Aleksandr Voinov német
1975. május 4. –
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Vegetarian: ancient word for lousy hunter.
Page 433 (original version I.)
Vadim moved the gun to the other’s throat, let it slide down, wished it was
his lips, taste the sweat, taste the skin, feel it vibrate under that touch. He didn’t
want to touch him with a gun.
Dan swallowed. Couldn’t help it. Fear of death as palpable as the sweat that
was running down his face. He was just a man, after all. Just a man and all of a
man. Like the other. Who leaned forward, placed his lips against Dan’s and kissed
him, not quite like those men in the yellow streetlight in Soho, but he wouldn’t change places. This insane kiss was his and so was his life, at least for a few
The crystallised moment before death intensified the touch of their lips, a
thousand times and many more again. His first kiss, his last kiss. If he had any time
left, he’d be addicted.
Suddenly, he was not envious of those men anymore.
“The leopard is a cruel lover. His tenderness breaks the gazelle’s heart.”
Vadim kept his lips against Dan’s as he placed the pistol against the left shoulder,
could feel the muscle, sense the exact right spot, and pulled the trigger.