“My year in India was a major turning point in my life… I think I’ve found my spiritual home, the people there are so friendly…” Serenely beautiful and waif-like.
She’s the only one in the room who is speaking. Every now and then a couple will whisper something to each other. But, apart from that she is the one doing all the talking. Flicking her fringe from her brow with her pinky, and stroking her pointy nose, far too many times, suggests to me she’s hiding a crippling insecurity covered up by celestial beauty.
I have to say something. I can’t keep it in any longer. Blinking through the thick bong smoke, my thoughts shift to the fact that I’ve not heard a word she’s said. I listen intently for another hour.
“You really ought to leave all your Western hang-ups at the airport when in India, they’re so spiritual, when I returned home it was all so… like… so drab, nobody smiling, it’s so depressing… we stayed at the palace of a Maharajah you know…” I say nothing.
Any minute now I’m expecting her to pull a projector and laptop out of her cute ass and start a slide-show of her ‘year in India’.
Six long hours pass by, and the handful of people left at the party are asleep. I pretend to do the same until I know that no one will stir. I raise myself from the floor very slowly. Trying not to knock over any ill-placed wine bottles or ashtrays. She is fast asleep, and naturally looks more gorgeous when silent.
I creep towards her on my knees. Slipping my hand into my jeans pocket, I remove the tools of my trade. The small plastic swastika feels warm in my hands. I unscrew the cap off the super-glue and trace the outline on the reverse of the symbol. I lean forward and press the glued side to her forehead. Pressing firmly enough to make it stick, but gently enough not to wake her. Then I pop the cap off the marker-pen and draw a stylish Hitler moustache on her top lip. She barely moved.
My work here is done. I left the party having raided the fridge of anything worth eating and taking some underwear from her mother’s room. I may well return the lingerie one day, after I’m done with them, naturally.