Nine and a half weeks to read online. Nine and a half weeks (other translation) Elizabeth McNeal 9 and a half weeks read

If they pronounce "nine and a half weeks", then everyone immediately imagines to themselves Mickey Ruta with an opposable look, charming Kim Basinger, strawberry feeding and other erotic joys that made the film one of the main hits of video galonom.
At the same time, the book, which is supplied by such a famous film in Russia, many have no idea. Although it is worth remembered, much more than the film.
True, I will not recommend it to reading it - it is strange to recommend such hard reading.
He wrote it under the pseudonym Elizabeth McNill American Austrian origin Ingeborg Day. Under the pseudonym - because I did not want to traverse my daughter with a story about what strange and hard relationships were given her fate. And the thoughts that the novel is just the fruit of erotic fantasy, you can not have a reader. There is no romance, no hero with brown eyes and stunning, albeit lipgy, charm. There is only a strict, strict and therefore existing stunning description of the difficult dependence, in which a woman got, just wanted ... love? Probably yes, love.
Actually, love, in some sense, it was.
Girls often dream to take care of them. They cared for them when they sick, served breakfast and cared for their pleasure in bed. That's all this Elizabeth and received, only in excessive, grotesque form. Going away from work, she stopped being a woman, a human being, and became just a beloved thing of his lover, pets. IN literal sense - 90% of the time outside of work she spent in handcuffs, it was fed and wrote. It delivered her a lot of purely physical pleasure and completely broke her psyche.
Actually, Book Elizabeth passed the path, in the first steps of which Elizabeth film stopped. She fully lost her human dignity and dissolved in other people's fantasies.
I would say that this is a warning book, should help from romantic dreams of a man who comes and will decide for you.
Do I need to read it? Probably not. Is she written well? Of course, yes, much stronger than the movie is removed. Skupo, assembled, for sure. Here is the very beginning of the novel, the heroine has not yet understood how hard it was in trouble, and we read a description of her lover's wardrobe - a dozen of the same shirts, hundreds of completely identical socks, everything is perfect - and goosebumps on the back run, so scary from this order, and I want Shout: "Run more from here"!
By the way, the rating of the film on American rotten tomatoes is noticeably lower than on the domestic film search. It is clear: that for the whole world there is a passing erotic-romantic film, for the post-Soviet person - the golden memoil of youth about unheard and unprecedented freedom.
UPD. From the pencils of the author's daughter:
"In 1975, I was twelve, and my mother experienced a novel, which she describes in" nine and a half weeks. " I did not suspect what happens to her. We all had everything, as usual: she secretly led a double life.
That summer I left for the holidays to my grandmother. When I returned to New York, my mother seemed to be in perfect order. She went to work every day, at the weekend met with friends; nothing unusual. Approximately one and a half weeks later, she suddenly began to cry, and sobbing continued the whole day. I called the two her friends from work, and they came to us. Together we took her to the hospital. We were told that she had a serious nervous breakdown and she needs help from experts. Two years earlier, she had suffered severe depression after the death, mother and father's death, mother and father. Friends and relatives decided that the unexpected nervous breakdown again was somehow connected with the tragedies that occurred in the family. Mom did not open a real reason for anyone ...
... Only when I started writing this afterword, I was suddenly siled: what should have been worth it to keep it in the Secret. My mother went to everything to protect my childhood and youth from the unpleasant questions of classmates, teachers and neighbors. Looking back, I feel tenderness and appreciation, I admire the courage that it took to go through the whole path alone. I am proud that she found the strength to give up his lover and offensive dependence on which this novel is observed. I am grateful for her decision: let her suffered, but her daughter should not suffer. It consults and inspires the inheritance that she left me: proof that even in the most difficult times we send our destiny, we ourselves make a choice.
Ursula Day "

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Elizabeth McNilli
Nine and a half weeks of McNeill

Nine and A Half Weeks: A Memoir Of A Love Affair

© Milogradova Yu.A., Translation into Russian, 2015

© design. LLC "Publisher" Eksmo ", 2015

* * *

Preface

"We made love with him for the first time, and he held my hands tightly above his head."

