Strange Landscape (II)
Second chapter of Tony Duvert's Paysage de fantaisie
[read Chapter 1 here]
the one I thought was bigger than me he shows me his long cock he scratches it frequently he takes it out from his fly which is stuffed with shiny hair Touch go on touch it what are you waiting for are you scared? he forced me to bite it and I said I would tell They won’t believe it it doesn’t exist I look at the girls in the streets they have legs the girls too I answered no
the woods below the river or the great chestnut forest cut through with white roads we meet there in the summer months we build huts from fresh things there living branches the leaves of reeds and long grasses piled up on the roofs they would steal bottles of wine from their parents they would empty them together in the huts they were nattering scraping taking off running or playing cards up until the moment of the thrashing when the sun went down they loved getting me completely naked in among them suffocated by the steam off their stinking cocks they were sitting cross-legged and I gathered handfuls of pine needles to cover the floors of the huts it’s very thick it squeaks gets slippery prickles they take off their jumpers and put them under their bottoms a patient boy finishes weaving a door of reed on a frame made of plant ligatures we didn’t have enough string or rather in a pocket little bits mine they were lost in the crotches of pants they were too big and rose right up we run we jump we squat that’s what I do with these legs of mine which stick out naked below I can’t feel them I only feel them when I’m in underwear and my thighs touch but they don’t show their briefs they put on their swimming trunks today often sometimes because they told me You’re too small I don’t smoke I don’t drink with them I prefer going swimming or when they take out their cocks they are sick their hairy stomachs are going to sweat they are too young to handle the pure wine the fumes that they swallow they put a blanket on the floor I should get it and wrap it around me I would be less cold you have to shiver in a dark corner and in the end the fever goes I withdraw my arms and half my legs under the blanket I make a hollow of my chest I almost have everything under it they know because they them they covered me I saw no one the next time they come I will ask for a drink of something icy bitter sweet a lemonade
green eyes open shining and crying mouth half open milky fangs tip of the tongue and the body is very flat lying on its side I didn’t hear the car crush it no vehicles go by here at night but there is this cat crossing the road its body grey flat dusty without a drop of blood its soft round head weeping I don’t approach I would like to talk it’s been a long time since I stopped trying to
as the large wall paled by the moon when we returned and the window shot through its middle its white sill shadow-lined stuck out in relief awaited something
blue flashes splitting the silence we were not far from the house we stand frozen like on a night after everyone has died I reach the dark room and the seat where I manage to swap out the images my head knows how to spin a liquid a solid filled me up and every part of my body began to take on weight it grabs my hands my neck my shoulders and pulls me to the ground I hesitate falling I’m ashamed of the noise if they came if they came I all the weight shifts backwards I comfort myself I make a ball in the right angle of the seat the cavity into which the arse is pushed then a bubble rises in my throat comes out perhaps it is opaque white opal it is nothing effluvium desire the circle which dances when we get knocked out a little movement I would see myself as from a distance I would say I am there they will help me I will never be done they will add a blanket to leave me die more slowly under it I say thank you it’s a hand I saw it quick poised departing like birds who fear nothing I am pecking at the hands that surround me that act without my feeling them I daren’t say that I should be laid out a guy lifts me up by the shoulders and another by the feet I am carried up to the house and the women accompany us I open an eye from time to time they are boys like me in moth-eaten dresses wool padding wigs they are laughing you can make out their figures better by the chandeliers in the entrance hall they have put on makeup rouge on the cheeks red on the lips black lashes powdered skin and their teeth are whiter their laughter is brighter their necks straight and silky emerging thinly from their décolleté dresses flapping over breastless chests you can slip a hand in and find they are naked and tickling them they fold in two and you bite their fingers and chuckle and wriggle like apes I was expected I was missing the night they discovered and adopted me a big man in grey directs them he has no dress he is not dressed up it’s a smock coat he hangs on a hallway peg they take the red chalk and draw a cat on the board the cat seems crucified its four paws spread idiot head claws eyes and whiskers done in green blood runs the length of its tail coming from a gash across its stomach it yowls and struggles we hit it I see others there attached to other chairs beside me they are already dead some are not yet eight years old some are my age or other ages foreigners their calves are naked under grey smock coats are brown and hairy and their black socks pulled up high have a red braid he says
the black bedroom in the black bedroom hurry up it’s a room daubed in dirty blue night with old mattresses rolled up on the floor I am being led there
let’s go whatshisname unroll that pull this here nothing but a unfurnished storeroom where their old tat piles up he adjusts three spotlights Put the sweet down drop your pants grab your dick look at me don’t move and I obeyed
stand there and shit the thin one who shook a stringy lash pointed to a rusty and half-buried bowl the fat one flattened the slightly taller grass that pricked the buttocks and pushed one or two turds out and pissed on them that’s all they did shit in a bowl hidden by bushes I don’t know why and already a ball was leading to me to the bottom of the garden hurtling across the lawn looking for holes it could get lost in all alone I wasn’t dressed for walking in the street a storm always threatens the sky is blue sulphur in the air
I recognize his steps he is coming to look at me he is thirteen or fourteen years old and has his own moves I say I’m thirsty he repeated Stand up straight the back of the chair bruised the shoulder blades below where the stream throttles the reeds are too high too tangled the water slips clearer invisible under a bouquet of alders the electric fence begins on the other side of it and the cows behind it we would head that way in no hurry bothering them and hitting them with the ends of sticks we would pick up What are you doing? He doesn’t answer there are little white pebbles in the moss along the waterside he takes them and aims at the cows but they are too far away we get closer you have to cross into the enclosure without getting your feet wet he shows me how then the iron wire hums just misses my hair my fingers my legs he pulls it up to my stomach and makes it so the current goes right through my balls I scream without screaming it’s the hanky stuffed inside my mouth and the gag over it the boys often have bruises or cuts or grazes which bleed and scab over and sometimes a twisted ankle or a broken arm they fear nothing
we hear noises from the house the big house in the pines beyond the cows at night
where’s that no it’s the trees there are bats
who’s there no one lives there
what does that prove if its noisy
that’s animals or else guys who want to play it’s not locked up one night we’ll go up there with a torch for a laugh
don’t stop me I
want to go look?
