 100 year old person, so my profile never pops up on anyone's search. The 56 friends that i have on my list are all the people i myself request "friendship" with. 
     
   After three emails, the girl asks me how old i really am. I don't think you are 100 years old, she writes. I tell her i am 32 years old. And she accepts that, saying i am only as old as her oldest brother. No big deal? On my profile, i post the face of a monkey as my profile picture. She asks why, and wants to see my real face. So i send her my picture, one that is taken in low light, and shows a young face. I do look younger than my age, much younger. Still, i send her a picture in which i look the youngest. We write to each other at least once a week. So the assumption on my part is: my name is Lam, 32 years old, male, working, living alone in NYC, looking for friendship and maybe romance. On her part, i accept that her name is D, 20 years old, living in Sai Gon with her family that includes her parents, brothers and sisters, and she is an art student, on myspace just for friendship. Normally, on myspace, people exchange messages on the public forum, but i and she writes to each other privately. 
     
   And as time goes by, the language in our emails becomes more intimate, but i am not sure if this is an accurate description. I just feel that we are getting closer and closer by letting each other into personal details of our own lives. And i start to feel something strange: affection for this person--D. Sometimes, she sounds very thoughtful and wise for a young woman of that age. I complement her on this. I ask for her opinions on things that bother me. I tell her about the environment i live in, about my work, my thoughts and feelings, what i do daily--and the more i write, the more truthful i become. But i still hang on to my assumed age of 32. Slowly, I become afraid of rejection, this far into the "relationship." If D turns out to be real, to be what she says she is, then i am very afraid of rejection. Because my affection for her only intensifies after each email. And if all is true about her, i am old enough to be her father. Goddamn it. But i want love. And of course, as any man would, i want a young woman. But the young woman may not want an older man. In this case, me, 27 years her senior. What a formidable wall to climb. Perhaps that would not be a problem if i had 20 million dollars, and she liked money and was willing to be mine whatever--wife, mistress ect...--while i allowed her to fool around with men her age. Men who can fuck 10 times a day. Me, i can only manage 2 times--and not only that, my penis needs a large amount of stimulation to get erected. I hate the fact that i am not a young man anymore. And i hate even more my attraction to young women. Call me a dirty old man if you like, and i will not object. 
     
   Three months into our correspondence, D suddenly stops writing. I become anxious, wondering what happens. I write and tell her i miss her and ask her what's going on. She writes back and says that she has been in an emotional crisis, and apologizes for making me worried. She says she feels absolutely alone. That she is devastated. That she has been crying. That she has lost faith in people. That she cannot concentrate on school. I press her for details. And she returns with a long email message describing what has happened to her that almost made her lose her mind. She had a friend since childhood. A male friend. Someone she is fond of and trust. But no love. They were just close friends. A few weeks ago, the guy declared to her that he loved her and wanted to take the friendship one step further--and threatened that if she turned down his proposal, he would end the friendship. Despite the lack of genuine feeling of love for him, she agreed to act as if she was his girlfriend, because she did not want to lose his friendship. Besides, she told herself, let me give it a chance, maybe i can fall in love with him. And they started to date. One night, he took her to his room. And suddenly he forced himself on her, demanding sex. Terrified, she resisted, punched and slapped him, and escaped. She says she could not believe he would attempt such a thing on her. And now she rejected him as a friend, wanting nothing to do with him. She says she has lost a dear friend--a devastating loss to her. Not only that, she has lost faith and trust in the goodness of people. She says she kept what happened to herself, and cried alone at night, and felt as if she was going crazy. Again, i resume the role of a shrink. Fuck that guy and fuck D's idiocy: getting involved with someone while unsure of her feelings for him. What has happened to her can be seen as attempted rape, prosecutable to the fullest extent of the law. But i guess she wants to keep things quiet because of shame. We feverishly write to each other everyday, all on this incident. And i gave her a lot of advices, trying to help her recover from the shock. At last, she regains her composure. She says the guy has apologized for his behaviors and wants things between them to be normal again. I tell her i don't agree with them resuming the friendship, because what has happened was super bad. 
     
   All through these exchanges, i feel as if i am falling in love with her. And the feeling becomes stronger after each email. I change the tone in my emails, addressing her more intimately. And one time I even conclude an email with the word "Love." In one of the messages sent to her, i hint that i am in love with her. But i add that it is my own business, that she may be the subject of my affection, but it is not binding on her to respond. She talks around the subject, does not mention what i say, but asks me if i have a chance to travel to Sai Gon and meet her. And you must let me know two weeks in advance because i don't like surprises, she writes. I tell her that she is making me love her. And she says she is not sure what her feelings for me are, being that we never meet. I ask her to paint a picture for me, and i give her the details of what i want in the picture. I say that she is a talented artist. And she agrees to do it. I painted a picture many years ago in which there is a blue sky and within it are a pair of hands open up and hovering above the hands are a pair of red lips, a heart, and two butterflies. I was crazily in love with a teenage girl when i painted that picture, a real Lolita. I forget what happened to that painting. I might have given it away, or lost it during one of my moves from one apartment to another. I gave D all these details, and she says that when she is not too busy with schoolwork, she will paint the picture for me, with watercolor. She sends me a song, with lyrics that imply love at first sight. I am thrilled and listen to the song over and over. I start thinking about her days and nights. I must see her. 
     
   I know i am in love with a ghost, an abstraction, but this abstraction has touched something in my heart and makes me feel alive. Every evening, i go into the cafe and check for her mails. And they never fail to be there. I am hooked. I was given the love drug. And i must have it everyday. One day without a word from her and feel like dead: sad and depressed. I scold her. And she returns with apologies. Now she knows i love her. But never once she discloses her feelings for me. She evades the subject ... saying that she cannot tell until we meet. To her, i am "only" 32 years old, just the same age as her oldest brother. So, it is no big deal if we progress beyond friendship. But i become increasingly anxious. Because i am not 32, but 47. And as i says, i am old enough to be her father despite my younger looks. Would she accept that? Not a chance. I don't see any possibility. Again, she asks me when i am going to go to Sai Gon and meet with her? Why this insistence? Is she for real? Is she feeling something about me but does not have the courage to mention it? Or she may be feeling something vague and wants to clarify and confirm her feelings by seeing me in the flesh? 
     
   I start to check myself in the mirror each chance i get, mostly in the bathrooms. I see the bags under my eyes, the gray hairs on my head, and the two grooves around my mouth, and the double chins--not clearly, but they are there and becoming more visible. What's more, i have a beer belly. At the same time, i imagine her to be a young blossom: only 20 years old, pretty, burst with life and joy and hope--unlike me, a depressed old man who is an alcoholic, obsessed with death, and never knows what to say in an encounter with a stranger: I have been a loner for too long. But this girl is injecting the life into me and i am slowly becoming alive. While excited at the idea of seeing my dream lover, i am afraid of rejection, which to me is a strong possibility. 
     
   I have said to myself many times that when i love, i just want to love and do not care if my love is returned. I say i am holier than Jesus, who loves you but wants you to love him back. Me, i am above that petty human emotions: i can dispenses unconditional love. For me, just be able to love is fulfilling enough, and i am thankful that my heart is still able to love, and there is an object onto which to project the love. But how wrong i am. I have been idealistic. Now because of loving this young woman, i have reversed the rhetoric: i want her to love me too. I want her to love me as i love her. And i would feel devastated if my love is not answered. Yeah, i love and want to be loved. What's wrong with that? 
     
   And I plan a vacation to go see D. I cannot wait any longer. I book a flight and inform her of the day i will arrive in Sai Gon. She says she is anxious to see me. She gives me the location where we are going to meet, the time and the date and how i can recognize her. She will wear a red t-shirt and blue jeans and a black baseball cap. She says she is about 5' 4" tall, and slim. I say to her that i will wear a white shirt and a gray pair of slack, my complexion is dark, and i am 5' 9" tall. And that i will carry in my hands a rolled up newspaper. The location is a cafe in the center of the city. I will sit at a corner table at 3 pm sharp, and she will arrive fifteen minutes later. 
     