We, not honey, go to the case. Everything is permitted operational and deftly, the study stage ends at once as soon as the first phrase of the novel is completed. We, like a storytellor, know what will be the final of the story. Its future is not yet fully visiting, but intuition suggests that it will not end.

A vague premonition is gaining strength along with the waking interest and a pleasant sense of excitement, and our heroine considers the steps for which her glowing novel climbs. The next time she and her lover will be together, he will ask permission to tie her a scarf's eyes. On the third - will bring to orgasm and make me begging about more. For the fourth time the same scarf will connect her hands. "That morning he sent thirteen roses to my office." This brief, like telegram, prelude, but we, like a storyteor, can no longer get out and ask ourselves how far it goes and how frank it will be with us.

Almost 30 years have passed since the first publication of memoirs called "nine and a half weeks". The author took a pseudonym Elizabeth McNill.

The book caused an incredible hype, which could not be expected, considering that the so-called sexual revolution was held for a long time.

The appearance of the book provoked a shock wave - probably because the border between pornography and the familiar memoir literature was clearly blurred here. Only over the past ten years, both sexes began to compete with each other in determining the limits of permissible. They label to raise rates in self-disclosure - confessing the reader in intimate details: incest, violence in childhood, unusual forms Sex.

First, of course, candid books also went out. Some works of Henry Miller, Joyce and Nabokov novels called scandals that ended with obscenity. And Frank Harris and his memoir friends who told about the innermost aspects of life ... But those writers were men (and it should be highlighted). True, the advertising of the "fun slut" of Xavier Hollander, literary pornography "History O" and the diaries of Anais Ning, in which she recalls his novels with convincing Lorism, which only few could call erutics. And again, the story of Ning created the reader with a clear feeling that there are many things in her life, which means much more for her than sex: psychoanalysis classes, marriage with a literary agent, writing!

The author "nine and a half weeks" is entirely focused on what is happening between a woman and a man, and mainly in bed. It occurs for about two months when everything else ceases to have any meaning. She was written by a woman (or with full right claims for it), but the author can be called anyone, but only not the "cheerful slut." And, as in the case of the "Book of Henry Robbins", the name of the authoritative publishing house, who printed John Irving, was the name of the authoritative publishing house, John Carol Outs and Isaac Bashevis-Zinger.

However, the glory of the novel further contributed to the fact that he came out at the end of the epoch, marked by the struggle of feminists for control, power, independence, self-realization of women. From all these feminist programs, the story of "nine and a half weeks" will gladly refuse, daring to a novel with a person who meets in the Manhattan flea market. The irony becomes the sharper that the social status of this new woman seemingly personifies all the advantages disheighted with her "sisters". And she enjoys these advantages. She is "a spectacular businesswoman who love friends and appreciates the bosses," she has customers, she has commitments, and "own briefcase, and a summer handbag, and heels, and lip gloss, and fresh laying." She got a good education, traveled a lot, and, as for sex, it can be called sophisticated. In a word, she is gifted by the opportunities that today uses a young, unmarried, working middle-income woman in New York. And what, as it turned out, she seeks? Having met his beautiful prince, she suddenly discovers, to his own surprise that desperately wants to be tied up, beat and humiliated, turned to her, as with a helpless child who is not able to satisfy their primary needs.

