The Gordian Love Tribe E-Book

Renier-Fréduman Mundil

• Herausgeber: BoD - Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 147

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

A 30-year-old bank employee devotes his free time to helping others in need. Through this, he comes into contact with a young woman, a prostitute, whom he initially uses as a "tool." Naturally, love develops between the two, but for a specific reason, it remains unfulfilled, and must remain so. Flashbacks, written in a distinctive linguistic style and transporting us to bygone times, describe the roots of the two characters, beginning several centuries ago in Europe and eventually crossing over to America, until Jenny's "root line" ends in a dramatically escalating situation in Asia. A few general remarks are interwoven in a few places, as this is also a descriptive portrayal of various "manifestations of physical love, of sexuality," in which we are all more or less tightly wrapped, trapped, or have been gripped with varying degrees of intensity over the course of our lives.

Leseprobe

In memory of

my brother-in-law, Raymond,

who wandered the world

always in search of happiness -

and experienced more than most people!

Content

The content of the plot is very extensive and comprehensive. However, it is not paced like a thick novel of several hundred pages, but rather in rapid motion, where individual processes are described in more detail and form points of rest, so to speak. A 30-year-old bank employee (Zyman) takes care of the needs of his fellow human beings in his spare time. This brings him in contact with a young woman (Jenny), a prostitute, whom he initially uses as a “tool”. Naturally, love develops between the two, but for some reason it remains unfulfilled. In flashbacks, which are written in a unique linguistic style and take us back in time, the roots of the two characters are described, beginning several centuries ago in Europe and at some point, jumping over to America, until Jenny's “root line” ends in a dramatically escalating situation in Asia. Some general remarks are interwoven in a few places, as it is also a descriptive account of various “manifestations of physical love, of sexuality”, in which we are all more or less tightly wrapped up, trapped or have been embraced with varying degrees of intensity over the course of our lives.

Table of Contents

1. Chapter

2. Chapter

3. Chapter

4. Chapter

5. Chapter

6. Chapter

7. Chapter

8. Chapter

9. Chapter

10. Chapter

11. Chapter

12. Chapter

13. Chapter

14. Chapter

15. Chapter

16. Chapter

17. Chapter

18. Chapter

19. Chapter

20. Chapter

21. Chapter

22. Chapter

23. Chapter

24. Chapter

25. Chapter

26. Chapter

27. Chapter

28. Chapter

29. Chapter

30. Chapter

31. Chapter

32. Chapter

33. Chapter

34. Chapter

35. Chapter

36. Chapter

37. Chapter

38. Chapter

39. Chapter

40. Chapter

41. Chapter

42. Chapter

43. Chapter

44. Chapter

45. Chapter

46. Chapter

47. Chapter

1.

The bed stood in the middle of the room ‒ easily accessible from all sides, especially from the head end. Above it, at a tolerable but still sufficiently small distance, was a transparent round pane of glass that rotated slowly. On the side wall of the room was a walk-in wardrobe, inside which there was a second round pane covered with a reflective film. The comforter was folded halfway back, obviously fresh bedding covered all the utensils. The soft feathers rested under the silken covers. Outwardly, they resembled ordinary bed feathers. However, the owner had ordered them to be torn out of the animals before slaughter. Why? Nobody knew! Did he himself? Perhaps. It wasn't difficult to find a trader to carry out the disgusting job for a considerable surcharge. The colors of the sheet were bright, at one point striped like a flagpole. Countries of the world were depicted on the sheet, with a globe in the middle, dark, almost black. Black in the middle, although the dirt on black is the most noticeable. No sign of the room's occupant. The room had been abandoned several days ago. Apart from the items mentioned, there were no other conspicuous features. Once again, the center of the bed and the protruding black globe were to be mentioned, awkwardly centered in the middle of it lay a pair of glasses, gel-filled, suitable for migraine headaches. The blue gel mask prevented any deeper glances, and it was impossible to tell whether it was hiding anything.

The door opened quietly but firmly. A woman placed her feet on the ankle-deep carpet. Some parts of her body were covered with strips of black fabric, no wider than her slender thumb. Apathetically, she dropped onto the bed and the feathers inside the blanket parted, startled. They had barely come to rest when another door opened. Heavy footsteps crossed the room and paused in front of an inviting plush armchair. The woman looked at the visitor. Thirty years gazed back at her, hidden behind an elongated, muscular body. The face was narrow, even, with a roof of full, stringy hair. The body was in a shell of jeans and sweatshirt, resting on narrow patent leather shoes below, everything could be removed quickly.

We spoke on the phone!

The woman nodded. There were still positive surprises in her job, she thought quietly and began to remove the black stripes from her body.

Leave them, please, interrupted the man.

Confused, the woman paused, but nothing could surprise her, she had been in the business too long.

Should I get dressed again? The visitor nodded.

Dress properly. I would like to invite you to a café.

If you want, I can come with you like this. It will be more expensive though.

I don't care. Let's go.

