Place Staromêstské námêstí was animated this morning. I sought for the usual retailers to get supplied with Czeck crowns.
A dense crowd, young people for the most part, surrounded the monument of Jan Huss. It was decorated with multiple posters with explosive and colourful slogans, witness of the repeated revolts of the people of Bohemia against the occupant. The conversations in small groups were animated but with civility. We mixed with the groups although we could not understand the conversations, the subject however seemed obvious to us. In this spring of Prague, all the youth from East Germany, from Hungary, from Poland met here, discussing the virtues of a concept that their respective countries and their youth had prevented them from testing up to now, freedom.
The older people, too many times, betrayed, stayed far away, dubious or being wary of what happens. Then, the clock of the belfry of Staroméstská radnice, ring noon time. Some pigeons flew away timidly, then they came back laying on the head of Jan Huss once the alert had passed while trying to enjoy their freedom again.
All the country retained its breath. The day before, the leaders had summoned the troops of the Warsaw Pact to leave the territory of Czechoslovakia. We left Prague the following day and took the direction of north, accompanying, in spite of us, the troops in retreat.
The roads, at the exit of Prague, were encumbered like never before, of military vehicles starting their journey towards the countries of the Eastern bloc. They had maintain, permanently up to now, garrisons ensuring the protection of the country or was it that of the too often violated steppes of the suspicious Russia. They now left Czechoslovakia with a slowness which seemed to us as being calculated.
The forests which bordered the road were encumbered with heteroclite vehicles. We just crossed Hradec Kralové and it was time to find a favourable place to park our camping car for the night before penetrating in Poland. In other times, this operation would have been simple; the forests, the beaches being on the public domain in the countries of the Eastern bloc, it was generally easy to find there, a favourable place to bivouac in peace. But the moment was exceptional, the suitable sites were already occupied by the soldiers. Before the night surprised us, we finally invested a site near Nachod, a site already occupied by troops disseminated here and there, but at the same time, accessible.
After having eaten and before the fall of the night, I left for a walk in the forest. I benefited from the strange silence of the forest, walking on deserted paths. After a few minutes of this appeasing excursion I heard like a noise which seemed to come from a water fall, I wished to bathe myself in the river which had to be there, and thus, to recover from the tirednesses of a hard day to walk around Prague under a torrid heat.
After a few minutes of walks where the noise of water intensified, I open out to a break giving directly on a river which ran between the stones. I saw the white foam of the fall falling into an almost calm water pit surrounded by an exuberant greenery and some large and smooth stones which where aligned from the bed of the river to its bank in a disordered cascade of wet paving stones.
I only had the time to visualize this shape of a subtle whiteness, which cut out in round and slightly athletic shapes. I saw her seize what seemed to be a weapon, and from the other hand, a kind of frock coat which she slipped on with difficulty around her body, passing her weapon from one hand to the other with all the agility of a savage animal in fright.
I slowly saw disappearing behind the greenish grey color of the long frock coat, bits of this body which I continued to fix like frozen by the suddenness of the appearance; a blonde mane, covering partly the face and which was prolonged behind her back down to the shoulder blades, breasts of a sizeable roundness but of a provocative firmness, prominent hips framing a small tuft of hair slightly silver in color which scintillated to the sun. Then I heard her dismayed cries, which covered the deafening noise that produces the fall. They were not cries of distress. I rather perceived orders, commands, interpellations in a language which I quickly interpreted as being Russian.
These cries were accompanied by abrupt gestures from the barrel of her weapon and I did not dare to move by fear of badly interpreted them, I remained frozen like a salt statue, my indiscreet eye fixed at the still visible parts of her body as a provocation, but it was not that. I understood that she was a soldier, by her frock coat and her weapon which seemed to me as being a combat weapon. She started a slow but assured walk in my direction.
Her long legs, one by one, at each of her laborious steps, let them see until the birth of her pectoral, by a rhythmic movement accentuated by the anfractuosities of the ground which her naked feet surveyed with some certain prudence. The movements were articulated around the kneecap which forms the dividing line of her legs, making shivering the hairs which hardly hid her vulva; one could see a suspicion of the lips which decorated the entry to it. I did not dare divert my eyes in fear of making an error but at the same time, I had the feeling to rape her, thus scanning the tacklings of the still visible parts of her body by the opening of her jacket. I quickly realized as she approached me, that she did not seem to be concerned with it anymore, as if the sin was already done.
But what good was it to worry about it, if I had to disappear, behind this thick forest on north Czechoslovakia, assassinated by a soldier come from the steppes of Russia, member of a powerful army, in search of territorial occupation, behind the impenetrable curtain of the sociopolitical differences, representative of evil comed from the west, Me, a young man from America, how should she be concerned by this foreigner as for any other of these anonymous citizens whom she pretend to protect against the impious incursions of my own universe.
But did she really know from where I came from?
She approached slowly towards me, her weapon always directed towards my belly, she now spoke with a more posed voice, the noises of the water covering, with less difficulty, her words that she now intersected with prolong silences, as if she awaited for an answer. I perceived these moments like moments of grace, and I answered, using small sentences in French, with a soft voice, without mischievousness, as to avoid any reaction to an intonation which she could had perceived as a protest or a distrust.
I could now distinguish more clearly, the shapes of her body which violated the territorial limits of her military jacket that has to protect her from my lustful glances. The few pipes which furnished her shoulder pads let me guess, that she was an officer of a higher rank in the army. I could easily perceive these details having been myself, formerly, lieutenant in the Canadian army.