they told me there were Boche who killed everyone in the world and even tortured people yeah like cops
oh not true
if they came I’m telling you it was during the war haven’t you seen it in the movies?
liar in films it’s stories you’ve got the willies you’re only saying that so you don’t have to go
no
yeah
no
yeah
no
yeah and like we’d know it if it was true
first of all true that what
aha true my eye hey spud here come and get me you’re never gonna catch me
they canter across the meadow and disappear in a copse of oak four little feet quick race silently vanishing like being swallowed by the corner of the street I am locked up I will be sick for several days then they’ll get me up and then I’ll be outside I’m trying to sit on the edge of the bed my head spins I’m sweating I would prefer to be standing my stomach is rumbling I hold on I fall forward the bedside rug softens the noise of my body someone entered I recognised their voice serious almost breaking on its own words He won’t stop moving we’re going to restrain him he’ll hurt himself it’s the fever the fever I was cold neck frozen a north wind blowing me spiralling I wrapped my coat around me tighter and I no longer looked around other than through my almost closed lids opening my eyes again made me cry you can no longer see another problem we float in drops of salty water sure of nothing I am somewhere else there against the wall of blackened bricks which shuts off the impasse lost under the black mass of the city
a cat escapes while I get closer to the night I crush the paws of a little corpse I turn around the kid has not finished undressing Don’t you know how to get undressed? he says in a vexed slight bitter tone of voice he blushed to the ears they have big round sticky-out ears and you can wrap their frail necks with a single hand they would crack with nothing more than a bit of a twist they are alive the air and the light pass through them and glimmers dance beneath their skin they know nothing about it I knew them when I was young still so small that their feet wouldn’t reach the floor but they grew up fast he waits sock-footed their skinny shoulders shiver their shoulder blades stick out and their stomachs protrude their plump buttocks arch when they get hard without doing it on purpose now the other boys stop talking stop playing their soft clothes have creases from falls holes that outline their bodies their nudity fluid alive elastic always
they order him to sit while they prepare his bed he has had to wait for a long time he was exhausted there were no more clean sheets except those that were hanging in the cellar but they hadn’t finished drying they put them closer to the boiler they settled on the bed on their knees face to face with a torch under the sheet which hid them and which they stretched between their heads they played at camping they didn’t have enough dick to not only play with dicks they entertained themselves from top to bottom wan fresh long laughing rapid what you call a child I call they have to give me something to drink I have gravel and ashes in the pit of my mouth
don’t give him anything he’ll calm himself down we’ll see tomorrow still them I am alone because they are there isolated in this bedroom pulled towards them of whom I can only make out the leg of one and the backside of another and this way of holding my tongue slightly raised in my mouth when my lips part all these pieces that I don’t know how to put together I want something else their bodies not these crumbs mine they have got attached they see only one rope also the chair and the belief and the silence in which I have only one voice and one sole throat but can divine all I had eyes for that I look at myself again they reappear
a whore hails me into a dead-end I’m not going to respond I’m afraid of the dark I am too young to mount another whore I said in four or five years she insists
but Mrs I’m not a little man I’m a little boy she isn’t listening she pulls me to her by the ear she’s wearing green boots and the collar of a ginger cat
you’re plenty big darling but you’re broke right? How old are you want a sweetie little minx tell me
I’m not a girl
you’re not this you’re not that ah well alright then you tell me what a pig-headed
yes
yes again he says go on tell me what you’re doing here not a place for children this
she grabbed my fly with a crone’s little chuckle and repeated Oh your cheek you little rascal ha ha you wee hussy and she touched me deeper and cold tears ran from her eyes I hit her arms she yanked me through a door a man in the middle of the room put his dick in my backside his mouth got it soaking wet I cried a lot when he forced himself in he ties me to the bed flat on my stomach he thrust away for a long time he threw me out I was sitting in front of the entrance I got up and I ran away my hole hurt he must have left something stuck in it I felt under my pants it was cotton red with blood she says I mustn’t clench my cheeks they will get me used to it they have chairs especially for that with round poles sticking up out of the seat that you stay sat on bare-bottomed all afternoon