Silence Is Golden (15 page)

“But I don’t know anything about real estate,” I object.

“I didn’t know anything about it either when I started. We experienced agents”—and with that I swear he rises about two inches off the ground—“first had to take a crash course for new hires ourselves. Now we are each supposed to hire a trainee for a kind of coaching period.”

I bet he would like to take me on as a trainee, but I’m scared to even think about the kind of “coaching” he’s talking about. But it’s probably just my paranoid imagination that views every man as a potential enemy. I can’t risk missing out on a great opportunity. After all, I’m job hunting, right?

“Well, Valerio, thank you for considering me,” I say, trying to smile.

“So you’ll think about it?”

“Of course I’ll think about it.”

We’ve finished our tea by now, and Valerio puts on his coat.

“It was a pleasure to see you,” he says, holding out his hand. I extend mine, and this time it’s not my imagination; he holds it way too long and way too tightly. As my mother always used to say, “It’s wrong to think ill of someone, but you’re very often right.” I show him to the door, and when I open it, Aris is standing there. It’s clear from the glances the two men exchange that they hate each other.

“Aris! Hello,” I greet him. He smiles briefly at me, then stares grimly at Valerio, who suddenly seems to be in a hurry to leave.

“Well,” he says, turning to me, “I hope to hear from you soon.”

“Sure. Good-bye,” I answer.

Valerio nods toward Aris, who returns the gesture. He grins at me again, then disappears into the darkness. Aris comes inside but doesn’t move past the door that I just closed. I try to hug him, but he stands rigidly and doesn’t hug me back. He simply stares at me.

“What was he doing here?” he asks sharply.

“He came to see me,” I answer just as sharply. “He rented this house to me, didn’t I tell you?” I add, heading into the kitchen. It’s a while before Aris follows me, and when he does, his face has relaxed, as if he’d needed a minute to calm down.

“Why did he say he hopes to hear from you soon?”

“He offered me a job as a real estate agent.”

“Working with him of course.”

Aris’s words are dripping with sarcasm. What’s his problem? I didn’t think he even knew how to be sarcastic. I decide not to dwell on it.

“Well, only at first. Then I’d work alone.”

“Are you saying you want to take the job?”

“I don’t know, but it’s not like I have much of a choice. Helga fired me this morning.” It’s as if I cast a spell. Aris’s face softens instantly.

“Emi, I’m so sorry,” he says, hugging me.

“It’s not like I didn’t see it coming, but it’s still tough.”

“I can imagine. Come here,” he says, taking my hand and leading me to our chair. As always, I sit on his lap, his arms encircling me, pulling me close. I feel like my world comes together a little more with every breath he takes. I breathe in deeply and relax while Aris kisses my forehead. We don’t talk. We still don’t have much need for words. I know it’s only a matter of time before the Valerio issue arises again, but right now, I don’t care. I’ve wanted to be with Aris all day, and I don’t care about Aris’s problem with Valerio or how angry Aris might be if I decide to accept the job offer. Reaching out, I slip my fingers into his hair and study his face. He gazes at me with his usual sweet expression that tells me he loves me, he’ll take care of me, and there’s no need to be afraid. I plant a gentle kiss on his lips, but then his lips part and his tongue tangles with mine. A jolt of desire runs through me. Aris suddenly stands up, without taking his mouth off mine, and carries me in his arms to the bedroom.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Things in the bedroom have changed since our first time together, which was also my very first time. I learned most of what I knew before about sex from books, not from experience. But the books I read spoke of sex as an expression of love between two people, which was in sharp contrast to my parents, who showed me that sex can also be a powerful tool of oppression designed to force a woman to submit to a man’s will. My mother used to tell me that sooner or later, I would have to “bear the weight of certain male needs.” She certainly didn’t imagine it would be her husband who would put that to the test for me.

That first night with Aris, after I had stripped down and lain next to him, I didn’t know what to expect. He was as outwardly different from my father as light from dark, but I’d be lying if I said I knew that Aris would be as tender, passionate, and respectful as he was. I simply stopped myself from thinking about the possibility that he’d behave as my father did with my mother. I have more faith in him than I do in God. Aris has taken my trust and returned it with his own, inspiring me with a new confidence in him and in all men. He showed me that not all men are the same.

I then realized that not all women are the same either, and that perhaps I’m not like my mother. I knew that there could never be real joy in the love my parents shared, because it wasn’t really love. It was one person imposing his will onto another, onto someone who had never had the freedom to express herself, nor the awareness of her own right to do so. I didn’t need Aris to give me that, because he had already wanted it for me. The fact that he stood still and waited for me to make my own choices, even while trembling with desire, was the most powerful demonstration of respect I’ve ever seen from a man. It took less than one night for him to turn me into a free woman, into someone who consciously decided what to give to a man. My father could never measure up. He isn’t able to love a woman enough to allow her to refuse him anything.