In a section, which summarizes the most innocent aspects of relationships, McNill explains the approach of this pair to the issue of division of labor. Under the title "What he did" she reports: he "fed me. He bought food, always prepared himself and always soap dishes. " He dressed and undressed her, wore shoes to repair, read her, soap, dried and combed his hair with an expensive comb, who later beat her, bought and inserted tampons, soap in the bathroom, filmed makeup. And in the chapter "What I did" one word is "nothing." But, as it turns out soon, it is not quite true. She did more than "nothing." She crawled on the floor, took causing poses on mattresses in the furniture store and, disrepeted by a man, tied a knife to the throat of a stranger simply because her lover ordered it to do. And all this time, she drove out his double life: "My daily routine remained the same: I was an independent woman, myself earned myself for life ... I decided to make a choice on my own. But night rules read: I am helpless, dependent is unable to serve myself. No decisions were waiting for me, I did not lay any responsibility on me. I did not have a choice. "

"And it was delightful."

Revolutionary (or counter-revolutionary, depending on which side to look) the book "Nine and a half weeks" made the author's confidence, supported, seemed to be his own experience, in some circumstances, for some identity types, sex is a trump card, which beats not only Political considerations, but everything else.

* * *

A quarter of a century passed, and we are accustomed to reading memoirs, which describes the horrors of oppression, which defenseless suffer from the authorities. We had to admit that emotions and sensuality lead a double game with our principles and aesthetic beliefs. Fetishism attributes of sadomasochism came out of the sexual underground on glossy pages of high fashion magazines. It is only possible to hope that the book McNill has already experienced that period when they were associated exclusively with the discharge of the original, the base film with Mickey Rourke and Kim Bacisinger. The book does not have anything in common with him, except for the name and distantly similar plot. Obviously, a lot has changed. Then why the story of a sadomasochist relationship of two adults who voluntarily entered into them still retains their relevance, takes out of equilibrium and worries us?

I could argue that the book is obliged to this craftsmanship of the author - the deceptive ease with which it combines the techniques of artistic prose and persuasive personal diary. The book was published only two years after the story of Raymond Carver "will not be so kind of wandering?" Entered a new narrative manner - short, compressed suggestions in the present time characteristic of style, which will be called minimalism later. And this style, this manner uses McNill in his memoirs. They appeared nine years before Jay Makinern in the book " Bright lightsThe big city "took advantage of the same method to transfer the rhythm and the atmosphere of a hostile man of a megapolis, but this (if you remove drugs and nightlife) and there is a social environment in which the heroes of Macnill rotate. The book "Nine and a half weeks" is a restrained, tearing, clear - can be called hardly the first memoirs in the style of minimalism. In contrast to the many writers of their era, whose works are full of the melancholic feeling of unrequited thirst for romance, McNill understood that Eros morely more persistently appeals to our attention.

As for the language of the book, the author refuses the intermittent breathing of the ladies' novels, fake lyrism of romantic literature, comical cliché pornography. The description of sensations and feelings is given by everyday life, in hardly a journalistic manner, as if the reporter sought to adhere to the facts, real events, frankly talking about what happened.

This book is a sample to imitate in the art of concealing information. What we know about the lover - extremely generallike in the catalog male clothes: Colors, styles, cut of his shirts and trousers - everything she finds out during the first attempt to search for his bedroom. We do not know his name, he is always marked by pronoun - "He", as if there was one "he" in the world. In other words, as if he were the only man in the world. We learn that her almost abandoned apartment, packed with souvenirs and memorable little things, resembles a warehouse that stores the wreckage of a difficult past. And her joint life with him, concentrated exclusively on sex and sadomasochesism, remains the same faceless and colorless as the situation of his house. His relationships with friends are covered by a secret, almost sinister. And her friend, with whom the storyteor made a fateful walk to the flea market, disappears from the pages of the book, there is only a lover to appear.

We know what He prepares, reads where it buys clothes, but not a word about the work of each of them, about their past, about the weather (except that the case is happening in summer) or the life of the city, which, probably, goes to her! There is no condemnation, no reflection, nor searches of meaning or reasons, no reflection (the heroine does not give any assessments to his position), and the amateur conclusions and the usual hypotheses in such cases on what children's injuries and early experience prompted them to enter into similar relations. McNill does not consider it necessary to agree with the prudent arguments of doubting readers who, probably, from the very beginning it was obvious that there was nothing good to wait for this guy.

