Lila Says : A Novel

Chapter One

She stops, she begins by telling me this:

"You see I've got this angel face, everybody tells me so. See my eyes so bright and blue you'd give your own right out of your head for them. You see my hair so blond, my aunt she says, it's like silkworms shat gold just for me."

Why she's talking to me like that I don't know. Then she goes:

"My skin, my aunt she says it would be heaven for Saint Lawrence. Because Saint Lawrence he's the one they cooked on a grill, so my aunt says he'd have deserved spending his eternity on a skin like mine. You see my hands, they're delicate, soft and white, when I put them together the good Lord goes along with whatever I want."

She's quiet for a moment her head droops then she raises it again and says:

"You can hear my voice, talking to you. Like a bell at a baptism, my aunt says, like the wind in a meadow in the month of May. Because she talks that way, my aunt who's ugly as an old shoe. Worst is she doesn't realize -- you know her?"

I say no.

"She's clueless so she makes herself up like a sideshow poster. Three hours every morning in front of her mirror with her brushes and then she stays home."

Actually I do know her aunt a little, I saw her one day at her broken window up on the sixth floor chewing out the whole world.

Then she says, see my arms, see my legs, they're like this and like that, I don't even remember anymore what her aunt said, wait a minute, yeah, legs that would make a lovely votive necklace for Saint Christopher and feet that could walk on water. Feet that wouldn't sink into the waves 'cause it's always sin that weighs you down and makes you drown.

That's how she sees the world, her aunt.

We're there the two of us near the sandbox, the kids have already gone home, you hear the same thing from all the TVs, the evening game shows are starting, around here everyone dreams the wheel of fortunes going to land its arrow right on them, and the radios are on too in Arabic I have trouble understanding. You can see the trees aren't moving it's like they were concrete painted dark and then the guy who's a security guard over at the Mammoth Supermarket rolls up on his cheap-shit moped he bought used that gives off so much black smoke you feel like calling the fire department and every night he hauls that sucker all the way up three flights of stairs so no one'll swipe it, you'd think it was a mountain bike just for the projects.

Then from nowhere she says:

"Want to see my pussy?"

Me I don't go yes or no, like I hadn't heard. Course it's clear what she said but I wait a bit. I know what she's up to, I'm just being careful here. I'm not the kind of person jumps through the first open window even if it says c'mon in.

So she goes on some more about her pussy:

"My aunt you know, she wants to see it every morning and every night. She gets right in front of it and she stares at it so long it pisses me off. I even get cold. And she goes on singing its praises. About how it's the gate to the valley of bliss where the climate's always really nice. She tells me stuff you don't know where she gets it all like for example how there's a tremendous genie locked inside that'll bust out of there if he ever gets ahold of Ali Baba's can opener."

And on and on. Her aunt makes up poems about Lila's pussy all day long. About how a little jewel of ruffledy silk like that, with its hidden bud and swollen leaves stuck on tight, it'll never get crumpled. (Not like her own trampled bush Lila says.) About how it's so blond it could be a lantern when you've lost your way in life. About how, eyes closed, just from the smell you could follow it upriver to the fountain of youth. About how it's a prayer a balm a treasure island and Jesus Christ's sugar candy.

Well now she's definitely bugging me about her pussy. The first time was just a question sort of casual then nothing more, like she suddenly forgot straight off. That's also why I'm letting her come on, to see how far she'll go. Find out if she's really got something to brag about.

And don't you be surprised (anybody who might be reading this) that even though I live practically across from the Islamic Center I'm always talking about Saint Lawrence and the rest. It's 'cause her aunt she's Christian and Lila must be too. Christian how come I don't know, not how or why, maybe a way of getting noticed or the family just is. Seems her aunt even makes the sign of the cross when the mailman arrives. Her mouth's always so stuffed full of holiness you'd think she'd choke on it. Paradise and the Holy Virgin she sticks them in everywhere, and superblessed be the name of the Angel Gabriel and all the others too except for Saint Paul, she can't stand him since he's macho like you wouldn't believe, big mistake making that one a saint she says.

It's me writing all this here but it's not me talking religion, it's this aunt of Lila's. I mean why should I give a flying fuck about God since he forgot me somewhere along the way, besides I don't know him or his saints neither. My father used to say when he was still around that sometimes all you've got is enough grit to get some in your eye.

And why's that kid blond anyways? Because Norwegian girls sure don't spend their vacations around here. Lila she's the only natural blonde in the whole place I bet. So blond she sticks out like a spot. My father said you used to see bottle blondes bleached like that by the Devil, but now Islam has cracked down, you have to respect God's handiwork, if he made you all crippled and crummy he's got his reasons.

