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I was two dozen paces away when Emmy opened the door. Music from the hall drifted through the open door. She stood on the threshold, searching, then...spotted me. She followed behind, unhurriedly. I took another right so that I was no longer within sight of the hall, and Emmy followed shortly after.“What’s up old man?” she asked.“Your people will attack in the next day or two. I wanted to have a chance to talk to you one last time before then.”Emmy nodded.“What are you going to do?” I. . how old? She was younger than my mother, but a few years older than me. This was true at the time of all women with breasts and hips, with skin I imagined soft as butter and lips that needed no lipstick to be kissed. All the women I saw on the bus, the train, on the street, everywhere.What was it like, I wondered with desire, to be a woman who needs only look in the mirror and see her own breasts, begging to be sucked?At the time it was said that the French Academy would adopt the word. More

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