Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Bird of Paradise (4)

Oh, there was nothing left to live for, and the perfect final act of nihilism would be suicide. So lucky that she'd at least got a response from that chap in the club, but he was as shallow and cynical and selfish as anyone else, whether he paid her attention or not.

Sunita had enjoyed sleeping with him, though. It had been odd that he'd been able to manage getting it up, with the amount of alcohol he took in just in the space of time she'd been chatting him, but it made him more pliant, which had always been exactly what she needed in British men. Indian men too. In fact, Indians in her experience were worse when it came to her bringing implements to bed, or at least in the distant past they had been. And it was so hard for a married Indian woman to sleep around in her community, to begin with.

From bar to car to bed she'd led Saturday night, and when a man is so far gone, you needn't worry about awkward mornings nor pursuant phone calls. She remembered it all, but he probably forgot. The impact and surprise of the encounter probably killed him, she mused with a mischievous smile.

This entire process of extravagant one night stands was an art she had perfected in just a few short years of promiscuity and sexual adventure. How good to know she hadn't lost her touch, but she'd relied far too much on this last one being drunk. Not to worry, it was all soon to be over.

Things had actually been going downhill the entire time and she'd only just noticed; maybe it was like some people said, she was trying to get something more out of life in a very ineffective way. Like birds when they got nervous and pulled out their feathers.

Her diagnosis was just the final straw, the last wake up call that she needed to be put down.

Now that she was at her nadir, she needed to get to a high place and look down upon all that spread out below, see the nations she would inherit, see the lights of Diwali as they
showed the way back from Sri Lanka. Here her northern ex-husband's influence was clear in this thought: that was not her own Deepavali. So much running and no ground gained escaping him and that ridiculous arrangement.

Waxing funny in her mind, she decided fresh air and a walk in the rain would do to bring her spirits back up and get her out of the past, where she had left her family. On the crowded high street: Sunita, Sunita, you're a long way from your home and namesake. Look at how you sway and bring their eyes with your swinging beautiful body.

This thought was set off by her heels, her amazing and vibrant short skirt, the extravagant and expensive inviting blouse, the space of thigh between hem and hose. And of course her body itself, with which she had become extremely comfortable in the last few years. She couldn't care less for anything but how she looked and how things fitted her, but still she saw and liked every lecherous glance from every male she passed - some of them even from females. She fed on the attention.

This was what she lived for: the world her runway and none looked better. A goddess of sex and beholden to none, except now for her little infecting demon, which was almost like a very intimate partner - a part of her duality. This naughty little Sunita could have whom she wanted and go where she pleased; it could get no worse. This Sunita was the same Sunita in bed, Sunita in climax, Sunita shining above the world, and she was not one to be beaten down by demons. Lord Rama need not make his journey for she has her own designs and needed no rescue.

It made things confusing, as she couldn't understand how these amazing feelings could co-exist with her plan to end her life. How could she be so vibrant, in the prime of it, and be at such a low point? She felt that she was the mistress of all, but nothing in her makeup had prepared her to fight a battle with such disease: did she need a rescue, now?

No, she thought.

It was like something from the Gita, many-faced Krishna being in all. Was she the Lord in her element or was she Arjuna, overwhelmed by the vision of totality? Either way the lesson was the same and she still had a battle to fight. Perhaps this was it: being ascended above the noise of everyday life, she was existing in a higher state, she could be both high and low at once; she could be miserable in orgasm and suicidal in bliss. Yet she was still obliged to continue in her duty to slaughter her own, regardless of any revelations.

So the final fling had been a kiss of death. And at the same time, her sexual exploits had given as much as they had taken, having freed her from the constraints of a traditional society and thereby allowing her to soar through life on wings of bondage - how ironic.

If sutras were meant to edify, kama sutra had set her free with enlightenment, uplifted her and given her a better angle from her position above. And she had gone far beyond that book's famous pages of instruction. She wished to add her own lessons to it but had not yet gone far with that plan - the pictures had only been shown to a small audience.

Where to get a better view now, she asked herself, where to look down upon the world? The sun had shown itself for a brief minute or two, but now it was once again exactly the sort of weather which made London famous. Getting above these clouds was simply a need in Sunita's view.

After a few streets, she knew right where her feet were taking her, where the trail that blazed in her footprints would lead. A man she had once slept with worked long hours and would be out according to what he'd blathered while she'd undressed him and fastened his wrists to the bedposts. Sunita had also noticed that the latch on his front door was broken, and she should have no problem coaxing her way into the building and just pushing the door open. It was guarded, but the problem with guarding was that it always required guards, most of whom were merely men.

As had been happening lately, it was all ready to snap just as it was perfectly coming together.

Breaking, one of her heels caught in a crack and sent her sprawling, handbag over pearls. Of course for Sunita, incidentally athletic in her recreations and not prone to always being vertical or comfortable in them, landed as gracefully as the situation allowed. This was second nature for this goddess, but the situation was suddenly very unfavorable, despite the relatively gentle landing.

While pain was not a problem - quite the opposite - the look of skinned knees had not been her aim. Blood appealed to her, no less her own, beautiful ruby color it was, but now she'd have to visit a chemist to get something for her schoolgirl wounds, new stockings, and new shoes.

