Hausfrau (8 page)

In the kitchen Mary motioned to a high side table flanked
by a couple of bar stools with backrests. Anna recognized the set. It came straight from the IKEA warehouse floor. “Have a seat, Anna.” Anna sat. Mary busied herself opening doors: refrigerator, oven, pantry. Mary was at home in her kitchen, a good little hausfrau, happy as a rabbit. Mary hummed while she stirred, sautéed, and sampled. She was a pretty woman, but plain somehow, and doughy, a Canadian mother from the sticks. Her clothes were functional; she wore a sensible hairstyle and very little makeup.
Aren’t athletes’ wives usually flashier? Don’t they typically have more style?
Anna saw nothing immodest about her, her kitchen, her house, her family. Anna chalked this up to the Gilberts’ Manitoban pragmatism. Mary was four years younger than Anna. This they had discovered during a class break earlier that week.

The news rattled Anna’s vanity.
Do I present as matronly as that?
Later that particular afternoon in Archie’s apartment, bare-breasted and straddling him, Anna asked whether he thought she did, warning him first to think hard before he answered. He swore upon the bones of some Scottish hero Anna had never heard of that she did
not.
Anna felt a little bit better.

“Bruno seems
very
nice, Anna. And your children—oh!—so precious!”

Anna swigged from her glass and muttered something along the lines of
Seem and be are cousins, not twins.
Bruno
was
behaving sweetly and with charismatic allure. But that was one night out of thousands.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Mary said and sadness seeped through her words like water through cheesecloth. “The other men on the team have Swiss wives and I don’t know any of the mothers from Max and Alexis’s school yet. I know I’ll meet
people and make friends eventually. Everyone is nice enough. But cold, you know?”

Anna told her she did know.

Mary took the roast from the oven and put it on a platter. Anna rose to help but Mary said, “No, no, I have it.” Anna eased back onto the bar stool. “Anna,” Mary started, “how long was it before you felt like you belonged here?” Her voice hung on the hope that Anna would answer with the words
Not long at all.

That was not her answer.

“Oh.”

Anna retreated. “Mary, it’s really not that bad,” she lied. “It’s just a chilly climate all around. You’ll find your footing and your gait. You’ll find your stride. It’s good you’re in German class. I waited nine years too long.”

“But Anna—your German is the best in the class.”

Anna corrected her. “I’m the only person who’s lived in Zürich more than a few months.”

Mary picked up the roast and signaled with her elbow to a bowl of salad. Anna took it and followed her into the dining room. “I’m so glad we met,” Mary offered. “Let’s do something after class next week. It doesn’t matter what. I’m happy to have someone I can talk to. Tim, too, it seems.” Mary gestured toward the den, where Tim and Bruno leaned forward in their seats. Bruno used the coffee table as a writing desk and jotted on a confetti-edged piece of paper ripped from a spiral notebook. Anna guessed he was giving financial advice. Mary called out, “Soup’s on!” and Max and Charles raced down the stairs. She called again for Victor and Alexis. They had been squabbling over whose turn it was to play the game.

Max was in the kitchen, underfoot. “Darling, please get out of Mommy’s way.” Max danced around. “Mommy!”

“What’s it, dear heart?” Mary dodged her son as she carried a pitcher of water into the dining room.

“Charles told a
secret
!” Anna glanced at Charles, who cowered next to the doorjamb, looking mortified.

Mary also noticed Charles’s distress. “Max, if it’s a secret then you can’t even say
that.
Okay? Go wash your hands.” Max grabbed Charles and they both sped off to wash up.

Anna wanted—almost desperately—to know what the secret was.

“Y
OU ARE KEEPING SECRETS
from me,” Doktor Messerli accused.

Anna asked her if she realized that bank secrecy was a twentieth-century Swiss invention.

“There’s a difference between secrecy and privacy.”

“Yeah? What is it?” It was a defensive response.

Doktor Messerli shook her head and wrote something in her notebook.

A
BOUT FIVE MINUTES BEFORE
the end of Friday’s class Anna had looked up from her notebook to see Archie staring at her from across the table. He raised an eyebrow. Anna caught the tacit invitation. She made a face that she hoped he understood meant
We’ll talk about it after class.
Five minutes later, after Roland ended his lesson, after Anna assured Mary once again that she knew how to get to their house and yes, they would be there on time, after Mary finally left for her train and the
rest of the class dispersed, Anna turned toward the trams at Sternen Oerlikon and without any verbal assent led Archie to the number 10. They boarded together.