With the help of shortcoming and defaults and thanks to a constant voltage, the book recreates an unbearably stuffy atmosphere of relations between a man and a woman when every objective reality disappears outside of these relations. The reader seems that oxygen gradually roll out of the room.

This exciting and alarming book works simply - things go worse and worse. The storytellor is increasing deeper into the humilia of humiliation and disappointment, increasingly loses its individuality, allowing desire and becoming increasingly cruel and offensive whims of the lover to suppress their own morality and the sense of themselves as a person. We are witnessing an episode with a massage therapist and history with a prostitute, which is specially hired to turn the storytellor into a kind of semblance of a cheap whore; Dressed in a unthinkable wig and a lacquer mini-skirt "Successful businesswoman" are forced to admit that the pleasure of her lover can deliver any woman, little savvy in sex issues. However, the story about the robbery of a stranger is probably the most frightening episode, because this time the cruelty touched the innocent, brought to the trembling of a person who did not explain the rules of the game.

In one of the rare moments of reflection, McNill makes it possible that the novel will spin the increasingly tight spiral, coming out due to control until it feels the need to die, and the lover will not have the same acute need to kill her. But such a thought appears from her only when she sees her own blood during the next love act, and at that moment a certain instinct of self-preservation overcomes the power of desire, attractions and ends with hysteria. An agitated lover (although we are granted to imagine the degree of his concern) lucky the story of the hospital. McNell clarifies with the restraint characteristic of it, which follows (as the final of the novel) "several months of treatment".

A sudden feeling of horror arises when you understand that the narrative of an extreme, pathological degree of passion is, it seems, the extreme metaphor, to which any passion can reach. And this is the main achievement of the author of the book. The book is not lesser by an amazing clinical study than the memories of the love relationship to which she claims. An exciting discovery, dissolution in each other, the gradual disappearance of the outside world and, finally, the painful return to the usual state - this trajectory is familiar to everyone who stays in the torment of passionate novel, no matter how "normal" and "healthy" it is.

The book "Nine and a half weeks" produces the same strong impression as three decades ago, when it was published for the first time. It is defiantly frank and at the same time is designed to warn. She tells the legend about how easy toxication with love and sex can change our idea of \u200b\u200bthemselves and make it see in a completely different light of the person we, in their naive and stupid assumptions, were.

Francin PRES

9½ weeks

We made love with him for the first time, and he touched my hands hard above his head. I liked it. I liked him. He was a sullen, and it was impressed by me - it seemed romantic me. He was cheerful, bright, was an interesting interlocutor; I knew how to give me pleasure.

For the second time, he raised my scarf, which I threw on the floor, undressing, smiled and said: "Can I start your eyes?" No one had previously tied my eyes in bed, and I liked it. He began to like me even stronger after the second night, and in the morning, washing, I could not hold back smile: I got a surprisingly skillful lover.

For the third time he stopped again and again, when he separated me from orgasm. I was again close to losing consciousness, and heard my own voice that swamped over the bed and prayed to continue. He obeyed. I started to fall in love.

For the fourth time, when I was already excited enough to not notice what was happening around, he knitted my arms with the same scarf. That morning he sent thirteen roses to my office.

Now Sunday, the end of May is approaching. In the afternoon we met with my girlfriend, which almost a year ago fired from the company in which I work. To our mutual surprise, in recent months we see more often than when we worked together. She lives in the center, and in the same area passes a street fair. We walk, stop near the counters, we speak, eat. She bought an old, very pretty silver box for pill in a bench, where dilapidated clothes, dilapidated books, scattered trash marked "Antiques" and massive canvases depicting mournful women with cracked paint in the corners of the pink lips.