What could stop me after realizing that? I felt that I could trust Aris completely. He was like a blank check on which I could write any number of desires, and I’d never worry it was too risky. I’m almost ashamed to say that I seized that opportunity without hesitation the second time we made love. I wanted to know every detail of his body, and I stared at him for hours. Aris never asked me to stop or showed signs of discomfort. I wanted to find out what he liked, and he showed me. I showed him what I like, and he obliged. Watching him surrender to his pleasure made me happier than when he pleasured me. I know he felt the same way. I stopped questioning whether it was selfish to let myself explore my desires.

Tonight, however, I see just how far I am from truly knowing Aris. After discovering that he can be sarcastic, I also found out he can be jealous. Only jealousy (undoubtedly triggered from finding Valerio at my house) can explain the urgency with which he rips off our clothes and the haste with which he enters me. He stares at me fiercely the entire time, moving faster and faster, without taking my feelings into account. When he’s done, I roll over with a strangled groan. I lie there as he pants with his face turned away, feeling that what just happened can’t be called love. What could have made him behave that way? I force him to turn around and look at me. I know he can see that I’m furious at him, though I stay silent.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, almost too softly to hear. He tries to hug me, but I shrink away. I get up from the bed and start getting dressed. Aris looks at me, and I know he’s begging me to accept his apology with his gaze, but I don’t care. For the first time, I refuse to listen to his silent communication. If he dares speak out loud again, I’ll shut him up at once. I go into the living room and curl up in our chair, surprised at how angry I feel. After a while, he joins me, fully dressed. He kneels at the foot of the chair and rests his head on my lap, but I don’t run my fingers through his hair, nor do I look at him. We stay like that for several minutes.

“Go home, Aris,” I finally say.

His head pops up. I know without looking that he’s gazing at me with his beautiful blue eyes. It’s as though there’s a magnetic force pushing me to him, but I resist. He doesn’t try to touch me. He doesn’t speak. He could make my head turn with just one finger, but he doesn’t. He’s never forced me to do anything before, and he won’t start now. I sense him standing up and walking over to the door. Part of me wants to jump up and stop him, hug him, forgive him. But another part of me just wants him to leave. I hear the door open, and I know that he’s gazing at me, hoping with all his heart that I’ll change my mind. He must realize that’s not going to happen, because the door closes. I don’t need to turn around to see that he’s gone. When we’re together, the air around me vibrates. Now the air is still. I feel cold, and I know it’s from his absence. These past few months, I’ve wondered if there is a limit to what I am willing to do for him. Tonight, I discover there is.

I wake up the next morning in the chair. I think it is the frigid air that wakes me. The woodstove is off, and I’m freezing. I head to the bathroom and fill the tub with near-scalding water. I quickly undress and get in. It takes me a long time to warm up. I’m sore, but I know my awkward position sleeping in the chair has nothing to do with it. How could I be so inflexible with that wonderful man, for whom I would move mountains? Is jealousy really an unforgivable sin, even for him? I’ve done it again. I’ve unwittingly bestowed the meanness of my father unfairly onto Aris. I’ll never forget how my father would slap my mother, or how she would immediately lower her eyes whenever another man walked by her in the street. I get out of the tub and quickly dress. Grabbing my coat, I throw open the door. Something falls on me, something that was leaning against the door. Not something, someone. Aris. Terrified and screaming unintelligibly, I drag his thin body, suddenly so heavy, into the house. His face and hands are as cold as ice. I heave him up off the floor and thrust him in the chair. I run into the bedroom, grab all the blankets I can find, and throw them over him. He’s motionless and as pale as the snow that whitened the woods last night. I wrap him up from head to toe and fuss with the woodstove until the flames begin to crackle. I hurry to make a kettle of boiling water, then check on Aris. His eyes are still closed, and he’s still deathly pale. I desperately rub his hands and feet.

“Aris! Aris! Open your eyes, damn it!”

He finally does, and I sigh a little. I think I’ve been holding my breath ever since I saw him slumped outside. He tries to speak, but his lips are purple and trembling.

“Don’t. Keep quiet,” I say.

I kiss him to add warmth to his face, then go back into the kitchen. I’m trembling, and it’s not from cold. I pour the boiling water into the teapot and wait a few minutes for the tea to steep. I pour it into a teacup with three teaspoons of sugar and bring it to him. I could be imagining things, but it seems as though his face has regained some color. I perch on the arm of the chair and lift the cup to his mouth.