Or else the girls sneak streaks into their hair underneath their head scarves, or a few of them even dye their pubes, just to make sure they're fighting back somehow.

She says it again:

"Don't you want to see my pussy?"

"For how much?" I ask.

"Whatever you want."

"I'm broke."

"I know you're broke," she tells me. "I wasn't talking money here. I didn't say that so you'd pay. I know you've got nothing. No one here has anything. If I wanted to get paid for it I'd go somewhere else."

"So why'd you say it?"

"Just because, a little treat for us. Seemed to me like you might want it."

When she speaks, I'm not lying, it's like the airs tickling you. I don't know how to explain this, it's not something you can see, you just feel it. Her voice changes everything around here though she's not talking loud. Even the trees that look like cement they're touched when she speaks. Her aunt's talked this over with the mailman and she says it's the voice of purity, it's the voice that sings in streams and sets off wars.

I've got notes all over the place and now I'm trying to organize them a little. I can see I started the notebook backwards with the red line on the right. But it's too late to do everything over, I'm writing real slow, watching out for mistakes, I'm hurrying but I don't know if I'll ever get to the end. Unbelievable how long it takes, I'd no idea. I've never read a whole book through, so writing one, well.

To get back to that blond color and the way it stands out and where she came from with her skin and her straw-colored angel's hair, it seems her aunt, who's sort of purplish gray-brown, claims it comes from way back. Sometimes it goes back forty or fifty generations and then boing right under your nose you get a blonde in a dark family, even the experts don't know why, it's like a Ferrari showing up one morning in the parking lot outside H block.

She says it again:

"You sure you don't want me to show it to you?"

"Why're you looking to show it to me?"

"I told you. I feel like it tonight."

With that voice like a spider's thread floating in the air.

"And not other nights?" I ask her.

"Depends."

"Why's that?"

"'Cause hey, you're not the only one."

"So you've shown it to others?"

But she doesn't answer that and she starts singing some Vanessa Paradis thing like the words were just passing by, no need to move her lips, just notes on the wind.

So me obviously, seeing as we're alone and maybe it's now or never, I tell her yes, yes why not, I'd like to see it.

"You want a longie or a quickie?" she asks me.

I don't really get what she means. I'm slow sometimes.

"Longie or quickie?" she goes again.

"What's the difference?"

"A quickie I lift up my skirt for just a look, nothing on underneath. A longie's on the slide."

"The slide's not long either," I tell her.

"Shit!" she goes. "You're a real pain in the ass, you know? It's a freebie you didn't even ask for and you're bitching anyways. For once I feel like doing this with you but the offer won't last! I don't care how much your tongue hangs out, I'm warning you! Don't you come whining that others have seen it but not you!"

Even when she's ticked off her voice can't hurt you. It's more like anger's just stroking you, or like the tongue of a little dog that's learning how life is hard. Besides around here everybody yells even to say hi how's it going. Nothing ever works out, everything gets fucked up, it's a life in useless little bits, in the morning you've got no idea what comes next, never any good plans, when you wake up all you think about is going back to sleep, night can't fall fast enough otherwise there's just hanging around goofing off no money no nothing.

So right away the idea of seeing her pussy, it's like winning the lottery or going on an ocean cruise. Something. My heart got the news and switched to sunshine.

"The slide," I say.

I know the other girls have done it but they're younger. Besides it's more for kids. When they get bigger they don't dare anymore. Suppose one of the Muslim brothers passed by there with his dirty fingernails.

I'm nineteen. She's a little over sixteen I think. Exactly how much over I don't know.

The afternoon's gone already and everyone's gone with it. Bakary, Ali, Little Maurice and Big Jo are taking care of business down at La Courneuve today. I heard talk about some electric blankets there for the taking. Personally I don't mess with that shit, sometimes the guys get a little pissed at me over it but I still don't go.

No wind at all, none. The windows are lit up but outside you can still see all right. June just started. No rain for two months at least. You think you're breathing air but it's dust you're getting even at night.

She goes up the wooden ladder to the top of the slide and me I stay with my feet in the sandbox, actually I move a little to be in front of the slide.

She sits down up there without saying a word. Gives me a smile. All this just for me. She lifts up her dress it's sort of a pale blue (I forgot to say she's always wearing dresses and that's another thing makes her different), but for the moment she still has her legs squeezed tight together and absolutely straight and her toes pointed up. Then she shoves off closing her eyes and right at that moment does her party trick, she spreads her legs in a big V and me I'm standing there holding my breath, it's true she's got nothing on underneath, I see her pussy suddenly looking at me as it shoots down around the turn, all blond and fuzzy I swear, it's like the tip of one of those paper airplanes kids make in school, except that the shape's not so clear, it starts nowhere it stops nowhere, but it's gold it's a triangle of golden fluff rushing at me around the curve, that's all I see, the star underneath, lasting what? the time to say holy shit holy holy holy shit then it all lands plop in the sand. Going to need some serious dusting off that's for sure. Enough to make me wish I was a soft little bristle brush. You hear me up there? Oh please Mr. Magician make me into a brush.

