Who is the man….really?

February 1, 2016

The man tore through the windy roads in the leafy suburbs of Kenny Hills – it was very hard to tell who exactly the man behind the wheel was. He looked different from the farmer – there was even an air of mischief about him that stirred something deep within her – she liked this man much better than that awkward farmer – she liked the sure footed way in which he negotiated the tight bends without hardly a flicker of fear – confidence that could only come from having done it so many times that one more time hardly mattered at all.

She slumped back into the seat like a cat and in a while her thoughts turned to wondering whether perhaps the rumors were true after all….the man seated beside her once had a European wife. A German. a fallen nun. They lived in South America where he farmed sugarcane and raced cars. Till the war came…

Is he that man – the woman in red looked at him again, this time carefully as if she was composing an image of someone she wanted to pin down to their essence – but as she looked on a swell of smoldering terror mixed with childish delight began to fill her suddenly – it started with the man lowering the windows and lighting a cigarette and turning his gaze towards her, it was the way he looked at her. As if he had been suddenly transported to another realm and some how taken her along for a ride – another life belonging to yet another man – the woman in red knew these dark men – she knew them well enough from the many scars on her wrist – that was why she had resigned herself to marry the grand old man – and now her tormentor was before her, toying with her fear and fascination, her desire for such a man and yet at the same time the trepidation of knowing that it can all only end in tears amd shattered dreams – these thoughts flashed through the woman in red as she watched each street lamp metamorphosing the farmer to this other man – this man who she had brought out..will out from the very crèche of her yearning.

And as the new reborn man and the woman who was now not so sure that she was still the hunteress – both sat quietly in the purring Jaguar waiting for the lights to turn green. A moment of epiphany suddenly dawned on the woman in red when their hands came together. There was no need to rush….no need whatsoever…they had after all, all the time in the world – with these thoughts, she resigned herself to be a flotsam – to go wherever this man pleased – she would not spoil his rhythm – she would just follow him obediently…like a dancer giving in to the slightest cue. He had even begun to play Como Fue and for the briefest of moments when only the haunting pathos of the music filled the cabin as both the new man and the woman in red sat like two passing ships in the inky dark ocean lost in their own thoughts.

The woman in red realized then for the first time that evening…the night was still young.

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