Something is always left over of the work, to which they are more devoted than to their dearest beloved. The women have been freshly prepared, or preserved. Yes, they too desire something, but not for much longer, the way they're roaring under the lash of the weather, which even dictates their attire. Thus their round fat bodies hum away, life goes on, man vanishes continually in death, the hours sink to the ground, but women flit nimbly about the house, never safe from all the blows that fate deals. How alike their habits are! Every day it's the same. Tomorrow, tomorrow. Procrastination, procrastination! But the next day has not yet come, the woman of the house cannot yet enter it, to be finished off by yet more work. Now they repose unfeelingly in each other, the pistons thrust down, a course is set for the pathless shores of bodies but the goal is missed, yes, we may fall but we do not fall a long way down, we are as shallow as the shallowness about us. If our deserts went by what we earn, we would just be able to buy ourselves some shoes for our weary wanderers' feet, but no more, and already our partners are lapping about our ankles, they want to play themselves and think they are trumps, oh horror, they really are winning the trick! And the distance to the heavens remains ever the same. Quick, let's place a foot on the runner-board of the car, which we have wrested from our bodies in the form of work, many many hours put in at the factory. We have entered as children of God, and after many a year nothing remains but to board the cheapest of mid-market cars, and we whose gears have meanwhile changed slightly are refused access to the works by a master of shifts who newly holds the stick. Right, they have eliminated our place of work entirely, and now the factory operates almost on its own, it learnt it all from us! But before poverty moves in and the car is sold, let us ourselves come back a time or two from foreign parts. Let us squander ourselves in someone else's parts a time or two more. We will not be driven away from this table by any thought that has eluded our possessor, nor by any suit advertising in the newspaper, any nonsense to put a prompt stop to our lives because we poor work-horses absolutely had to have a few more horsepower in our meadow. And then there's the Direktor: he is not the sole ruler by any means! Not even the firm, that captive buzzard, can soar as it would. Who knows what other beast it might encounter!
Thus we all have our worries: whom we could love and what we could eat.
One would not imagine for a moment that there was anything fake about their feelings. Rather, one would think they were genuine jewels that others bedeck themselves with: the throngs of thonged bodies, tricked out in their best (new shoes!) and wandering the paths of their little love affairs, turning to a restless trick or two in their rooms. A human choir sending their many-voiced echo up unto the father in the air on the chair-lift. It was he who created the erogenous zones with which Woman pretties herself up of an evening, rapidly shoving her work out of sight lest anyone pay her properly. Flabbergasted, the men gape into their women's holes, torn by life, and yes, they shudder, as if they knew that the box has long been empty from which the seeds have been shaken out for years. But the dear women are so attached to them. And tomorrow morning the first bus has to be caught, no matter how helplessly they have to thrash their wives, who are attached to them and their short barrels: shoot! Jobs don't grow on trees.
The others, too, take this road to death. They accompany each other for a while, and breathe loudly at the gate, for it to be opened to them. And there come yet more people who have fallen into each other's weakly branches, to tangle their limbs. So that they are a twosome when they have to face their foreman. One has to be able to do something or other! To be bigger and more numerous would be a good start, if one is sinking beneath the stroke of the factory's daily scythe. And from the spoils the owners pick out the very best that you experienced this year on the beaches of Rimini and Carola, where, blooming luxuriantly, you sank beneath the rubble of your short-lived pleasures.
The Direktor of this factory drags his wife back to the car, meaning to shorten this short break by breaking a record at the work he understands best: words of love from his transmitter sound in her ear, and she receives them thrashing and stammering as loving couples without a stereo receive their dance music after midnight. The window, where we can see one of those brightly coloured tracksuits such as generally fetch up in day-trip bars for filling, remains obstinately lit up. The young man stretches out his sleeves, gathered in at the ends with strong knitted cords, and stares out at these charmless people, who are nonetheless perfect in their way if one considers their income from the toil of humankind and their influence on state parliament politics. How wonderful to sing together with the rich and still not have to be in their works choir! To learn their ways and still not have to stand in the fields and have one's hair cut at harvest time! Like lumbering oxen the two cars are grazing side by side in front of the house, and one of the animals is now going to be disembowelled. The door opens, the light goes on. Words of endearment are sent to Gerti's home parts. This paterfamilias has not come to punish but to comfort and to resume possession, already there is a gleam as of a city beyond his gates. He has no desire but for his wife, who is sufficient unto him, unlike others who cannot stop making modest demands and singing and saying which of the photos in the relevant publications they prefer. How busily they bustle about at their sexual enterprises after work! And just take a look what these pikes in carp ponds have caught: it seems to me that at times Nature is inclement. The Direktor is attached to his wife. Her broad thoroughfares are familiar to him. And while the silent inmate of the home is still suspended in mid-air with his nice motorbike catalogue beyond the window, the Direktor slaps Gerti across the front seats (having first had to push a button, I won't say which), yanks her dress over her head and masters her buttocks so that, via her dirty and off-limits route, he can penetrate her interior. Tenderly hands knead the udder. A friendly tongue licks into an ear. This has often been done in the past, for people like to build a house beside one that is already there, not to support their neighbour but to torment. It is a little uncomfortable, true, summer is far off, the road is remote, the animals taste good, and everyone comes to the appointed places