Donna Alba

excerpt Donna Alba reached the door with her nimble, high pace. Outside, in the hall of the floor, I caught up with her. I switched on the light and moved my hand around, trying, finding no other way, to delay her from the straight, irrevocable path that I had traced out for her in the most reckless way. And I started, idiotically, with no previous introduction, to describe the entire floor to her, and then, I confessed out of breath that I had planned to make her stay there if she had consented, "I mean, if necessity had constrained you," I rectified, to give up Paris. She would have been fully in charge there, and nobody would have come close, not even I, without her express calling – "like a god in his sanctuary." Donna Alba looked into my eyes, slightly surprised, and answered, void of interest, that she might have accepted the offer if things had been as I assumed, and if the thought of facing destiny's will by herself hadn't crossed her mind. She would have trusted me completely – she then said with fervor – and she would have felt happy and peaceful to know she was under my direct protection. And then Donna Alba made for the stairs. She threw a glance behind, to see perhaps if the sanctuary rose indeed to her goddess level, or to check a doubt she had on the bizarre look my face must have shown at that moment, and she started down the stairs leisurely. I followed her on the right, a step or two behind, and suddenly, at that very moment, in that clumsy silence which I no longer knew how to drive away, the path that I had followed, as I did then, beside and slightly behind this woman, clearly opened up to the past and to the future. Her endlessly straight path was an asymptote to the slight curve that I was tracing, in my permanent proximity to her, never being able to touch the immaculate line of her course. I was just like the dog of that ancient geometrician, who accompanied, in a decreasingly curving rush, his master's straight line run; a branch of hyperbole, which, in order to meet its goal-companion, headed for the infinite. For nowhere. And nothing could have more easily, more terribly opened up this immense hollow in my heart than this sudden geometric obsession, a remnant from a recently read book, inspiring futility and discouragement, with mathematic relativity and philosophy. The stairs ended, and I opened before her the leaves of hammered glass that separate the two halls downstairs. As I got ahead of her and as I was staying thus in her way, it suddenly came upon me, this strong temptation, to which I felt I could not resist any more: what if I suddenly barred Donna Alba's way?She thought that she humoured me or perhaps she wanted to show me, to show herself, how peaceful she felt before her great resolution, by asking for explanations regarding the rooms that led to this second hall, and I answered calmly, as calmly as possible, and I answered to myself at the same time, with my strange irresistible temptation.A gesture, she said, a single gesture, not disrespectful, but bold and firm, and the straight line and the curved line that hadn't met for eleven years, would have run into each other from the beginning. A gesture that she had been waiting for, a mere gesture, which never came, and which could have replaced though all this difficult, devious, barren and appalling trajectory, which repelled the aristocratic sense of the divine princess. A gesture which was not disrespectful, but bold and firm… or a well chosen word…And there we were, in the first hall, but for me it was the last hall, the last waiting room of my existence. A door and an insignificant vestibule separated us from the night air and the ferment of the world. Luckily, Donna Alba wanted to complete her information on the design of my house… tomorrow her heart would throb with the most atrocious unrest, and the following days she would experience, of her own free will, the most terrible turning point of her life. But today, she must be serene, she must remain proud and indifferent, she can inquire about insignificant things, as an admirable descendent of rulers on the brink of the most difficult tugs of life. A gesture, a single gesture… or, as she said, a small daring… or who knows what unexpected homage, or what exaggerated greeting…And suddenly pale, with recant eyes, I suddenly grasp her hand and pull it slowly towards me, as before an imminent danger, as before an abyss hole:"Donna Alba – I give a stifled moan – you don't have to do this, you don't have to go as far as that… you don't have to tell him anything directly, face to face… anger always lies within him, more than in anybody else, and I am trembling for your life, for your wonderful beauty… I cannot let you, Donna Alba," I whispered closely to her then, clasping, more and more ardently, her cold fingers in my burning hand. But she detached herself slowly and smiled mildly and sympathetically, as to someone who is on the verge of falling, at the very end of a difficult passage. "Nothing can stop me now, Mr. Aspru… nothing.""Madam…" I shouted, "madam, only now do I realize where you're heading… you're heading for… for… I don't even dare to utter this terrible, this… black word… and I could never forgive myself for unwittingly… driving you there… unwittingly…. unwittingly… well, yes… like a halfwit…"Donna Alba took stock of me again, with her smile, which obviously thanked me for this effusion, very natural to a poor man, to a poor man fallen from heights of resolution into the marsh of flesh and blood, a smile which at the same time told me clearly that there was nothing to be done! And her answer to what was for her an apprehensive, petty and unimportant stammering, was just this: she slackened her pace and started walking.And now, we stopped at the door, in front of it. Her smile was unaltered; it even seemed to have grown larger. And together with it, grew the same compassion for me and the same firm determination. "Do you think he will not forgive?..." she asked, with a certain shrill in her voice. And she went on, without a tinge of gloom on the bizarre expression of her face for the words she was uttering, as if she enjoyed terribly to stir up the danger she was heading for: "If only he was somebody else, who knows… but for him to be the very same person who had twice hurt his deepest and most intimate feeling… the holiest feeling…" I bent my head and repeated like an echo:"The holiest feeling…" Donna Alba seemed to have startled. The light was bright in that hall and she was tall and upright, and seemed a little abashed by my eyes and my voice. A single bold gesture, a small, insignificant bold gesture… or an unexpected word… eleven years of vain detours… trajectory… asymptote… I repeated aloud: "The holiest feeling to everybody…" Donna Alba took one step back before my advancing steps