没找到中文版，凑合看英文的吧，也很美。太长了没办法贴完，因为一整章都是H。。。。。
这段H非常震撼因为是全文的终章，而微物之神是倒序的悲剧故事。人性，文化，历史的压抑中，全书唯一温情脉脉的片段就是这最后一章，男主和女猪的H极美，同时越唯美越悲剧，越无力。因为混合插叙倒序等等错乱顺序，在最后一章之前就看到整个悲剧故事，所以突然在结局时看到H，无论是时空顺序还是逻辑关系，悲剧风格，都难以置信的格格不入。这种反差给我造成了巨大震撼-------前文中卑微的死去的男人，以及破败的女人，居然曾经如此相爱.....泪流满面啊
They looked at each other. They weren’t thinking anymore. The time for that had
come and gone. Smashed smiles lay ahead of them. But that would be later.
Lay Ter.
He stood before her with the river dripping from him. She stayed sitting on the
steps, watching him. Her face pale in the moonlight. A sudden chill crept over him.
His heart hammered. It was all a terrible mistake. He had misunderstood her. The
whole thing was a figment of his imagination. This was a trap. There were people in
the bushes. Watching. She was the delectable bait. How could it be otherwise?
They had seen him in the march. He tried to make his voice casual. Normal. It
came out in a croak.
“Ammukutty… what is it–” She went to him and laid the length of her body against
his. He just stood there. He didn’t touch her. He was shivering. Partly with cold.
Partly terror. Partly aching desire. Despite his fear his body was prepared to take
the bait. It wanted her. Urgently. His wetness wet her. She put her arms around
him.
He tried to be rational. What’s the worst thing that can happen?
I could lose everything. My job. My family. My livelihood. Everything.
She could hear the wild hammering of his heart.
She held him till it calmed down. Somewhat.
She unbuttoned her shirt. They stood there. Skin to skin. Her brownness against
his blackness. Her softness against his hardness. Her nut-brown breasts (that
wouldn’t support a toothbrush) against his smooth ebony chest. She smelled the
river on him. His Particular Paravan smell that so disgusted Baby Kochamma.
Ammu put out her tongue and tasted it,. in the hollow of his throat. On the lobe of
his ear. She pulled his head down toward her and kissed his mouth. A cloudy kiss.
A kiss that demanded a kiss-back. He kissed her back. First cautiously Then
urgently. Slowly his arms came up behind her. He stroked her back. Very gently.
She could feel the skin on his palms. Rough. Callused. Sandpaper. He was careful
not to hurt her. She could feel how soft she felt to him. She could feel herself
through him. Her skin. The way her body existed only where he touched her. The
rest of her was smoke. She felt him shudder against her His hands were on her
haunches (that could support a whole array of toothbrushes), pulling her hips
against his, to let her know how much he wanted her.
Biology designed the dance. Terror timed it. Dictated the rhythm with which their
bodies answered each other. As though they knew already that for each tremor of
pleasure they would pay with an equal measure of pain. As though they knew that
how far they went would be measured against how far they would be taken. So they
held back. Tormented each other. Gave of each other slowly. But that only made it
worse. It only raised the stakes. It only cost them more. Because it smoothed the
wrinkles, the fumble and rush of unfamiliar love and roused them to fever pitch.
Behind them the river pulsed through the darkness, shimmering like wild silk.
pSage.comYellow bamboo wept.
Night’s elbows rested on the water and watched them. They lay under the
mangosteen tree, where only recently a gray old boatplant with boatflowers and
boatfruit had been uprooted bya Mobile Republic. A wasp. A flag. A surprised puff.
A Fountain in a Love-in-Tokyo.
The scurrying, hurrying, boatworld was already gone
The White termites on their way to work.
The White ladybirds on their way home.
The White beetles burrowing away from the light The White grasshoppers with
whitewood violins.
The sad white music. All gone.
Leaving a boat-shaped patch of bare dry earth, cleared and ready for love. As
though Esthappen and Rahel had prepared the ground for them. Willed this to
happen. The twin midwives of Ammu’s dream.
Ammu, naked now, crouched over Velutha, her mouth on his. He drew her hair
around them like a tent. Like her children did when they wanted to exclude the
outside world. She slid further down, introducing herself to the rest of him. His neck.
His nipples. His chocolate stomach. She sipped the last of the river from the hollow
of his navel. She pressed the heat of his erection against her eyelids. She tasted
him, salty in her mouth. He sat up and drew her back to him. She felt his belly
tighten under her, hard as a board. She felt her wetness slipping on his skin. He
took her nipple in his mouth and cradled her other breast in his callused palm.
Velvet gloved in sandpaper.
At the moment that she guided him into her, she caught a passing glimpse of his
youth, his youngness, the wonder in his eyes at the secret he had unearthed and
she smiled down at him as though he was her child.
Once he was inside her, fear was derailed and biology took over. The cost of
living climbed to unaffordable heights; though later Baby Kochamma would say it
was a Small Price to Pay.
Was it?
Two lives. Two children’s childhoods.
And a history lesson for future offenders.
Clouded eyes held clouded eyes in a steady gaze and a luminous woman opened
herself to a luminous man. She was as wide and deep as a river in spate. He sailed
on her waters. She could feel him moving deeper and deeper into her. Frantic.
Frenzied. Asking to be let in further. Further. Stopped only by the shape of her. The
shape of him. And when he was refused, when he had touched the deepest depths
of her, with a sobbing, shuddering sigh, he drowned.
She lay against him. Their bodies slick with sweat. She felt his body drop away
from her. His breath become more regular. She saw his eyes clear. He stroked her
hair, sensing that the knot that had eased in him was still tight and quivering in her.
Gently he turned her over on her back. He wiped the sweat and grit from her with
his wet cloth. He lay over her, careful not to put his weight on her. Small stones
pressed into the skin of his forearm. He kissed her eyes. Her ears. Her breasts. Her
[ 此帖被lavila.red在2011-07-25 09:33重新编辑 ]