     
     
     
     
   
   Six 
   
     
   I arrive in Sai Gon on a wet day. It is July and in this corner of the earth, the monsoon season is raging. I fly for twenty hours, including transfers at different airports. My mind and heart are all messed up. I am confused, anxious, full of expectation, happy, sad, worried--a boiling pot of conflicting emotions. I cannot sleep during the flight despite all the alcohol and the pills. I don't eat. I only drink, and the flight attendants are tired of me. 
     
   I walk out of the Sai Gon airport terminal, carrying a backpack. I have no luggage. I have no need for luggage. I can buy what i need on location, including changes of cloths. It is raining and i look at the rain. The taxi drivers ask me if i want rides. I shake my head, no, not right now. I come into a coffee shop and order a beer. From here i can see the parking lot and the pouring rain. The rain comes down in short and thunderous bursts every five minutes or so. I feel as if in a dream. Things around me, the tables, the chairs, the people, the landscape, the noises and the music, the conversations around me, all are floating images. They are surreal. My head is in the clouds. And i am dead tired. The rendezvous with D is tomorrow. Torrents of questions race through my head. But most distinct of all were apprehension and dread. I have traveled this far, in this state of mind, just to find out if my fantasies are at last no longer fantasies? Am i stupid? Am i crazy? Am i such a dreamer? What if D turns out to be a 40 year old woman and ugly like a witch? What if she does not show up? And what if she is who she says she is, a perfectly sexy 20 year old, nice and sweet? And seeing that i am not what i say i am, she rejects me? Someone may have the last laugh at this, and that would not be me. For sure. 
     
   The waitress places a bottle of beer and a glass in front of me and says 30,000. I pay her. She takes the money and walks away, swaying her big ass. I want to stop her in her track and bite into those buns until they bleed. And i want to drink her blood and chew on her flesh. Like in a zombie movie. And what am i now if not a zombie? I finish the beer and stagger out. My legs are not strong enough to support the weight of my body and my brain. I wave a taxi driver over, and walk with him to his cab. The last burst of rain has ended and another one will come down soon. Take me to the Hello Hotel, i said to the driver. That was the name of the hotel i stayed in the last time i was in town. I only remember the name. And hope that it is still in business. I sit and observe the dense motorbike traffic around me. People weave in and out in front, on the sides, and in the rear of the cab like an intricate dance in a beehive. I open the window to smoke a cigarette and a waterfall of engine noises rush in but they sound like the distant buzz of a sea of bees. 
     
   After how long i don't know, could be an hour, an eternity or even only a minute, the cab arrives at the hotel. The clerk takes my passport and writes my name in the book, then hands me a key. A boy walks with me to show me the way to my room. Third floor. A room with a big window looking down on the street below. I tip the boy and he says thanks and leaves. Closing the door behind me, i take off my clothes, and naked but for a brief, i sit by the window and watch the day change into night. The rain has let up somewhat and on the horizon there is even a ray of blood red sunlight and a slab of blue sky. On the other side of the streets, peddlers in cone hats sit with their merchandises: baskets of fruits and vegetables, and all kinds of other things. Some people are drinking beers sitting on the low stools against the walls. And the noises of the motorbikes fill the air. 
     
   I take a shower then lie in bed and close my eyes. I am in a horizontal position, and it feels good. But no sleep. I am resting my body only. My head is still churning. I think about D. What is she doing right now? Still at school, or is home doing homework, or on the web chatting with people, or having an ice cream with her friends, or riding around town to kill the time? Is she thinking about me and our arranged meeting? Is she anxious, worried, apprehensive ... ? Or is she thinking nothing at all, and never intend to show up? I don't have her telephone number and her address. All i have is her name, her face, and my fantasies about her, and a place where i might her see her tomorrow. I wonder if i am doing the right thing coming here to be tortured with all these doubts. 
     
   When i open my eyes, it 's dark. I must have passed out. The clock says 7:15. I take a shower then go downstairs. The clerk smiles at me, i smile back and go outside. The street is still teeming with traffic, and all storefronts are lit up with color neon. I find a restaurant and walk in and find a table at the corner and sit down. The place is packed and full of noisy conversations. Most people are doing heavy drinking. Beer bottles line up on tables, and in cases on the floor. I order my food. My head by then has become empty. I am too tired to think. I sit and stare into the space in front of me, totally lost. I have become a piece of rock. I feel so alone, in this crowd. The feeling is distinct and powerful, as if i am the only one in the restaurant. 
     
   It takes me a long time to finish the meal. Then i walk out and stop a taxi. I ask the driver to take me to a club. I want live music, i tell him. During the ride, the driver attempts small talks, and asks me if i want "other things." I say no. He takes me to a club called "No Name." Inside, disco lights flash, and young men and women converge at tables. A candle light on each table. And beer bottles everywhere. A male singer on the stage is screaming into the microphone. I squeeze my way to a corner table, and looks like i am the only one alone in the place. Everyone is with companies. A woman approaches and asks me what i want. I want a beer and a double shot of whisky. Who is performing tonight, i ask. PT, she says. PT is my favorite singer. So the guy on the stage is only an opening act. I settle down and consume my alcohol. I order beer after beer and shot after shot. And when PT comes out on the stage and the crowd roar, i am very drunk. I throw a tranquilizer down my throat. That will keep me under control despite all the alcohol. Without it, i will go insane and do crazy things. Even blacking out. Then PT starts to sing that silky voice of hers. Her first album knocked me out ---many years ago. I still love that voice, the voice of a heavy smoker and drinker, the voice of a damaged vocal cord, the voice of an opium addict waking up in the morning. She dances across the stage, shaking her shoulders and hips, singing the songs that make her famous, her signature songs. Most people however, put their heads together and talk, and only once in a while glance at the stage. But they applaud at the end of each song. My waitress make frequent trips to my table, and it is hard for her to do so, since there is not much room among the tables. 
     
   After two hours and i don't know how much alcohol, i walked out, feeling on top of the world, and ready for more. I wave down a taxi. I say to the driver that i want a whore. He says no problem, your place or hers? And i say my place. He parks his car at a corner after a 10 minute ride and asks me to wait. I wait. Fifteen minutes later, he come back with a woman who looks to be in her late twenties. She has shoulder length hairs and a white face and a pair of red lips and her eyes are large, and she is wearing a long dress. She climbs into the back seat and sits next to me and turns and looks at me and says hi. I say hi. It is dark in the cab so i cannot clearly see her frame and her facial features. But i smell her perfume. She brushes herself against me and i feel her breasts on my shoulders. Soft and nice. I tap on her knees and she pulls her dress up and takes my right hand and places it on her thigh. I feel the electricity go through my entire body: the skin is cool and smooth, like marble. When the cab stops at a red light, i look at her face and find a face that looks so familiar: D's. Oval, almost round, thick lips, and two large eyes the kind of eyes you see in the manga. But i know she is not D. My D does not do this kind of work. My D is an innocent girl who is a student at an art school. What's your name, i ask her. My name is L, she says. My lover for the night. You are not a whore. You are my lover. 
     
   I tell the driver to find me some ecstasy. After many turns, again, he stops and parks. This time in front of a nightclub. He goes in and out, and drops into my open hands four blue tabs. I throw one down my throat and give one to L, but she says no. You better take it because you need to stay up all night to love me, i say. The driver turns his head and says to L, take it. She listens to him, and takes the tab and puts it in her mouth. It starts to rain again. At the hotel, i pay the driver double the amount shown on the meter plus some more. He thank me and wish me a good night. I and L walk past the front desk. This time it is another clerk, a woman. What room are you in sir? She calls after me. 302, i say, without stopping. While walking up the stairs, L has her arm in mine, as if needing protection and support. As we undress, the drug starts to take effect. I am in love with you and with the world now. Very deeply in love. Boundless and unconditional love. L takes off her clothes slowly. She has a very nice pair of breasts. We climb into bed, and i grab her and her body quivers and i have a feeling that she is melting in my arms while solidifying at the same time. We fuck, and talk, and fuck, and talk. And once during the night she even sings. No sleep. 
     
