Last Tango in Paris

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A black-and-white photo of a man's hands holding a woman by the mouth and head. The woman is crying, and holds her hands up to the man's hands. — Photo by Tarun Savvy on Unsplash

“In that particular case, the girl wasn’t mature enough to understand what was going on.”

—Bernardo Bertolucci in a 2011 interview, responding to a question about Maria Schneider’s experience being assaulted on the set of Last Tango in Paris while filming a rape scene

I lived with a man
who liked for me to come to him 
when he whistled.
With him I kept my snout 
to the ground. The house
was haunted, I could smell it, 
old blood and the white smoke 
of suffering. The neighbors 
asked if we were all right
after hearing me howl 
through the night. I said We’re 
fine. Every couple fights.
In Montreal, a waitress noticed 
my bicep’s verdant bruise.
It was shaped like octopus, or hand. 
He told her he had done it, 
laughed, and ordered his food.
His favorite movie was Last Tango in Paris.
He said it reminded him of us.
His regard was cold 
as sliced apple.
The first time, he didn’t ask,
just stuck it in. My mother told me 
I expected too much of him.
I knew what story
I was supposed to tell,
and told it well. Before bed, each night, 
I told it to myself.

Jade Hurter

is the author of the chapbook Slut Songs (Hyacinth Girl Press, 2017), and her recent work has appeared in Black Warrior Review, Salamander Magazine, The Colorado Review, RHINO, Iron Horse Literary Review, and elsewhere. She teaches English at the University of New Orleans.

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