My species
That is the very purpose of touch: to unarm us. The man and the woman must become unarmed fully in each other’s presence, present each other no danger absolutely, then it is touch.
There must be no hidden thoughts, like hidden weapons, and exposed ones must be shown harmless, not intended as weapons.
These truths I learned from Georgia, from thinking about it.
With someone like Peter I feel—what is it I feel, I like him so? I know that he is like me, a genuine animal, human animal, and stepped out of the crouching, civilized cemetery long ago, like a man skipping beyond the club-armed primal forests into a new, a human, kind life. We agree, even with our different words, because we know we talk of pretty much the same thing.
I feel like I’ve never talked of it before, the same thing, with someone else.
I feel like—Peter is one of mine, one of my species. Yet I am frightened, a little, not having met one before. It almost puts me on trial.
I like him.
He grants me a certain insect-nature, like a dragonfly.
So I grant him being a living specimen of a human being, which is so rare—a species long thought extinct.
