The Sermon on the Fall of Rome, стр. 49

believe him, it wasn’t true, they were sure Virgile was a great lady-killer, go on, tell, Virgile, no need to be shy, he was among friends, how did he snare his women? Did he sweet talk them? On the dance floor maybe? Oh yes! Poetry! He wrote poetry for them, that was it, wasn’t it? Come on, they wanted to know, they’d be happy with one conquest, just one, for instance, why didn’t he tell them about the very latest woman to succumb to his charms, just one conquest, that wasn’t too much to ask, was it? he could tell his friends everything, but perhaps he was shy, he needed a more congenial setting for spilling the beans, all he had to do was to come down to a club with them, and then he could tell them all over a good bottle, no? He would tell them all, wouldn’t he? how he’d seduced her, what he’d done to her in bed, whether she’d yelled out, but the only snag was that they wouldn’t let him into a club looking like that, not with his great mountain boots, at any rate, no way, and in his work clothes too, that wouldn’t do at all, there were rules, it was no joke, and then, in any case, all things considered, it’d be a mistake to take a lady-killer like Virgile into a club, he’d help himself to all the available women in no time at all and there wouldn’t be a single one left for anyone else! After all, you have to leave some for the others! It was only fair. You mustn’t be selfish, you’ve got to think about people who’ve come a long way, all the way from Corte, it wasn’t very good manners not to give them a chance, they’d never come there again, no, so after all it wouldn’t be a very good idea to take him to a club, and Virgile was still laughing and saying he’d be glad to tell them, if only he had something to tell. Libero heaved a sigh.

“I suppose you think that’s funny. Why can’t you leave him in peace?”

“Oh! Fuck off! We’re having a good laugh! we’re very fond of him, our Virgile.”

Oh yes, they were very fond of him, but he was giving them a poor return for their affection, he was being secretive, he could at least tell them about his fiancée, he must surely have a fiancée, up there in the mountains, to keep him warm in winter, a big, fat, greasy shepherdess, for example, who smelled of goat, he must have one of those in reserve, Virgile, no? unless he doesn’t like fat women, quite apart from the problem of body hair, ah well, if you’re a bit choosy, and she’s a fat shepherdess who smells of goat and doesn’t wax her pussy, there’s nothing to be done, but maybe you’d rather have her hanging around your neck all the same, you don’t want to screw just anything that comes along, that’s very understandable, that’s how it is when you’re fussy, you prefer fresh young girls, with everything shaved, their thighs, calves, pussy, everything, yes, that’s much better, and Pierre-Emmanuel embarked on the praises of Izaskun, a truly fantastic, well-shaved pussy, smooth as your hand, like a baby’s skin, and so warm, quite out of this world, especially at the fold of her thigh, where the skin is so soft, did Virgile see what he meant, such soft skin, so you could feel the warmth of it when you touched it with your lips? and Virgile laughed nervously and began looking down and became hunched up in his corner, Libero banged his fist on the counter, but Pierre-Emmanuel went on, leaning over Virgile and speaking into his ear, it was out of this world how soft Izaskun was, and it was especially out of this world when she took your dick in her mouth, you wanted to shout out, could Virgile imagine that? could he imagine? and one of the fellows from Corte gave a cry of ecstasy and another of them burst out laughing and said,

“How do you expect him to imagine it? Goats don’t suck you off, you know!” and they all began laughing while Virgile subsided on his stool with the remnants of his own laughter trapped in his throat like a groan. It was almost two o’clock. The bar had emptied. The girls were sponging the tables. Libero bellowed:

“That’s enough.”

His eyes were standing out on stalks. Pierre-Emmanuel did not at once get the measure of what was happening. He grasped Virgile by the shoulder, the latter did not stir.

“Are you his mother, or something? Virgile doesn’t need you, you know! He’s perfectly . . .”

“You stupid little bastard!”

Matthieu drew closer. He saw Libero’s right hand half opening the drawer beneath the till.

“You’re a stupid little bastard, and you’re going to fuck off out of here right now along with your stupid fucking friends . . .”

“Hey! Watch your language!”

“. . . I said, with your stupid fucking friends, that’s you, you and you, in case I’ve not made myself clear, those three little bastards there, you’re going to fuck off out of here, and as for you, take a good look at this bar, take a good look now, because once you’ve left it, and as long as I’m here, you’ll never set foot in here again, and if you ever do think of coming through that door, do you understand, as soon as you set your foot in here, I’ll smash your face in, and if you think I’m joking, just try it now, go out and try coming back in again, you little fucker! just try it!”

Pierre Emmanuel and his friends stood there for a moment facing Libero, who now had his hand in the drawer.

“O.K., let’s go.”

Pierre-Emmanuel put his arms around Izaskun and gave her a lingering kiss, just beside Virgile.

“I’ll see you at the apartment in a minute.”

As he was walking to the door Matthieu saw that