In the Red (15 page)

A
ndrei was in a possessive rage once Dragos was done with Irina. His face was violently flushed, his body tight and trembling with rage. He looked as if he had been pacing the apartment like a murderous animal in a cage.

“Was he any good?” he demanded to know the moment she stepped through the front door. She didn't know how to answer, so she stood there staring at him stupidly, like transfixed prey.

“I said, was he a good fuck?” Andrei repeated, a little louder.

“I don't know,” she answered quietly. “What's a bad fuck like?”

“If you don't know that, clearly you haven't fucked enough people.”

Irina closed the door. She tried to walk past him. He caught her by the arm. “I bet you still have his smell on you.”

“I'm going to take a shower, right now,” she said dryly.

“No, leave him on you.” He pulled her against him, his grip digging into her upper arms. “Are you still my girl, now, under the stench of him?”

“It wasn't my idea to go over there.”

“You're a whore now. You're not my girl.”

She looked into his red face and dared him. “Why don't you see if you can make me? Make me your girl again.”

He kissed her, hard, to stop her mouth from uttering another word. It was not only her he was furious at; it seemed it was everything. He vibrated with desire to destroy the whole world. But all he had in his arms at the moment was this frail female body, and she would have to do.

They fucked across the apartment like a pair of raving animals, shedding hastily removed clothes along the way. The couch, the floor, up against a wall. Eventually they were on the bed, she at the edge of it on her back, he standing over her holding her legs apart, boring himself into her as viciously as he knew how. She ground back against him, moaning through gritted teeth. He reached for her neck and squeezed just above the clavicle. The pressure of his hand was not yet meant to hurt, but it was insistent enough to remind Irina that it could.

“Whore!” he spat, which made her laugh. She laughed and came at the same time so that her body did not at all know what noise to make—she was left gasping, mouth agape, trembling from head to toe.

“What's so funny?” Andrei demanded. “What's so fucking funny?”

“I am not a whore, Andrei. He hasn't paid me yet so I am only a slut.”

At those words the grip on her neck tightened. He had both hands around her throat and was choking her in earnest. She went into a hot, overwhelming swoon until he finished. She watched him with her dimming eyes. He reared when he came in that way that she loved, as if his body was shocked and overwhelmed at the pleasure she gave. He groaned her name and collapsed. She held him to her with her eyes closed, feeling new air penetrating her lungs, slowly bringing her back. She kissed his ear before she whispered into it, “What does it matter, anyway? Have you not been inside more women than I can count on fingers and toes?”

“It's not the same,” Andrei said, with something like sated exhaustion.

“How is it not the same?”

“It's not the same because you are a woman, darling. It's just not the same.”

She supposed he was right. It was true that being a woman complicated things, that it was costlier. It wasn't fair but it was true. She nuzzled the bite mark she had left on his shoulder. He petted her long, tangled hair.

“How many of them were bad fucks?” Irina asked.

“I don't know. Not most, but a significant portion. Sometimes it might have been my fault too. I don't know. A bad fuck is like…a bad fuck is when the other touches you and you think it would be more interesting to look over your bank books to see how much money you have.”

Irina looked at Andrei until he shook his head. “Never mind. You are too young to know. That is why you are so good. That is why I cannot keep myself from ruining you.”

The idea that a woman could be ruined, like a white silk dress with red wine spilled on it—was this one of his jokes? His face looked peaceful. His eyes were half-lidded as if heavy with satisfaction. His lips were lax as if his mouth had devoured a whole world. She wanted to ask him why a man would hand off his girl to another man. It must have been more than something between her and Andrei. It must have been something between him and Dragos, some man thing. A drive for competition, for showing each other up? Or maybe even a perverse kind of love, like breaking bread together. Maybe it was some sort of Romanian thing. If she asked about that, surely Andrei would dismiss her immediately. He preferred, whenever possible, not to talk about Romanian things.

Still, while she had him there in her arms, she had to ask, “Andrei? Remember that story you told me with the lamb?”

“Yes. MioriÅ£a.”

“Why would the shepherd let his enemies kill him if he knew they meant to? Why wouldn't he try to avert his own death?”

Andrei didn't answer right away. She waited for his reply in stubborn silence.

“Irina, that is an American question you are asking.”

He sounded a touch impatient and vaguely disappointed, as if he'd expected better from her. This was funny coming from a man who so casually took everything he wanted. If stoic passivity was a Romanian trait, he wasn't very good at being Romanian. In that way, he was actually more American than she was.