or at least is collected in the box not far away. This crashing surf can surge upon one as if in one's sleep, and hide on a raised look-out in the midst of Nature. Below, in the shimmer of the field glasses, the allied members liaising between work, money and the powerful who don't like to be alone, are flitting about. They forever have to lie on one another against one another. Human activity resumes with new aims, the weather is cold, and every time the Direktor withdraws his sturdy prick a little he casts a forceful glance at his silent admirer at the window. He only has to go through a slight contortion to do so. Perhaps the young man will cop a handful now as well! As far as I can tell, he's really doing it. From the waist down, we men are all members of the same club, when all's said and done. That is, our members belong to our women and in the street we allow fate to be pressed into our hands without offering resistance. Let us make ourselves comfortable in each other! Michael has his hand down the front of his tracksuit trousers, I think, and is cramming his clothing full of himself. And Gerti's dress is now completely unbuttoned too and her bags and pouches are flopping out, if you'll pardon my mentioning it. Never mind, even if the Direktor's feeling the draught, within himself he pays attention to festive-ness and quality, we forgive him. Face forward, the woman is squashed into the car upholstery, as if slumber lay concealed in these leather shadows. Her legs dangle to left and right out of the open door. And her husband, this bellowing native of the country, to whom we have entrusted our homeland for him to make paper out of it (the trees would have been condemned to a close shave anyway), he is far more at home here than we could ever be! I hear this bird shouting as he sings. He slips to Gerti's side and rams several of his loving fingers inside her. He speaks in friendly tones to her, describing the winners she still stands to score. Then he drives into her hole again with a crash. Briefly he withdraws and feels up his sceptre: as we see, his pace is unmeasured a
nd immoderate. Now the woman is being examined by an expert who is harnessing his energy under the bonnet and sending his little salesman off, indeed, even accompanies him in person, we'll manage this, no problem, and then lock up afterwards.
Gerti's secrets have long been revealed, her closed doors are wide open, now she's dealt a few blows on her behind and back, that's how friends deal with each other, that way there's no mistake. The Direktor also drives the vehicle of his tongue in, who shall interpret that for us? A number of young village men have taken up their posts at the posterns of naked women and are hoping to be considered when posts are assigned. They want to collect but not pay. Their wives help them with their immortality and with the high mortality rate of their work. But the Direktor goes his own hot way alone. Everyone is familiar with his still youthful radiance. The woman, commingled with him in disorder, now has to put up with him in her arse, there may be any number of paths and some may be better surfaced too. While other people are at the mercy of disease, this lordandmaster is serving himself with equanimity at his usual counter, where his child came from too, right next door. No need to be afraid, his member is safe there. Now the excited animal goes for a trot in the woman where it has been taken in order to grow. It catches slightly in the chain it has torn loose, the calf. And so it stands stock still till it's shot down. The familiar trampling and traipsing has already worn the woman badly. Never mind, there's a good cream for everything and a cash present. Grease well and you get ahead better. And soon fresh greenery will be coming up for the man to pull out.
What a divine group, though soon they'll have to take a rest. Body to body, they are a threat to each other. Whimpering after a number of further slips, the Direktor collapses limp upon his wife, who was so well-appointed. He has reaped her high-yield region thoroughly, it has his recommendation, and now there won't be any fodder growing there in a hurry. His river shoots wrathfully out of him, and from the labourers who are presented to them on golden platters their gods and personnel bosses seize the share that is yours by force. Go on, choose the best from a wide assortment too, and see: you already have it at home, call it your better half and leave her doing the washing-up and scrubbing and sweating!
This time the Direktor is in valid order and his wife is satisfied. But tomorrow he may be running riot again, shooting from the hip and buying any ticket at all to who knows where. At least his wife is still protected and desired, though, there are so many paths to be taken, after all, to the theatre, a concert, a season ticket to the opera, opportunity enough to lick the thing which the Direktor reaches across with a whimper and wrap it up anew. Now he has turned her onto her back and is wagging about in her face. A thin thread of slobber dribbles down, and promptly the meatloaf and sauce is brought to the woman's lips, a soft tired suckling. Mmm, that's just perfect. She is requested to clean away what she has brought from the kitchen for presentation and thawing. First the banks, then the shaft, neat and tidy, all the tiny creases as well, after all there's a little driving still to be done today and we wouldn't want this quick-acting foam all over the upholstery. And then Gerti is expected to kiss the hairy scrotum, mind your eyes. As if he were stripping a snake, the Direktor rips the dress off his wife with a single tear, though at the same time whispering that tomorrow she will get two new ones to replace it. The dress is forcefully pulled apart at the front. Gerti's body is kissed from a convenient height and then belted into the seat again, where it remains caught, returning none of the looks bestowed on it. The Direktor goes on to rip Gerti's petticoat too, exposing her entire dilapidated facade; soon, albeit outside, beyond the battered attache cases, pleasant green will be appearing, one or two months of the yoke still to go! Let the airstream and the one or two stray people returning home take a look at the building if they want, in the warm shadows of which the Direktor has been sporting. The woman does not resemble any film actress, at least none I know of. It is quiet. Michael peers out of the window and makes an effort to grow once again in order to make the most and best of himself. Not everyone has a handsome member to amuse himself with. The Direktor is faithful by nature, that's how it should be. We are the hearth of the household and warm the lordsandmasters if necessary.
