the world around you?’
‘I used to have such a desire, then I became weary with everything.’
‘Listen, sister! Even the ox tears the bandage off its eyes, and animals in cages kick.’
‘I used to kick a great deal until I became weary with kicking as well.’
The neighbour suddenly changed her tone and said tenderly, ‘We heard you crying. Was he beating you?’
‘Beating me?’
Astonishment showed in her question. Was the man beating her with the head of the chisel? Anger overwhelmed her. She didn’t want anybody to know. But it appeared that nothing was hidden in this village. The surveillance was masterly. She wanted to hide her face. Would she never confess that he had been beating her? What if the people of the village found out that she was like other women? A shudder ran through her body. Her skin was marked all over from the beatings. And the dryness in her throat. She wanted to let her body fall to the ground. But eyes were open around her, waiting for her to fall, and if she fell once, anybody could do anything to her. It was better for her to confess. She was not capable of fleeing.
The man had returned. She saw him approaching her from behind. He pressed his right knee in her back, then enclosed her with one arm. A smell of stagnant oil came from under his armpit. He passed his chapped fingers up and down her spine. She remained transfixed in her place, then she called out in pain when he pressed roughly on the last section of her spine.
‘Do you feel any pleasure?’
‘No.’
The man laughed and it appeared that he was caressing her in preparation for something. Although his movement was sudden, it appeared natural, or perhaps as if his fingers had slipped by themselves in an innocent way.
She turned round to confront him. There was no innocence, and there was no instinct for sexual love. He was pushing her to kneel, and after she had knelt down, anything would become possible. She saw that sleep was her one refuge. Perhaps she was in fact sleeping, because her breathing was loud. Her calves and her arms were trembling. Was she angry? Perhaps, because this man was always trying to spoil her sleep, and he succeeded in doing so whenever he pleased. By contrast, he was able to go off into a sound sleep without anything disturbing him.
When she turned over in her sleep, particles of oil stuck to her cheeks. Around her eyes, a particle would stick in a corner and she would wipe it away with a fingertip. She stretched a hand out in the darkness looking for the bottle. It was not there. The man was lying with his face to the wall and his back to her. His back appeared less well banqueted than his face. The matter came within the realms of possibility. But the night was long, and did not want to end, and sleeplessness like a hammer was beating in her head. She tied her scarf and fastened it above her forehead as she used to see her aunt doing. She closed her eyes and gained control of her breathing. She bent her knees and curled up in a ball like a foetus. She tried to remember the face of her mother before she gave birth to her. She followed the path that she walked along every day from the house to the school. There was a tree and a long river. She saw her usual place on the bridge where she used to sit at sunset, waiting for the lights to appear. She began to recite the names of the stars. She began with Saturn and Jupiter and ended with Venus and the whole galaxy. She tried to count on her fingers the names of the ancient goddesses, beginning with Nun and Namu and ending with Nut and Sekhmet.
However, sleeplessness did not leave her. It continued to beat her head like a hammer. She moved her eyes towards the man. She saw him covering his face with the newspaper. He was still sleeping or perhaps he had been reading and then gone to sleep while he was reading. His breathing was regular, like snoring. The rustling of papers at the mercy of the wind. Dogs barking from afar and women gasping,
Chogyam Trungpa, Chögyam Trungpa