He looked at the tumescent face and saw, as she rotated infinitesimally in the air filled with glittering dust, a mystical voluptuousness, an all-knowing smile, an abstract sensuality. It was the smile of the Buddha, the lowered eyelids of those who knew, the ataraxia of those who understood that the eye impeded sight like two fleshly plugs and that only the blooming eye under the skull actually saw.
