There is something careless about this kind of forgetting, something unpardonable, a great guilt. Her husband, her master. His face has the quality of...a blurred photograph, yet she remembers his rough hands. His rough, calloused hands on her soft breast. She shudders. Feeling foolish she starts through the alphabet, trying to associate a name with each letter: Albert, Benjamin, Charles, Donald… It feels as if every last cell of her brain was driven into illness. Her lack of memory fills her. Fir ek din mummy ki friends ghar pe kitty party ke liye aayi hui thi. Toh maine dekha Barun unhe taad raha tha. Maine usse puchha toh woh bola, “Bhai kitni maal auntiya hai mann kar raha koi ek mil jaye toh bass maza aa jaye.”Main use hass ke bola, “Tu harami hai saale woh mummy ki friends hai.” Woh hass ke bola, “Sale teri mummy pe thodi line maar raha hu.” Hum fir waapas room mein jaa kar baatein karne lage.Fir ek din maine dekha Barun mummy ko college se ghar le kar aa raha tha meri bike pe. ”“I’m tired of being calm, Karen!” For some absurd reason, despite his anger, he had a raging hardon.“News is probably all over town by now! It’s the big joke at every dinner party. Ha, ha, Craig Naylor can’t satisfy his wife!”She was confused. “Why would anyone know? You think I want people knowing about this?”Craig almost spoke but stopped.Karen sensed he was hiding something. “Craig, what are you not telling me?”“Nothing.”“Craig!” she snapped. It was an order.“Alex may have seen it.”“Alex?. Most school optionswere either emailed or put up on the school website. A physical bulletinboard was somewhat anachronistic.Everything on the board was from almost a year ago, and it appeared thatthere were very few that even looked that interesting. He'd have probablymissed them even if they had been posted online. Not that any of thesewere online. His eyes wandered all over the board, seeing the age thatwas obvious in the paper. Weather might not have worn itself on thesesheets, but time.
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