Prost Gotvins Geometri – Part 13

This is Prost Gotvins geometri by Gert Nygårdshaug. The translation was done by Roy Johansen. Nygårdshaug is a Norwegian author and the text has not yet been published in English. Roy is a friend of mine who recently moved back to his native Norway. He has translated a good part of the novel and I'm trying to convince him to finish it.

Here’s Part 12.

Father Gotvin's First Journey (continued)

"I'm coming," I replied and walked in the direction of the sound.

I found her hidden between the jasmine bushes, on a small path lf lawn that was small enough to be completely covered by her blanket. There she lay and in front of her was a basket of fruit, cheese, and wine. I just stood there. Had she arranged this for me? Or did she do this often? She heard my thoughts and said:

"This is my sanctuary. I come here everyday."
Looking around, I asked, "How do you get in?"
She laughed. "My uncle is the director of the baths. The apple of his eye. He built the place and made it what it has become."
"But it's not open to the public – there's no one here?"
"It's closed during the summer, from May till September."
"Schoolchildren?"
"Yes, the schools in the area use the facilities, plus all the institutions for disabled people. The town is teeming with them. The sick are always waiting for miracles and, in the mean time, they can bathe."

I listened and she talked. I listened to her voice which was quiet and soft. I hesitantly sat down on the blanket, on the edge of it. She told me she taught summer classes and the university – archaeology. She had a degree in archaeology specializing in ancient cultures – the Viking fortresses! She also said that teaching in the summer was quite arduous with the heat but she needed the money. Fortunately she was able to stay at her uncle's. The rest of her family lived in Madrid. Besides, he let her use the baths as much as she liked and she had the whole thing to herself all summer. Everyday after classes she borrowed her uncle's car and come up here where she swam and ate or just sat around on the grass reading. That's how it was.

"Don't you want a little wine?"
"Yes, please."
She handed me the bottle and I drank. I was thinking.
"Why?" I asked.
"Not just because you shouted. But I never would have found you if you hadn't."
"Why did you want to find me?"
She didn't answer. She was drinking wine. We were drinking wine. It occurred to me that all the questions in my in d ought perhaps not be asked, not now. How could I remain this calm?
"Jasmine, real jasmine," I said and smelled the air and the bushes around me.
"I think you are a very special man."
"Ministers aren't especially special," I replied.
"I'm no thinking minister."
"OK," I replied. There wasn't anything else to say.
"I believe in intuition." She stroked her fingers across the blanket.
"Often?"
She laughed.
"No, as a matter of fact, you are the first man to be here with me."

We sat silently for a long time and I had my eyes fixed on the blanket and the basket. Thinking back, I believe that everything that remained unspoken was what me fell at ease, made me feel that I had known this woman for a long time and that she knew me. The intensity of being this close to her made my skin tingle. Did she feel the same?

"Are you hungry?" she whispered.
"A bit, perhaps."
"Help youself."

I looked at the cheese, her breasts, her nipples pointing against the fabric of her dress. Slowly I moved closer, closer to her but, as I grasped the basket, she lifted it up and put it behind her. She smiled and leaned back on her elbows.

"Closer," she whispered.

This won't do. I cannot come any closer, I thought. Nevertheless I put my hand gently on her calf and she took it and pulled it up and put it on her abdomen. This put me in an uncomfortable position – half lying and half sitting with only one arm for support. I could hear her breath and my breath. I could feel the warmth through her dress where my hand rested lightly. How long could I maintain this position? I caressed her carefully, moving my hand up toward her breasts and felt the hardness, the firmness – my own hardness! I closed my eyes and let my thoughts come to a standstill focusing on one idea: This is not me, Gotvin, it is not you experiencing this, Gotvin Soleng, it is not possible. But it was possible. Those were her soft hands finding the back of my neck, my hair, my face and mildly stroking my skin. No words. There were still so many questions to be asked and words to be spoken but then everything might have gone very differently. Now everything was going fine. I was stroking her tenderly. My caresses were gentle, calm and she made me feel safe by the way she was moving. Forgotten was my pledge to God, given many years ago, never to be intimate with a woman until we were bound in matrimony. Such a pledge had never been! Her dress slid up over her thighs and her belly. Gently I laid my head on her chest. Lavender, the smell of lavender from her gentle hair. My pants. We were naked but no one could see us here. I was a virgin and it did not all work perfectly the first time but she understood and was patient. My hardness, my firmness soon returned and I was strong. She was soft and warm and our movements were perfectly synchronized. Lasting, lasting, lasting. It had turned dark but we held each other tightly as we would never relinquish this rhythm. Again and again I felt the lust, the desire mount within me. I saw her eyes. All this time our eyes were interlocked. Tears? Suddenly her eyes flooded with tears and she opened her mouth in a silent cry while pulling me toward her with all her force. A last cascade flooded in her. The smarting joy let go of my body and we relaxed and lay motionless.

For a long time we lay like that.
Listened to the grasshoppers.
My fingers intertwined with hers.
This is how it must be.
Forever.
"Are you hungry now?" she whispered teasingly.
"Extremely."
"Help yourself." We both laughed.