All Good Women (47 page)

Chapter Thirty

Fall 1945, London

NUREMBERG TRIALS BEGIN

ARAB LEAGUE OPPOSES CREATION OF
A JEWISH STATE

RATIONING OF SHOES, MEAT AND BUTTER
ENDS IN US

DETROIT BEATS CHICAGO IN WORLD SERIES

ANNA SAT AT REUBEN'S
TABLE
and followed his swift movements toward the kitchen. She shook her head at his spirit — fixing an elaborate dinner after work and still unable to settle down. He had to make sure her wine glass was full. She reflected how comfortable she had come to feel in his flat this last year. She didn't notice the draft from the high Victorian windows or the clinking of the gas meter any more. How deeply was this atmosphere impressed on her memory? How much would she miss it after a month — or a year — in California? She took another bite of stew. Delicious, she couldn't believe she was eating so much; maybe it was to absorb the wine. She would regret the indulgences tomorrow but there would be so much pain then anyway. Tomorrow. No, concentrate on tonight. This was the last evening in London. Her last time with Reuben. She and Leah were boarding the ship tomorrow and sailing home. Home? Sailing to the United States. As her parents had done. She felt a trace of headache as she watched Reuben uncorking the new bottle. What was
he
thinking now? He seemed equanimous, even cheerful. Did he know a secret about the ship being drydocked or was he putting on a good show? She wished he would express his feelings; it would make it easier for her to let go. No, perhaps he was right to adopt this neutral tone. Where had he found this superb Cabernet?

‘Sorry to take so long.' He smiled shyly. ‘The corkscrew. Some of these bottles barely survived the hostilities. Perhaps that's why the cork didn't want to come out.'

She listened to his elegant Viennese accent, wondering if it had always been this strong. Often during the war she felt numb to certain sensations. It took an effort to hear and to see clearly.

‘Thanks.' She held up her glass greedily. Yes, she did know him well enough to be greedy. He looked so dark tonight — that had come with a summer in which he had finally allowed himself sun.

‘You are all right?' He examined her closely and held the back of his hand against her forehead.

‘Yes,' she laughed. ‘I was just thinking about Leah. I'm sure she'll be OK with Mrs MacDonald tonight.' She should tell him she was just pretending to be a cordial stranger to stem the grief. She was afraid to look at him and took another long gulp of wine.

‘Yes, she will be fine,' he said. ‘More stew?'

‘It's delicious, but no thanks, love. Really, this was beyond the call of duty.'

‘Duty?' He shrugged and opened his mouth as if about to continue. Then distracted by the flapping window shade, he stood to adjust it. ‘Your father has all the details of your arrival.'

‘Yes,' she nodded. ‘Yes, he knows. Do you want to talk more about this, Reuben? Is there something you're trying to say?'

‘I've said it all.' He smiled ruefully. ‘I won't stand in the way of your decision. And I'll come visit you in America as soon as I have saved money and things are sorted out at University. I will bring you back here. That's why I can be festive tonight. I cannot love you by holding you here. But I know you love me and you shall return.'

She tried to hear devotion in his voice. Instead, she was unnerved by his certainty, by his silence about tomorrow. Oh, for God's sake, what did she want from the poor man? Here he was trying to let go generously. He had cooked a sumptuous meal. He would escort her to the ship.

‘To love.' She lifted her glass as a toast and drove confidence into her voice. ‘To us.'

It felt like years
before
she was allowed to go to bed. They talked and talked about friends and music and seasickness. They consumed chocolate cake and coffee and brandy. The evening inched by with excruciating anticipation. Anna was at once sad and exhilarated, wishing to stay in London forever and desperate to leave. First, what time was it, oh, better not look at his wristwatch, no, too late, 2 a.m., they went to bed.

She crawled between the sheets, exhausted, and waited impatiently, listening to the rush of water in the bathroom. Why did he insist on brushing his teeth tonight of all nights? But that was the point. The last night. He was feeling everything while she had grown numb.

He stood at the door, bathroom light shining on to the bed. ‘You are beautiful, my Anna.'

‘Come to bed, love.' She patted the sheet beside her, suddenly alert and aroused. ‘No, don't,' she said as he reached for the light. ‘Tonight, let's just leave it on, OK? Let's remember each other clearly.'

