KNIHA „KEĎ LÁSKA BOLÍ...“ JE PRÓZA. THE BOOK "WHEN LOVE HURTS ..." IS PROSE.

     JÚLIINE BÁSNE tvoria len malú časť mojej knihy. Tí, ktorým poézia nič nehovorí, sa nemusia báť. Kniha je rozprávaním hlavnej hrdinky Júlie o tom, ako prežila neobyčajné dva roky svojho obyčajného života. 

Aby ste získali predstavu, akým štýlom sa Júlia vyjadruje, rozhodla som sa ponúknuť Vám malú ochutnávku v podobe Prvej kapitoly mojej knihy. Dúfam, že sa Vám bude páčiť. Prajem Vám kľudné, pohodové čítanie.

PRVÁ KAPITOLA: MILOVANIE

     Ležím sama v našej posteli. Mám na sebe zvodne krátku nočnú košieľku, ale je mi to na nič. Nie, že by bola hodvábna, alebo priesvitná, super sexy. Nič také. Je len krátka. Mám ju veľmi rada kvôli materiálu, pretože je bavlnená. Nosím ju len v lete, lebo má krátke rukávy a v iných mesiacoch by mi v nej bola zima. Asi. Vlastne som to zatiaľ neskúšala. Až teraz. Ale teraz nad zimou nepremýšľam. Ležím bez pohnutia, tichúčko ako myška, úplne sama v manželskej posteli v našej spálni na prízemí a počúvam so zatajeným dychom, či sa hore niečo pohne. 

     Veľmi chcem, aby som začula šuchot papúč po plávajúcej podlahe na poschodí. Môj manžel je papučový typ. On jediný z rodiny musí mať vždy na nohách papuče. Prvá vec, ktorú urobí hneď, keď príde domov je, že si obuje papuče. Mne je to jedno. Niekedy ich mám, inokedy nie, ale vždy si ich niekde vyzujem a potom ich hľadám, takže ich radšej nenosím. A je pravda, že veľmi rada chodím bosá.

     Niekedy mi tie jeho papuče lezú totálne na nervy, ale teraz by som neviem čo dala za to, aby som ich počula. A potom krok za krokom, keď pôjde potichu dolu schodmi. Ešte pár krokov cez veľkú predsieň a potom zvláštny, tupý zvuk pri otváraní posuvných dverí do našej obývačky. Spálňa je cez chodbičku doľava. Som tam, čakám v mojej krátkej nočnej košieľke a načúvam tak, že skoro nedýcham. Lenže načúvam márne. Nič. Žiadne zvuky, žiadny pohyb. Už asi spí. To je preňho typické. Ešte ani poriadne neuvidí posteľ a už spí. Celý on...

     Idem? Nejdem? Neviem... A zrazu počujem ten známy tupý zvuk posuvných dverí. Cupitanie bosých nôh po šestnástich schodoch. Ešte jedno vrzgnutie dverí za podestou a pár krokov po špičkách po plávajúcej podlahe cez obývačku rovno až k jeho posteli. Je to len jednomiestna posteľ, ale keď moje studené nohy vkĺznu k nemu pod paplón a on sa zobudí a trochu sa posunie k operadlu, je to ako za starých čias, keď sme dvojposteľ nepotrebovali, pretože sme boli radi, že sa môžeme 

k sebe pritúliť.

     Je opretý chrbtom o operadlo postele, otočený nabok, smerom ku mne. Ležíme tvárou v tvár, moja hlava na jeho vystretej ruke a moje ruky okolo jeho krku. Chcem ho pobozkať, ale dáva mi pusu, akú dávame priateľom, keď sa stretneme s nimi po dlhej dobe. Nie na ústa, len na líce. Ale nedám sa. Bozkávam ho znova a znova. Na ústa. Najprv na zatvorené, pretože má zovreté pery. A tak to opakujem zas a zas. Predsa to nevzdám, keď som sa ponížila a prišla som až sem. A nakoniec odoláva. Môj jazyk sa prederie cez jeho pootvorené pery až dnu, do úst. A on ho vtiahne tak silno, až to zabolí. Nasleduje vášnivé bozkávanie. Plytké dýchanie, dvíhanie hrude, výbuch lásky...

     Volám sa Júlia a Noro je môj manžel. Sme manželmi už takmer tridsať rokov a poznáme sa o dva roky dlhšie. Je to viac, než polovica nášho života. A iste si nikto nepredstavuje, že sme sa za tie roky nikdy nepohádali. A že sme po hádke nikdy nespali oddelene. Ak by to tak bolo, bola by to veľká škoda, pretože udobrovanie po vzájomnej výmene názorov je to najkrajšie, čo pridáva vzácne korenie a potrebnú iskru nielen manželstvu, ale aj láske. A v našom manželstve to naozaj iskrilo...