Jenny, it was the woman's name, at least that was the name on the door, stood up in front of the mirror. She slowly let the black stripes slide off her skin, observing the stranger, who showed no signs of movement. Under a flimsy pretext, she bent down to pick something up from the floor. In this situation, she thought, she really couldn't offer the stranger anything better.

He looked over her and directed his gaze outside on to the dirty street, searching for a familiar face. The woman still remained in that position. Her head looked past her parted legs and back at the man.

I can't get dressed any more. You're sitting on my clothes.

The stranger looked up, startled.

Sorry, I must have been thinking.

The woman straightened up coolly. She looked even more attractive when she was dressed.

We can go, she said curtly.

Then they both left the room without another word and plunged into the dirty city.

2.

Not a room, more like a cage, only slightly larger, partitioned off in an alcove of the cellar behind a sliding wooden door, which was covered in dust-laden cobwebs. A broad, short candle burned in one corner, a thick sewage pipe ran under the ceiling, leaking in several places. Drops from the sewer, unappetizing secretions of all kinds, splashed on to the craggy cellar floor. A tattered old armchair rested in the middle of the shed, a nesting place for vermin of all sizes. The sewage pipes led from the cellar to the apartments above. They had only recently been renewed, the rusty iron pipes replaced with slick plastic parts. Nobody had bothered to seal the openings properly.

Old newspaper and other garbage had been stuffed in in a makeshift manner. The traces of the black animals that had eaten their way through the soft mass in a short time and made their way upwards were clearly visible. They would often appear in an apartment, feasting on the food in the absence of the occupants and leaving their droppings in the corners of the rooms.

Some tenants had complained and demanded remedial action, but instead the rent was increased as an advance payment for the repairs they had demanded. Now, a year later, nothing had been done, a considerable sum of money had accumulated and had already been used for other purposes.

Further complaints followed, each one like a boomerang. The new ones resulted in the house lighting being reduced.

The young man squatted in his room. He strained to observe the hole in the wall molding where the black shadows sometimes appeared and disappeared again. He held a pistol in his hand, cocked with the pressure of the air. When the next shadow cautiously stuck its pointed head through the hatch, he pulled the trigger. The black figure rolled over and plunged headlong back into the dark corridor. From there it fell meters downwards, other black animals appeared, at first they were frightened at the sight, but immediately they pounced on the dying body.

The man plugged the dark hole and sat down at his computer. To pass the time, he surfed the internet until he came across a strange site which, for some inexplicable reason, immediately aroused his curiosity. As if automatically, he answered the questions on the screen and sent them into one of those endless electronic channels. He couldn't believe it would come true. The next few days remained to be seen.

Are you Mr. Smith?

Yes, what do you want?

My name is Hendrik, I am from the town health department. Here's my ID.

All right, but what do you want?

Didn't you receive our letter?

No, I don't know what you're talking about.

Sloppiness! I'm sorry. Our secretaries are overwhelmed: downsizing, illness, vacation ‒ you understand?

No, I pay so much tax, you could hire twice as many employees.

I would ask that we carry out the inspection anyway.

Anyway?

Yes, you haven't received the letter. We informed you about the inspection of your house.

Which house? I own twenty or thirty. I don't know exactly. Besides, my administration is responsible. Why don't you go there?

There are things that can only be clarified with the owner.

Which house are you talking about?

The one on 52nd Street.

Oh, it’s about the complaints?

No, not directly. Please let us go if you can arrange it. I have other appointments.

The two men left the house. One of them had a pair of glasses in his jacket, gel-filled and a blue mask, good for migraine headaches.

3.

The area was evenly laid out in a middle-class style. Behind low hedges stretched flower-lined, manageable lawns, some patches baked by the summer sun. Inviting houses, as if cloned in their appearance, lined up in a frontage, defending the border to poverty. Behind the houses lay the supply base, pleasant swimming pools, more lawns, gliding down a hill to the white beach and the foaming crests of the waves. At the end of the street was a small Italian café squeezed close to the sidewalk. A man, thirty years old, with a tall muscular figure, sat at a table with an attractive woman.

You studied, the man began.

Is that a question or a statement?

The latter, it's part of my job to know.

The woman felt a little queasy in the pit of her stomach. What did the stranger want from her?

Don't worry, he interrupted her musing. Nothing unpleasant for you, I mean the reason why I came to see you.

What would you like to drink?

A young waitress had appeared in front of the two of them, at least as attractive as the woman sitting at the table, a pleasant mixture of Italian and Irish ancestry, very attractive in appearance.

Two coffees.

The man turned to his companion.

You'll have a coffee, won't you?

The woman nodded and the young waitress hurried away. The man's hand disappeared into his trouser pocket. It rummaged through strangely flabby, cool objects and dragged a picture into the daylight. The eyes of the person in the picture were narrowed as if they were protecting themselves from the midday sun of the café or not wanting to reveal too much about the person in question.

You know him?

The woman nodded.

Three semesters at Harvard. Philosophy. Why did you stop?

