Translation #5: ‘dʒɛɫəsi

Jealousy, by Quim Monzó

Tamar runs her tongue over it one more time and, very slowly, raises her eyes to meet Onan’s.
“I love your cock.”
She’s exhausted. She closes her eyelids. After a while she’s asleep, with her head on the man’s pubis that she cannot stop thinking about. “I love your cock.” “I love your cock”… Why does she always say the same thing? Since they’ve known each other, how many times has she said it, while they were lying like this? Countless times. On the other hand, she never says she loves his right arm, or his shoulder blades. Always the same: his cock. Sometimes, Tamar holds it up on the palm of her hand and the wording is different:
“You have a lovely cock.”
Now she’s sleeping and the man has turned on his side. To do so, he had to move her head away. Even asleep, she’s still holding on to it. What an obsession with his cock. Is the only thing she loves about him his cock? How about him, does she love him? She never tells him she loves him. At the beginning, he enjoyed her dedication. It was tender and arousing. Like when he told her: “I love being inside your cunt.” But little by little it became an obsession. She really does love his cock. He can see it in her eyes, in the way she looks at it, in the rhythm of her sentences, in her way of drawing out the word “love”: “loooove.”
The next day Tamar’s mouth awakens him, caressing it. Onan draws away, as if hurt.
“What are you doing?”
“I love it.”
“You love it?”
“Yes.” There is a short pause. “I love your cock.”
Here they go again.
“If I didn’t have a cock, would you still love me?”
She looks at him askance.
“What’s come over you?”
“What do you think has come over me? You don’t talk about anything except cocks.”
“About your cock.”
“You never say you love me.”
He pulls his hand away brusquely. Tamar stands up. She is beautiful and indignant.
“You’re crazy.”
“Not crazy. But I exist too.” And he adds in a sharp tone, on purpose to sound ridiculous: “Don’t you think?”
Tamar dresses hurriedly. She slams the door. The woman’s steps resound down the stairs, more and more distant. Onan sits up in the bed, puts his right hand on his member, lifts it a little and contemplates it, between fury and curiosity.

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