Valentina ((...and the Violent One) (a short story))
Valentina
(…and the Violent One)
Valentina was a young cut, petite woman of twenty-three years old, where she was from no one quite knew. But she was young and a woman of ingredients—you might say—of that present time anyway. It was said, and we all kind of guess it to be more right than wrong, she was from Peru, living in San Francisco: from poor stock, as they say. She had never married, and had she it would have been someone who owned a business, or a thousand acres of land, and was educated, and could take care of her in a lively and interesting style. But as I said, she was not married, and really had no intentions to for the moment. What she wanted was not what she needed, but what she sought after and got. We in San Francisco, up around Castro District, had listed to her talk in several of the nightclubs (this was back in 1969), she could be a little more than loudly of her adventures, and she had many, and those of us who befriended her, had looked upon her a little coldly and a little suspiciously for a ruthless girl, who said she was from the mountains of Peru, but at other times, she said she was from, a city within a large Valley of Peru, as she told us her tales of those men who took her here and there, both white and black men she met of means, until she met the violent one.
Let me explain, she, Valentina, had little money, worked for Lily Anne, a dress designing company, down by Market Street, and she would flirt with the designers, and supervisors, and she’d tell us, she simply would touch a persons hand, flirt a little, knowing in the back of her mind she was after something she wanted, not needed, and was more than willing to use socioeconomic currency (her body), she called it ‘a form of evolutionary psychology’ and it worked—well, most of the time.
The main manager, was Jewish, they called him Absalom. He was married, but went to Paris often without his wife, for the owner of the fabric factory, to buy textiles among other things. She herself was a seamstress on the third floor with Mr. Green.
Valentina, had been worn by Mr. Green to keep everything at work business, meaning, not flirting and on and so forth, but she did anyhow, so when he left home, Absalom, without his wife, she went along as his secretary, but we all knew, from her boasting at the bars, she had bartered her body for the trip, a form of business perhaps, and she called it, ‘a just progress,’ and smiled, he got sex, and she got a trip to Paris, paid in full, and for him, the company simply used it as a tax write-off.
She looked at those men whom attracted her, not for good looks but who were smart, good providers at home, thus, these were the ones she was attracted to, for the part, there were other reason she was attracted to me other than that and I shall tell you that in a moment.
Matter of fact, she even told me one day in the bar, “Touch my hand, or let me touch yours,” and I let her touch mine.
“There she said, we’ve made physical contact, now all I need to do is flirt a little more, and most likely we will end up in some kind of an agreement, exchange for your needs vs. mine.”
She once invited me over to her apartment; it was on Dolores Street, a ways away from the Castro District. There we watched TV; she only ate and drank and watched TV, on Sundays at home, and she walked about with her pajamas on, and said, “You see, even you and I can come up with a need, and being mature, simply both can watch TV.” And she laughed.
“Why,” I asked “are you laughing?”
“Because you are thinking now, what do you have besides your item, which I need, so you can take me to bed?”
Well, she was right, what could I say?
Anyhow, I walked around the house like a camel in heat, and then she asked me to come into her bedroom, she was lying on her bed, her legs up, arms crossed and resting under her head, asked me,
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Not really I said.”
I kind of felt at this stage, she knew men more than they knew themselves, in that she figured it out, the way man was programmed for the last ten-thousand years.
She didn’t think of me as beautiful, nor even loved me, but I had something she wanted because she pulled me into her and we had sex. I asked her,
“What did you get that you felt you needed from me?”
I mean to say, I hadn’t but a few dollars to my name, no car, a steady job, and a few bucks in the bank. I studied Karate at the Gojo Kai-Karate dojo, in Castro, when I wasn’t working, and seldom dated for lack of money.
“You do have a rough quality about you, like a mild brute; women like that, and your educated somewhat, and you have a job, but not much money, that is why our friendship will take over our sex lives, I’m afraid I enjoyed you but, there will not be a second round.”
“Fine,” I said, adding “after this, a friendship is just fine,” and we both laughed.
On the day she died it was learned that she had been fishing with a bellboy at a hotel here in San Francisco, in the downtown area, of all people to meet, she met a Peruvian from the Amazon. Being a mountain girl, she was far from the Amazon of Peru, and thought it to be quite mysterious, so she told me, “I have a craze to go there, if only I could talk this plain looking Peruvian man, of fifty-years old to take me. His wife died some time ago, and says he wouldn’t mind going to the Amazon with her, and he’d pay her way, as long as she gave him sex. And we all learned here in the bar, she went with him, and he and she never returned, he went back to Lima, where he was from, so it is said.
Anyhow, what took place was death. They went camping for two weeks, he taught her many things, she’d call back home, even up here at the bar and said, “Guess what I’m doing, eating and catching those little fish that eat people, perinea’s.·”
None of us here were surprised to learn that she was doing what she was doing, beyond that we were, when we had learned of the final blow, that she evidently fell into a dark water tributary, fell off a rowboat, more like pushed off it, if you ask me—off into the Amazon River, and she was eaten up—flesh and blood, to the bones, by these little critters.
Some say the old man didn’t want to let her go back to San Francisco alone, without him; he didn’t want to share here. And she made a formal demand to be taken back on the next boat, this is what we heard, perhaps gossip and I would guess the request had been made as violently as possible, for that was her strange style.
The young female listener, Jennifer, told Dennis,
“You know, maybe I’ll travel when I get my own money, I don’t want any parallel violence coming my way. I thought about that as you know.”
“Awa yes, I know you did,” I said “That’s why I share this story with you. We just don’t know people, what’s in back of their minds!”