Anna sat by the window watching the gray streets of the city grate past them as the tram sluiced south toward downtown. It was a monochromatic day. It matched her mood.

They had just passed the Irchel campus of the University of Zürich when Archie leaned over, put his lips very close to Anna’s ear, and in a dirty whisper said, “I want to fuck your mouth.” Anna responded with silence. He waited a beat and then said it again. “When we get to my flat I’m going to fuck your mouth. Do you hear me?” At Milchbuck, two nuns dressed in dark slate skirts and matching mid-length veils boarded the tram and took the seats directly in front of Anna and Archie. Anna reddened underneath her clothes. Archie ignored all lines of decorum. “You like it in the ass? You want me to shove my dick into your ass?” One of the sisters shifted in her seat. Archie snorted. “I’m going to pound your ass with my fat, hard cock.” Anna wondered if the nuns spoke any English.

The closer the tram came to Central, the more explicit the details of their impending fuck became.
I’m going to fuck you in the ass. I’m going to stick my finger in your ass. I’ll shove you to the wall, Anna, I swear it. I’m going to bend you over my table and wipe your pussy with my face.
The second nun turned around but looked past them. Archie grinned. Anna couldn’t tell what was getting him off—the dirty talk, the belligerent nature of its script, or the audience of others overhearing them. She didn’t know him well enough even to make a guess.

Archie kept on when they got off the tram.
I’m going to lash you to the bed frame. Knot your wrists. Tape your eyes
closed. Shove a rag in your mouth.
They walked at a clip, Archie steering Anna through the crowd like a husband, his palm at her back on an angle as he guided her from behind.
I’m going to suck your clit until it’s plump like a plum, woman.
By the time they got to Altstadt whatever he wanted to accomplish began to work. Anna was in on the arousal, her pulse was high, and she was starting to go light-headed, nearly ready to let him do everything he swore he would.

But it was all and only talk. That day’s sex was straightforward, if renegade. By the time they got to his apartment, they were both so flustered that neither bothered to strip out of their shirts—Archie didn’t even remove his jacket. He fell back on the couch and pulled her onto his naked lap. She straddled him and he coaxed her open with his thumbs. Anna was sopping; Archie slid in easily. He grabbed her hips like handles and pistoned her forcibly up and down. She didn’t realize how tightly he’d been holding on until the next day when she was in the shower and saw the little purple bruises where his fingers had dug in.

“You’re hurting me.” It was a statement; she wasn’t protesting. Archie grunted in a way that Anna took to mean he was almost done, which he was. He pulled out so quickly that he nearly shoved her off of him. He came hard, on her belly. There was blood on his cock. A lot of blood, and all of it a shiny shade of red, the color of a stop sign, a flashing hazard light. “Christ!” It was everywhere. On his cock, her thighs, his lap, the couch. It glistened in her pubic hair and rolled past her knee in a line halfway down her calf. “Shit.” The blood shook Archie from his orgasm. They didn’t have a towel so he took off his sock and gave it to her. “I’m sorry,” Anna said, near tears.

Archie laughed lightly as Anna mopped herself. All violence in his voice had been replaced with a jovial, practically chummy friendliness and concern for Anna’s welfare. “No apologies—I’m the one who should be sorry.” He winked. “Didn’t mean to split you open.” He winked again and broke into a rascal smile. It was the wrong wink at the wrong time. Anna’s expression said so. Archie homed in on her distress. “You’re all right, yes?” Anna shook her head yes, sniffling. This had happened before, rough sex jarring the blood and spongy tissue loose at just the right time of her cycle. It wasn’t exactly his fault. The period would have come anyway, but likely not that afternoon and most definitely not on his couch. “No need to be embarrassed.” Archie was trying to be kind. He didn’t need to be. Anna found it condescending. She wasn’t embarrassed at all.
Why would he even think that?
But she
was
something. What it was, she couldn’t yet name. She sniffed again and swabbed her thighs with the sock. Archie ticked his head toward the bathroom. “Go take a shower. I’ll make you something to drink. That’s a good girl.”