   When the sun rises and sends beams of bright light into the room, L, almost in a panic, says closes the curtain. I closes the curtain. In semi-darkness, we fall asleep. But sleep is shallow. I just lie with my eyes closed, my body feels tired, and I listen to the ticking of the clock, the gentle rhythmic sound of the ceiling fan, and the noises of the street below. The whore is lying on her side facing me, her chest goes up and down with each breath. She has firm breasts and a tight pussy and she gets wet easily. I ejaculate inside of her twice. Other times, i just pumped my rod, and feel the good sensations. She orgasms each time, perhaps the drug helps in this. 
     
   When i open my eyes again, i look at the clock and it is almost noon. I must see D at three. I tap on L's shoulders and wake her up. It's time to go, i says. And i caress her breasts and her belly. Then i turn her face up, and she spread her legs and i feel her pussy and it is wet again. We fuck for the last time. Then we take a shower together, and i pay her when she is ready to go. Do you want to see me again, she says. I may look for you, i say. At the door, she kisses me then turns and walks away. I close the door. I pull the curtains aside and the room lights up. Down on the street, the activities has already gotten furious. I feel a lingering satisfaction when i think about L. I put my clothes on, look at myself in the mirror. There is no sign of sleep deprivation. I look fine. Then i walk out. I descends the step. The cleaning woman steps aside and lets me pass. 
     
     
     
     
     
     
   
   Seven 
   
     
   I have an hour before my meeting with D. No, she will not be a fake. She will be a true woman, all she says about herself will be true, and all i have fantasized about her will prove correct. That she looks exactly the way she looks in the pictures. A childlike young woman with an ever-present bright smile. Yes, by just showing up for the rendezvous, she will confirm that my love for her is justified. Then i will deal with the aftermath later. I want her to accept me and my love and return in kind. I want a real relationship with her, a relationship in the flesh and blood, a relationship of the bodies and the souls. Perhaps boyfriend and girlfriend at first, then will progress to the next step: marriage. I want that to happen to me, to us. She has pumped the life into my heart, she has poured rain on the desert of my heart, and she cannot take it away. Too late now. I don't want to think about rejection and failure. Anytime this thought pops up, i kill it. I will do all i can to make her mine, to make her love me. I don't have anymore chances to find happiness. This may be my last chance. I am a middle-aged man, and not getting younger. 
   I take a taxi and show the driver the address of the cafe. I know this place, he says. It is a garden cafe, a good distance from the street, so there is not much traffic noise. I told D that i will sit at a corner table. So i find a corner table. Giant bonsai are placed here and there among the tables on a bricked surface. One man sit alone not too far from me, reading a book. There is a couple on the other end of the cafe. I look up and see a blue sky. But that may change at anytime. Dark clouds may roll in quickly and massively and the rain will pour. 
     
   The waiter comes and asks me what i want. I say beer. He comes back with a beer, and pours the beer into a glass. I listen to the music. Fifteen minutes until my dream lover shows up. I run my hands on through my hairs. I have a few gray, and the gray show ups on my beard too. I am wearing a white dress shirt and a pair of gray pants. The eyeglasses are always on my nose. A rolled up newspaper is in my left hand. 
     
   One beer finishes and i order another beer--and she walks to my table, quiet like a cat. She wears a red tshirt and a pair of black jeans like she has said she would. She sits down in front of me, smiling. Hi, she says. Hi, i say. Things around me and in me suddenly crumble. I am not in this world anymore. I am transported to the seventh heaven. All turns silent. The earth disappears. All i see is her smiling face, the only real thing--everything else become fathoms. I cannot utter another word. That is her: 100 percent as i have imagined. A boundless and warm feeling of love overwhelms me. The intensity of the affection is much more than what is called love at first sight. All my fantasies and expectations are answered. The silence between us lasts for an eternity. Then i hear her say hi again. Her soft little voice is music, and her eyes are large and pearly black and they shines, and her smile is the most beautiful thing i have ever seen. She wears shoulder length hairs. Her neck is high and her skin is a perfect color of ivory. She places her hands on the table and i look at them. Ten long slender fingers--another masterpiece of nature. She does not wear makeup. I smell the flesh of a virgin, a smell that is more attractive than any perfume, and it arouses you .... like a male animal in heat. The silence lasts for a few seconds or an eternity, i am not sure. 
     
   -How are you, she says. 
   -Nice to meet you, i say. 
   -You traveled such a distance to see me. 
   -I am glad we meet at last. 
   -I am glad to meet you too. 
   -What would you like? 
   -Coffee. 
     
   The waiter comes over and i say coffee and he walks away. My heart is still beating hard and it is difficult for me to talk. My throat suddenly feels dry. She looks at me with inquiring eyes. The smile on her face quietly fades, but the look in her eyes becomes more intense. It is that curiosity that i have detected in her during our correspondence. She is studying me. For me, i don't need to study her. I already know what i need to know: i am more in love with her now than ever. Before, the feeling was vague, but now it is tangible, something that i can feel with all my senses. 
     
   -You look exactly like in the pictures, i say. 
   - ........ -You have no school today? I say 
   -I take the afternoon off, she says. 
   -Just to see me? I think my voice trembles. 
   -Why not. I have been anxious to see you, she says. 
   -Now we are here together. 
   -Yes. 
   -How's school? 
   -Fine. 
   -How's your family? 
   -Fine. 
   -When did you arrive in the city? She asks. 
   -Yesterday afternoon, i say. 
     
   She looks even younger than she does in the pictures. People might not say that she is 20, but more like 16 or 18. The waiter comes back with the coffee. I tell him to bring me another beer. She picks up the little spoon and stirs the coffee and puts it in her mouth and licks the milk. Her lips are pink, almost red. The smile returns--is it because the milk is so sweet? 
     
   -Is this the first time you're in this city? She asks 
   -No, i have been here before, i say. 
   -Really, when? 
   -A few years ago... i was on vacation. 
   -Oh. 
   -Where do you live? I ask. 
   -Not too far from here. About 20 minutes ride. 
   -You ride a motorbike? 
   -Yes .... and .... you know.... she starts then trails off. 
   -Yes? I listen very carefully. 
   -You look exactly like in the pictures, your facial features, i mean. 
   -Ok, i say. 
   -But older, she adds. 
     
   I have anticipated this comment. So i am not surprised. And i don't think it matters much now. 
     
   -Perhaps you mean a lot older? I say. 
   -I thought you were 32 years old. 
   -That was what i said to you. 
   -And are you really 32? She asks. 
   -No, D, i am not 32. I am 47. 
     
   So i did it, i confessed to my real age, and it feels as if a giant rock has been taken off my chest. She is silent. What's going through her head? She must be in shock. She looks down on the coffee and turns the spoon slowly. I am waiting for her answer, i am waiting for her reaction, but she is taking an eternity. I cast my eyes down, pick up the beer and pour it down my throat. The smile has completely disappears and her face slowly turns red. Suddenly, the sky roars and the sunlight vanishes. The waiter hurries to our table and raises the big umbrella, and as soon as he has done so, the rain falls. 
     
   -Well, D... i say, attempting to wake her up from the shock. 
     
   She still does not say anything, but continue to keep her eyes down. 
     
   -I am sorry that i lied to you .... i say. 
     
   She looks up. 
     
   -You are almost as old as my father, she says. 
   -I am sorry to disappoint you, I say. 
   -I was prepared to take our friendship one step further, but now.... 
   -Am I too old for you? I ask. 
   -Yes, you are. You look much older than in the pictures. I thought i had some special feelings for you, and was willing to be more than just a friend for you once i see you because you have gone such a distance to see me .... i was excited... but now.... i don't know what to say. 
     
   I don't know what to say either. I have expected such an outcome. And i cannot refute the fact that my love for this woman has become a million times stronger now than before, and i will not let her rejection kills off this feeling. I have been waiting 100 years for this, i have been wanting this loving feeling, this powerful loving feeling to happen to me. D, with her charm and youth and beauty, has rained on the desert of my heart. Now i want her, i need her, i must have her, and i don't care if she loves me or not. I want her. 
     
