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heavy suitcase in the corridor of the main-line train, and when all the travellers tumbled out at the tiny hamlet in the middle of the burnt plain one of them must have taken her suitcase by mistake. She could not believe it had been stolen. Anyway, it had vanished by the time they came to change trains at the junction, taking with it dresses, underwear, toilet articles, and gifts for her son and her mother.
    They had to ring for the maid. The polite girl, a Japanese student earning her tuition money, had difficulty understanding the young woman’s problem. She had to draw, on a sheet of hotel notepaper, a crescent moon beside a stick-woman. The maid blushed and departed. Fortunately she was herself menstruating, and came back with a towel. Shyly she scuttled away, refusing a tip.
    They lay looking at photographs of his family. She was tickled by the shot of Freud at the seaside, wearing a black-and-white striped bathing suit, which could have been cut out of the same material as her dress. The young man chuckled too; he seemed particularly fond of his younger sister. His smile faded into sadness, looking at her.
    They went down to dinner and he asked her if she felt well enough to dance to the gypsy band. She nodded. As they shuffled around between the tables she leaned on him. “Can you feel the blood falling?” he asked. “Always,” she said. “I fall ill every autumn.” The scent of her cherry lipstick stirred him and he kissed her; the warm sticky flavour of it made him want more. She had to draw away to take breath, but she loved the cherryflavour of her lipstick on his lips and they kissed again, endless brief lip-brushes. She broke away again, saying the music made her want to sing. But already too many dancers and diners were staring at them. He pulled up her dress at the front; weakly she tried to push it down, but her throat ached with pleasure and he insisted: “Please, you must let me. Please.” It was a purr at her ear, mingled with the dart of his tongue. “But you’ll be covered in blood,” she whispered. “I don’t mind,” he said. “I want your blood.” So she put her arm again around his neck and let him do what he liked. The dancing and dining men winked at them, smiling, and they smiled back.
    “Is it rare enough?” he asked, as he cut the fat from his meat. She caught his fingers in hers, and kissed them. “It’s better than I’ve ever known,” she said. “Can’t you tell?” The steak put back the blood she was losing, and afterwards they ran down to the trees, and made love again, on the grass by the lake. Sometimes, when a door was opened, they heard the gypsy music, and always there were the exceptionally large stars. It was not so comfortable making love while she was losing blood, but on the other hand she could let herself go even more because there was no fear of any consequences. When they climbed the stairs after midnight more maple leaves had blown into their room. She said, jokingly, that she could make use of them. She borrowed his toothbrush and as she cleaned her teeth he put his arms round her and gave her nape gentle kisses. There were more lightning flashes; sheet lightning and without thunder, bringing the snowy mountain peaks very close and lighting the trail of debris left by the storm and the flood.
     

Postcards from the White Hotel :
A N E LDERLY N URSE :
I’ve been doing what I can for a sweet young couple who are both paralysed. It’s very brave of them to come on holiday together. They sit hunched up in their deck chairs sharing a blanket ( we’re on a yacht in the middle of the lake ). The food is excellent, and Elise is picking up, she sends love .
A S ECRETARY :
Your last day hope it is warm & dry where you are, where we are it is very hot, there isn’t a cloud, it’s all hazy, we are on a boat on the lake, gnawing chicken bones and drinking wine. Hotel marvellous, better than the brochure and a good class of people .
A P RIEST :
I see its three