I'm trying to decide whether it is worthwhile to wade half the apartment in the opposite direction to the counter, where the lace shawl found, which my friend called the rag. "And the truth is rag," I say loudly to her in the back, hoping to shout the noise of the crowd. - But imagine - if you wash it and dug ... "She looks around her shoulder, puts his palm to his ear, shows a woman in a huge male costume, which with rage rhodes on the drums; Rolls eyes, turns away. "Wash and fix, - I scream. - How do you think it is to wash it? I think I'll be back and buy it, she has the potential ... "-" Then it is better to return, "I say my voice over the ear, and as soon as possible. Someone could already buy it and wash it before girlfriend hear you in this noise. "

I hurriedly turn around and throw a short view of a person behind my back, then I'm trying to finish again to my friend. But I literally stuck. The crowd, and without that barely moving legs, finally slowed down. Right in front of me - Children not older than six years old, all three with listened ice cream, the woman on the right waves with wands with unsafe for me, and the guitarist joined the drummer, and their listeners were frozen in admiration, paralyzed by food, fresh air And the good location of the Spirit. "This fair is the first in this season," the voice said at my left ear. - Only here it is possible to talk with strangers, otherwise why come here? I still think that you need to return and buy, whatever it is. "

The bright sun shines, although heat does not feel at all. The air smells gently and thin; The sky is transparent and clean, as over a small town somewhere in Minnesota. Middle baby In front of me, just in turn licked ice cream from each of my friends. This is the most beautiful of all possible Sundays. "Just the shawn shawl, I say. - But still fine handmade, and costs four dollars - how to go to the cinema, so I think I will buy. " But the way back is closed. We stand opposite each other and smile. There are no sunglasses on it, it will pushed. Hair falls on his forehead. His face becomes very attractive when he says; And even more attractive when smiling. He probably turns out terribly in the photos, I think, at least, if he is trying to make a serious face. It has a slightly shaped pale pink shirt with sunbathing sleeves; Barscked khaki pants. "Anyway, it seems, he is not gay," I think. These pants are one of the signs (although not very reliable). And - tennis shoes without socks. "I spend you there," he says. "You will not lose your girlfriend, all this stretches for a couple of quarters, no more, you will sooner or later meet, if only, of course, she does not want to completely leave." "I won't want," I say. "She lives near here." He began his shoulder to put the way there, where we came from, and turning your head, said: "I, too. My name is…"

Today is Thursday. We have dinner in a restaurant on Sunday and on Monday, have lunch at me on Tuesday, on Wednesday a meat cutting at the party of my colleague. Today he invited me to dinner to himself. We are talking in the kitchen while it cuts salad. He refused to help my help, poured us on a glass of wine and just managed to ask if I had brothers or sisters, as his phone rang. "You know what, no," he says to someone in response. - No, now an unsuccessful time is true. I say, this garbage can wait until tomorrow ... During a long pause, he shakes his head and makes me expressive grimaces. Suddenly, he explodes: "Yes, Lord God! Well oKCome. But two hours, no more, if you do not put at two o'clock, then let him go to hell, I have plans for the evening ... "

"Here is a jerk," he moans, displeased and stupid - even though he has already disappeared from my life. It's nice to drink beer with him, but we have nothing to do with him, except that we play tennis in the same place and work in one company, and he constantly does not have time and then it is forced to develop an intensive course as in school . He is not too smart and perfect rag. He will go to eight - as usual, some business that it was necessary to make two weeks ago, and now he is in a panic. I'm terribly sorry. But I will get you in the bedroom, look at the TV. "

"I'd rather go home," I say. "No, you won't go," he says. - Do not go, I was afraid of this. Listen, we will eat, you will deal with something for a couple of hours, call your mother, anything, and then we will spend a great time when he leaves, there will be only ten o'clock. Okay?" "I rarely ring mom when I need to kill a couple of hours," I say. - I actually hate to kill time, it is a pity that there is no papers with you, I could work ... "" For every taste, - he says, "everything you wish, he is to your services," and stumps me under his breath Your case. He manages to make me.

