A few times I went down on her to the sound of whale songs or Ravi Shankar – it was all the same to me. Now and then she cried for an hour and wouldn’t let me touch her. I told her I loved her and I believed it. She pushed me away, drew me back. I was elated, miserable, greedy, grateful. There were afternoons when I retreated to the verandah sick with guilt and an hour later I’d be labouring over Eva’s shining back with her hair in my fists. I cowered at the thought of Sando. I uttered his name as a curse in his own bed and she liked it.