What story did she fit into? Many stories lived in her head, but she couldn't find one that would explain her to herself. Maybe that was the thing, she half-thought, half-dreamed as she drifted off to sleep while bruises shaped like Andrei's fingers bloomed into being all over her body. Maybe she wasn't really a person. She was just stories mashed together in the shape of a girl.

A
fter Dragos told her the story about the garage, Irina thought their encounter was over. She thought she'd get dressed and go home, now that he'd gotten up to fetch himself a stiff drink. When he came back, he had the clear heat of vodka on his breath.

“You're a bad influence on me with that sweet slit of yours,” he said. “You have me drinking in the early afternoon.”

“Well, it's not like you
have
to drink. We could just fuck.”

“Ha! The wisdom of the young.”

He was hard again. When Irina tried to get up, he reached for her and gathered her to himself.

“Again?” she said, compelled yet unsure about the wisdom of another round.

“Why not? You said you have all afternoon.”

“Shit. Why did I say that?”

He lasted longer this time, so she had the leisure to pay closer attention to him. When he'd first been inside her, she was too excited and distraught that he was not Andrei to notice exactly what about him was different than the man she belonged to. Now she could observe the different shape, the different weight of him. His hand on her, broader and with squatter fingers. The different way it handled her. And yet there was a sameness there.

“You know,” Dragos said after he had once again finished, “if you are hanging around us because you are trying to understand some Romanian thing, some
thing
about your origins, I do not know if we can help with that.”

“Well. You ought to be able to, since you're both from there.”

“I rather think I am from nowhere.”

“Now there's a bunch of manly bullshit. Everyone is from somewhere, especially men with as much baggage as you.”

“All right, then I am generally baggaged, but not baggaged in a Romanian way.”

“Come on.”

“Come on yourself!”

“Come on. I'll show you. Tell me a Romanian story.”

“A what? How does a woman go asking for a thing like that? Usually they ask for more pills, not for fucking fairy tales.”

“Tell me a Romanian story. Now. Even if it's one about how you can never go home again.”

O
nce upon a time something happened. Had it not happened, it would not be told. There was once a mighty emperor and empress who were unable to have children. They went to many diviners, witches, and philosophers, but for a long time all was in vain. Then one day the royal court visited the hut of an old man renowned for his wisdom, and the old man told the emperor, Your wish will bring you sorrow.

I am not here to question you about that, replied the emperor, but to learn whether you have any plants to give us that will bestow the blessing of children.

I have, but you will possess only one child. He will be a handsome, lovable boy, yet you will not be able to keep him long.

So the child was born, but from the hour of his birth he screamed in a way no magic arts could silence. The emperor held the wailing baby and promised him all the good things the world contained, without being able to quiet him: Hush, little lad, I will give you the most beautiful princess in the world for your wife. Hush, my son, I will give you kingdoms spanning beyond the known world.

Finally, the emperor, dazed with too little sleep and unaware of the meaning of the words he cooed at his son, said, Hush now, my boy, and I will give you youth without age and life without death.

At that moment, the little prince stopped crying and looked up at his father with limpid, hopeful eyes. The emperor was awash with dread.

The older the boy grew, the more thoughtful and reflective he became. Tutored by the best philosophers, he excelled at every sort of learning so that the emperor died of joy and came to life again. The whole realm was proud of having a prince so wise and learned, a second King Solomon. But one day, when the lad had just reached his fifteenth year and the emperor sat at a banquet with the nobles of the country, the handsome prince rose, saying, Father, the time has come. You must now give me what you promised at my birth.

When the emperor heard this he grew sorrowful and answered: Why, my son, how can I give you an impossible thing? If I promised it to you then, it was only to hush you.

If you can't give it to me, father, I shall be obliged to wander through the whole world till I find what was promised to me, and for which I was born.

The young hero went to the imperial stables, where the finest steeds in the realm were standing, to choose one of them. But all the horses bucked and neighed at his touch, save one sick, weak horse in the corner, covered with sores. What do you command, my master? said the animal. I thank God that He has permitted a hero's hand to touch me once more.

I intend to go on a journey to seek youth without age and life without death.

To obtain your wish, the horse replied, you must ask your father for the sword, lance, bow, quiver of arrows, and garments he wore when a youth. Also, you must take care of me with your own hands for six weeks and give me oats boiled in milk.

The prince rummaged through his father's old chests, finding at the bottom of a trunk the weapons and garments his father had worn in his youth, but the arms were covered with rust. He set to work cleaning them with his own hands and in six weeks, during the time he was taking care of the horse, he succeeded in making the weapons glint like mirrors. When the horse heard from the handsome prince that the clothes and arms were cleaned and ready, he shook himself once. All the sores instantly fell off and there the horse stood, a strong, well-formed animal, with four wings. May you have a long life, master. From today I shall be at your service, the horse declared.

