The Camden Tales

70 - The Body Never Lies

-=₪ July 1908 ₪=-

Alfie's / Camden / 5.47pm

They stood in silence, yet for Alfie, the doorway seemed to reverberate with the pounding of his heart. Opening the door wider, the fragrance of Malka's perfume enveloped him, filling his lungs as she entered without word. He felt a surge of intense pleasure mixed with simmering anger. He quietly closed the door and turned to face the room.

Malka lingered timidly near the table. Alfie's brow furrowed, noticing her meek demeanour. Her head bowed, her eyes averted, and explanations were not forthcoming. As Alfie walked further into the room, he grappled with an internal struggle. He aimed to remain aloof, yet he was drowning in wanting.

"Drink?" he offered, gesturing towards the kettle nearby.

She nodded in response, subtly observing as he lifted the kettle, looked inside the pot, and set it on the stove.

"Do you have anything stronger?" she inquired, her voice soft and timid.

Alfie, perplexed by her reserved and shy manner yet keen to accommodate, agreed with a nod.

"Beer?" he proposed, and she nodded again. "Want it in a glass?"

Malka responded with a shake of her head.

Alfie retrieved a bottle of beer from the dresser, opened it, and extended it across the table towards her. She, however, neither lifted her gaze nor reached for the bottle. Setting the beer down on the table, he focused on lighting the stove. As he struck a match and knelt to ignite the kindling, he soon heard the crackling of small flames accompanied by gulping. Turning around, he was surprised to see Malka knocking back the beer. With raised eyebrows, he watched as she finished it in one go, then placed the empty bottle back on the table.

After closing the stove's grate, Alfie stood up with a frown. He was puzzled by her sudden appearance, especially after the finality of her last words spoken to him. Not that he was complaining about her presence; he wanted her here and close, closer if possible, but he was curious about what had prompted this change.

"Have ya come for the cane? Because I must warn ya that if you try to take it, I will scream," he said playfully. However, Malka merely shook her head.

"Do you have another?" she inquired, nodding towards the empty beer bottle.

"Talk to me. What's going on? Is there something you need my help with?"

Her eyes locked onto him, sending a rush through his body. It was clear she needed his assistance for something, and this realisation sparked hope in him; perhaps this was his chance to get a foot in the door and re-enter her life.

"Whatever you need, Malka, I can help," he said, maintaining a composed façade while internally on his knees.

"Including keeping it in your trousers?"

He closed his mouth abruptly at her question as if struck by her words. He wanted for this subject to be behind them, to progress beyond it. He needed her to remain in his home and to continue their dialogue. He felt his life depended on it.

After thoughtful silence and a smack of his lips, he admitted, "I ain't been with a woman in months."

"Why?"

He glanced around the room, a pensive expression crossing his face as he ran his hand down his cheek, carefully choosing his following words.

"Because my endeavour was futile."

"What endeavour? How so was it futile?" she pressed sharply.

"I learned that no amount of women in the world could fill this void."