A Widow for One Year - Page 111

“What kind of ‘research assistance’?” the young man asked the older woman writer.

“Well.”

Ruth remembered her shock upon reading that Graham Greene, as a student at Oxford, had experimented with Russian roulette—that suicidal game with a revolver. The information had jarred her image of Greene as a writer who had the greatest control of himself. At the time of his dangerous game, Greene was in love with his younger sister’s governess; the nanny was twelve years older than young Graham and already engaged to be married.

While Ruth Cole could imagine a young idolater like Wim Jongbloed playing Russian roulette over her, what did she think she was doing when she went with Wim to the red-light district, and almost at random approached first this and then that prostitute with the proposition that she allow them to watch her with a customer? While Ruth had explained to Wim that she was posing this question hypothetically — that she did not truly want to see a prostitute perform the act (or acts)—the prostitutes whom Ruth and Wim talked to either misunderstood or deliberately misinterpreted the proposition.

The Dominican and Colombian women who dominated the windows and doorways in the area of the Oudekerksplein did not appeal to Ruth because she suspected they had a poor understanding of English, which was the case; Wim confirmed that they had a worse grasp of Dutch. There was a tall, stunning blonde in an open doorway off the Oudekennissteeg, but she spoke neither English nor Dutch. Wim said that she was Russian.

Finally they found a Thai prostitute in a basement room on the Barndesteeg. She was a heavyset young woman with flabby breasts and a potbelly, but she had an amazing moon-shaped face, a lush mouth, and wide, beautiful eyes. At first her English seemed passable, as she led them through a warren of underground rooms where a virtual village of Thai women regarded them with the utmost curiosity.

“We’re just here to talk to her,” Wim said unconvincingly.

The solid prostitute led them to a dimly lit room with nothing in it but a double bed that was covered by an orange and black bedspread of a roaring tiger. The center of the bedspread, which was the tiger’s open mouth, was partially covered by a green towel that was bleach-stained in spots, and slightly wrinkled—as if the heavyset prostitute had only moments ago been lying on it.

All the rooms off the underground hall were partitioned by walls that didn’t reach the ceiling; the light from other, more brightly lit rooms crept over these thin partitions. The surrounding walls trembled when the prostitute lowered a bamboo curtain that covered the doorway; under the curtain, Ruth could see the bare feet of the other prostitutes padding past in the hall.

“Which one of you will watch?” the Thai woman asked.

“No, that’s not what we want,” Ruth told her. “We want to ask you about what experiences you’ve had with couples paying you to watch you with a customer.” There was nowhere in the room where anyone could be hidden, so Ruth asked: “And how would you do it? Where would you put someone who wanted to watch?”

The thickset Thai undressed. She wore a sleeveless orange sheath of some thin, slinky material. It had a zipper down the back, which she undid very quickly; she slipped her shoulders out of the straps and wriggled the dress down over her hips to the floor. She was naked before Ruth could say another word. “You can sit on this side of the bed,” the prostitute told Ruth, “and I lie down with him on the other side.”

“No . . .” Ruth began again.

“Or you could stand, anywhere you want,” the Thai told her.

“What if we both want to watch?” Wim asked, but this only further confused the prostitute.

“You both want to watch?” the solid woman asked.

“Not exactly,” Ruth said. “ If we both wanted to watch, how would you arrange that?”

The naked woman sighed. She lay down on the towel on her back; she took up the whole towel. “Which one wants to watch first?” the prostitute asked. “It should cost a little more, I think . . .” Ruth had already paid her fifty guilders.

The big Thai opened her arms to them, beseechingly. “You want both to do and watch?” she asked them.

“No, no!” Ruth scolded her. “I just want to know if anyone has ever watched you before, and how they watched you.”

The perplexed prostitute pointed toward the top of the wall. “ Somebody watching us now —is that how you want to do it?” Ruth and Wim looked at the partition that served as a partial wall on the near side of the double bed. Near the ceiling, the face of a smaller, older Thai woman grinned down at them.

“My God!” Wim said.

“This isn’t working,” Ruth announced. “It’s a language problem.” She told the prostitute that she could keep the money; they’d seen all they wanted.

“No watching, no doing?” the prostitute asked. “What is wrong?”

Ruth and Wim were navigating the narrow hall with the naked woman following them—she was asking them if she was too fat, if that was what was wrong—when the smaller, older Thai prostitute, the woman who’d been grinning down at them, blocked their exit from the hall.

“You want something different ?” she asked Wim; she touched his lips with her fingers, and the boy drew back from her. The little, older woman winked at Ruth. “ You know what this boy likes, I bet,” she said, fondling Wim’s crotch. “Oooh!” the small Thai cried. “He got a beeeg one—he wants something, all right!” Wim, in a panic to protect himself, covered his crotch with one hand and his mouth with the other.

“We’re leaving now,” Ruth said firmly. “I’ve already paid.” The little prostitute’s clawlike hand was reaching for Ruth’s breast when the big, naked Thai who was following behind them pushed her way between Ruth and the aggressive older whore.

“She is our very best sadist,” the heavyset prostitute explained to Ruth. “ That’s not what you want, is it?”

“No,” Ruth said; she felt Wim at her side, like a clinging child.

The bigger prostitute said something in Thai to the smaller one, who backed into an unlit room. Ruth and Wim could still see her; she was sticking her tongue out at them as they hurried along the hall toward the welcome daylight.

Tags: John Irving Fiction
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