Волхв

Chapter 17

           Norwerethepaintingsontheamphoraofakindanymuseumwoulddareputondisplay.ThenIlookedcloserattheclock.Itwasmountedinormoluwithanenameledface.Inthemiddlewasarosylittlenakedcupid;theshaftoftheoneshorthandcamethroughhisloins,andtheroundedtipatitsendmadeitveryclearwhatitwasmeanttobe.Therewerenohoursmarkedroundthedial,andthewholeoftheright-handhalfwasblackedout,withthewordSleepinwhiteuponit.Ontheotherhalf,enameledinwhite,werewritteninneatblackscriptthefollowingfadedbutstilllegiblewords:atsix,Exhaustion;ateight,Enchantment;atten,Erection;attwelve,Ecstasy.Thecupidsmiled;theclockwasnotgoingandhismanhoodhungpermanentlyaskewateight.Iopenedtheinnocentwhitesnuffbox.Beneaththelidwasenacted,inBoucheresqueeighteenth-centuryterms,exactlythesamesceneassomeancientGreekhadpaintedinthekylixtwothousandyearsbefore.ItwasbetweenthesetwoobjetsthatConchishadchosen,whetherwithperversion,withhumor,orwithsimplebadtaste,Icouldn’tdecide,toplaceanotherphotooftheEdwardiangirl,hisdeadfiancée.Shelookedoutoftheovalsilverframewithalert,smilingeyes.Hersplendidlywhiteskinandfineneckwereshownoffbyasquaredécolletage,messyswathesoflacetiedoverherbosombywhatseemedawhiteshoelace.Byonearmpitwasafloppyblackbow.

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