Seduction

In a certain town, I knew a young man who longed for a girl from afar. He was the serious sort, not given to jests or flights of fancy. She was a budding rose, yet unblemished by life’s trials.

Each time she passed us on the street, the young man sighed with a deep, pained yearning.

“Take your chance,” I said. “Talk to her.”

“I can’t bear to,” he replied. “All I can think about is our future together as eternally devoted husband and wife.”

“You’ll scare her off with all that,” I said. “Ease in. Keep it fun.”

“She’s not like your harlots,” he protested. “She’s a woman of virtue.”

“Of course she is,” I said.

I did not have the heart to tell him the truth, that I have never met a man or woman of virtue.

Let the young go on believing, I say.

At last a day came when he did work up the courage.

With frantic urgency, he professed his love to her, right there in the street, before God and everyone.

He promised to give her a three story home and five children. He promised to care for her in sickness and old age. He promised to be true to her, and her alone, until the end of his days.

He meant all of it and I knew he could deliver.

Without a word, the girl fled.

Crestfallen by her rejection, the young man was left in shambles.

I took him to the pub to drown his spited sorrows.

“It’s only one woman,” I said. “There will be others.”

“I don’t want others,” he cried into his drink. “There is only one woman in this world and she has tossed me aside like garbage.”

As he got drunker, his rage unfurled, and he began to curse all womankind, saying what men think but dare not speak.

Not wanting to waste my night on his wallowing, I liquored him up as best I could and took him home.

As I was heading back to my place, I happened across the girl.

“You’re his friend, aren’t you?” she asked.

I confirmed it so.

At once, words of confliction flowed out of her like a waterfall.

“Hold now,” I said. “I can tell you’re deeply troubled, but I’ve been on my feet all day. Come to the pub and I’ll hear you out.”

She hesitated.

I told her that I could go home instead, that it made no difference to me.

She thought it over a little longer, then relented.

At the pub, I watched her soft lips as she poured out her heart. I placed my hand on her shoulder to ease her quivering spirit.

As the alcohol flowed, she grew comfortable with me. I told my little jokes and she laughed.

Soon the topic had moved on and the young man was far from her thoughts.

I offered to walk her home, but of course we never made it.

I took her in a back alley, in my favorite spot.

After we finished, as she was buttoning up her blouse, she said, “I think I’ll say yes to him. I ran because I’d never met someone so sincere. And now I’m here with you.” She turned to me, smiling. “It’s rather silly, isn’t it?”

In one blow, I caved her forehead—with the wrench I kept behind a trash can.

Her body fell limp, and I proceeded to bag it up, intending to dispose of it like all the others.

I have never met a man or woman of virtue. Ω