But it's not over, seeing as she gets up smoothing out that pale blue dress of hers, eyes cast down, and comes toward me all careful and dainty across the sand with those legs that could dance on clouds, and when she gets real close, she stops and looks up at me and says:

"Get a good look?"

"No," I say.

"Why not?"

"It was too quick."

"It's the slide that does that," she tells me with her see-through eyes. "It's not my fault, I didn't go fast on purpose. I can't go slower, I mean that's just how it is, or else I'd have to get held back on a rope. And anyways you know," she tells me coming just a tiny step nearer, "it's better when it's quick."

I ask her why and she goes:

"It's not the sort of thing you look at for a long time."

I'm standing there speechless. There's times like that she dries me right up. My tongue's like full of sand from the Sahel -- which I've never seen, but I've heard people here talking about it.

So okay I don't say anything. She gives me another moment of her little face so pure and innocent you'd turn yourself inside out for her I swear, that delicate perfect little head I wouldn't dare touch a hair of, a face from heaven, the face of a lily, of a young saint, that's how I see her.

Then she says to me:

"Looking at my face?"

I say yes.

"Like it?"

I say yes to that too.

"Everybody likes it," she tells me, "but did you take a good look? Sure you got a good look?"

"I think so," I tell her. But it's true it's starting to get kind of dark out.

"You saw my mouth?" she goes (yesterday I'm talking about).

I tell her yes, she repeats:

"No I mean really look at my mouth. You saw my mouth? Definitely saw it? Did you notice how tiny it is?"

I tell her yes, I noticed.

"Unbelievable, huh?" she tells me all serious, her big eyes looking right at me, so blue they're transparent.

"What's unbelievable?"

"That such a small mouth," she tells me, "can go down on a big dick."

Just like that she says it to me, word for word.

Me I look at her and I say nothing. I think at that point I've stopped breathing. But I'm saying nothing. Like I could talk at all, yeah right.

"I couldn't believe it," she's explaining still standing right next to me, "the other day I had to watch myself in a mirror sucking off a really nice one. My mouth then, you wouldn't have recognized it. Wide open like a sack. Like a snake swallowing a lamb. And the cock sunk way deep inside, sometimes right down to the balls, makes you wonder where I found room, it even made a bump on the side there in my cheek. Pretty elastic, lips, you've got to see it to believe it. More than an asshole, even. They stretch, if you follow me, get all out of shape, they open so wide it's scary. I love to watch myself giving head. I like doing it and at the same time I'm taking in a show, plus it's for free. Not to mention the feeling, specially when all that cum spurts out real warm and runs down my cheeks and I catch some on the tip of my tongue. But most of all when I go in for that, you know what I get off on most is the thought that somewhere a little angel is shooting his little load."

I hardly know her, except to say hello to, and a few things I've heard, that's it. There in the sand she's talking to me for the first time, all that in her voice like a melody you'd follow through brambles, her voice that's never to blame, that hurts but not on purpose, a voice to make you believe in miracles and to announce in fancy airports the departure of planes that won't ever come back.

I'm standing there shaking.

She probably even notices.

"What's your name?" she asks me.

"Chimo."

"Mine's Lila, like the flower but no 'c' on the end. Where'd 'Chimo' come from?"

"Beats me."

Now she steps out of the sandbox, she shakes off her white shoes the ballet-slipper kind and she stays there balancing on the board at the edge, leans forward leans backward, for a second looks like she's even going to fall, she grabs my arm steadies herself and smiles.

I'm totally gone, I don't know where I'm at but I'm not there anymore. The proof is she's no longer looking at me. She's sort of looking casually at F block, then C, then the tower. It's getting even darker out, three or four hundred windows are lit up around us but that hair of hers outshines everything. She turns her back to me, she shows me her profile once without looking at me at all, I feel dumb as a shoelace, I wish the night would show its teeth and swallow me whole. And there's a halo of light all around her profile. I just haven't got words for it. For someone like her you can't say a broad, or a chick, or a babe, or a bitch, or a piece of ass. It doesn't fit her, it's not for her, you can't even say a girl. She's unique, should have a word all to herself.

So now off she goes stepping softly along the board, balancing with her arms held out on each side, hands letting the fingers dangle toward the ground. It's been a while since she quit looking my way. Me or her I don't know who's real.

Away she goes and me I stay there.

She says nothing more to me this time.