   -It's up to you, D, but you can understand why i was not straightforward with you, i say. 
     
   Silence. All i hear are the rain and my own voice: 
     
   -I was alone for too long, and i was afraid of rejection. In the beginning i thought it was only a game between us, something to entertain ourselves with, but as time went by.... you made me feel ... you made me feel loved .... wanted ... that was why i wanted to see you in person even though i knew you might be disappointed. 
     
   I wave the waiter over for another beer. The first burst of rain has stopped. Another burst will come at any moment. D is still silent and she is looking past me at the bonsai. I can see a trace of sadness in her eyes. 
     
   -I was feeling the same way about you, she says. 
   -And now? 
   -I don't know. I am not sure. But what i am sure of is you are too old for me. Thirty two, i can accept. But Forty-seven .... i am sorry. But i liked you a lot and i think i still do. 
   -I understand. 
   -Perhaps we can still be friends, she says and suddenly returns to her ownself: bright, smiling, and charming. 
     
   We can still be friends? What does that mean? Does it mean we will go back to cyberspace and exchange emails again without ever seeing each other again? Emails that may become tasteless and meaningless and no fun anymore. No, that will not work. Perhaps we can just let go and forget about the whole thing. In a flash, the thought of losing her forever crosses my mind and it saddens me. 
     
   -You mean we will go back to writing emails? I say. 
   -Yes, we can do that. 
     
   But i am sure that after a very short time, she will stop writing and all will be forgotten, as if we have never met. 
     
   -I am in town for a week. Can i see you tomorrow? I say while my heart is being butchered into a million pieces. 
   -It is not a good idea. 
   -So this is it. I am glad i met you. 
   I stand up and she stands up. 
   -Let me walk you to your bike, i say. 
     
   She smiles and nods her head. I pay the bill, and walk with her. Her hairs are flying in the gentle afternoon breeze, and her ass sways discreetly while she is taking short steps to her bike. 
     
   -Bye, she says. 
     
   As soon as she is out of the parking lot and on her way, i hurry to the corner and ask a bike-for-hire driver to follow her. 
     
   -Follow that girl in the red shirt, i say and point my finger in her direction, keep some distance. 
   She never notices that she was being followed. The traffic is thick with motorbikes and the engine noises are deafening. We are just two bikes in a jungle of bikes. From behind, her hairs fly in the wind. Here at any moment, there are thousands of bikes and thousands of faces on each city block. You are there but you are not there. It is a gigantic human beehive. She stops in front of a gated house in an alley then opens the gate and enters. It is a three-storied house. I note down the house number, the name of the alley and the name of the avenue to which the alley belongs. Then i tell the driver to take me to my hotel. 
     
   When i get back to the hotel, it is dark, and the rain has stopped. I change into dry clothes and lie in bed. I turn on the tv. The big news of the day is a big fire in the center of the city that destroys a large department store and kills 32 people. The reason for the high number of deaths was trampling. Then comes economic news, and then world news. I call the front desk and a woman answers and i ask her to bring me some beers. Ten minutes later a woman appears at my door with a bucket that contains ice and some bottles of 333. I thank her and give her a tip. Then she lingers. I ask her what is she up to, and she asks me if i want company for the night. You? I say. No, someone else, she says. I'll call later, i say. She nods and walks away. 
     
   I lie on the bed and think. What do i think about? I think about how to see D again. I need to see her one more time before i leave the city. Or two more times, or even three more times. I want her. I must think of a way to have her near me, with me. The beer makes me think hard and furious. Should i disguise myself and camp in front of her house and follow her to school and camp there too, then follow her home in the evening and camp there all night and do the same the next day and the next day? I don't like this idea, because there would still be a distance between us and i can't even talk to her. She hurts me bad with her rejection. Even though i know she has no choice but reject. She is disappointed big time and i understand why. But still, it is so hard to accept. She did not deceive me. I deceived her. I think she must be hurting also. There must be a way for us to be near each other. Then an idea pops into my head. Maybe we can go to Vung Tau together, but how do i deliver the request to her, how do i arrange for that? She will surely say no. I must find a way. Then i stop thinking and call up the front desk. The same woman answers the phone and i say I want some company for the nigh. Fifteen minutes later, a young woman walks into my room. Are you good? I ask. I am very good, you will see, you will not waste your money on me, she says with a smile as bright as the moon. That night i fuck with all my might and all i think about is D. 
     
     
     
     
     
   
   Eight 
   
     
   The morning comes and it looks like a nice day. The monsoon is taking a break. I send my companion for the night away with a kiss, and a lot of money. 
     
   I have heard of a part of the city where the goons are. I am going to enter that part of the city and recruit a pack of wolfs. I have a plan and need help from them. Money is no object. I am willing to spend down to the last of my dollars to carry this plan out. My love for D demands that i do this and i wish i will be successful and she will forgive me. She will understand why i do this: because my bleeding heart will die without her. I only want to have her near me for a short time, only a few days. Then i will be happy to say goodbye to her forever. I am even willing to die after a few days with her. But i cannot do it alone. I need strong arms to help bring her to me. 
     
   The area of the city that i am going into is called "Black Canal," where even cops are afraid to enter except when they come in in teams. And now a lone man walks in, looking like a scholar, a college professor, who is losing his way. When the motorbike driver dropped me off, he looked at me with a strange look in his eyes, as if to say, what business do you have to come into the belly of the beast like that? 
     
   The neighborhood is a mile-long stretch of huts and ad hoc structures of all sizes and shapes alongside a black water canal. The water is black, or almost black because the city's sewer dumps its wastes here. The air stinks of rotten meat and rotten everything. I walk along the bank of the canal. It is sunny and the air is getting hotter and hotter as the day progresses. And I start to sweat. I find a coffee shop under a big tree, the only shade after a half a mile walk. I enter, sit down, and scan the place: there is no one else but me and an old woman behind the counter. The woman looks at me. I look at her. Then she slowly moves out from behind the counter to where i sit and asks me what i want, with a voice as dense as the water of the canal. She has no teeth and is as old as the tree under which she lives. Beer, i tell her. And she says, i have beers but they are not cold. I can use ice, i say. No ice, either. Ok, hot beer, then. 
     
   I sit and look at the sunlit dusty road outside the shop and slowly drink my beer. The taste is bitter, but it's ok because all i want is the alcohol. A skinny dog trots by with its tongue hanging out. I wonder why that dog is still around: he should have been stew long ago. What miracle is protecting him? I have a pretty good idea of why i am in this hood. I am here to assemble a team of hoodlums who will help me secure D, the object of my desire. A middle-aged man with a beer belly like me cannot do it alone. I move slow, like a turtle, or maybe a little faster than a turtle. I am not fit. I need help. The old woman disappears into the back of the house. When I finish my beer, the woman comes back as if on cue and i signal to her for another beer. 
     
   Two men and a woman enter the shop and they sit at a table next to me. I wonder why they choose the table next to mine. They could have sit over there three tables away. Perhaps they are going to do something to me--rob me? One is a tall and skinny guy with shoulder-length hair who wears a sleeveless black t-shirt that exposes the tattoos of something like an eagle on his arm. The other guy is a short fat clown with skin as dark as the water of the canal, and he is sweating like a pig. The woman with them has a round and flat face like a peasant--the kind of face i like---and her skin is white and she paints her lips red. They glance at me. The old woman does not come to ask them what they want to drink. She lets them sit and they just sit. Then the fat guy stands up and comes over to my table, and helps himself to the chair and looks at me with a look that say i am going to kill you. Hi, i say. And he says, hi, can i help you? Can you help me? Do i look like i need help? I am only sitting here enjoying a beer on a hot day and who the fuck are you to approach me in a threatening manner and ask me if i want help? I do not answer him, but continue to drink my beer. Can i help you? He says again. Then i say, perhaps you can. You want that girl over there? He says, she can suck you dry for just 20 bucks. The woman looks at me and smiles. The guy may be right, she has a mouth that is so seductive. No thanks, i was sucked enough last night and there is nothing left, i say. So maybe you just want your dick sucked? He says. The guy seems desperate to make a buck. He, or they, could have robbed me right there and killed me and threw my body into the canal. Not that either, i say. So what the fuck do you want? You don't belong in this hood. Where are you from? You come here for something, heroine? 
     
