“You want to talk?”
I shook my head, not trusting my voice.
“Then what? You decide. I’ll do anything you want.”
I looked away from him, thinking about the fearful risks of intimacy, the potential for loss, the tender pain implicit in any bond between two creatures-human or beast, what difference did it make? In me, the instinct for survival and the need for love had been at war for years. My caution was like a wall I’d built to keep me safe. But safety is an illusion and the danger of feeling too much is no worse than the danger of being numb. I looked back at him and saw my pain mirrored in his eyes.
He said, “Come here.” He made a gesture with his hand, coaxing me to move closer.
I crossed the room. Dietz leaned into me like a ladder left behind by a thief.
NINE
Dietz’s knee was so swollen and painful he couldn’t make it up the stairs, so we unfolded the sofa bed. I brought the duvet down from the loft. We turned off the lamp and crawled naked beneath the comforter’s downy weight like polar bears in a cave. We made love in the puffy igloo of the quilt while around us streetlights streamed through the porthole window like moonlight on snow. For a long time, I simply drank in the musky scent of him, hair and skin, feeling my way blindly across all his textured surfaces. The heat from his body thawed my cold limbs. I felt like a snake curling up in a patch of sunlight, warmed to the depths after a long unforgiving winter. I remembered his ways from our three months together-the look on his face, the hapless sounds he made. What I’d forgotten was the smoldering response he awakened in me.
There was a brief time in my youth when my behavior was both reckless and promiscuous. Those were the days when there seemed to be no consequence to sex that wasn’t easily cured. In the current marketplace, you’d have to be a fool-or suicidal-to risk the casual encounter without a lot of straight talk and doctors’ certificates changing hands. For my purposes, celibacy is my habitual state. I suppose it’s a lot like living in times of famine. Without hope of satiation, hunger diminishes and the appetite fades. With Dietz, I could feel all my physical senses quicken, the yearning for contact overcoming my natural reticence. Dietz’s injury required patience and ingenuity, but somehow we managed. The process entailed considerable laughter at our contortions and quiet concentration during the moments between.
Finally, at ten, I flung the covers aside, exposing our sweaty bodies to the arctic temperatures surrounding us. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” I said. “If we don’t stop and eat soon, I’ll be dead before morning.”
Thirty minutes later, showered and dressed, we found ourselves sitting up at Rosie’s in my favorite booth. She and William were both working, he behind the bar and Rosie out waiting tables. Ordinarily, the kitchen closed down at ten, and I could see she was just on the verge of saying as much when she noticed the whisker burn that had set my cheeks aflame. I put my chin in my palm, but not before she caught sight of my sex rash. The woman may be close to seventy, but she’s not unperceptive. She seemed to take in at a glance both the source of our satisfaction and our avid interest in food. I thought the application of my makeup had successfully disguised my chafed flesh, but she was visibly smirking as she recited the meal she intended to prepare for us. With Rosie, there’s no point in even pretending to order. You eat what she decides will be perfect for the occasion. In honor of Dietz’s return, I noticed her English was marginally improved.
She parked herself sideways to the table, wiggling slightly in place, refusing to look directly at either of us after that first sly glance. “Now. Here’s what you gonna get and don’t make with the usual face-like this-while I’m telling you.” She pulled her mouth down, eyes rolling, to show Dietz my usual enthusiasm for her choices. “I’m fixing Korhelyleves, is also called Souse’s Soup. Is taking couple pounds of sauerkraut, paprika, smoked sausage, and some sour cream. Is guaranteed to perk up tired senses of which you look like you got a lot. Then, I’m roasting you little cheeken that I’m serve with mushroom pudding-is very good-and for efter, is hazelnut torte, but no coffee. You need sleep. I’m bringing wine in a minute. Don’t go way.”
We didn’t leave until midnight. We didn’t sleep until one, wound together on the narrow width of the sofa bed. I’m not accustomed to sleeping with someone else and I can’t say it netted me any restful results. Because of his knee, Dietz was forced to lie on his back with a pillow supporting his left leg. This gave me two choices: I could lie pressed against him with my head resting on his chest, or flat on my back with our bodies touching along their lengths.
I tried one and then the other, tossing relentlessly as the hours ticked away. Half the time, I could feel the sofa’s metal mechanism cut across my back, but if I switched to the other position with my head on his chest, I suffered from heatstroke, a dead arm, and a canned left ear. Sometimes I could feel the exhalation of his breath on my cheek and the effect drove me mad. I found myself counting as he breathed, in and out, in and out. In moments, the rhythm changed and there’d be a long pause in which I wondered if he were in the process of dropping dead. Dietz slept like a soldier under combat conditions. His snores were gentle snuffles, just loud enough to keep me on sentry duty, but not quite loud enough to draw enemy fire.
I slept finally-amazingly-and woke at seven energized. Dietz had made coffee and he was reading the paper, dressed, his hair damp, a pair of half-glasses sitting low on his nose. I watched him for a few minutes until his gaze came up to mine.
“I didn’t know you wore glasses.”
“I was too vain before this. The minute you were out the door, I put ’em on,” he said with that crooked smile of his.
I turned on my side, folding my right arm under my cheek. “What time will the boys be expecting you?”
“Early afternoon. I have motel reservations at a place close by. If they want to spend the night, I’ll have room.”
“I’ll bet you look forward to seeing them.”
“Yes, but I’m nervous about it, too. I haven’t seen them for two years-since I left for Germany. I’m never quite sure what to talk about with them.”
“What do you talk to anyone about? Mostly bullshit.”
“Even bullshit requires a context. It gets awkward for them, too. Sometimes we end up going to the movies just to have something to talk about later. I’m not exactly a fount of paternal advice. Once I quiz them about girlfriends and classes, I’m about out of conversation.”
“You’ll do fine.”
“I hope. What about you? What’s your day looking like?”
“I don’t know. This is Saturday, so I don’t have to work. I’ll probably nap. Starting soon.”
“You want company?”
“Dietz,” I said, outraged, “if you get in this bed again, I won’t be able to walk.”
“You’re an amateur.”
“I am. I’m not used to this stuff.”
“How about some coffee?”
“Let me brush my teeth first.”
After breakfast, we went down to the beach. The day was cloudy, the marine layer holding in the heat like foam insulation. The temperature was close to seventy and the air soft and fruity, with a tropical scent. Santa Teresa winters are filled with such contradictions. One day will feel icy while the next day feels mild. The ocean had a slick sheen, reflecting the uniform white of the sky. We took off our shoes and carried them, scuffling along the water’s edge with the frothy play of waves rolling across our bare feet. Seagulls hovered overhead, screeching, while two dogs leaped in unison, snapping at the birds as if they were low-flying Frisbees.
Dietz took off at nine, holding me crushed against him before he got in the car. I leaned on the hood and we kissed for a while. Finally, he pulled back and studied my face. “If I come back in a couple of weeks, will you be here?”
“Where else would I go?”
“I’ll see you then,” he said.
“Don’t worry about me. Any old day will do,” I remarked, waving, as his car receded down the block. Dietz hated to be specific about dates because it made him feel trapped. Of course, the effect of his vagueness was to keep me feeling hooked. I shook my head to myself as I returned to my place. How did I end up with a man like him?