People are best studied in the wild, preferably in a big city, not in stuffy lecture halls.

Is it worthwhile, I mean studying people? What do you do with them?

The woman raised her shoulders.

I don't know. But it's interesting. Not always, often. Who can say that about their job?

When you're older, you’ll have to change

What do you actually want?

Your help. This photo. Double it, duplicate it? At the right moment. At work. At your work.

You're a pig, the woman replied, or a voyeur, I won't get involved in blackmail.

Nobody wants to put you under pressure.

Not me, but the man, besides, I'd be in the photos too.

I can retouch your face or you can wear a mask. Some love it with a mask.

Who are you, anyway?

The man stood up. He put banknotes on the table. One smaller one for the coffees, two large ones for the woman, for the time they would have spent together otherwise.

Think about it. Think about it from all sides. No blackmail. I promise you. You studied philosophy. Read this article and then think again.

Where can I reach you?

Nowhere. You don't need to contact me. I'll know what you've decided.

The stranger elegantly turned round and slipped away from the stunned woman's gaze. For a brief moment, he had transported her to a lecture hall at Harvard. She clearly heard the voice of her professor, who was lecturing on Greek mythology.

Are these yours?

The young waitress had appeared at the table, holding a pair of glasses in her hand, gel glasses, a wobbly blue mass, good for migraines.

Jenny shook her head.

Strange, murmured the pretty waitress, you and the man have been the only guests so far.

Then my friend must have lost them.

The waitress shook her head in disbelief.

I've already asked him too.

Give them to me, said the woman. Emotionlessly, she put them in her pocket. She didn't know with whom and even less what she had gotten herself into.

4.

The two men entered the musty cellar. Sparkling light sparsely illuminated the cluttered corridors. The man with the ID from the health department held his hand to his face to ward off cobwebs in time, with fat black creepy-crawlies resting in the corners. Suddenly he bent down a little. He awkwardly pulled his socks over his pants.

If you don't mind me giving you some advice, do the same.

Why?

Have you ever had a rat crawl under your trouser leg? You can't think that fast before it tries to get out through the back of your pants. Trapped. The beasts don't get any friendlier if they can't get out at the top. I had a friend, a gardener, who had a critter crawl under his trouser leg. The man had paws like a bear. He did exactly the right thing, pressing the black animal against his muscular thigh with his paw until the wild wriggling stopped and the carcass fell out of his trousers. I wanted to....

Stop it, I'll do it.

The other man bent down and pulled his elegant socks over his pants as well, somewhat reluctantly, who likes to hide the legs of a several thousand dollar tailored suit in their socks to look like a sewer worker wading through a cesspool.

At the end of the corridor, there's the problem with your house. Better you go first, I assume you know your houses.

Look, my day doesn't consist of inspecting all the basements of my apartment buildings. That won't make you rich.

The well-dressed man walked on discontentedly. For the sake of simplicity, let's give him a name, but not the real one, because we don't have the courage. Anyone wearing a suit like this surely has the best lawyers sitting around somewhere. Let's call him Smith, it's enough if he himself knows who is meant. So, Mr. Smith walked ahead, disgruntled, normally he would have been having a fiesta in a large leather armchair with a Cuban cigar, two young women lolling in his bed as if on order, ready to be at his disposal after a fiesta, cigar and cognac. At his disposal? What for? Anyway, it was a more pleasant way to spend the day than crawling among spiders and rats in a designer suit.

Please open the door of the last room!

Mr. Smith took a key out of his pocket, fortunately the lock did not refuse to open, compliantly, without money, it turned on its back.

He ducked down. At the same moment, the nerve endings on the back of his neck registered a dull thud, triggering a momentary shock followed by unconsciousness. When he awoke, he found himself in the worn armchair. His hands were tied behind him. He could feel something hairy crawling over his fingers.

Are you crazy? This will cost you your job.

The man addressed did not react.

Money, do you want money?

I don't have any. But I don't need money either, at least not for myself.

Smith thought about it. He was looking at a madman. Or a simple criminal who was carrying out a job for money. Who was behind it? What was the assignment?

No contractor, the other man shook his head, let's just call him Mr. Hendrik at this point, at least Mr. Hendrik shook his head. He could obviously read minds.

What do you want? Smith asked uneasily.

Nothing, that doesn't mean much. Just sit here for two days.

The stranger hung a piece of paper on a rope that he tied to the ceiling.

During the day you can read through the few lines.

Don't try to shout. Nobody will hear you, it will only cost you strength, trust me, I'll get you out in two days. Provided I don't die unexpectedly in a traffic accident.

With these words, the stranger disappeared, leaving the other man to the dark earth for two days. As he was leaving, he lost a cool object from his pocket. It was blue, blue like the sea, wobbly like the abdominal wall of a Rubens model, good for migraine headaches, for example, before and after making love.

The next morning, Smith discovered the object with his eyes. He would have given a lot to reach it with his hand, but his hands were tied behind the dirty arm of the chair.