NIGHT NIGHT BOOK SKIN

Who would write about him? Who would heave him up out of the oblivion of History? They hadn’t spoken, and he never saw him again. Had it been in Constantinople? Yeniköy? A beardless youth working as an ironmonger’s apprentice, and as the boy bent half naked over the anvil, sparks flying onto his glistening chest, he saw his face lit heroically, imagined him crowned with vines and bay leaves. He recalled the figure of a youth from years ago. That was the purpose of art, to abolish distance. The object of desire was so distant, so close. If they’re warm, soft-skinned statues that receive all caresses with the indifference of works of art? That Platonic idea enticed him, but only to a point. And sometimes it happened, it had in fact happened, that his eyes would meet the eyes of another man skidding like a rat through the darkness, some nervous, well-dressed man coming from the other direction, heading hypnotized toward those same stairs, that same room, to roll over those same stained sheets.Īnd if the lovers don’t respond to your touch? he thought.

He’d stand for a moment in the doorway, then button his coat and walk quickly away, hugging the wall, head bent, collar raised. The street outside was always deserted, and the footsteps of an invisible shadow would echo in the distance, then fade. But now all they wanted was for the night to swallow them up, and as each hurried down the stairs that unbearable tinkle of music greeted him once more, a wobbly chime that mocked the oppressive thud of his heart.

Then they would leave separately like fugitives, knowing this half an hour would haunt the rest of their lives, knowing they would return to seek it again. Limbs, lips, eyelids on the squalid bed, kisses, gasping mouths. For half an hour of perfect pleas-ure, half an hour of absolute, sensual pleasure. In the rooms upstairs limbs mingled on threadbare sheets. A strain of cheap music from Attarin where the shops were open late, the sound of a barrel organ whose saccharine melody swelled and overflowed and climbed the muddy stairs. It was night once more on the flat earth. Sounds, lights, smells, it all came flooding back. His talent and persistence alone would allow him to see. History repeats itself, he thought, though he wasn’t sure whether it really was repetition. The earth still seemed flat then, and night fell all at once until the end of the world, where someone hunched in the light of a lamp would be able to see, centuries later, a red sun setting over ruins, would be able to see, beyond seas and ruined harbors, countries lost in time living in the glow of triumph, in the slow agony of defeat. I’d left the window open and the curtains fluttered in the Parisian breeze. My hand opened and closed …Ī shudder swept over the empty bed. In your sleep you rolled over and wrapped your arms around me. The line of your mouth, that pink, open circle, and the gleam of a tooth, barely visible. My hand slid over your chest, which was hairless and tawny with an undertone of ochre. Five years ago, at a similar hour, you stirred in your sleep and your thigh brushed against me.

NIGHT NIGHT BOOK SKIN

Nothing written on skin can be erased, I told myself. That exquisite curve, the pale skin, paler against the dirty sheet.

I stretched a hand through the half-light to touch your shoulder. I definitely recommend this book for people looking for a nice bedtime story.Eyes closed, I turned toward you in bed. There is a page with curtains which lift up to say good night to the moon and stars and on the last page you cover the picture of the boy in bed with a blanket. I did worry that this might stimulate him a little too much before bed but after we close the book he says night night and walks over to the door to go upstairs to bed. Night night sock, and night night shoe' and when we get to the word, sock and shoe I point out the objects on the page and he says the word for me which I find amazing. The book goes along the lines of 'Night Night me, and night night you. My boy is now 20 months old and still loves to read this every night before bed and even tries to read along with me. Each page has lovely pictures on which different textures on some pictures too. My son has loved this book from 1 and a half years old. Theres not much to be said that other reviews havent already said but since I do love to let other mums and dads know when they are on to a good product I thought I'd better leave a review.

Night night book