bertha was the hole in his soulwhat she was , was what every other woman was not ... she displayed her own appetites : inner and outerdecked herself with so much gold and pearl and beads of the rainbow that he could not control himself ... blindly he digs at her , throwing away her external treasuresprovoked , knowing them as sham , as diversions , as trompe doeilcolors : her so pale , white , not peachy , like fluid ivory flesh , now , one night all blue : nothing he can see but blueno eyelids , no hairlines , no lips , all melting into blue ... stains , she stains him , stains the sheets , stains the air , stains him : rubbing herself off on himhe knows himself as canvasshe artist , painter , creator : turning him into dots and stripes and telltale kisses as she rubs herself against him , draws her backhand and leaves a long singular strip of blue down from his forehead to his cockred : calling him to douse me !