‘For that, I don't need an electric light, but as you like.'

When he opened the sheets, she smelled the heavy sweetness of his armpits. She could almost feel his bear arms around her. He moved closer, but she held him off gently, relishing the image of this big man in the soft light. He lay next to her, stroking her arm and leg. Her insides swelled and melted.

He shifted on top of her. She accepted the silent weight, protecting her, holding her, engulfing her. She imagined flowers opening each other in spring. She could feel his penis grow stronger and harder against the inside of her thigh. Just once, she would like to experience that kind of expansion in herself, know something grow so rapidly and perceptibly. What did he think when this happened? How much control did he have over it? Did he ever resent her for ‘doing this to' him? She could feel her own liquid web weaving wildly. She grew wider inside and then spread her legs. He moaned, stroked her hair and reached down to her breasts with his mouth. Dizzy, she grew hungry for him. But he continued licking back and forth, back and forth. She bit his ear and he breathed with satisfaction, rocking his lower body against her moans. ‘Yes,' she whispered, cutting the silence. ‘Yes.' He raised his face over hers and watched carefully, smiling, seeming to take in a dozen aspects of her face before he kissed her lips and moved his penis closer. Just the touch caught her breath. ‘Yes, yes,' she heard herself saying. He moved inside her slowly, as if tasting the temperature. He pulled out carefully and then returned. Deeper, he entered and deeper and she raised her buttocks off the bed so he could enter her deeper still. Where was he, how far from her heart, from his peak? At moments like this, she wished she could unzip herself and draw him into her skin. So close, almost merging, almost merging and then — the distraction of his rhythms, of his consuming lust. ‘Yes, yes.' His voice. ‘Anna, oh, Anna.' The hot, tense excitement suspended her above the bed until she felt circles within her, reaching from the lips of her vagina to the base of her belly. He climaxed right after her, magnificently loud and sweaty and completely spent. He remained on top of her and they lay together like sun bathers lapped by a salty ocean. His breathing was so even that Anna wondered if he were asleep and, as the thought crossed her mind, he shifted slightly.

‘Are you OK?' he asked.

‘Mmmmm,' she said, unsure about whether she wanted to sleep like this or whether she wanted him to move immediately so she could bathe and go home. Crazy she was tonight.

He drew apart slowly and she became more aware of the moisture between them. Chilly now, she snuggled into his arms.

Stroking her hair, he softly issued her name, ‘Anna.' His breathing grew steady and she knew he was asleep. Why did she feel deserted? They had talked until 2 a.m. They would talk more tomorrow. She was leaving him. She backed closer against his body; his arms tightened around her.

She could not sleep. Sometime later — half an hour — an hour — she moved toward the edge of the bed and placed the pillow over her head. She still liked to sleep under the pillow like this although the night sirens had ceased months ago. Tonight the pillow seemed filled with memories of London. Her first morning in the office when she wondered how she would survive in such a dreary, cramped, freezing room surrounded by those immense files of irresolvable troubles. The day she met Leah's enormous brown eyes. The time Mark apologetically returned her letter and commenced their friendship. Reuben's precipitate visit to the house. The hours spent on tubes, crushed between people figuring out crosswords or reading about the royal family. The phone calls, articulating her words scrupulously until they could be comprehended by London ears. Did she have a British inflection now, or was Mark just teasing her? The walks through Finsbury Park.

Now she was scuffling around the pond. It was a cold, spring afternoon. Spring? They said it was spring in London, but it could be Greenland, with this Arctic wind. Alone. Not alone in the park, surely. But alone by the swans. ‘Love.' The voice came from behind her and when she turned there was no one there. ‘Love.' The voice came from the side and again, when she turned, she was completely alone. ‘Love.'

‘What?' Anna asked.

‘Love?'

‘Who?'

‘Owl?'

