Desire

September 16, 2008

He often thought of his childhood as an altogether different lifetime, a ghost-life lived by a distant version of him from which he retained a chaotic mass of disconnected images. For part of that other life, he had resided with his family in a Tudor house in the Cotswolds: flaky beams and indoor windows and crooked doorframes, a priest-hole in his attic bedroom, a spectral odour of rotting finery overlying a stink of blank desire.

            His parents owned one small bookcase, three or four shelves in solid dark wood and lead-lined glass doors with a pointless key. On its shelves were Dr Spock, Mrs Beeton, a set of Encyclopaedia Britannica from the 1930s that was starting to show the first signs of disintegration. One whole shelf was full of Alistair MacLean, another half-full of Sidney Sheldon. Wedged in among the paperbacks was a musty blue-boarded hardback of Longfellow’s Divine Comedy, and in a note to the Inferno he read this: “The desire of a man is for a woman. The desire of a woman is for the desire of a man.”

            It wasn’t until much later that these lines began to make sense.

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2 Responses to “Desire”

  1. ivorbean said

    Hi Rob, Behind Ivorbean is (Dez) but obviously you know that. Have to say I think that beer/chat would be very good indeed.
    Very interesting the Line, “The desire of a woman is for the desire of a man”. I think that it is also the desire of a man to know that a woman desires the desire of a man. Relationships can be just so complicated on many levels. I look upon people who have chosen to spend there lives on their own and think its must be quite sad and lonely but It could be that they have seen too much or its all just to hard to work out. Perhaps its not a necessity for us to be with a special person… myself I find that hard to believe.

  2. Mark Reep said

    Your work just continues to get better. I like everything I’ve read tonight, this one especially.

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