She was now close to me, her weapon always pointed towards my belly. I fixed her eyes of an almost transparent blue colour which she also fixed on me. I could distinguish her face, which had been relaxed as she approached. She was beautiful. Of a disconcerting beauty. Round, but beautiful, like an image, taken down from the ogee moulding of a museum of ancient art. An heteroclite scene, almost absurd, in this incomplete military implements. But did I had the time to hold forth on this image, the incongruity of the situation, my precarious position. I did not dare to move, I did not know any more where to direct my glance but a strange force let it set in an impertinent way at the visible parts of her body.
She pressed the barrel of her weapon on my belly and excavated there with a certain pressure. I was afraid. However, the features of her face did not let perceive that she would press the trigger, at least not now. I had a shared feeling of fear and discomfort. The gun of her weapon scanned my body. She spoke now calmly, she almost murmured, like if her incomprehensible words, followed the movement of the gun of her weapon which scanned the shapes of my body. Her eyes followed with attention the movements of the weapon on my body.
I felt the coldness of the barrel through the light fabrics of my clothing, the barrel of the weapon passed very close to my sides and went down slowly at the level of my hips. It rolled quickly along my left leg, then crossed on the other side at the level of my knees before going up with febrility, to come resting under the fragile glands which hung under my genital apparatus. I winced. I was taken off by a mixture of fear and surprise, by the sight of this woman now almost smiling, who looked at me fixedly and whose eyes now let perceive an obvious concupiscence.
But of what concupiscence was it, I could not know anything, was this the carnal desire, the satisfaction of some revenge on a mythical enemy come from Occident, the sacrifice after the rape; I thought of my partner left alone in the camping car, surely anxious already, and surrounded by an insatiable troop of man avid of women.
The barrel of her weapon raised a leg of my shorts just under my testicles and rested on it with impudence. I heard a more punctuated sentence, like a command accompanied by a light hardening of her lips. I did not understood immediately, then the barrel of her weapon started to excavate nervously the zipper which protected the access to my sexual organs. She made the gesture to open it, which I did with a certain timidity.
Then with her left hand, always holding her weapon with her other hand, she undertook to help me, and with fast moves, without any embarrassment, but with all the necessary prudence to avoid an unspecified defense from my part, she undertook to release my genitals from these cumbersome protective fabrics. The barrel of the cold weapon came back close to my sex. She let sound a small amused laughter, without mischievousness, then she deliberately let her jacket largely open on her body like an invitation to make me share with her, one moment of sexual pleasure, at least it is what I thought.
She abruptly seized my hand which she deposited with vigour on her vagina. With a certain impatience, she directed the palm of my hand on this half-opened and already wet cavern, then inserted into it two of my fingers which she activated with strength in a rotatory movement which make her groan of pleasure. I felt at the end of my fingers, the articulated spring of her prominent clitoris.
A certain dialogue between us seemed now engaged for good, I always feared her weapon of which she maintained the barrel on one of my coasts, while from the other hand, she ardently activated my sex in an up and down rythmic movement. She opened her mouth from which now come strange sounds which were not Russian any more, her tongue came out and while groaning like an animal, she heavily inserted it in my mouth. All her body was plated against mine projecting me heavily on the tree which I used to support me since the beginning of this adventure. I distinctly smelled the prominent papillas of her nipples being inserted in my flesh through the opening of my shirt, and the barrel of the kalashnikov in my coasts which had slackened slightly.
That lasted a certain time before my senses where activated and in spite of the unexpected character of the situation, I started to feel the carnal desire invading me. I remained discrete in spite of the gradual appearance in me of an obvious concupiscence, she kept all the initiative. She made my penis, inflated with blood, penetrate in her largely hospitable uterus and she activated herself in a convulsive dance which achieves to shake what remained of my resistance. I then felt, that I had definitively succumbed to her charms.
It was done in a concert of guttural sounds which left from my throat always encumbered by her titillating tongue, at the same time as my sperm invaded her belly, she felted into the orgasm with some body convulsions which failed to make us waver from our precarious position.
Then it was calm again. One could hear a light wind in the trees accompanying the now unperceivable sound of the fall. We remained pressed one into the other during long minutes, the night started to fall, we did not say a word. She moved away slowly, replaced her frock coat on her shoulders, and closed the edges with pudor on her body, she slung her weapon around her shoulder then turned over while throwing me a last discrete glance impress with a certain satisfaction.
I remained there, motionless, always leaning to the tree, looking at her moving towards the stones where her clothing lay scattered. I did not dare to move. I had recovered my spirit, I could better analyze the situation, I felt in myself, a mixture of embarrassment and satisfaction. I saw her get dressed without decency, as if I was not there. She did not look at me anymore, as if I had never been there. I saw her thread all the pieces of puzzles which constituted the secret universe of a woman, these underclothing of greenish grey color, these thick fabrics, which recalled me that she was a soldier, but which contrast with the whiteness of her skin, brought a touch of erotism. And I felt my senses in torment again, this time without any constraint.
She approached me, now all dressed, with an all military elegance, the kalashnikov around her shoulder. She had the presence of a true officer of the Russian army. Her hardly perceptible hair was rolled up under her kepi with the broad edges characteristic to those of the Russian army. She stopped in front of me, hardly one meter away, exceeding me of a few centimetres; she raised a relaxed smile on her face of already mature woman. I did not fear anything any more. She glanced to me for a long time, impassive, without saying anything, then she put her right index to her lips which she slightly wet then, gently deposited it on my half-opened lips and left it there, for a moment, exerting a certain pressure. Then she says to me with a determined voice:
- "Spaciba petite français".
Marco Polo ou le voyage imaginaire (Contes et légendes, septembre 1996, photos de l'auteur août 1968) © 1996 Jean-Pierre Lapointe
Trame sonore empruntée aux archives du Web: Révolution de Jean-Michel Jarre