there are big poles and smaller ones they get them slick with salad oil they sit me on the smallest pole and tie me down but there’s no point I’m staying well-behaved for now an older guy explains that he can sit on very big poles and it doesn’t bother him but he was at least thirteen they put me to sleep in the same bed as him he promised he will stick up for me there are a dozen beds in the attic some big others not that’s where we sleep they don’t look the same ours has a iron cage with varnished bars and yellow balls on the ends the attic is long very low poorly lit they don’t watch over us at night we do what we want but in the daytime I sit on a chair and then I obey the men who come it’s a brothel that’s what this is we eat well I get fat the older one touches me constantly and he puts his cock in my mouth I don’t like that he says it will come it hasn’t come yet but he came he licks me until
a distant rumble the first black clouds we smell the rain ready itself the sun shines brightly false the light yellows acid prickling supercharged he tells me to run we’re going to get soaked another rumble the clouds amass around the sun and contract we can no longer see it except for grey and yellow beams which spatter the countryside a real thunderclap this time he shouts Quick! we dash for shelter in the house beyond the cows the house has given up on its odd noises it’s the cows in the trees who were lowing because of the storm I’m afraid the sky cracks and a light shoots across it just at the moment we are climbing the garden gates the railings are made of rusted iron we are going to get the lightning but these are hot slow enormous drops of water we hurry on we climb a concrete staircase grassy cracked almost black it wound through a rose garden the house is above the flowers have grown wild again pale roses with a yellow heart the rain falls faster and colder we reach the awning we crush ourselves under it as for the door it’s easy there’s nothing to do but push no lock the corridor is dark it smells of vegetables in the rain big pumpkin leaves current bushes sorrel and above all green tomatoes I ask him Are we going up? he says No the rain it’s not going to last we can see the tiles of the corridor now white and red diamonds arranged into stars
so where are your Boche eh cunto cunto watch out for ghosts they’re going to gobble your feet
I should never have said cunto he took on that special air of when you’re in two minds and we find ourselves face to face against the corridor wall beside where a framed steamship hung
What cunto cunto it’s you giving sharp little glancing punches for a laugh his heap of little punches seek me out I pay him back we get one another excited
no it’s you cunto
no it’s you
no cunto I tease him all over with both hands I spin around him I pinch his tummy his arms his thighs his bellybutton we wriggle and pant on top of each other we laugh at each other like cats and dogs
and that cunto grabbing the fly it’s hard inside he was only waiting for my stomach to grow hollow his eyes are blinking his tongue sticks out as he laughs to catch the drool his teeth shine he picks himself up he approaches faints tickles grabs my whole package we grip each other by the neck we fall I hit his buttocks he bites my ear filth is always like that it comes on I know him he wants to be the first to fuck it but he doesn’t have the right for a start he doesn’t come
so there you can’t come eh lad
yeah I’m coming yeah hold on look he pulled back the skin he showed me a little drop of damp on the end of the crack I say
pfff that’s not even it we take our pants off but the tiling is cold we pull them back up breathless there is a brutal flash I see white stomachs greenish cocks I do up my belt without fastening it he smacks my dick which is sticking out Hey what’s that thing eh what is it swinging left and right it’s funny I catch him with a fist I force him to turn around I quickly press myself against his buttocks but he has his trousers on I pull them down Stop you’re going to rip them wait let’s look around perhaps there’s a sack
no let’s stay here just do it standing up
no lying down it’s better we can get naked we
no need you’re a real perv you
ha whatabout you as though it were a morning someone entering pulling back the curtains and opening the window I pull the old blanket up I yawn I feel good I hear a pretty voice say good morning I would open my eyelids the room was blue and shining in the sun I saw a luminous child with long bare legs and knees close to me their hair spread their eyes mint grey
[Read Chapter 3 here]
Tony Duvert (1945-2008) was an essayist and writer of subversive and experimental literature. Associated with the Nouveau Roman, and admired by the likes of Roland Barthes and Claude Mauriac, his fifth novel, Paysage de Fantaisie (Les Éditions de Minuit), was awarded the prix Médicis in 1973 . An advocate for sexual freedoms of the most extreme kind, despite his critical success, Duvert withdrew from the literary world and ended his life in poverty, all but forgotten, his body discovered several weeks after his death.