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After a few hundred feet the houses on both sides ended, and the street, getting steeper, became a path. On the left side, if you walked up, carved into the mountain, was a row of caves, one next to the other — underground stalls that had been shops where on sunny days a steady stream of cheerfully jostling, laughing, shouting visitors, but also more quiet townspeople on a stroll up to the castle gardens, had bought refreshments, candies, shawls, hats, bags, local artwork, antiques and cheap jewelry fake and real, and, generally speaking, useful or useless trinkets of all kinds. Now only a few of those stalls were open, the rest either had their heavy iron-studded doors firmly locked and shut, or had been deprived of their doors, leaving bare gaping holes in the rock, most of them with their walls black from fires that had consumed the shelves, the merchandise, and, it was to be feared, also the merchants. Holes that showed the dimensions of those stalls, about six feet wide, maybe. ” Like anyone ever buys that one anymore. His hand moves from holding my hand to sliding up and down my pant leg. One gaze from those eyes, those strange eyes, and I am becoming so nervous and full of anxiety that I no longer can stand being here. What was innocent embracing has turned into something seemingly dangerous. The tone of the room is different now that I think about it. It’s no longer cramped, it’s inescapable. How did I end up here again? “Maybe you could stay a bit longer today though?”, he suggests as he allows me to get up from his lap and onto the spot on the sofa beside him. He sits up and wets his lips quickly while talking. He only makes it look like he doesn’t try to persist me into things. But I am helpless to resist. Butt-stuck in that proverbial telephone wire. “Please?” he says, tilting my chin up so now I’m forced to look into those eyes. My heart races faster, my face and ears burning. I don’t know why he makes me feel like this. I kiss his nose in response,.
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