   The tall skinny guy comes over and listens in. I will tell you what i want, i say, but you want some beers first? I wave the old woman over and order beers for them. The whore remains at her table and looks at the road. Where is your boss? I ask the fat guy, and he looks at the skinny guy who in turn looks at me and smiles. 
     
   -Look, i have a project and i need your help carry it out, i say. 
   -What kind of project, and why do you think we can do something for you? The skinny guy says, the smile has not left his face. 
   -You are goons, right? You are guys who don't have a regular job or regular income, and you rob, extort, steal, deal drugs, pimp, and beat up people for a living, right? 
   -Hmmm.... 
   -Right? I insist. 
   -Right. 
   -That is why i am giving you a job, because i have a job to do, and i am sure you guys can help me do it because i cannot do it alone. 
   -What job? The skinny guy asks. 
     
   Now i have his full attention. The fat guy is listening with his two ears on full receptive mode. The whore still sits at the table and stares out into the space outside of the shop which gets brighter and brighter as the sun moves up across the sky. I shout to the old woman to bring us more beers, and she drags over a case and leaves it at our feet. 
     
   -Listen, i say, i want three goons. 
   -As many as you want, the skinny guy says. 
   -I want you to kidnap someone for me. 
     
   The skinny is silent for a few minutes then says: 
     
   -It can be done. Go on. 
   -It is a woman that i am crazy about, but she doesn't want me. 
   -Ha? 
   -That's right. Have you ever been in love with someone and get turned down and do you know how hurtful that is? 
   -Of course i know. I was crazy about that woman over there for a while many years ago--the skinny guy says and points to the whore--but now i don't feel anything about her anymore. 
   -But you have her, you own her, i say. 
   -Right. 
   -So you don't know how painful it is not to have the one you love with you, I say. -I don't. 
   -But i do, and i am hurting right now. 
   -Sorry about that. 
   -Don't feel sorry for me. Do something to take this pain away from my heart. 
   -What do you want us to do? 
   -I want you to pick up that woman and bring her to a hotel in Vung Tau. That's all. 
   -That sounds simple enough. But we have never kidnapped anyone before. 
   -So? Now is your chance to try. 
   -Ok, will try. 
   -How much do you want for the job? Of course i will pay for all expenses. Tools, transportation, ect ..... 
   -Look, man, we have never done kidnapping so we don't have the rate to quote you. But we did do murder. And we charge 10,000 dollars to wack someone. 
   -I will pay you twice that amount. 
   -You are bullshiting me, ha? 
     
   The guy gave me a stern look. The fat guy grabs his boss's arm, as if to steady himself. 
     
   -No bull. Twenty thousands for the whole job. And i will put down half of that, the rest you will get when the job is finished, meaning i have my love with me. -Sounds good. When do we have the deposit? 
   -Tonight at seven at this place. I will be here with the money. 
   -Ok. 
   -Bring the punks who will do the job, and i will give you detailed instructions about what i want done. 
   -Better not bullshitting or i will find you and cut off your fucking dick. 
   -No bull. 
     
   I have the whole afternoon to kill before having to see the punks again. I leave the canal and I go to the cafe where i and D first met. I sit at the same table and i look transfixed at the chair she has sit on. I can see her face, her red shirt and the small breasts under it, and her slender fingers, and her pink lips that sucked on the ice cream spoon. I see again the expression on her face when she learns my age. And i feel hurt all over again. I drink beer after beer after beer, and the more drunk i get, the more distinct her image in my mind becomes. I am hallucinating her. 
     
   After i don't know how long, i leave the cafe and head to the bank. I withdraw 10,000 dollars. I stuff the money into a black plastic bag that the bank clerk gives me. He says be careful. I go back to the Black Canal and straight to the coffee shop where i meet the goons. They are already there: the tall skinny guy, the short fat guy, and two other punks. Beer bottles are all over their table and on the floor; and their faces are as red as cooked lobsters. They look up when they see me walk in. I sit down and give the tall skinny guy the plastic bag. He is the boss, now i am sure. The two new guys look intimidating. They both wear black t-shirts and expose the tattoos on their muscled arms. One has a scar on his forehead that runs down to his bony left cheek. The boss opens the bag and empties the cash onto the table, and he starts counting. All 100-dollar bills. 
     
   How do i have too much money? I have 10 credit cards and each carries a 5,000 dollar credit line. I am taking on big time debt, all because of that girl, the girl that i am head over heel for. I can't believe what i am doing, but i feel strongly that i must do this: this may be my last chance at risking all for love, even dying for love. I don't have much time left. And i want to do something extraordinary for the last time in my life before i die. I am a carrier of diabetes, high cholesterol, high blood pressure, a sick liver, and this body is waiting to die. And it is fantastic that the thing i am doing is in the name of love. I don't give a fuck if what i am doing is legal or illegal, humane or inhumane, i just want to be with my beloved for a few days. I am throwing all my reasons out the window, and happy about that. Very happy. My only concern right now is the success of the kidnapping. 
     
   The tall guy finishes counting the money and hands the fat guy a thick wad, and the other two guys a wad each. I don't know how much he gives his troops, but it looks as if a larger portion is for himself. They all put the money in their pants' pockets; and their faces suddenly turn tense. I pour half a bottle of beer down my throat, and say: 
     
   -Who is going to do this? 
     
   It is already dark. The old woman sits behind the counter. This time we are drinking beer with ice. I have three goons working for me on this project. And i know that after this adventure i will be under a mountain of debt. But i don't care. Love is everything for me right now, and i am willing to take all risks in order to satisfy this thirst. Including the risk of prison. My heart is on fire and only D can put out the fire. So i say to the goons: 
   -Here is what i want you to do. 
     
   They are all ears. 
     
   -I want you to pick up this girl against her will and bring her to Vung Tau, using any means necessary. I want you to do it tomorrow, and bring her to me at a hotel where i will stay. This is her address. And this is what she looks like--i show them a picture of D--In the early morning, you will stake her out at her house, follow her to school, and you will knock her off her bike gently, and i emphasize gently, and put her in a car, and drive her to Vung Tau. I will call you before noon tomorrow to let you know what hotel i will be in. You will ask for me at the front desk and bring her to my room---and your job is done. Of course, another ten thousand dollars awaits you at the end of the mission. She is not going to get hurt, not even a slight bruise. Any questions? 
     
   -No questions. 
   -Ok, don't screw up. Now what is your phone number? 
     
   The boss swaggers to the counter and a minute later comes back and hands me a piece of toilet paper on which he has written a phone number. Then one of the goons says: 
     
   -Excuse me, but why do you want to do this? 
   -Because i love her and want to have her. 
   -She does not love you? 
   -No. She says i am too old for her. 
   -What a bitch. And the bitch don't look too bad. 
   -I tell you. You may call a her bitch, she is the most beautiful bitch in the world. Whoever sees her and does not fall in her with her is a heartless brute. I am afraid that you punks will fall in love with her too when you see her. 
   -Oh no--one of the punks says--that is not going to happen. We are all business, sir. And our boss here will see to it that we do not fall in love with your woman. Because if we do, he will excommunicate us, and we will have no where to go and no one to protect us. 
   -What? Buffalo-heads and horse-faces like you ....., i says, wondering why the goon says such a sissy thing. 
   -Sir, you don't know our boss. He has all the local cops in his pockets. He is the authority in this hood, and in other surrounding hoods also. We need his intervention and protection in case the cops mess with us. You know what i mean. 
     
   I glance at the boss. He is silent and has no re-action to what the goon says. Then i say: 
     
   -Take care not to injure her. 
   -We will handle her like a Ming vase, sir. Because she is your object of love and desire and we respect that very much. We admire and revere your devotion to your object of desire, and we will deliver her to you safe and sound, all in one package. 
   -Make sure you don't fall in love with her, and delay the delivery, and don't do to things to her that may make me angry. 
   -Sir, that is not going to happen. We promise you. We are hardened sonsofbitches, and we have no feelings for anything or anyone. We only love money. 
     