and my eyes. I reached for her shoulder, and then she seemed to understand and looked involuntarily in that direction: who knows, a small stain, of lime or dust, and she looked at her shoulder, surprised that she didn't see anything. But my hand slipped like a snake under her arm, and then, with a firm movement, I seized her back obliquely. And in a blink of the eye the other hand raised her, from behind the knees of her long legs. An expression of surprise, of stupor, was imprinted on her flabbergasted, wry face, electrified by the paragon of desperate morality; and her lips could only move in an incomprehensible sigh of stupor, when my lips grabbed them in their hungry grasp. The asymptote could thus find its crossing point with the hyperbole, the impossible in geometry was solved! – cried my mind insanely. If only I wouldn't hear any other word from this mouth, with the taste of new peach, which, until few moments ago, voiced such somber decisions, and that is why my mouth, like a tight-closed vacuum cleaner, absorbed any curse, any moan, any sound. And my muscles were steel. Well, Donna Alba is not little Voicutza, especially on an entire flight of stairs; but the former porter carried the sweet burden as a feather. One of Donna Alba's arms was free, it could fret, hit, scratch, defend with the remaining strength of despair; but it hung loose, helpless, and wonderfully romantic when seen like this, in the large mirrors. In front of the doors, I turned backwards and I pushed, pressed with my elbow, protecting Donna Alba from the slightest impact, from the tiniest unpleasantness. Her hand surrendered, naturally, it is not at all elegant and aristocratic to hit and scratch. But her eyes? What did her eyes say?… this was the question for which I had an intense urge to find the answer right then… did they cast all that terrible contempt that I had been avoiding for eleven years, or did they consent, just like the arm, overwhelmed with voluptuousness? I couldn't tell, as I didn't have her entire face in front of my eyes, widened with energy and determination. My mouth continued to dominate her mouth completely, and that was all the strength I needed until the end. I bent my head in such a way so as to let her straight Greek nose free. However, my nostrils were in a really bad position; but for this substantial willpower, I didn't think I could resist eventually; I felt I could collapse on the stone stairs with her in my arms. And indeed, at the top of the stairs, I felt my strength leaving me, but it was enough to raise my head a little and, in one breath, fill my lungs with life, so that I could then, with a strong movement, like a dexterous feline, clasp her lips in the moist velvety case of my lips. Like a huge feline, I saw myself passing before the high mirrors, my mouth deeply thrust into human face. From her standpoint, Donna Alba couldn't see this savage picture, but if she saw it, would she be really appalled by the gaudy naturalness of this jungle image? My soul was charmed though by the images with which the magnificent mirrors welcomed me, as I walked past: the knees of my divine prey were both stripped of their soft slippery cover, and the thighs, tight under the transparent grey silk, revealed now their stunning contours. I carried thus Donna Alba to the divan in the bedroom, where no light was burning. And my lips breathed in again, only once, deeply and fully, to get the last supply for that tight, smothered, ruthless bodily fight. Donna Alba's face struggled even more, in vain though, in her desire for air, because then, in the endless kiss, in the dark and while romping, the position of our heads changed continuously; thus, the body had to yield quickly, as if in a hurry to finally go through this tug. But its, and her, freedom came only later, after it got rid, up to the last throb, of the prolonged spasm. I retreated then, up to the door of the study, waiting there for the first movement of the inert body on the sofa. Finally, Donna Alba startled; she stood up, hesitatingly, hardly managing to prop up her fingers in the Persian cover of the divan. She lifted in passing the only intimate garment of which I had stripped her, but realizing I was in the doorway, she headed irresolutely for the opposite door, of the bathroom, where she disappeared. I then crossed the bedroom in a few leaps, and waited for her there, glued to the wall. And when she came out, after a little while, I seized her again unexpectedly, dashing from behind and muffling her fright with my mouth, the way I had brought her there. I walked her thus, like a baby, along and across the room; I couldn't see her eyes this time either, although the darkness was at that moment pierced by the band of light that penetrated through the half-open door of the study. Only when I crossed the band did I feel they were watching me; but it was impossible for me to probe their speech, to hear it. There was no bodily fight this time, and when Donna Alba disappeared into the bathroom again, I heard her turning on the electric switch and checking out the taps. I lay in wait for her quietly, for all these scenes happened in the utmost silence. When I saw she was lingering, I found the time to switch on the light; then I resumed my watch. And, for the third time, I seized her in the same way; but now, I was carrying her in broad light and I wanted to see her eyes. But she covered them with her big, long eyelashes. The temptation was too big for me not to leave her mouth suddenly and cover with kisses these round, ringed and warm flaps of life. And her mouth, which remained idle, could finally utter, whisper in a shudder the first words: "My dear." I set her then on the divan and bent over, to tell her everything, to let everything out, to give away all aberrations and stupid strategies, to exculpate myself of all morality… But she pressed her stretched out fingers against my cheeks and whispered softly, irresistibly: "Ssst… not a word!" And after looking into my eyes for a long time, in a transfigured way, she went on, ecstatically: "Neither today, nor tomorrow, not a word… tomorrow I will be at your place again… but we will not say anything, we will not think of anything, we will not make any plans or any orchestrations… and when he comes… we will go before him, and tell him everything… I will begin by telling him about the past… and for the present it will be your turn…" Then, she said nothing more and stopped me from uttering any word too, by pressing her long fingers against my cheeks. And in a death-like silence, under the bright light of all bulbs, I discovered then, one by one, all her hidden beauties, and all gave themselves over to my mouth's lust, from head to knees, from ankle to breasts, and again and again, from shoulders to the pale-blond waist…


by Gib Mihăescu (1894-1935)