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Steel Notes Magazine against a matchbox , tamping down the tobacco .
“ He may be a great writer , ma cherie , but he is barely a decent human being ,” he said , raising his head and looking into Nikki ’ s jade-bright eyes . His own were smiling , as he obviously took pleasure in her loveliness . Her eyes sparkled liked hidden treasure and her full lips looked like nectar filled fruit . Her skin was soft to the touch , but smoothly muscled .
She could feel Anatol ’ s eyes on her . The lines of her breasts , drawn with an easy grace , raised as she straightened her spine and extended her long , slim neck , “ I know about separating the artist from the art , but the way he sees the world , it … it gives me hope .”
“ You are young ,” said Anatol .
Nikki watched him as he tried to strike a match to light his cigarette . The head of the first match broke off . The second sort of smeared , as if the sulphur tip hadn ’ t yet hardened . The third lit . This was common with Indian matches . The quality was abysmal . She thought of stories she had heard of how the match factories were enormous exploiters of child labor ; children ’ s tiny fingers hastily making matches all day and night , like something out of Dickens .
Pleasure lit a smile in Anatol ’ s face as he exhaled smoke gently from his nose and mouth . She studied his dark , tousled hair and smooth olive skin , and told him , “ Young has nothing to do with it . I know what ’ s real and what ’ s good .”
She thought Anatol was good , that at the center of his being was kindness . Sure , he was handsome ; she liked the large , comfortable houseboat , the money , but she liked him most of all . She wouldn ’ t stay with him and let him play his little perverted games , sucking her toes , and burying his face in her pussy and ass , if she didn ’ t like his soul .
Anatol ’ s smile intensified , “ Literature is not life . He has seduced you with his talent . He has a facility with words , but all that means is that the chemicals are arranged that way in his brain . Art , ironically , is chemical and mechanical , as is all human endeavor .”
“ Art is an expression of the soul !” Nikki thundered . Jumping to her feet to rearrange the flowers in the vase on the little carved table . She looked out the houseboat ’ s window , her nakedness hidden behind the lace curtains .
The Kashmiri family on the boat next door was yelling at each other . The family always seemed to be arguing . Yet their bonds were strong , passed down through centuries of tradition and now shouted between generations as they went about their daily tasks .
The boats rocked on the water as the wind swept down from the hills that lined Himalayan passes , where Moguls had ridden with sabers flashing many years ago , and now , Tibetan refugees leave little piles of rocks and other signs of prayer .
“ Goodness is the only expression of the soul ,” Anatol said quietly . “ Being alive means more than breathing , more than having the use of your senses . More than thinking or even dreaming . It means doing the right thing . Otherwise , you are only a zombie , or an asshole .”
Nikki squinted her eyes and scrunched her nose with the defiant look of a child who has caught her parent in a lie , “ How can you talk about doing the right thing when you are dealing with scum like Feydor ?” She asked .
“ Feydor won ’ t be around for long , but right now I have business with him .” “ What kind of business ? He ’ s a drug dealer . I knew it as soon as I saw him .” “ Well , I ’ m not ,” he said .
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