Pleasures

by Simon von Wolkenstein

“I am a sex god. I am all things to all women and a good friend to most men. I am a despot in my own home, though not in the garden. I am a sampler of all pleasures both forbidden and forgotten. I am all these things and more for I am your new next door neighbour.”

Marjorie stood at her door and stared at the stranger taking it all in very slowly. Finally, when the moment seemed right and the man’s smugness could grow no bigger she said, “And how may I help you?” The twinkle never left his eye, “We shall be lovers, Marjorie. I tell you this now so as not to scare you but rather to prepare you.”

“Fuck off”, she said and slammed the door in his face. She was shaking. She took a breath and glared at herself in the hall mirror, her anger bubbling over like hot milk, she caught her own eye and saw it flash by before she could stop it. For in that awful selfsame instant she knew he was right.

She learnt that his name was Michael and everyone in the street had a different story to tell. The men spoke of his great spirit and eagerness in helping them with any problem no matter how trivial. Michael was never more than thirty seconds away from their homes. He could be relied upon. But when it came to the women it was their looks and what they didn’t say that told her everything.

My god, she thought, you’ve all slept with him. What kind of man is he? He was like an earth father moving amongst them tending his flock.

“What does he do?”, she asked.

“Why he's the local butcher”, one of them replied.

Oh god, she thought, and I’m a vegetarian.

For six months she lived her life in this strange street. She never saw Michael and shopped exclusively at the supermarket avoiding the little set of local shops where he worked. She had almost forgotten him in fact when a sausage arrived in the post. It was beautifully wrapped and presented in cellophane straw with a crisp calling card that simply said, ‘Handpicked by Michael’. On the reverse side was a brief list of ingredients carefully written in old-fashioned copperplate. She was going to throw it away at once. That had been her intention, she had been so determined; but something had stayed her hand above the hovering bin lid. She read the list of ingredients again: ‘A moist selection of fresh herbs, soya bean and cauliflower with a dash of almond meal and coriander seed’. And then in tiny type that made her bring the card so close to her face that it brushed against her nose she read the words, ‘Contains no meat.’ She went straight to the bin again but the smell of the sausage called her back from the abyss and a hunger welled up inside her that took her by the hand and lead her childlike to the old frying pan on the stove. In a trance she cooked it, bathing in the fragrance that wrapped around her like spring. She found herself laying out a pure white tablecloth with her best silver and eating it slowly so as to make it last as long as possible. When finally she had finished it took some moments to regain her composure for the taste lingered on the back of her tongue like hot chilli but without any of the heat.

When she was herself again she made a firm decision. She would have to move to another part of town. She began to ready herself and drew up lists and action plans but the days raced by and she achieved little. The following Tuesday another sausage arrived in the post. This one more fruity and fragrant than the first. This time she locked herself in the sunroom and ate in on a picnic rug bathed in the heat of the early afternoon. The following Tuesday another one arrived.

In no time at all she had rearranged her entire life around Sausage Tuesday and the arrival of the next parcel. She stopped returning calls from anxious boyfriends and unplugged her answering machine. She left work each day right on time and began to haunt wedding apparel shops. She never worked overtime. Her behaviour made no sense to her but neither did it alarm her. In all other respects her life appeared normal to an outsider. She was punctual and polite but her mind was pre-occupied and the clockwork passing of the months went unnoticed.

She had bought the most beautiful wedding dress she had ever seen. She had searched for it for months and finally found it in the shop of a semi-retired seamstress. It was far too expensive and they had argued over the price for hours but in the end she just gave the woman the money she wanted and ran home to try it on. It had fitted like a second skin, making her shine in front of the mirror, bringing a smile to her face. She was wearing it the Tuesday the sausage didn’t arrive in the post. She stood at the empty letterbox and glared at the back of the departing postman disappearing into the distance. Her wedding bouquet fell from her fingers and struck the ground like glass, spreading petals across the path.

She stood there for a long time breathing slowly, trying to focus, before she found the energy to move. She leant forward and undid the catch on her gate letting the cold metal slide across her fingertips as she opened the gate. She stepped outside onto the pavement and took a long breath. She began to follow the postman but stopped outside the gate next door. She turned and walked down the crazy paving path, past the concrete fountain, up the pebblecrete steps and pressed the doorbell on Michael’s house. She heard it buzz far in the distance.

While she waited she saw herself in the reflection on the front door. To her surprise she was smiling but there were tears in her eyes, though not from sadness but rather tears of expectant joy. And these tears washed down her face like the tears you might find on a child left alone on their first day at school. Time passed and the front lawn grew imperceptibly around her. She was shaking by the time the front door opened to reveal Michael.

“Ah,” he said, “the vegetarian, come in.”