A man scooped her purse and helped her up; she tried not to be stuck with him but she expected that her charm and beauty had enthralled him just as leather cords did so many others. Of course her appearance entranced them and made them more co-operative, as well.

Things could not improve any more - the rescuer was an elderly gentlemen. Healthy and robust for his probable years but displaying wisdom in knowing his bounds when it came to younger women, he politely wished her a good morning and continued on his way. The stranger met in the road...

The man's departure disappointed her initial notion of enthrallment: but thralls often enough made slaves of their masters, as she knew all too well.

So this meant she was free.

Bird that she was, she flew from the near-catch of this new but illusory cage - which was perhaps the cage that was her life attempting to snatch her back into it from her flight to eternal joy.

Nothing stood in her way: a quick visit to chemist, to shop, to home made her good as ever she knew, took her in a loop that was only a minor setback.

There was determination in her beauty as she set forth once more.

Next was that rich flat: it was some twenty stories up and across from a much taller building - funny that there were apartments like this in a business area; this owner was wealthier than she had thought. But still poor in taste when it came to location, because he'd clearly shopped with his bank account and not with his eyes.

Had he (or even his flat) been more exciting, he might have had her back for more, but he proved a dull catch and she had to release him. It was bothersome that men would appreciate something obvious - like her breasts - yet miss so many other thigns, thigns which women like Sunita did instinctively. It was aesthetic vision and the grace of a woman's touch which they lacked, she supposed, and this very flaw had been part of why she'd left her husband. As it had been with this one-night man.

His flat, however, remained useful to Sunita.

Life was too easy these days. The man guarding the door was Indian and she found soon that he came from her family's home city in India, Bangalore: a few sweet phrases in Kannada about her husband's flat in this building and having recently arrived from India charmed him and had him letting her in without a key or any proof whatsoever that she belonged there.

Making her lonesome stealthy way to her goal on a fancy-looking but poorly-woven and two-shades-too-deep red carpet, she hoped that nothing had been changed: had the door been repaired, her lies would have been for nothing but the fun of it, and no goddess needed her plans being foiled by such minor oversights and foibles.

As luck had it, Sunita's ginger entry into this man's space enticed imagery of her own perverted flavor - the voyeur and exhibitionist in her hoped there was some activity of interest to be had. Again lucky-unlucky: no one home. Relaxing from her near-arousal, she mixed herself a cocktail and lounged like a quiet Friday evening of being the flat owner's pampered wife - another detail of his life he'd let out in his nervous banter, nervous due to the wife and the strange Indian woman doing strange and erotic things to him - of which his wife would not have approved. And certainly never would have participated in, else he had no reason for Sunita.

Soon life again became too slow, boring. Barely halfway through her martini, the notion of being anyone's wife was still a burden. Pacing like a caged tiger she yearned for something new, already. When had she grown so impatient? Perhaps a bath, perhaps - perhaps the bored wifey had a medicine cabinet?

Worth a look, a fruitless search ended thirty minutes later. How early had today started? It seemed as if it had been forever since the previous night, which had provided this tigress no interesting quarry.

Likewise it had been forever since she'd set out this morning, and the sky made it seem like five in the evening, despite still being late morning. Time flies when you're having fun; when bored it crawls.

So, her drink finished in a swift gulp, Sunita opened the window to sit upon the ledge. It was cool up her skirt, but she would try anything down there once. Looking at the shoes she wore, she decided to kick them off in favor of her bare and well-formed feet. Sparkling brightly, she saw them shrink to tiny points, which bounced on the gray pavement where people walked - this elicited a surprised but abrupt look upward before some pedestrians continued on their way.

The cool air soothed the morning labors of Sunita's feet, as it did her skinned knees. Feet motionless and thinking naughtily, she nevertheless sat almost primly there, happily gazing down the fire escape's twisted path to safety from the fire that she was squatting in this ritzy apartment.

A wonder she hadn't brought it down yet.

Life fundamentally bored her. This thought jumped into her mind as the cold reality dawned upon her: she couldn't heat up the wintry air, no matter how hot she may have felt. The world wasn't as impressed by her antics as it should be, and would have called her actions exactly that: antics. Traipsing about foolishly, like some lost child who thought she knew better than her parents, stuffy and old-fashioned people that they were.

Back to her original thought: this world's bars could not contain her. It was a prison and now, standing on the ledge arms spread, it was clear that there was but a single way to freedom. Life was meaningless and always had been, and now some inescapable misery might soon creep into it. It was less than nothing: now it was a burden, just as it had been in matrimony.

But this time she could not fly away from, it. Could she?

Knowing in that instant what she was capable of, Sunita gloriously, blazingly as on any catwalk, stepped into the air - as far as she was concerned, she kept on walking free of gravity, right out of the world. It was not death: it was an ascent, though it may have looked otherwise to onlookers.

Not at all to her surprise, Sunita began once again prowling along on her streetlong strut to find tonight's hunk of flesh.

Moments like this demanded celebration of life and a mortal sacrifice, something to fill her gratitude and get her off of life's drudgery.

Her proud sway found its way back into her walk and Sunita's mouth began to water with the anticipation of the hunt.

1 comment:

Laney said...

very cool. i like how those two stories connect. very "sin city" like.