   At this the boss says: 
     
   -If any of you do anything against this gentleman's wishes, i will cut off your dicks and run you out of town. 
     
   Then i say: 
   -Good night and good luck. I expect my love will be handed to me at 3 pm tomorrow. 
     
   Then we leave the shop and disperse. That night i sleep well. 
     
     
     
     
     
     
   
   Nine 
   
     
   In the morning at around nine i return the room. The clerk asks me if i had a good stay at the hotel and i say i had a terrific stay and may come back in about a week. I head straight to the speedboat anchor on the Sai Gon River The boat takes 45 minutes to get to Vung Tau, a resort town by the ocean two hundred kilometers from Sai Gon. I have never been to this town before. As soon as i get off the boat, swarms of taxi drivers converge on me and other passengers. I nod to one of the drivers and walk with him to his cab. Where to, he asks. I don't know where i am going. But i want some place nice and quiet, as far from people as possible. So i tell the guy, take me to the most quiet hotel you know, a place where business is so slow they want to close it down, a place people don't even know exists. The driver looks at me curiously. I can see his face in the rear view mirror. I don't care what he thinks. Of course i am weird. Perhaps he thinks i am running away from something or trying to hide from something. Fuck what he thinks. Never in a million years that he know i am going to enjoy heaven on earth. Yes, it will be heaven, even if there are no white clouds and blue skies, and no maidens in flowing dresses or naked and winged angels. 
     
   After a twenty minute ride the guy drops me off at a place that from the outside, looks abandoned, almost a ruin. The rusty sign above the entrance says "Bliss Hotel." It is on a dirt road off the main road, but not far from the beach, a walled compound, and the walls are green with moss. I pay the driver, and walk through the entrance and into the reception area. There is no one around, even though the door and all the windows are wide open. It is near 11 o'clock. I call out for whoever may hear me. Once. Twice. Then from the back and through a door out comes a guy as tall and skinny as a bamboo stick. He positions himself behind the counter and with a wide smile asks me if i want a room. I say to him: 
     
   -Yes i want a room for two people. 
   -Where is the other? 
   -The other will come soon. Do you have a room for me? 
   -Yes, for two, ha? You and your girlfriend? 
   -Me and whoever is none of your business. How much is the room? Fifteen dollars a day. Air-conditioned. 
   -Good. How many beds? 
   -Two beds. 
   -Now--i say--i will pay triple for the room each day and i will stay about 7 days. And i will pay you 500 dollars extra so that you can shut up about my staying here. Ok? 
   -Sir? The guy says and his eyes are wide open. It looks as if i have just hit him in the head with a brick. 
   -I mean i don't want to register as a guest here. You don't need to see my passport. And no local security is aware of my presence here. 
   -Hmmm.... but why...He says and swallows. 
   -No why, no if, and, or but. You agree or no? 
   -I agree, he says and now a big smile appears on his bony face. 
     
   I place 500 dollars on the counter. He counts the money 
   , and puts it in his pocket. 
     
   -Now this is for the whole 7 days that i will stay here, i say and count out the money and give it to him. He counts again and put it in his pocket. 
   -What floor you want, sir? 
   -The top floor, the best room, a room with a spectacular view of the ocean and the mountains. A room high above the ground enough where if i jump i will break my neck and die. A room where even if i scream at the top of my lungs no one will hear. 
     
   -You got it, he says and walks me up the stairs to the fifth floor. On the way, i ask him, how many people are staying here now? And he says, there is one other guest. And where is he? He is on the second floor, sir. That's all? That's all. 
     
   We walk to a room at the end of the hall and enter a big room. He opens the windows and the ocean breezes rush in. Outside the windows, i see the blue ocean and the green mountains. Then the guy leaves. I take a shower, and go downstairs. The clerk is not at his desk. So i call out. Once. Twice. He comes out. 
     
   -Yes? He says. 
   -I need to give you more instructions. 
   -I am listening. 
   -In about an hour, a team of three or four men will be here with a girl and they will ask for me and you will take them to my room. 
   -Oh, ok. 
   -Despite what is going to happen, you will hear nothing and see nothing. 
   -I understand. 
   -Now can i use your phone, please? 
     
   He fishes his phone out of his pant pockets and gives it to me. I take out that piece of toilet paper and read the number and dial. 
     
   -Hello? A thick voice answer. 
   -I am in Vung Tau at the hotel. Where are you and how are things going? I say. -Oh, sir, we are on our way to Vung Tau, about halfway there. 
   -How is my woman doing? 
   -She is sleeping like a baby. Like a sleeping beauty waiting for you to kiss her awake. I have to say, she is extra-ordinarily beautiful. I almost fall in love with her. 
   -Who are you and what did i tell you last night, ha? 
   -I am the boss. I am sorry. I said i almost fall in love with her, but not quite, so you have nothing to worry about. 
   -Alright. Take her to this address. 
     
   I give the phone to the clerk and ask him to tell them where we are. After giving the directions to the goon-boss, he hands the phone back to me. 
     
   -Where are the other three guys? I ask. 
   -They are with me. 
   -So there is no room in the car. 
   -Where the do you stuff her? In the trunk? 
   -No sir, two punks are with me in the front of the car. One, the smallest, is in the back. Your woman is lying straight on the back seat. The guy squeezes himself on the floor. Your woman is safe, i guarantee you. We will be there in an hour, sir. 
   -Ok. 
   -And the money, sir? 
   -I have it here, all 10,000. Don't you trust me? 
   -We trust you. You are one of the rare people we can confidently do business with. Sir, could you imagine? This is our first kidnapping and it went without a glitch. My troops performed exceptionally well. I am very proud of them--the boss brags. 
     
   In the background, i can here the noise of traffic. 
     
   -Get her here now! I say. 
     
   I go back to the room after telling the clerk to stay at the front desk to wait for the arrival of the punks and my cargo. He smiles as if he is in it too. And in fact if he is not in it, where is he? Did i not give him money to participate in the scheme, the kind of money that he can only make if his hotel is full of guests 24/7? 
   -And stay by the phone at the desk at all times in case i need to call you from my room for something, i say. 
     
   In the room, i look out the windows into the distance and think about what i am doing. I am breaking the law. I am committing the crime of kidnapping to which i will happily plead guilty. I lean out the window and look down. Yes, it is very high up here. If she jumps, she will surely break her neck and die. It is all concrete down there. And i hope that she is a reasonable person and will not jump. I hear the cries of the seagulls. I see the blue sky and feel the breeze on my face. And my heart slowly increases its beats. I lie down on the bed. This will be my bed and that will be her bed. I pick up the phone and tell the clerk that i want some beers. Ten minutes later he enters the room with a bucket of ice and beers. He says, somebody will be here with you? And i say, yes, not just somebody, but a woman i love, i love her so much that right at this moment i feel that i cannot live without her, have you ever felt that way? The guy hesitates, and then says, yes, once many many years ago when i was a lot younger. I fell in love with a girl. It was the first time i love. It was crazy love. And i say, did she love you? And he says, yes, she loved me as much i loved her. It was the first love for both of us. Then what happened? I ask. And he says, she is now my wife, and we have three children, and i still love her like crazy. I say, and she still loves you the same way? That, he says, i am not sure anymore. Why? I ask. She has become cold to me for the last few years, and it hurts me a lot. Sure, i say. Then he says, do you need anything else, sir? No, i say. And he leaves. 
     
   I finish a beer and the phone rings. On the other end is the clerk: Sir, you woman is here. Send them up, i say. And moments later the goons enter my room with the girl. She is carried by two goons. One holds up her upper part and the other her lower part. The boss follows them into the room. 
     
   -Put her on that bed, i say. 
     
   And they gently spread her out on the bed. She is wearing a burgundy aodai that embraces tightly her upper body. She is still unconscious and her chest goes up and down gently with each breath. That is D. In my possession. How beautiful she looks in her sleep. A sleeping beauty, like the punks say. A tremendous happiness fills the entire of my being. Heaven. Two punks are sitting on the couch and two are standing by the window. 
     