“You have to drink.”

His eyes don’t leave mine, but he closes his lips around the edge of the cup so I can pour a bit of tea into his mouth. It must be hot, but his lips are so cold and numb that he doesn’t even notice. Slowly, one sip at a time, I make him drink it all. I put the cup down and climb into the blanket cocoon with him, clutching that lean body that I so love. Eventually, I stop trembling. The terror that has seized me loosens its grip, and I feel exhausted. Aris is still looking at me, but I put my head on his chest to escape his gaze. I start to cry, and before long, I’m sobbing. He wipes my tears with his cold hands, softly begging me to forgive him. He soon drifts off to sleep. I touch his face, and it feels flushed. I think he has a high fever. I remove a few of the blankets.

“Aris . . . Aris!”

He opens his eyes.

“How do you feel?”

“I’m fine . . .”

His voice is always soft, but now I have to put my ear to his mouth to hear what he’s saying.

“You have a fever. Can you stand? I need to get you in bed.”

He nods and slowly rises. I can see how much effort this takes by how he’s clenching his jaw. I try to support his weight, but he’s much taller than I am. I walk him to my bed, and he almost topples over. I remove his jeans and shirt and help him slide under the sheets. Bringing the blankets back from the living room, I tuck him in like a child, all the way up to his chin. He falls asleep almost immediately. His forehead is still so warm. I remember my mother’s classic home remedies. I fill a bowl with cold water, grab a washcloth, and bring them into the bedroom. I dampen his forehead with the cool washcloth for over an hour, and I have to get another washcloth because the first one becomes lukewarm. I briefly realize that I haven’t eaten since yesterday when I had two cookies with Valerio, but I’m not hungry. It feels like Valerio visited several days ago, instead of just yesterday. I now gaze at Aris, that insane man who almost died of exposure rather than leave me.

What was going through his head last night while sitting at my doorstep? Perhaps he hoped that I would eventually open the door, but how was I supposed to know he was there? I caress his warm face, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear, just as he does. I muse how little I really know about him. I can tell what he’s thinking, especially when it’s about me, but I don’t know anything about his life, his past with his father, or his relationship with Dora. I don’t know if he’s ever had a girlfriend or if he’s ever slept with another woman. Although, truth be told, he didn’t really seem like he knew what he was doing our first time together . . . I smile at the memory, but I’m still a bit afraid. What kind of surprise will he have for me next time? I lie next to him as he sleeps. He moans softly from time to time. I just hope his fever isn’t so high that he becomes delirious. I kiss his lips, his flushed cheeks, and his eyelids. Who are you really, my love?

It’s evening now. I feel his face again, and to my relief, it’s cooler. Thankfully his fever seems to have broken. If he did need a doctor, I wouldn’t know where to go. Though I’ve lived in Bren for over four months, I only know its residents by appearance, not by profession. I decide that if Aris is feeling better tomorrow, I’ll go job hunting again. I don’t have much of a reputation, but I have bills to pay. I consider taking Valerio up on his offer, but I’m not sure that stoking Aris’s jealousy is a good idea.

Just then, I hear a knock on the door.
Please don’t let that be Valerio,
I think. I open the door and get quick a shock. It’s Dora.

“Is Aris here?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Go get him,” she orders.

“He’s sleeping. He has a fever.”

“I want to see him.”

I think fast. Aris hasn’t been home since yesterday afternoon, and it’s understandable that Dora would be worried. As much as I hate her, I know it took a lot for her to come here. I step aside, and she rushes in so fast she almost knocks me over.

“Last room on the left,” I shout after her, though she’s already gone. I leave them in peace for a bit, and then I go check on them. From the hallway I can see that she’s trying to button his shirt as he stares at her with half-open eyes, unable to resist.

“What are you doing?” I exclaim, going into the room. “You can’t move him. He’s sick! He needs to stay warm!”

“He’ll stay at our house! You have no right to keep him here.”

“I’m not keeping him here. He wants to be here, can’t you see that?”

Dora stops trying to dress him, and Aris slumps back onto the bed. He turns away from her, shoving his arms back under the covers. His eyes close.

“I’ll bring him home when he’s feeling better. I promise,” I beg her in spite of myself.

“I don’t need your promises,” she says, going into the living room. I follow her. She stops just before she reaches the front door.

“You little bitch. You stole him from me,” she says, glaring at me with hatred in her eyes.

“I love him,” I reply, trying to calm her down. “And he loves me too.”

“Bullshit! He’s mine!”

“Your what, Dora? He’s not your son.”