The Lighter
On Christmas
Eve, architect David Senenmut paid another visit to the apartment of his
ex-wife, who was away on a trip. He took a bath, cleaned his teeth, slicked
back his hair, and sat down, hands clasped around his knees, looking for
all the world like a cube. He rested in that position for some time. All
of a sudden he wished he could hold some tiny being in his arms . . .
a child, perhaps a little girl . . . to protect and defend
her . . . Then he brought the lighter out of his pocket
and slipped it into the red-and-white gift bag scattered with glitterdust
made up of tiny mirrors. He had a glass of Scotch and selected from his
wife’s bar a bottle of sparkling Italian wine. He chose the blue
women’s champagne called “Blu,” the sweet variety from
the Muscadet grape, and not the men’s with the “brut” label.
As he wrapped the bottle in white tissue paper, he reflected on how wine
is an eternal invalid like a woman but dies like a man, and only rare
wines outlive a human existence . . .
On the note given to him by the lingerie store salesgirl he read her
address and made his way there carrying the champagne. She was waiting
for him, the floor of the room strewn with straw, and as she hugged
him, she gave him a gold-wrapped box tied with a bow.
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