The Confession

69

She had told Karel she would spend the weekend with her sister, so I watched her make dinner in my apartment, standing where Magda would stand when I got home from work, turning to lay plates on the kitchen table. I went through some papers while she cooked, old notes for a second novel that had never come together. A lot of ideas, but no words, sentences, or paragraphs. I only had the pages I’d written about Magda and me. I picked up my old novel and gazed at it.

The French consulate had been just one more dead end-one more that convinced me that I had no control over the case, or my life. So I sat there with my book-shoddy, as Stefan had called it-wanting the strength to take control of something, anything. But more than that, I wanted the complete silence of solitude and the ease of a life without responsibility.

She was bent over the oven when I came in, but I didn’t touch her. This was something I’d noticed. As our relationship progressed, we touched less outside the bedroom. The distance maintained a tension between us-we both understood this. Our time outside the bedroom was spent preparing for the bedroom.

As she plated the food she told me that she had come upon a fresh understanding of herself. “It’s through failures. After enough of them you can look around and see what’s left to you. Not Karel, that’s for sure. And my career is dwindling before my eyes. My friends are all distant, and even you,” she said, setting the plates on the table. “I don’t really know about you, do I?”

I didn’t say anything.

“So when I look around, what’s left standing? Only one thing. Recklessness. It’s the only thing that makes me feel like I’m becoming.”

“Becoming what?”

“Just becoming.”

“Recklessness, huh?”

“Yes. Recklessness.”

While we ate I mentioned the visit to Vatrina. She didn’t seem interested until I told her it was a camp town. “Were there prisoners?”

“There will be once they get it going again. The guards sit around drinking and waiting for them.”

She touched her fork to her lower lip, then went back to eating.

“I slept with a woman there.”

She laid the fork beside her plate. At first the expression was confused, then it settled. “Did you?”

“She worked at the hotel desk.”

“How was she?”

“All right. Interesting.”

I wanted her to ask more, because I was feeling reckless, too-I could stretch the truth or simply lie-but she didn’t ask anything else. She finished her plate and put it in the sink, then went to the bathroom.

I threw away the food I hadn’t eaten and turned on the radio. She came out before I could sit and asked me to turn it off.

“You don’t want music?”

“I don’t think so.”

I checked her eyes for any sign of tears, but there was none. She walked up to me and nodded at the radio.

“You going to turn it off?”

“No.”

She slapped me. The burn slid down my cheek and over my neck. When she stepped back I snatched her arm, jerked her to me, and bit her cheek.

She punched my stomach-a light thump-and I grabbed her waist and half carried her into the bedroom. She slapped me again in the darkness until I held her down, ripping at her buttons. She got a hand free and tore at my shirt.

It was more violent than before, more anguished. Her teeth drew blood from my shoulder and I bruised her wrists holding her down. It was angrier than it had ever been before, it hurt. I could tell by her whimpers in the dark.

I rolled over on my back. We were both covered in sweat.

She lay a while, facedown in the pillow, making low, grunting noises. I didn’t know if she was crying or not, and I didn’t ask. Then she flung herself on me. When she kissed me, her teeth chipped against mine and her tears rubbed into my cheeks. After a while, she calmed and settled her head on my chest.

As she dozed a fresh wave of dissatisfaction overcame me. The recklessness I had tried with her satisfied nothing. But I didn’t know what else to do.

In the middle of the night, she woke me with her mouth. She rose on her knees, and from the lights of other apartments I saw that she had Agnes’s knotted rope in her hands. She presented it to me and lay down. I didn’t understand at first, but she smiled and said, “I want to sleep like this.”

So I tied her wrists behind her back, then her ankles. In the dim light the shadows on her thin body made her seem emaciated, starved. I gave her a kiss on the mouth, then another one between her legs.

I slept deeply until seven, when a nightmare woke me. I couldn’t remember it all, but one detail floated through and settled in my mind: Malik Woznica on top of Magda, trembling. It was strong enough to give me the feeling I was still dreaming, and when I sat up and went to put on my clothes it was with a gliding, dream-walk across the rug. I washed my face and returned to Vera staring up at me, her wrists bound behind her. Her eyes were very big. “Are you going somewhere?” Her voice was dry. Yes, I said. I’m going somewhere. “How long?” Not so long. I’m not going to untie you. She seemed to be looking inside me. “Okay.”