"Well, okay," I say. - I will find something to read. But I will go to the bedroom and do not want your friend even suspecting that I am here. If he does not leave to ten, I will go out with a broom and a sheet on my head and arrange obscene dancing. " "Excellent," he smiles widely. "TV I will still bring there, in case you become boring. And after dinner, run in the kiosk, in the quarter from here, and I will bring you a pack of magazines - so that you learned from there a couple of obscene gestures, which you do not think about. " "Thank you," I answer, and a smile appears on his face.

After salad and steak, we go to the living room drinking coffee. We sit down next to the soft sofa - the exterior blue upholstery on the handles took almost gray tint. "What you just do with your coffee," I ask. "I do? - He repeats confused. "Nothing, he is doing in a coffee maker, something is wrong with him?" "Listen," I say, "this time it will cost without magazines, if you give me that Andre Zhida, I noticed the root on the top left shelf in the dining room. So who always seemed to me obscene. " But when he stretches my book, it turns out that she is in French. And Kafka, whom he drops, getting enough, - in German. "Okay, no need," I say. - Maybe you have a "broken heart of Belinda"? Or even better, "passion of raging night"? " "Sorry," he says, "I don't think that I have something like that ..." His caring tone and embarrassed look hurt me. "Well, then" War and Peace, "- I say ulcer. - In the most charming Japanese translation, which is so hard to get. "

He puts both books on the table that he took from the shelf, and hugs me with one hand. "Honey ..." - "And also," I interrupt the voice in which all my petty disconnect has invested, it is too long to call me "cute", right? We are familiar no more than 96 hours. " He attracts me to himself in strong arms. "Listen, you don't even imagine how I'm sorry - this change of plans, this unfinished ... Yes, I'm just all the cancellation."

As soon as he takes a phone in his hands, I feel silly. I can clean my throat, I spill loudly and say: "Throw. I only have time to read the newspaper to read, and if you give me paper, I will write a letter that was postponed for months, it will awaken conscience in me. And I still need a handle. "

He smiles with relief; Suitable for a wide oak table in the opposite end of the living room, returns with a pack of thin, cream color paper; Gives a handle from the inner pocket of the jacket and moves the TV in the bedroom. "I really hope that you are not very upset," he says. - I promise that it will not happen. " However, I can not be sure that he will fulfill his promise.

When the call of the intercom is heard, I'm already lying in his bed, leaning on one of the pillows, stretching my legs and firmly and conveniently shrouded in my hand. I hear men greet, but during their conversation it is difficult for me to hear individual words.

I am writing a letter ("... a few days ago I got acquainted with one person, a good beginning, not at all like Jerry, who, by the way, is incredibly happy now with Hariette, remember her? .."), I briefly viewed "Times", read the horoscope in "Post": "Now it is easy to build assumptions that are also easily depreciated because everyone is known. Do not take the morning - it may be needed to solve urgent affairs. " At least once in life, I think I would like to understand what my horoscope means. I pull my legs, falling on the pillow. In those hours that we spent with him here, I paid little attention to the situation. Now I see that it is almost nothing to pay attention to. This is a spacious room with high ceilings; On the floor is the same gray carpet as in the corridor and in the living room. White walls, absolutely naked. Double bed standing on a low dump truck turns out to be small. White sheets - Fresh, I notice, like on Monday, does he often change his sheets? - Blanket gray, no bedspread. Two high windows to the left of the bed are closed with bamboo curtains, too white color. On the one hand the bed chair, now it's a TV; A table from the same tree as the platform, is located symmetrically chair on the other side. The lamp on the table is white lampshade and round, white with a blue base - like a Chinese vase - and a 75-watt light bulb. I am glad to see the elegant lamp here, but I have a thought: I don't know where he can still do this, but this man is clearly not in bed reading his books (completely in the original). How can you miss one of the most pleasant people affordable? For this, there is not enough sconce and light bulbs here ...

