Tuesday

19



eyes are an intense blue. Histoire de l’oeil: Bataille – Tale of the Eye. Slim waist, slim hips, thin legs, black boots combine to form an image of adolescent innocence – or outrage?

He, by contrast, blonde and freckled, thick, half-strangled by incongruous (unaccustomed?) tie and jacket, shorter than his platform-heeled companion, hand outstretched, looks ready equally for scrum or barbecue. The other hand holds, half-shielded, a dark, not unfamiliar book.

“Yes?” (Not unsnottily).

“We’re going door to door to talk about the Lord Jesus Christ and what he’s done in our lives and what he can do in yours too if you’ll let him …” (faltering slightly after that breathless apostrophe) “Would you be interested in talking to us about that?”

The girl smiles, half-nervously, as if to back up her companion’s asseverations of life-changing events without associating herself, necessarily, with his naïve sense of mission.

The flat’s a tip. You’re blinking, bleary-eyed, in tee-shirt, jeans, bare feet.

Why not?

“Why not? Come on in, both of you, and tell me all about it. I warn you, though, I’m not going to buy any steak-knives or subscriptions to video-clubs.”

They exchange disconcerted glances, the first sign of any complicity – intimacy? – between them. [Psycho killers, rules for the detection of: First, unusual determination to invite one into any malodorous vehicle or dwelling they may be occupying at the time; Second, refusal to abide by conventions of polite speech (in this case, dismissal with protestations of uninterest); Third, “looking like everyone else:” indistinguishability from the rest of the population in general affect (no giant warts, seven-fingered hands, ill-concealed claws, insect-like eyes) …]

“Come on in! I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

Further glances. Still, this does come with the territory. They sidle nervously in.

Fighting your impulse to give a sepulchral laugh, slam and bolt the door, and turn on them, leering, with the words: “So the great lord Dagon at last sends me my prey …” you bustle over to the kitchenette, and start to pour water loudly into a kettle.

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