Christiane Bergfeld
Nikolaus Palézieux
Birgit Schmitz
Verena Carl
Ulrich Diehl
Guido Geist
Sasche Piroth
Aymone Rassaerts
Sonja Roczek

Christiane Bergfeld

aus "Willard and his bowling trophies / Willard und seine Bowlingtrophäen"
von Richard Brautigan

Ein grotesker Kriminalroman übersetzt aus dem Amerikanischen

The Story of O

[ p. 17-19]
Constance and Bob's fourth-rate theater of sadism and despair started off rather simply. She was the first one to get the warts. They were venereal warts inside of her vagina.
    She'd had a drunken one-night-stand love affair with a middle-aged lawyer who had read her book. She was a twenty-three-year-old-just-failed novelist and he had told her that he liked her book and she was feeling very badly because the book, though it was a critical success, was not selling, and she had been forced to go back to work.
   So she went to bed with the lawyer and got warts in her vagina.
    They looked like a hideous clump of nightmare mushrooms. They had to be burned off with an electric needle:
   One painful treatment following on the claws of another painful treatment.
    They [Bob and Constance] could not have a normal sex life for two months because that's how long it took for the warts to be burned out of her vagina and sometimes when she came home from seeing the doctor and his electric needle, she would just sit down and start crying.
    Because they were denied access to a traditional sex life, venereal warts are caused by a communicable virus that's transmitted through intercourse, they had to do other things, which they did.
    They really liked having intercourse together. Bob loved the way his penis fit inside of Constance's vagina, and she did, too They used to make jokes about erotic plumbing. They were both kind of traditional sex fiends.
    One day somebody loaned Bob a copy of the Story of O, which he read. It is a gothic sadomasochist novel that sort of turned him on because he thought that it was so strange. He would get a partial erection when he read it.
    When he finished the book, he gave it to Constance to read because she was curious about it.
    "What's it about?" she asked.
    She read it and got sort of turned on, too.
    "It is kind of sexy," she said.
    A week after they had both finished reading it, they were drunkish one evening and sexually playing around in their special ways because they were denied the regular sex act.
    Usually, she would jack him off or orally copulate him and he would very carefully, like cutting a diamond, clitorally masturbate her until she came. He could have gotten a job at Tiffany's.
    They were lying there in bed, sort of drunk, when he said, "Why don't we play the Story of O?"
    "OK," Constance said, smiling. "Which part do I play?"

Willard and His Bowling Trophies

[p. 28-29]
What about Willard and his bowling trophies? How do they figure into this tale of perversion? Easy. They were in an apartment downstairs.
    Willard was a papier-mâché bird about three feet tall with long black legs and a partially black body covered with a strange red, white and blue design like nothing you've ever seen before, and Willard had an exotic beak like a stork. His bowling trophies were of course stolen.
    They were stolen from three brothers, the Logan brothers, who had formed a very good, actually a championship bowling team that they played on for years. Bowling war their life's blood and then somebody stole all their trophies.
    The Logan brothers had been looking for them ever since, travelling around the country like three evil brothers in a Western. They were lean, sharp-eyed and seedy-looking from letting their clothes fall into disrepair and from not shaving regularly and they had turned into vicious criminals to finance their search for the stolen trophies.
    They had started out in life as wholesome all-American boys, an inspiration to young and old alike, showing how you could make something out of your life and be looked up to. Unfortunately, the torment of three lost years looking for their bowling trophies had changed them. They were a far cry from the Logan brothers of old: those handsome heroic bowlers and the pride of their hometown.
   Willard of course always stayed the same: a papier-mâché bird surrounded by his bowling trophies.

Courtesy of Ianthe Brautigan