I wonder what he thought about my bedroom. Almost half less than this, the walls are painted by me and two of my friends in an incomprehensible pale peach shade, which three months tormented me with painful doubts. It was worth it. I wonder what he thought about a cotton blanket in flower and bedding in tone to him, about three rubbed rugs with Greek ornament, souvenirs from different trips, which were forced by a chest of drawers, about the dressing table, bookshelves, advertising prospects, magazines and cheap novels, Coupleded a bunch on both sides of the bed, three empty circles, crowded garbage baskets, a box from under the Chinese food - empty, but with a fork sticking out of it. And even a pillowcase with dirty linen in the corner; The newspaper photos of Al Pacino and Jack Nicholson, plugged behind the mirror frame over the table, filmed on the "Polaroid" photos of my wide smiling parents and me together with a four-year cousin at Koni Island; Another postcard with a view of Norwegian fjords from a friend and a postcard with a Sicilian chapel, which I literally fell in love two years ago. And on the walls of the cover "New Yorker" in the frames, maps of countries where I visited - special cities are marked with a red circle; And my favorite (stabbed fat stains) The menu in the suitesium silver frame from the Luchou restaurant is the first restaurant in New York, in which I visited 12 years ago.

But this room is so simple that you can not even call it. It is more likely to be called strict and (in order to flatten it the owner) - stylish. But frankly, she is just boring. In any case, completely uncomfortable. He did not tell him that you could hang something on the walls? With his work, he could afford a couple of cute pictures, and for the money that he must have spent on this ugly headset in the living room, it would be possible to cover the walls with gold ...

Voices have become louder. Already almost nine. I get out of bed and go along a high chest, whose boxes are decorated with copper handles and some carved currency. There are several rectangular tables near it, they are an accurate copy of the lamp near the bed and the stacks of professional magazines. And here is the closet. Wide wardrobe with doors jumping out out. One of them creaks loudly when I pull the doors on myself: I froze, hopping my breath. But the voice of an invisible stranger rose to a plaintive scream, while his voice continues to sound calm and quietly. I feel like a small thread. "Well, right," I say, "you have a thief."

The cabinet stretches to almost the ceiling. Over hangers two wide shelves. Judging by the fact that I see - the look reaches only the front edge of the upper shelf, - it is lying on it: a leather, a strongly lined suitcase, a camera for a camera, ski boots and three black vinyl folders, on the thick roots of which mark "Taxes". The lower shelf is occupied by five dense sweatshirts: two dark blue, one black, one grayish-white and one burgundy; And here are four stacks of shirts, exclusively light blue, light pink, white. ("Now I call the Brooks Brothers once a year," he tells me a few days later, "and they send me a shirt, you don't have to go to the store. I hate shopping." When the collar and cuffs begin to fade, he folds The shirt in a separate stack and puts on only at home - it will become known to me later; and the Chinese laundry, returning his wigged and smooth shirts, folds the faded separately from the rest. If a stain appears on the shirt that does not dispense, it throws it.)

Next to the shirts are two tennis rackets, which do not fit a little on the shelf - the handles are issued forward. Six white polo shirts on a laundry cardboard lining, five pairs of tennis shorts. (He plays tennis on Tuesdays from 12.30 to 14.30, on Thursdays from 12.15 to 14.00, on Sundays from 15 to 17 - round yearWhat will be brought to my information. He carries a racket in the cases in which they were sold, and the rest - in a brown paper package.) Near the right wall of the cabinet, there is a stack of ten white pillows on the second shelf, and a barn is more than ten whistles.