The young man, thinking of the countless friends whom he will make the repositories of his adventure, steps under the too needling waterjet of the shower. His senses are all present and stretch out on the floor like dogs lying down to sleep on their appointed blankets. Perhaps his girlfriend will stop by later on, while outside the oppressed take by force what has been granted them. Thus long he has deigned to watch a woman advancing in years, and thus long will he rest, a child of the world. I think he will even still be asleep tomorrow morning when the people who live in these houses trample each other to death in the bus and riotously batter each other about the head with their belongings.
As if by changing cars they had changed lives, the Direktor and his wife drive home together, one under the protection of the other, tossing from one position in life to the next. These people can fuck fearlessly anywhere at all, whatever they do is always put right again by love and their dear cleaning ladies. The employees are at rest, presently the jangle of their alarms will raise them aloft. Silently the car sweeps the flatland clean. The mountains stand in silence, till tomorrow the sun is again portioned out by the tourist office rep, to delight the sporting folk. And so the directorial couple return home on their great raft, along the federal highway in accordance with all the regulations and at a moderate speed. For a brief while the two of them took hold on their bodies to fill up with fuel, the springs were bubbling up all around them, right, the rich tank up new energy as often as they wish. In the little houses silence reigns, because the people there have to count out the money for petrol first. At most it's violence that reigns, till tomorrow they are under someone else's control again at the factory, these sons from petty homes, and their wives wade by day through the puddles of the powerful sex. Love comes fruity and fresh in its carton, but what does it become inside us?
The toil of the sexes, accomplished today by the Direktor and the Frau Direktor, has made them blossom with a shudder, only to wipe their mouths afterwards as if after a meal wolfed greedily down; and it may be but is not definitely finished for today. Till we meet again tomorrow in the radiant light from the mail van's headlamps, so early, when it's still dark, not to mention the years ahead! Nothing but those lights caresses the wretched bodies shamelessly confronting us in all their morning stench and exhaust fumes. But just think of the lottery tickets their thoughts are always dwelling on! One has to be able to take it as well as deal it out.
The Direktor stammers managerial, loving words, he announces himself and his programme, this private individual. Already he is in his element again: money. What would he be without his wife, as he insists on calling her. Jovially he embraces her with the arm he's not steering with, taking her body and doing some steering there at least. Like a warm tame animal the mountains lounge above him, he has already sheered them quite bald. They have left the superfluous car standing, put to sleep and locked up like their child. Let's face it, all they were thinking of was jolly sex. The woman can now go shopping for the kind of commodities that suit a woman. Now speculations are made concerning the next day and what it might bring. The Direktor describes the many and various ways in which he is going to screw his wife later and in the days ahead. He needs trouble up top, in the office, if his prick down below is to be satisfied and taken captive by the woman. Perhaps the woman will like something special which she will follow blindly on her shopping spree tomorrow? This man: the unwavering star of his wife will shine above him till tomorrow morning, he nuzzles tenderly at her throat, keep your eyes on the road, don't look away! The droplets fly from the man, sweat and sperm, which makes him no less, no slighter, no smaller. Smilingly he prays to his wife, whom he has held under his jet. His fleshy testicles sit still on their stringy stalk. What a relief, to go out into the spell of night, if one doesn't have to
hurry out into the morning dark, one amongst many, dazzled by the kitchen light. If the fire is burning within one, and another, larger one is burning in the engine. Cleansed and renewed, the Direktor will presently be getting into bed again with his Gerti and making his territorial mark on her bush, no one cocks a leg faster than he does. Maybe the two of them will once again be flooded by the muted cry of their bodies wanting food, who knows? The woman tries to fasten her dress at her breast, the cold is scourging her. But the man demands that she provide a little more entertainment for him and the people who live in those parts in their little domestic limbos, please, Brigitte, I mean, Gerti. The dress, which is covering her now, he parts wide open again, she hasn't quite gone out yet, hasn't Gerti, I'm pretty sure there's still a glimmer in the ashes. The heating hasn't properly warmed up yet, but the man has. He is fast off the mark, on his chin he has a fingernail scratch dealt by Gerti. Not a single walker comes their way, to flower a little with an acquaintance outside the house. No one is out and about any more to witness the brand of power on the forehead of the factory Direktor. And so he at least has to stamp his mark on his wife, to show that she has paid to go in and really did bravely go out in the open from the warmth of her sex. In the kitchens of the poor, only the stove is kept alight.
Lust Page 19