     Lenže tento raz to vyzerá vážne. Už spíme oddelene tretí deň. Na moju otázku: „Kedy prídeš dole?“ len pokývne plecami  a odpovie, že si potrebuje upratať v hlave a zrovnať myšlienky. Nuž, tak nech upratuje a zrovnáva. Dúfam, že mu to nebude trvať dlho. A dúfam, že to zvládneme. Prežili sme toho toľko, že hádam nás jedna hádka, hoci veľmi emotívna, hlavne z mojej strany, nepoloží. 

     A tak sa dvíham z jeho jednolôžkového dočasného útočiska. Pretože, čo si budeme klamať, byť pri sebe blízko pritúlení je pekná vec, ale celú noc sa tak spať nedá, lebo už máme vek, keď obaja potrebujeme svoje pohodlie. A tak vo svojej krátkej košieľke cupitám zas dolu schodmi a končím sama v našej manželskej posteli na prízemí. Musím vydržať. Nejako sa to hádam utrasie...

THE BOOK "WHEN LOVE HURTS ..." IS PROSE.

JULIA'S POEMS make up only a tiny part of my book. Those, who are not keen on poetry, do not need to be afraid. The book tells the story of the main heroine Julia about how she lived the two unusual years of her ordinary life. To get an idea of the style in which Julia expresses herself, I have decided to offer you a small tasting in the form of the First Chapter of my book. I hope you will like it. I wish you a pleasant time and peaceful reading full of rest.

CHAPTER ONE: MAKING LOVE

I'm lying alone in our bed. I'm wearing a seductively short nightgown, but it's useless. Not that it's silky, translucent, super sexy. Nothing like this. It's just short. I like it very much because of the fabric. It is made of cotton. I only wear the nightgown on summer nights because it has short sleeves, and I would be cold wearing it in other seasons. To be honest, I haven't tried it yet. Only now. But I'm not thinking about being cold now. I am lying motionless, silent like a mouse, alone in a double bed in our downstairs bedroom, listening with bated breath to hear if something moves upstairs. I want to hear the rustling of slippers on the floorboard upstairs very much. My husband is a person who must wear slippers. He is the only one in the family who must always have slippers on. Putting his slippers on is the first thing he does when he gets home.

I do not care. Sometimes I wear the slippers, other times I don't, but I am always leaving them somewhere and then I need to look for them, so I prefer not to wear my slippers at all. And it's the truth that I love walking barefoot.

Sometimes his slippers get entirely on my nerves, but now I would do anything to hear them. And then step by step as he is tiptoeing down the stairs.

A few more steps through the entrance hall and then a strange, dull sound when opening the sliding door into our living room. The bedroom is across the hall to the left. I'm there, waiting in my short nightgown, listening so carefully that I can't even breathe. But I am listening in vain. I can hear nothing. No sounds, no movement. He's probably asleep. It is typical for him. As he sees the bed, at the exact moment, he is already asleep. It is him ...

Am I going? Am I not going? I don't know. And suddenly, I can hear the familiar dull sound of the sliding door and the sound of bare feet on the sixteen steps.

Another sound of the door behind the landing and a few steps on tiptoes along the floorboards across the living room straight ahead to his bed. It's only a single bed, but when my cold feet slip under his blanket, and he wakes up and moves a little towards the backrest, it's like the old days when we didn't need a double bed because we were glad we could snuggle.

He is leaning his back against the back of the bed, turned sideways, towards me. We are lying face to face. My head is over his outstretched arm and my arms around his neck. I want to kiss him, but he gives me the kiss we give to friends when we meet them after a long time. Not on the lips, only on the cheek. But I do not care. I kiss him again and again on his lips. Firstly, his mouth is closed because he has pursed lips. And so I repeat it over and over again. I wouldn't give up when I humiliated myself and came here. And in the end, he cannot resist. My tongue pierces through his half-open lips to the bottom, into his mouth. And he pulls it so strong that it hurts. Passionate kisses follow. Shallow breathing, lifting of the chest, a burst of love ...

My name is Julia, and Noro is my husband. We have been married for almost thirty years, and we have known each other for two years longer. It's more than a half of our lives. And for sure, no one imagines that we have never argued over the years. And that we have never slept separately after the argument. If that were true, it would be a great pity because settling after a mutual exchange of points of view is the thing that adds a rare spice and the necessary spark to marriage and love.

And in our marriage, it often sparked ...

We have already been sleeping separately for the third day. But this time, it looks serious. To my question, "When will you come downstairs?" he just shakes his shoulders and answers that he needs to clear his mind and put his thoughts in order. Well, I will let him clear it up and put them in order. I hope it will not take him long. And I hope we can handle it. We have survived so much that I guess one quarrel, although very emotional, especially on my part, will not put us down.

And so I stand up from his single temporary refuge. Because why should we lie? Being close to each other is a nice thing, but you can't sleep like that all night because we're old enough to know that we both need our comfort. And so, I am heading downstairs, wearing my short nightgown, and I end up alone in our double bed on the ground floor. I have to hold on. Somehow it will pass on its own ...

Dear Readers!

The link where my e-book in English is available:

https://www.martinus.sk/?uItem=1468049