Fall 1994 • Vol. XVI No. 4 Fiction |

Love’s Lost Hunger: Male

I. Pillow Talk It started with you buried up to your neck in sand by the sea. There's an African boy standing beside you with a club you've given him. He's swinging it like a golf club, but it isn't an ordinary golf club. It has a razor edge that will sever your neck. The flat face will send your head into the sea. See, you want him to do it. You asked him to do it. You're calm. In some way, this is penitence. But each time the boy swings, you yell "eyes, eyes," because the boy keeps missing and knocking sand into your face. He doesn't understand English, but he knows what you mean since your face is so expressive. The boy's family and friends watch from red and white tents, but they get bored. Some of them leave. The boy keeps trying. One time, he has to whisk away sand from the pocket of your mouth. Behind him, there's a small parade of Africans nearing us. At first it looks like oil spreading over the sand. You see them, too, and get angry. The newcomers are carrying a li

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