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less pain than she had feared and less pleasure than she had enjoyed on
other occasions without penetration, whether by masturbating or under
Joël’s hand and mouth; but it was probably a matter of time; learning
about their bodies would do the trick. They had agreed that, after her
birthday party, fairly late in the night, Joël would pretend to leave,
only to return an hour or so later when the rest of the family was sound
asleep. Not that her parents or anyone else (Andrew had no right after
all) would have objected to her receiving Joël in her room —her mother
probably believed that they had been doing it for months. But it was out
of a sense of modesty: she did not care for anyone to know how she was
using her body, she wanted no approval, no parental consent. Neither
Joël nor herself were used to having alcohol in any sizable quantity, so
that they were a bit tipsy with sangria, champagne and wine cooler by
the end of the party.
Anyway, even as she dozed off in Joël’s arms, she was half conscious
that a dream was beginning, one that she should take due note of
and remember to tell someone. Where there was her bedroom window an
old black and white TV set appeared, one of those small rounded screens
you could see in American movies of the fifties. A man in a tuxedo was
opening a white envelope and saying: “And now, the grand winner of
our quiz this year is... Muriel Robinson !” There was a loud rumour of
excitement in the audience. Muriel thought: “How lucky she is,” but
the winner did not come forward to collect her prize, a trip round the
world for two. She was in a very large cave with beautiful bright green
ferns growing from cracks in the rocks and she could hear water trickling
from the vault, but she did not get wet. A little girl, about seven or eight,
with red stuff on both knees, was running toward her, calling out her
name: “Muriel, Muriel, I have found it; there it is, come and see!” She
followed the little girl who had a big bow in her long fair hair and another
one, cherry-coloured satin, at the back of her flowery skirt. After a few
minutes, they reached a bright wide opening in the stone wall. It was
a large balcony with whitewashed balusters, from which you could see
colourful fishing boats sailing away on the sea, people sunbathing on a
vast sand beach lined with palm trees, and women in long white dresses
holding their white sunshades, walking at a slow pace on the promenade.
“My dear, said the man at her side, how do you like the Mediterranean?”
She was really very impressed, because it was the first time, but all she
could find to say was: “Let’s go back inside, please.” This man was not
Joël or her father, it was not right to be seen with him on the balcony,
but in the lounge of his suite at the hotel, it was safe. He wore small
round gold-rimmed eyeglasses and he had a little brown moustache, she
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