Читать книгу The Collector of Bodies - Diane Glancy - Страница 13

I met a beautiful man who’d cooked chicken and rice and there was salad and other dishes on the table of his apartment. I hugged him when I left, held my head against his chest too long. We shared a kiss delicious as the meal, and he who said no English, said, stay with me. I couldn’t, of course, you know regrets the next morning, the responsibility of responsible behavior, the diligent heart of a diligent nation.

But I would like to have, and felt brittle as my papers when they dried after I left them on the porch in the morning rain. He still holds me against him as if our ancestors long ago had left one behind when the other started out to reach a new land, because they loved the sea, because they loved travel, because they loved most of all the nomad of the human heart, or the camel-train starting out now toward the stars, because we’re not satisfied, but striving down the ages to hold one another in that separation, that necessary departure, we’re still having to leave.