Anna gathered herself, her clothes, her purse, and fumbled into the bathroom, the sock between her legs and blood now streaking the inside of both thighs. She found a washcloth on the towel rack and a tampon in her purse. She cleaned up quickly, dressed, and told Archie she didn’t have time for a drink. “I have to go,” she said, but she was already almost out the door. She’d left the washcloth and the still-bloody sock in the sink.

“E
N GUETE
!”
B
RUNO SAID
before the first bite was taken. Mary asked him what that meant and Bruno explained it was Swiss
for “bon appétit.” Mary was an excellent chef and her dinner was well received by all. The conversation remained friendly and upbeat. Tim mentioned to Mary that Bruno had given him investment advice.

“Oh, good!” Mary’s voice rang sincere.

Bruno smiled deferentially. “This is what I do. It is my job. I am glad to help.”

The children behaved well, though Victor momentarily reverted to pouting; he hadn’t wanted to play with a girl. He hadn’t wanted to come at all. Anna frowned at him and Victor took his usual sulky defense and muttered something about having a mean mother and ordered her to stop looking at him.

“Victor.” Bruno’s voice carried a warning in it and Victor responded with a near inaudible
Yessir
or
Jo,
Anna couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter. Bruno was agreeable enough that night to defend her. She was gratified. Max and Charles laughed at a series of in-jokes and distractions, behaving like the best of friends. Alexis sat and ate. She wore a blankly compliant expression. Biddable but frigid. Not exactly passive, but not exactly not. Anna recognized the expression and felt a pulse of compassion.
I know this girl,
Anna thought.
I’ve been her.

“T
HE FACE ONE WEARS
as an adult is a mask that’s cut to fit in her youth.”

There are many kinds of masks,
Anna thought.
Theater masks and Halloween masks and surgical masks and fencing masks and diving masks and wrestling masks and ski masks. Welding visors and face cages, blindfolds and dominos. And death masks.

The Doktor continued. “Every mask becomes a death
mask when you can no longer put it on or take it off at will. When it conforms to the contours of your psychic face. When you mistake the persona you project for your living soul. When you can no more distinguish between the two.”

T
HE
S
3 JERKED SHARPLY
as Bahnhof Dietlikon came into view. It was the architecture of the track and it happened every time the train from Stettbach pulled in. It didn’t matter how often it occurred; it always startled Anna. Anna was in a window seat, resting her head against the glass when the train made its usual sudden move. She bumped her forehead, gave a yelp. A teenage boy sitting across from her sniggered. He had a mean, rude face. They locked eyes for an uncomfortable three or four seconds before his Handy rang and he broke the gaze. He answered it, got up, and moved to a different bank of seats. Of all the events in the last hour, it was this that embarrassed Anna most.

Anna stayed on the train. When she left Archie’s apartment she’d been gripped by an indulgent desire to do something she’d always wanted to do but never took the time for: to ride the full length of a line, both ways. In this case, to Wetzikon, the S3’s eastern terminus, then back the way she came to Aarau, the city at its western end, before returning to Dietlikon. The trip would devour the afternoon.
I don’t know why. I just want to. Does it matter?
Anna sassed herself. She phoned Ursula from Stadelhofen, apologized, and told her she’d forgotten that she’d scheduled an extra analysis that afternoon and promised she’d make it up to her any way she could. It wasn’t entirely a lie; Doktor Messerli said it once, twenty, a hundred times:
Analysis happens whether the analyst
is present or not.
The dinner with the Gilberts wasn’t until that evening. Anna had time.

The sex had left her agitated.
No,
Anna thought,
vulnerable.
No woman watches herself bleed without being reminded that there’s little but skin and a collection of thin vascular membranes holding her together. And the bright, basic daylight made the blood all the more startling. It hadn’t embarrassed her. It had
exposed
her. Archie’s precoital prattle hadn’t helped. It unsettled her, how easily she buckled under his insistence, his commandeering whisper. But vulnerability’s a magnet that always attracts assault. Some weaknesses beg to be seized.

Anna spent the train ride caught in alternating cycles of self-seeking, self-seething, and silence. The metaphor wasn’t lost on her.
Passenger. Passive. I am not the engineer of my life. On track or off. It’s what I’m trained in.
Anna could not help but smile at these very apt puns.