When the court saw the lad ready to set off, clad in the emperor's restored battle vestments, all implored him to give up the journey and not risk his life. When the emperor saw that his son's resolve would not be shaken, he granted the prince a retinue of two hundred horsemen and a string of carts loaded with provisions and money. He watched the lad set spurs to his steed and dash away through the gate like the wind, the old familiar dread in the pit of his stomach.

After reaching the boundaries of his father's country and breaching the wilderness, the prince distributed all his property among the escort, bade them farewell, and sent them back, keeping for himself only as much food as the horse could carry. Turning east, he rode for three days and three nights, till he came to a wide plain where lay a great many human bones.

You must know, said the horse, that we are on the land of the Woodpecker Fairy, who is so wicked that nobody who enters her domain ever comes out again. She was once a woman, but the curse of her parents, whom she angered with her disobedience, turned her into a woodpecker. She is terribly big, but don't be frightened. Keep your sword and bow at the ready.

No sooner had the horse spoken than a terrible howl came from the tree line on the horizon, and the Woodpecker Fairy crashed out of the woods, knocking down trees and blasting bones to dust as she roared across the plain at our prince. The horse leapt up like the wind over the charging nemesis while the prince shot off one of her feet with an arrow. Just as he was pulling another arrow from his quiver, the fairy cried, Stop, young hero. I'll do you no harm.

Seeing that he did not believe her, she gave him the promise written with her own blood. Your horse cannot be killed, my young hero, she explained. It is enchanted. If it hadn't been for that, I would have roasted and eaten you. Know that until today no mortal man has ventured to cross my boundaries as far as this. The few bold knights who attempted it reached only the plain where you saw so many bones.

They now went to the fairy's house, where she entertained them as guests. The clement prince fastened her severed foot back onto her leg, and the wound instantly healed. The hostess, in her joy, kept open house for three days, and begged the emperor's son to choose one of her beautiful daughters for his wife. He would not do that, but told her what he was seeking, and she replied, With your horse and your heroic courage, I believe you will succeed.

At the end of his sojourn, the prince took his leave and rode on and on. When he finally crossed the frontiers of the Woodpecker Fairy's kingdom, he entered a beautiful meadow, one side of which was covered with blooming plants, while the other side was scorched earth. When the prince asked why the grass was singed off the ground, the horse answered, We are now in the domain of the Scorpion Witch; she is the Woodpecker Fairy's sister, but they are both so wicked that they can't live together. Their parents' curse has fallen upon them, and so, as you see, they have become monsters. Their enmity goes beyond all bounds; they are always trying to get possession of each other's lands. When this one is angry, she spits fire and pitch; this scorched earth here must be the remains of a border skirmish. This witch is even worse than her sister, and has three heads.

No sooner had the horse spoken than a crackling hiss filled the air unlike anything ever heard before. The Scorpion Witch, with one jaw in the sky and the other on the earth, approached like the wind, spitting fire as she came, but the horse darted upward swiftly while our hero shot an arrow, felling one of her heads. When he was going to strike off another, the Scorpion Witch entreated him to forgive her, she would do him no harm, and to convince him of this she gave him her promise, written in her own blood.

Like the Woodpecker Fairy, she entertained the prince, who returned her head, which reattached to her body, and at the end of three days he resumed his travels. When the hero and his horse had reached the boundaries of the Scorpion Witch's kingdom, they hurried on without resting till they came to a field covered with flowers, where reigned a perpetual spring. Every blossom was remarkably beautiful and filled with a sweet, intoxicating fragrance; a gentle breeze fanned them all.

So we have reached the place, master, said the horse, but we still have one great peril to face. A little further on is the palace where dwell Youth without Age and Life without Death. It is surrounded by a high, dense forest, where roam all the wild animals in the world, watching the gates day and night. They are very numerous, and it is almost beyond the bounds of possibility to get through the woods by fighting them; we must try, if we can, to jump over them. Buckle my girth as tight as you can, and when you have mounted, hold fast to my mane and press your feet close to my neck, that you may not hinder me.

The prince mounted, and in a moment they were close to the forest. The horse took a galloping start. As they flew upward, they glimpsed a palace that glittered so fiercely that it could not be looked upon, like the sun. They passed over the forest, and just as they were descending at the palace steps, one of the horse's hooves lightly touched the top of a tree, which awoke the whole woods. The wild animals howled so that the prince's hair stood on end. They circled him for the kill, but the mistress of the palace stopped them, sparing our hero's life out of pure pleasure, for she had never before seen a human being. Restraining the savage beasts, she soothed them, and sent them back to their haunts.