At his disposal, nine costumes, not counting the fact that it is now, and those who probably in dry cleaning. Three - dark gray, dark blue in thin striped, gray tweed; All three with vests, sewn on the same measurement - completely new. Three others are white linen, light gray flannel and one more summer, out of light cloth in blue and white stripe; The first two with the vests, and everything, again, on the same measurement - a little worn. In addition, gray gabardine and dark gray woolen in the dark strip - they probably already for about two years; And there is still a tuxedo. (He ordered him four years ago, he will tell me later; I will never see him in him. Once he will mention that for 11 years she sews all costumes at the same tailor in Little Italy, that this year, no year It did not go back to fitting, very pleased with what he managed to convince the protester tailor, what it is not necessary to do this. "I suddenly painted - why should I? Year after year. It's so tedious, and my weight does not change from high schools, and I have not been rant long ago. As soon as the costume begins to wind, he gives him Chinese, who erases his clothes in the laundry room. "But he is 60 below you lower than you," I said, when he was in the same way got rid of the gray gabardine . - What should he do with your costume? "-" Who knows, "he replied. - I never ask. He always takes them.")

He has two pairs of dark blue ski pants and pants of khaki, one of them with paint stains. ("I tried to make repairs in the bathroom a couple of years ago, and it was a mistake. I don't really get what I do as needed. It never justifies - the bathroom was painted worse than the worst thing you can imagine ".)

This book is a sample to imitate in the art of concealing information. What we know about the lover is extremely general information, as in the men's clothing catalog: colors, styles, cut of his shirts and trousers, is everything that she finds out during the first attempt to be seen his bedroom. We do not know his name, he is always marked by pronoun - "He", as if there was one "he" in the world. In other words, as if he were the only man in the world. We learn that her almost abandoned apartment, packed with souvenirs and memorable little things, resembles a warehouse that stores the wreckage of a difficult past. And her joint life with him, concentrated exclusively on sex and sadomasochesism, remains the same faceless and colorless as the situation of his house. His relationships with friends are covered by a secret, almost sinister. And her friend, with whom the storyteor made a fateful walk to the flea market, disappears from the pages of the book, there is only a lover to appear.

Francin PRES

9½ weeks

For the fourth time, when I was already excited enough to not notice what was happening around, he knitted my arms with the same scarf. That morning he sent thirteen roses to my office.

I hurriedly turn around and throw a short view of a person behind my back, then I'm trying to finish again to my friend. But I literally stuck. The crowd, and without that barely moving legs, finally slowed down. Directly in front of me - children are not older than six years old, all three with listened ice cream, the woman on the right waves with wands with unsafe for me with enthusiasm, and the guitarist joined the drummer, and their listeners froze in admiration, paralyzed by food, fresh air and a good arrangement of the Spirit. "This fair is the first in this season," the voice said at my left ear. - Only here it is possible to talk with strangers, otherwise why come here? I still think that you need to return and buy, whatever it is. "

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Name: Nine and a half weeks

About the book "Nine and a half weeks" Elizabeth McNill

The very "nine and a half weeks"!

Cult romance about love, invalidation, vicious passion and subordination.

After an accidental fatal meeting, the virtuoso seducer pulls his beloved into a dangerous and sensual love game, which will make her abandon the previous life principles and help discover new facets of forbidden pleasures.

How far will she go if ready for everything to him?

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Nine and a half weeks to read online. Nine and a half weeks (other translation) Elizabeth McNeal 9 and a half weeks read

Elizabeth McNilli
Nine and a half weeks of McNeill

* * *

Preface

* * *

9½ weeks

About the book "Nine and a half weeks" Elizabeth McNill

Last

It is necessary to know

Nine and a half weeks to read online. Nine and a half weeks (other translation) Elizabeth McNeal 9 and a half weeks read

Elizabeth McNilli Nine and a half weeks of McNeill

* * *

Preface

* * *

9½ weeks

About the book "Nine and a half weeks" Elizabeth McNill

Last

It is necessary to know

Elizabeth McNilli
Nine and a half weeks of McNeill