‘Is this some kind of game?' She whirled around. A fierce wind blew across the daffodils, knocking several to the grass. Stopping to collect the flowers, for surely they would die here with their stems broken, she felt another wind from behind. And she was lifted into the air, surrounded by white and a great flapping sound. She was flying above the pond thinking, oh, good, I always wanted to see the house from here and suddenly …

She was beneath the pillow
again
, tossing, amidst the rich fragrance of sex. She listened to Reuben's breathing, hoping that it would make her sleepy, but it only made her more anxious. How could he sleep like that, so peacefully, without moving? Well, he wasn't journeying 6,000 miles. Already, she could feel the hangover — that thick, stuffy feeling behind the eyes. Her mouth tasted of wine-turned-to-piss and her teeth were scummy. Would she wake him if she went to the bathroom? No, this was ridiculous, she would just wake herself more. She needed sleep. Ann reached for pleasant thoughts: the geraniums in her windowbox; the sun on Parliament Hill yesterday; the aroma of Reuben's splendid dinner, but every piece of gratitude was stalked by mourning. Tomorrow. Panic coursed through her stomach, dissolving the sexual satisfaction. She had packed a week ago and in the ways she was not ready she would never be ready. Closing her eyes again, she tried Esther's meditative breathing, one-two-three-four-three-two-one. This only bored her.

The fur on her teeth was driving her nuts. She would slip out of bed quietly and he wouldn't notice.

‘Anna, are you all right?'

‘Yes, Reuben,' she called from the bathroom, opening the door. ‘I'm fine. Now go back to sleep.'

‘Back?' He sat up, watching her watching herself in the mirror. ‘I've been awake for the last hour. How can I sleep with you so worried?'

Surprised at her tears, she told herself he wasn't scolding. He was concerned. She finished brushing her teeth and switched off the light. He clicked on the bedside lamp.

Climbing back to bed, she tried to pull him beneath the covers. ‘Come on down, bear, you'll catch your death up there.'

‘What's the use pretending?' he asked. ‘Let's talk a while.'

She sat up, pulling the sheets over her breasts, and reached for a cigarette. She offered it to him and he sucked hungrily. ‘There are more.'

‘No.' He shook his head. ‘I'd rather share yours.'

‘They go faster this way.'

‘But it's more fun.'

She carefully observed him — quiet, sober Reuben. Very few people knew what a boy he was, how charming, how spontaneous and silly.

‘So what's on your mind?' He rubbed his chin with his thumb.

‘Guess.'

‘The trip will be fine. Those ships have made it through rougher seas these last six years …'

‘I'm talking about …'

‘And we've made it through a lot,' he laughed. ‘We'll be fine. Just wait until I bring you and Leah home.'

‘Reuben, don't convince yourself of anything. None of us knows what's going to happen.' But she didn't want to be the voice of doom. Just because she was leaving, she wasn't responsible for everything. ‘Who knows, when you make that famous trip to the States, you might decide to stay. You know, California wine is superior to your French juices.'

‘Hang about now.' He looked at his watch. ‘Hmmm, 3.30. No, even the hour can't explain such delusion. California wine couldn't begin to compare. I'm sorry.'

‘You're not sorry at all,' she grinned.

‘Not about that, no.' His voice cracked and he turned aside.

‘Oh, Reuben.' She reached for him, but he moved away.

‘Love, don't.' She took his arm and felt his whole body shake. ‘Sweetheart, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.'

He turned and settled his head on her breasts. His tears ran through the sticky sweat that enclosed her body and she imagined herself turning to salt.

‘It's no one's fault.' He had stopped crying, but his breathing was weighted. ‘Not your fault, not my fault …' His lips trembled again.

They both broke into sobs now, rocking back and forth in the old bed.

She squinted at him through the tears. Wiping off her cheeks, she sat straighter and sniffed. ‘The two of us!' she tried to laugh.

He tried to laugh.

‘Sleep?' she suggested.

He checked his watch. ‘4.15. That leaves us a little time. Why not?'

As they slid beneath the covers, she tried to feel safe by picturing the light rising outside.

Anna opened her eyes
that
morning, glad of the cold she felt on the tip of her nose. She would hate to leave London on a perfect day. Not that she believed in omens, yet she noticed that, since Mama died, she was sounding more and more like her. Reuben was still sleeping beside her. She didn't want to waken him, but there was so much work to do before they got to the ship. Tentatively, she moved her hands from the warm vapors of the bed. Cold, yes, it was going to be one of those dank London mornings. She could see fog shrouding the steeple down the street.