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CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 5 - раздел История, Эрик Сигл. История любви     I Would Like To Say A Word About Our Physical...

 

 

I would like to say a word about our physical relationship.

For a strangely long while there wasn't any. I mean, there wasn't

anything more significant than those kisses already mentioned (all of which

I still remember in greatest detail). This was not standard procedure as far

as I was concerned, being rather impulsive, impatient and quick to action.

If you were to tell any of a dozen girls at Tower Court, VJellesley, that

Oliver Barrett IV had been dating a young lady daily for three weeks and had

not slept with her, they would surely have laughed and severely questioned

the femininity of the girl involved. But of course the actual facts were

quite different.

1 didn't know what to do.

Don't misunderstand or take that too literally. I knew all the moves. I

just couldn't cope with my own feelings about making them. Jenny was so

smart that I was afraid she might laugh at what I had traditionally

considered the suave romantic (and unstoppable) style of Oliver Barrett IV.

I was afraid of being rejected, yes. I was also afraid of being accepted for

the wrong reasons. What I am fumbling to say is that I felt different about

Jennifer, and didn't know what to say or even who to ask about it. ("You

should have asked me," she said later.) I just knew I had these feelings.

For her. For all of her.

"You're gonna flunk out, Oliver."

We were sitting in my room on a Sunday afternoon, reading.

"Oliver, you're gonna flunk out if you just sit there watching me

study."

"I'm not watching you study. I'm studying."

"Bullshit. You're looking at my legs."

"Only once in a while. Every chapter."

''That book has extremely short chapters.

"Listen, you narcissistic bitch, you're not that great- looking!"

"I know. But can I help it if you think so?"

I threw down my book and crossed the room to where she was sitting.

"Jenny, for Christ's sake, how can I read John Stuart Mill when every

single second I'm dying to make love to you?"

She screwed up her brow and frowned.

"Oh, Oliver, wouldja please?"

I was crouching by her chair. She looked back into her book.

"Jenny-"

She closed her book softly, put it down, then placed her hands on the

sides of my neck.

"Oliver-wouldja please."

It all happened at once. Everything.

 

Our first physical encounter was the polar opposite of our first verbal

one. It was all so unhurried, so soft, so gentle. I had never realized that

this was the real Jenny-the soft one, whose touch was so light and so

loving. And yet what truly shocked me was my own response. I was gentle. I

was tender. Was this the real Oliver Barrett IV?

As I said, I had never seen Jenny with so much as her sweater opened an

extra button. I was somewhat surprised to find that she wore a tiny golden

cross. On one of those chains that never unlock. Meaning that when we made

love, she still wore the cross. In a resting moment of that lovely

afternoon, at one of those junctures when everything and nothing is

relevant, I touched the little cross and inquired what her priest might have

to say about our being in bed together, and so forth. She answered that she

had no priest.

"Aren't you a good Catholic girl?" I asked.

"Well, I'm a girl," she said. "And I'm good."

She looked at me for confirmation and I smiled. She smiled back.

"So that's two out of three."

I then asked her why the cross, welded, no less. She explained that it

had been her mother's; she wore it for sentimental reasons, not religious.

The conversation returned to ourselves.

"Hey, Oliver, did I tell you that I love you?" she said.

"No, Jen."

"Why didn't you ask me?"

"I was afraid to, frankly."

"Ask me now."

"Do you love me, Jenny?"

She looked at me and wasn't being evasive when she answered:

"What do you think?" "Yeah. I guess. Maybe." I kissed her neck.

"Oliver?"

"Yes?"

"I don't just love you . . Oh, Christ, what was this? "I love you very

much, Oliver"

 

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Эрик Сигл. История любви

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Chapter 1
    What can you say about a twenty-five-year-old girl who died? That she was beautiful. And brilliant. That she loved Mozart and Bach. And the Beatles

CHAPTER 2
    Oliver Barrett IV Ipswich, Mass. Age 20 Major: Social Studies Dean's List: '6

CHAPTER 3
    I got hurt in the Cornell game. It was my own fault, really. At a heated juncture, I made the unfortunate error of referring to their center as a &

CHAPTER 4
    "Jenny's on the downstairs phone." This information was announced to me by the girl on bells, although I had not identified myself or my

CHAPTER 6
    I love Ray Stratton. He may not be a genius or a great football player (kind of slow at the snap), but he was always a good roommate and loyal frie

CHAPTER 7
    Ipswich, Mass., is some forty minutes from the Mystic River Bridge, depending on the weather and how you drive. I have actually made it on occasion

CHAPTER 8
  "Jenny, it's not Secretary of State, after all!" We were finally driving back to Cambridge, thank God. "Still, Oliver, you could have been more enth

CHAPTER 9
  There remained the matter of Cranston, Rhode Island, a city slightly more to the south of Boston than Ipswich is to the north. After the debacle of introducing Jen

CHAPTER 10
  Mr. William F. Thompson, Associate Dean of the Harvard Law School, could not believe his ears. "Did I hear you right, Mr. Barrett?" "Yes

CHAPTER 11
  Jennifer was awarded her degree on Wednesday. All sorts of relatives from Cranston, Fall River-and even an aunt from Cleveland-flocked to Cambridge to attend the c

CHAPTER 12
    If a single word can describe our daily life during those first three years, it is "scrounge." Every waking moment we were concentrating on how

CHAPTER 13
  Mr. and Mrs. Oliver Barrett III request the pleasure of your company at a dinner in celebration of Mr. Barrett's sixtieth birthday Saturday,

CHAPTER 14
  It was July when the letter came. It had been forwarded from Cambridge to Dennis Port, so I guess I got the news a day or so late. I charged over to where Jenny wa

CHAPTER 15
    We finished in that order. I mean, Erwin, Bella and myself were the top three in the Law School graduating class. The time for triumph was at hand.

CHAPTER 16
    CHANGE OF ADDRESS From July 1,1967 Mr. and Mrs. Oliver Barrett IV 263 E

CHAPTER 17
    It is not all that easy to make a baby. I mean, there is a certain irony involved when guys who spend the first years of their sex lives preoccupie

CHAPTER 18
    I began to think about God. I mean, the notion of a Supreme Being existing somewhere began to creep into my private thoughts. Not because I wanted

CHAPTER 19
    Now at least I wasn't afraid to go home, I wasn't seared about "acting normal." We were once again sharing everything, even if it was the awful

CHAPTER 20
    It is impossible to drive from East Sixty-third Street, Manhattan, to Boston, Massachusetts, in less than three hours and twenty minutes. Believe m

CHAPTER 21
    The task of informing Phil Cavilleri fell to me. Who else? He did not go to pieces as I feared he might, but calmly closed the house in Cranston an

CHAPTER 22
    Phil Cavilleri was in the solarium, smoking his nth cigarette, when I appeared. "Phil?" I said softly. "Yeah?"

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