   -How soon will she be up? I say. 
   -In about two hours--the boss says--we applied the solution to her nose and she breathes in deeply, that is why she is still in the neverneverland. Please examine to see if she is injured in any way. 
     
   I see that she is not hurt. Not a bruise anywhere. 
     
   -Good job. And thanks a lot. Here the rest of the money, I say. 
     
   I give the boss an stuffed envelope. He takes the money out and counts. Then he says, you are a gentleman, sir. It was a pleasure doing business with you. Please contact us again if you have any other jobs for us. And i say, I am no gentleman, gentleman does not kidnap people. And the boss says, but this is an exception, sir, because you are a man in love! And you are going out on a limp for love. That, we admire and respect. That is why we did our best for you. 
     
   I look at D again. And my heart beats faster. Soon she will be up and what am i going to do? 
     
   -Can we go now, sir? The boss says. 
   -Yes, and thanks again. 
   They walk out of the room. 
     
     
     
     
   
   Ten 
   
     
   The object of my desire is still in her blissful sleep. I come near and look at her. Hmm, that face is so angelic. Her face is so smooth, and the skin is so silky. Her lips are painted red. Except for the red lips, she has no other make-up on. Strands of black hairs cover part of her face. I feel like pushing those hairs aside so i could see the whole of her face, but i dare not. I have told myself that i will not touch her, however slightly, that i will respect the integrity of her body. I only want to be near her--that is all. I bring my ears down to listen to her breaths. They are steady, gentle, and quiet. Then i bring my eyes down on her chest. A rush of animal desire takes over me when i see those breasts: two little lumps of meat delicately veiled under a thin layer of fabric. But i catch myself in time: no, i am not going to take advantage of this angel. Yes, angel. In one of her emails to me, she said she was my angel. And i called her my angel. "Your angel must now go to sleep," she once wrote. I felt happy when i read that. Now my angel is here, totally helpless, under my control. But then i think: What am i going to say or do when she wakes up? I am confused, and even a little scared. I think a little bit, then decide to let the situation develops on its own. 
     
   I take another beer and sit by the window and look at the mountains in the distance. Then i call downstairs. The guy answers. I say, Bring me three gallons of water, a case of lemonade, potato chips, ice cream, and some ropes. Twenty minutes later, he bring them into my room. I tell him to put everything in the refrigerator, except the potato chips and the ropes. He does so, and i see him steal a glance at the girl. Is that the woman you talked about? Yes. She is very beautiful, it's a disgrace that she does not love you and forces you to do this to her. But i don't blame you, i would do the same if i were you. Really? I ask. Yes, really, sir. And i say, you are not trying to blow smoke up my ass, are you? No, leave me alone with her for five minutes, i would fall in love with her, just like you, he says. Then i say, are you kidding me? Five minutes? I and she have been talking to each other for five months and we only saw each other in the flesh two days ago, and she rejected me. Why, he asks. Because i am an old man, that's why. I am old enough to be her father. She did not know that? No, that was why it shocked her to learn my real age, and she was disappointed and ran away. And he says, How old are you? I am 47 years old. Yeah? I thought you were thirty something. You look a lot younger than your age. Exactly, i say, but still, she thinks i am too old for her, and i cannot object to that. She is only twenty years old. 
     
   The guy then walks out of the room. I make sure the door is locked, then return to the window and the beer. Soon, it will be dark. I heard movements on her bed and i turn and look. She is awake. She slowly sits up and looks and when her eyes land on me, she shows surprise. 
     
   -Where am i? What happened? What is this place? 
   -You are in a hotel in Vung Tau, i say. 
   -No, i was going to school! 
     
   I am happy to hear her voice again. A voice that sounds like music, like birdsing. 
     
   -Yes, you were going to school, but now you are here, i say. 
   -But why am i here? I thought that i would never see you again. 
   -But i want to see you again. Do you remember what happened? 
   -I remember i was riding my bike to school and i remember stopping at a traffic light, and .... 
   -And what? 
   -That's all i remember. How did i end up here, with you? You kidnapped me? She says, full of excitement and surprise, but no bitterness or anger. The goons really did a good job, i think. 
   -Yes, i kidnapped you, D. I could not help it. I love you. 
   -What is going to happen to me? 
   I am surprised that she is calm. She shows no fear at all. I leave the window and walk over to my bed, sit down and face her. 
   -I want to spend a few days with you. I want to see you, to have you around, i say. 
   -I have told you that even though i like you, we cannot be together. 
   -I understand. But I only want to have you with me for a few days. 
   -What are you going to do to me? 
   -Nothing. Just be here for me to look at. And we can talk if you want to. 
     
   She becomes silent. She stares at the wall in front of her. I don't say anything either. Then she sighs, and says: 
     
   -I did not know you love and want me that much. 
     
   She stands up and walks to the window. Again, the cries of the seagulls fill the silence. The breezes are in her hairs and she looks at the ocean and the mountains. Her ao dai flows in the breezes. At that moment, suddenly she ceases to be human, but has become a goddess. I could kiss her feet right now if she allows me to. What is she thinking about? 
     
   -I have to call my mother and tell her not to worry about me, she says. 
   I am drowned in an ocean of happiness. 
   -What are you going to say to her? I ask, barely able to control my joy. 
   -I will say that i am going away for a few days with a friend and will be back. When are you going to let me go? 
   -Today is Monday. We will be together until Friday. You will go Friday morning. -Ok. 
   -Are you angry at me? I say. 
   -Uhhh....no. 
   -Do you not hate me for doing this to you? 
   -No. -What are you thinking? Why do you give in so easily? 
     
   She picks up the phone and calls her mother. She is calm. I hear her say, I will be away for a few days, i will be back home by Friday. I tell her to call the clerk and ask him to get her some changes of clothes. She needs that. And she does so. 
     
   -I have lemonade and ice cream. You like some? I say. 
   -Yes. 
     
   I bring her the lemonade and the ice cream. We sit and face each other--she on her bed and i on mine. I continue to drink beers. I look at her and she looks at me and suddenly i blank out. I cannot think of anything to say. She looks at the floor. She is barefooted. I look at her feet. White and meaty. 
     
   -I don't know what i am doing, I say. 
   -You know what you are doing--she looks up and says--You kidnap me and now i am in your hands. 
   -I cannot resist the urge to have you. But i know i cannot have you forever. So i thought, why not for a few days, at least? I am sorry i am doing this to you. I hope you can forgive me. 
   -I already forgive you. I understand why you are doing this. The only thing that upsets me is i am away from my mother, and in a strange place with a stranger. 
   -Am i a stranger to you? 
   -You are. 
   -Why? Have we not talking to each other for months? 
   -The man i talked to is not the man i am looking at. I had different impression of you. You disappointed me. Do you think me, 27 years younger than you, can be your girlfriend, your wife? 
   -There are no barriers. Except the ridicule of others. 
   -You are right. I am afraid of others' talking about me being the mistress of an old man. Me, who is beautiful, and there are many young men wanting me. 
     
   She is hurting me. 
     
   -During our correspondence--she continues--i felt something special about you. Was it love? No. But it was something special, a feeling that i had never had before, it is attraction to another person, to you, the you that you put up for me to see, but now i see that it was not the real you, at least not 100%. 
   I don't know what to say. It is evening now. 
   -When i learned that you were coming to see me--she continues--i was excited. I have imagined things about you. Things about you that are attractive to me. I hoped that after seeing you, my fantasies about you were confirmed and we could go ahead with a relationship and i would deepen my feelings for you. But no, you disappointed me. 
   -How did i disappoint you? 
   -Your age. 
   -How do you feel right now? 
   -A little scared. 
   -Don't. 
   -But still, despite my age, do i look too old? 
   -In fact, not too old at all. I mean your face is smooth, you don't have any wrinkles, even though when you smile, the ends of your eyes contorted a little bit. 
   -So what is the matter? 
   -The matter is you are old enough to be my father, and i am afraid of that. 
   -What if i am a millionaire? 
   -I've never thought of that. 
   -Think about it. 
   -No, i don't want to think about it. 
     
