Turquoiselle by Tanith Lee (best memoirs of all time TXT) 📕

Hewas passing one of the low long brick walls that guarded the posh front patchesof trees, lawns and paving, when a man pulled up at the curb in a dark blueshiny car that Carver knew was a BMW. The man immediately threw open the cardoor, sprang out, slammed the door shut, rushed across Carver’s path and up thegravel to the front door of the house. This too opened before him, as ifanticipating his wishes. Nor did it close at his back.

Suchan extreme example of irrationally adult bossy speed and urgency had arrestedCarver. He stood idling on the pavement, possibly waiting, with unconsciousprudence, for the crazy man to express-train out again and dive back in thecar.

Butminutes passed, or Carver reckoned they were minutes, ticking off there in hismind, and nothing happened. Natural boredom then perhaps next made him bothremain where he was – but also glance in at the car window. On the frontpassenger seat was a large cardboard carton, undone at the top. Inside smoulderedthe smoky gold of late afternoon sky, and cutting-edges of deep dark red andindigo.

Chocolatebars. The box – he peered closer – was filled with them, some of popular well-knownmakes, and others more exotic, at least toCarver. Yet all of them beaming there, radiant with sweetness and joy.

Thecar door had been left unlocked. The man, all hysterical adult hurry, nearlyknocking the boy over in a blind rush to get into the house, had not stopped tosecure anything.

MaybeCarver thought he only opened the car door in order to smell the honey of thechocolate, which, the door once opened, he could. He leaned into the car, maybealso simply further to take pleasure in the smell. Did he even reach out andsnatch up two of the topmost bars solely to gaze at them, inhale them, for afew precious seconds longer?

Whenthe human express returned to his vehicle, about nine minutes after desertion,it was apparently just as he had left it, door unlocked but closed, thecardboard box bulging with its goodies, (most of them) and seeming, to acareless eye, untouched.

Awoman waved the man and the car off as they shot away up the steep road.

Carverhad already been climbing up it, and he did not bother to look round. He keptthe chocolate close in his two jacket pockets, only occasionally reaching in toskim its metallically slippery papered surfaces.

Hehid the prize in ‘his’ corner of the box room, where his mother slept on thenarrow bed, and he on the narrower put-you-up under the window.

Aftertwo more days he secretly ate one of the bars. But then, not the second bar. Henever ate that. Only keptit.

Theexcitement and contained exultation of the theft he would, when he was in histeens, and had undergone his first full sexual experience, technically equatewith the sexual act.

Notin type, or extent of pleasure, that was, but in the straightforwardsubterfuge, the ultimate extraordinary meant-to-be ease, this epilogue ofslight embarrassment – potential danger – diluted almost shame. (The sense ofachievement too, of finding out.)

Asif – though in each case a different one – he had fallen through a loosefloorboard into a treasure cave. It was all there. All available. Not just accessiblecars then, or chaste denial. The world too had magic doorways. And you had to,of course you did, undo them, and then undo them again.

“I’m notkidding,” Latham resumed, as he tucked into the Choc-O-Four with raspberrysauce. “I saw an entire herd of white ones. And later two or three brown andwhite.”

Carversaid, “Yes, I think I have, once or twice.”

“Whatdo they breed them for? Milk?”

“Idon’t know.”

“Kids’rides, probably. Or pulling a carriage in someone’s stately grounds.”

Lamas.Latham seemed to have more to say about lamas than Scar. Was Latham tryingsomething out on Carver, because of Silvia Dusa, trying to see if Carver wouldmention her, or debate aloud if he himself should inform Stuart? On the otherhand one deduced they were always testing, trying you. Even Latham’s even more than usualgreed tonight might be some sort of test of Carver’s reactions.

Lathamhad cleared his plate – his second dessert – drained his glass, and nowsquinted at his Rolex. “Getting on for ten. My car’ll be along in a minute. Gotto make Canterbury before lights out. God, bloody bore, can’t stand Chaucer,can you? But better than the Bard, I suppose. Probably sleep this off on theway. Well...” He rose, reached across and patted Carver on the shoulder, likean amiable uncle with a nephew several times removed. “Give that file anothercheck, Carver, by the way The old method, yeah? Might yield results.”

“Yes,of course. Good night, Mr Latham. Good journey.”

“Oh,I always look on the sunny side. Like that old fart in the poem, what is it?Lying in the gutter but wiping his arse on the stars. That’s the one.”

Hedid not look, or enunciate, as if the two bottles of red wine, the bulk ofwhich he had consumed, had affected him, but sometimes he came out withoddities after a few drinks. The bill had already been paid, and he saunteredto the glass doors, observing the night outside in an amused, innocuous way.The chauffeured car was already swimming on to the forecourt.

Carverhad another fifteen minutes to wait for his, which would appear like anordinary cab, the driver dressed in denim and ponytail.

Hadshe done it? Carver thought. Told Stuart?

Sometimesthese rogue events took place; it never really worked, to re-examine them toomuch. Instead he thought of Donna, what emotion she would be dressed in tonight,and where, sleeping or awake, she would be lying in wait for him.

When he reachedand entered the house, the lower hall and kitchen were lit up, and above, thehall lamps were on, but dimmed down.

Themain bedroom he had seen from outside was in darkness, and he guessed, andwould later note, the door was shut.

Carvermade himself another coffee. It never kept him awake, though other things mightdo that.

Inthe kitchen, having put out the lights, he sat, staring down through thegarden. They were quite high, those walls, six and a half feet. Who would havethought it, that skinny dark-haired kid who stole the chocolate bars by theposh house with the