The mistress of the palace was a tall, slender, lovely lady, quite astonishing. When the young hero saw her, he stood still as though turned to stone. As she gazed at him she pitied him and said, Welcome, my handsome prince. What do you seek here?

I seek Youth without Age and Life without Death.

Then he dismounted from his horse and entered the palace, where he found another lady of the same age, as dazzling as the first one. The two sisters had a magnificent banquet served in golden dishes. They gave the horse liberty to graze wherever he chose, and afterward made him acquainted with all the wild beasts, so that he might rove about the forest in peace. The ladies entreated the prince to stay with them, saying that it was so tiresome to be alone. He did not wait to be asked a second time, but accepted the offer with the satisfaction of a man who had found precisely what he sought.

The prince spent a very long time at the palace without being aware of it, for he always remained just as young as he was when he arrived. He wandered about the woods, amused himself in the golden palace, lived in peace and quiet with the two ladies, enjoying their beauty and the beauty of the flowers, and the lightness of the sweet, pure air. His two wives let him do as he pleased, only entreating him not to enter one valley, which they called the Valley of Tears.

He often went hunting. But one day, while pursuing a hare, he shot two arrows without hitting the animal. Angrily chasing it, he discharged a third arrow, which struck it, but in his haste he had not noticed that he had passed through the Valley of Tears while following the game. He picked up his kill and turned toward home, but was suddenly gripped with a wrenching longing for his father and mother. He did not venture to speak of this wish to his consorts, yet by his grief and restlessness both sisters instantly perceived his condition. Oh luckless prince, you have passed through the Valley of Tears, they wailed in terror.

I did so, my dear ones, without meaning to be so imprudent, but now the longing to see my parents is killing me! Yet I cannot forsake you. I have already spent some days with you and have no cause to complain. So I'll go and see my parents once more, and then come back to you, never to leave you again.

Do not quit us, beloved prince! Your parents died two or three hundred years ago, and if you go, we fear you yourself will never return. Stay with us, for a presentiment of evil tells us that you will perish.

All the entreaties of the two ladies, as well as those of the horse, were unable to quiet the young hero's longing for his parents, which was fairly consuming him alive. At last the horse said: If you don't listen to me, master, whatever happens to you will be your own fault. I'll tell you something, and if you accept my condition, I'll take you back.

I'll accept it with many thanks, replied the prince. Let me hear it.

As soon as you reach your father's palace you will dismount, but I am to return alone in case you stay even an hour.

Be it so, the prince agreed.

They made their preparations for the journey. The prince embraced the ladies and bade them farewell. They sobbed and wept bitterly watching him ride away.

The prince and his faithful steed reached the country that had once been the kingdom of the Scorpion Witch, but they found cities there. The woods had become well-tilled fields. The prince questioned one person after another about the Scorpion Witch and her house. They answered that their grandfathers had heard from their great-great-grandfathers that such silly tales had once been told.

How is that possible? asked the prince. I came through this region myself only a short time ago.

The people laughed at him as if he were a lunatic or a person talking in his sleep, and the prince angrily rode on without noticing that his hair and beard were growing white. When he reached the realm of the Woodpecker Fairy, the same questions and answers were exchanged. The prince could not understand how these places had altered so much in so few days, and again he rode angrily on. He now had a white beard that reached his waist, and a tremor was creeping up from his feet through his legs.

Finally, the prince arrived at his father's empire. There he found new people, new towns, and everything so much changed that he could not recognize it. At last he came to the palace where he had been born. When he dismounted, the horse kissed his hand and said, I wish you good health, master. I'm going back to the place whence I came. If you want to go too, mount quickly, and we'll be off.

Farewell. I, too, hope to return soon.

The horse darted away with the speed of an arrow.

When the prince saw the ruined palace and the weeds growing around it, he sighed deeply and, with tears in his eyes, tried to remember how magnificent these places had once been. He walked around the building two or three times, recollecting how every room, every corner had looked. He found the remains of the stable where he had discovered the horse, and then went down into the cellar, whose entrance was choked up with rubble and crawling weeds. He groped along, holding up his eyelids with his hands, and scarcely able to stay standing, while his snowy beard now fell to his knees. He found nothing except a dilapidated old chest, which he opened. It seemed empty, but as he raised the lid a voice from the bottom said, Welcome. If you had kept me waiting much longer, I, too, should have gone to decay.