   There are knocks on the door and the clerk comes in with a bag of clothes and hands it over to her. She gets up and goes into the bathroom. Ten minutes later, she comes out in a brand-new red nightgown, and again sits on her bed. She eats ice cream and drinks lemonade. She looks different in the gown. She looks docile, even domesticated. And her beauty radiates. 
     
   -It looks as if you agree to be a kidnapped person, I say. 
     
   I am surprised that she does not put up any resistance. She continues: 
     
   -I felt guilty after i left you at the cafe the other day. I was cruel to you. You, who had flown halfway around the world just to see me. And I did not even give you thirty minutes. In the meantime, seeing me, you love me even more. I ran out of the cafe too fast. I am sorry. 
     
   I feel much better. But what she says does not give me the hope that she will agree to be my lover. She is young and she must live what her heart tells her. And her heart tells her that this man is not for you. So i do not entertain any hope. What i hope for is a few tender moments with her for a few days. Without incidents. And it looks as if we are going to have them. Unless the sky collapses, which i doubt that it would happen. However, if the sky wants to collapse, i pray that it waits until i finish these few days with her. Then it can do whatever it wants. The earth can also be hit by an asteroid and destroyed and all life vanished. Just wait until i finish my things with her. 
     
   The evening air is warm. And the breeze brings in relief now and then. 
     
   -Are you hungry? I asks. 
   -Yes. 
     
   I call the clerk and ask him to prepare dinner for two. 
     
   -What do you like to eat? 
   -Fish and vegetables, she says. 
   -You want to eat in the hotel restaurant or in the room? 
   -I don't care where, she says. 
     
   So we will eat downstairs. 
     
   -Can i watch TV? she says. 
   -Yes, you can. 
     
   She turns on the TV and sits on the sofa. I lie on my bed and look at the ceiling. The fan is turning slowly. I heard noises from the TV. Voices and music. I glance at her. She is sitting under the yellow light of the lamp. I think that she is now completely content with her fate. The guilt that she has makes her that way? I believe so. And i feel peace, a warm feeling of security and quiet happiness. 
     
   The phone rings and the clerk says dinner is ready. We walk down stairs and into the restaurant. She is still wearing that red nightgown. 
     
   Near midnight, when we prepare to go to bed, i say that i want to tie her up because i am afraid that she might sneak out and disappear. That was why i have asked the clerk to buy me the ropes. 
     
   -No, don't tie me up--she says--i will not run away. I promise that i will stay with you until Friday. 
     
   I hesitate for a moment, then put the rope away. 
     
   -Good night, i say. 
   -Good night. 
     
   And i pass out. 
     
   The sun hit me in the face and i wake up. I hear the cries of the seagulls. She is till sleeping, lying on her side, with her back to me and her gown is tucked under her legs above the knees. I look at the exposed part of her legs. The skin. The white skin. The smoothness. I come closer. The hairs. Then i walk slowly and quietly around her bed and take in the whole picture of her body. Her face is partly covered by her hairs, but i can see a faint smile on her face. What is she seeing in her dreams? Her chest is almost bare because of the wide cut of the gown around the neck, and i can see her breasts, and the two pink nipples. A rush of desire overtakes me. I want to gently wake her up and make love to her. But no! You are not going to do that. You are not doing that to her, who trusts you enough to place her fate in your hands. 
   I walk to the window and look at the glittering sea. Five, then ten minutes, i stand and watch my desire fades away and know that i am saved from sin. 
     
   I wait for her to wake up, then we have breakfast and after breakfast i ask her if she wants to go for a swim in the ocean. She says yes. We walk to the beach. There are not many people there. She changes into a bikini and slowly enters the water. I sit on a beach chair, under an umbrella, and watch her swimming. The sun is already intense even at this early hours. The sky is a deep blue void, and there is not a strand of clouds. I look at the sky. And i think about Friday, the day i will release her. I chase the thought away. Because now I am the happiest man on earth, and i will not allow anything to interfere in our happiness, no, that is not entirely true, the happiness is mine only, because she might not be feeling what i feel, she did not come here voluntarily. There are many happy people right now, but i think i am the happiest. I can't believe my luck. What more do i ask for? And i have no fear of her running away. I am thankful that she does not put up any resistance. If she did, i would have to use force but i did not want that. I look at the ocean, Her head is up and down in the water. I stand up and take off my clothes and walk into the water. I swim toward her. When i get near, she looks at me and smiles. Then i dive underneath her and resurface on the other side. And i do it again and again. And when i accidentally touch her, she laughs. Then we return to the beach and lie next to each other on the sand, a foot apart. We return to the hotel near noon. The morning was passed in silence. Blissful silence. We do not say much to each other. 
     
   Back in the room we take turn to shower with fresh water in the bathroom. And she is back in her red gown. 
     
   -I am going to buy you some art supplies so you can paint and draw and pass the time, I say. 
   -Thank you, she says. 
   -Call the clerk and tell him what you want. 
     
   She does so, and when the supplies arrive in the early afternoon, she starts a painting. She paints the scene of the ocean and mountains outside the window. I sit and watch her paint. In the late afternoon, we bathe in the sea again and at dusk return to our room. The clerk smiles at us every time he sees us. He might be thinking that we are a happy couple. In a way, we are. At night when we are ready for bed, i ask her if she is happy. 
     
   -I feel ok, she says and smiles, how do you feel? 
   - I am very happy. 
     
   Tuesday is gone. And Wednesday is spent the same way. 
     
     
     
     
     
     
   
   Eleven 
   
     
   Thursday night is our last night together. That night i start to feel pain in my heart. I think about tomorrow, and my heart screams don't let her go. But i must let her go. She has done enough for me, more than enough. To be with me, she allows her family to worry dead about her these few days, and she also misses out on classes. Her family might have reported her missing to the police. And they might be out hunting for her. The time we are together only deepens my love for her because i have sensed that she has become more tender to me, more responsive and even sweet. One time she even let me hold her hand while walking back to the hotel from the beach. I did not initiate the act. She accidentally touched my hand, and as a reflex, i grabbed it and she did not try to withdraw. A chill went down my spine when i held her hand in mine, because that was our first and physical contact. I let go of her hand when we enter the lobby. 
     
   That final night together, we sit longer than usual at the dining table after the meal. Like always, there is no one around us. Only the silence and the empty tables and chairs. I look into her eyes and i think i see sadness. When she catches my look, she lowers her eyelids and stares at the tabletop. The clerk keeps coming over to refill my beers. I think about the next morning. 
     
   -I will never forget you, I say, and i am sorry about the pain and worries i cause your family. 
   -It's ok, she whispers. 
     
   Silence. And it is so quiet that i can hear the clock ticks. 
     
   -Can you forgive me? I say. 
   -I already forgive you ..... and .... 
     
   I am waiting for the words. 
     
   - .... i think i am going to miss you .... 
     
   Those words hurt me more than anything. 
     
   We go back to the room. I turn off the light and close my eyes. The pain is heavy in my chest. During the night, she comes over and lies with me. I am not surprised, i even anticipate that she would do this, and more. She buries her head in my chest, and suddenly, she sobs. Like the most natural thing in the world to do, I hug her very tight and kiss her on her forehead, and run my fingers through her hairs. She takes my hands and places them on her breasts. Naked. I feel the rhythm of her heartbeats. I have an erection and it hurts bad. It aches, desiring an outlet, but not just any outlet, it wants to enter her. She breaths heavily. I bring my hands down to her belly and caress it, and slowly i go further down to between her quivering legs and i feel her pubic hairs brushing on my hand and it is wet. She turns, wraps her arms around me, and sinks her fingernails into my back and her breaths is getting more urgent. 
     
   No. 
     
   I sit up, carry her trembling body back to her bed. Then i return to mine. 
   In the dark and in the stillness of the night, her sobs become increasingly distant. I don't know if i am dreaming or awake. I can't be sure anymore. 
     
     
   (End) 
     
     
     
     
     
   
   
   Publication Date: July 19th 2021 https://www.bookrix.com/-lqe89aecda16cf5