8-25-2008
(…and the Violent One)
Valentina was a young cut, petite woman of twenty-three years old, where she was from no one quite knew. But she was young and a woman of ingredients—you might say—of that present time anyway. It was said, and we all kind of guess it to be more right than wrong, she was from Peru, living in San Francisco: from poor stock, as they say. She had never married, and had she it would have been someone who owned a business, or a thousand acres of land, and was educated, and could take care of her in a lively and interesting style. But as I said, she was not married, and really had no intentions to for the moment. What she wanted was not what she needed, but what she sought after and got. We in San Francisco, up around Castro District, had listed to her talk in several of the nightclubs (this was back in 1969), she could be a little more than loudly of her adventures, and she had many, and those of us who befriended her, had looked upon her a little coldly and a little suspiciously for a ruthless girl, who said she was from the mountains of Peru, but at other times, she said she was from, a city within a large Valley of Peru, as she told us her tales of those men who took her here and there, both white and black men she met of means, until she met the violent one.
Let me explain, she, Valentina, had little money, worked for Lily Anne, a dress designing company, down by Market Street, and she would flirt with the designers, and supervisors, and she’d tell us, she simply would touch a persons hand, flirt a little, knowing in the back of her mind she was after something she wanted, not needed, and was more than willing to use socioeconomic currency (her body), she called it ‘a form of evolutionary psychology’ and it worked—well, most of the time.
The main manager, was Jewish, they called him Absalom. He was married, but went to Paris often without his wife, for the owner of the fabric factory, to buy textiles among other things. She herself was a seamstress on the third floor with Mr. Green.
Valentina, had been worn by Mr. Green to keep everything at work business, meaning, not flirting and on and so forth, but she did anyhow, so when he left home, Absalom, without his wife, she went along as his secretary, but we all knew, from her boasting at the bars, she had bartered her body for the trip, a form of business perhaps, and she called it, ‘a just progress,’ and smiled, he got sex, and she got a trip to Paris, paid in full, and for him, the company simply used it as a tax write-off.
She looked at those men whom attracted her, not for good looks but who were smart, good providers at home, thus, these were the ones she was attracted to, for the part, there were other reason she was attracted to me other than that and I shall tell you that in a moment.
Matter of fact, she even told me one day in the bar, “Touch my hand, or let me touch yours,” and I let her touch mine.
“There she said, we’ve made physical contact, now all I need to do is flirt a little more, and most likely we will end up in some kind of an agreement, exchange for your needs vs. mine.”
She once invited me over to her apartment; it was on Dolores Street, a ways away from the Castro District. There we watched TV; she only ate and drank and watched TV, on Sundays at home, and she walked about with her pajamas on, and said, “You see, even you and I can come up with a need, and being mature, simply both can watch TV.” And she laughed.
“Why,” I asked “are you laughing?”
“Because you are thinking now, what do you have besides your item, which I need, so you can take me to bed?”
Well, she was right, what could I say?
Anyhow, I walked around the house like a camel in heat, and then she asked me to come into her bedroom, she was lying on her bed, her legs up, arms crossed and resting under her head, asked me,
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Not really I said.”
I kind of felt at this stage, she knew men more than they knew themselves, in that she figured it out, the way man was programmed for the last ten-thousand years.
She didn’t think of me as beautiful, nor even loved me, but I had something she wanted because she pulled me into her and we had sex. I asked her,
“What did you get that you felt you needed from me?”
I mean to say, I hadn’t but a few dollars to my name, no car, a steady job, and a few bucks in the bank. I studied Karate at the Gojo Kai-Karate dojo, in Castro, when I wasn’t working, and seldom dated for lack of money.
“You do have a rough quality about you, like a mild brute; women like that, and your educated somewhat, and you have a job, but not much money, that is why our friendship will take over our sex lives, I’m afraid I enjoyed you but, there will not be a second round.”
“Fine,” I said, adding “after this, a friendship is just fine,” and we both laughed.
On the day she died it was learned that she had been fishing with a bellboy at a hotel here in San Francisco, in the downtown area, of all people to meet, she met a Peruvian from the Amazon. Being a mountain girl, she was far from the Amazon of Peru, and thought it to be quite mysterious, so she told me, “I have a craze to go there, if only I could talk this plain looking Peruvian man, of fifty-years old to take me. His wife died some time ago, and says he wouldn’t mind going to the Amazon with her, and he’d pay her way, as long as she gave him sex. And we all learned here in the bar, she went with him, and he and she never returned, he went back to Lima, where he was from, so it is said.
Anyhow, what took place was death. They went camping for two weeks, he taught her many things, she’d call back home, even up here at the bar and said, “Guess what I’m doing, eating and catching those little fish that eat people, perinea’s.·”
None of us here were surprised to learn that she was doing what she was doing, beyond that we were, when we had learned of the final blow, that she evidently fell into a dark water tributary, fell off a rowboat, more like pushed off it, if you ask me—off into the Amazon River, and she was eaten up—flesh and blood, to the bones, by these little critters.
Some say the old man didn’t want to let her go back to San Francisco alone, without him; he didn’t want to share here. And she made a formal demand to be taken back on the next boat, this is what we heard, perhaps gossip and I would guess the request had been made as violently as possible, for that was her strange style.
The young female listener, Jennifer, told Dennis,
“You know, maybe I’ll travel when I get my own money, I don’t want any parallel violence coming my way. I thought about that as you know.”
“Awa yes, I know you did,” I said “That’s why I share this story with you. We just don’t know people, what’s in back of their minds!”
8-25-2008
posted by Dennis and Rosa Siluk @ 2:56 PM
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