I am a sad man. I have never known a woman. Actually this is not quite true: I knew a woman once, but it was in a mirror. I caught her reflection in the attic of an old dark house. Possibly she was my mother. I do not know. Perhaps the house was mine; again I cannot say for certain. I was ignored as a child by my parents and did not learn to speak until a late age. Thus my early memories are hazy and vague and undefined by the geometry of language.
Once, I nearly kissed a woman. It was on a train. The lights had failed and we hurtled through a tunnel. Everything was suddenly as dark and heavy as oil. I stumbled out into the corridor and lurched against a girl who had also sought the freedom of the connecting passage. Her lips came within a mere three feet of my own. I was in ecstasy. I co
