Silence Is Golden (11 page)

And so here I am, sitting on the cold bathroom floor. Here is the answer I was looking for. I’m just afraid. I found Aris, I approached him, and now at last, he’s in my house, he’s close to me, and I’m afraid of him because he’s a man. But I cannot let the past dictate my present and my future. No man has ever touched my bare skin. Most of the boys in my old neighborhood thought I was the devil incarnate because I had red hair and wore short dresses instead of jeans. I let them believe what they wanted. I think about Aris, so helpless and alone in my bed, but so full of confidence in me. I feel the sudden urge to reach for him and make him take me into his arms.

I get up off the floor, brush my teeth, and look in the mirror. My short hair is shooting up toward the sky, and my eyes are red from crying, but there’s a smile on my lips that this mirror has never reflected before. I tiptoe back into the bedroom. Aris is still asleep, lying in the same position as when I left him. I quickly begin to undress, watching him, praying that he doesn’t wake and pin me with his gaze. I take off my jacket, dress, socks, and even my underwear. I’m not nearly as orderly as he was; I simply let my clothes fall to the ground. Completely naked, I lift a corner of the duvet and stare at Aris’s body in the dim candlelight. My eyes fill with tears, and I close them, willing them away. I get into bed without touching him.

He sighs in his sleep and reaches out, perhaps searching for me. His fingertips graze my side, and his eyes pop open. He smiles incredulously, realizing that he’s touched my bare skin. I smile too, no longer afraid. Groaning, he closes his eyes again and pulls me to him. I expect him to kiss me, to caress me, but he doesn’t. I hear his rapid breathing, see his chest rising and falling, his muscles tense, but he remains motionless. He’s leaving every decision up to me. He’s letting me know that it would be okay if we just embraced like this for the rest of the night, and nothing more.

I move away just a little to see him better. We’re both staring at each other as if we can’t believe we’re actually here, together. It’s as if we’re seeing each other for the very first time. Pushing the hair out of his face, I brush my finger over his lips. He brings his mouth closer to mine, until our breath is mingling. He continues to remain motionless, gazing at me, and then I kiss him. At first, it’s just a soft touch of the lips. Slowly, however, I grow bolder, and my tongue seeks his. When they meet, I feel a warmth suddenly spread through my entire body, and I let myself go. I caress his bare skin, and he responds. Our kisses are deep. They cloud my mind as my heart beats faster and my breathing accelerates. His hands are on my body and in my hair. I kiss his face, his eyelids, the soft skin behind his ears. We roll over, holding tightly to each other, and then Aris stops, holding my hands with his own. He looks into my eyes, and I can see that he’s asking a simple question without speaking. I answer with a single word.

“Yes.”

I repeat it over and over while I kiss him. I feel his muscles relax, and his hands caress me again, touching areas of my body that no one has ever touched before. My legs open for him and welcome him. I stare at him apprehensively as he slowly enters me. I only briefly feel a little pain, and then the feeling is indescribable. I close my eyes and moan, and he stops.

“Emi . . . ,” he murmurs.

I smile and look at him as he stares back with anguish clearly written on his face. His hair is covering his eyes, so I raise a hand and push it out of the way, caressing his cheek.

“I’m fine,” I say. “Don’t stop, please.”

He stares at me, trying to figure out if I’m telling the truth. Then I move, and he begins to moan. He kisses me hungrily, and he also moves, slowly but rhythmically, like a wave. I’m not aware of anything other than Aris inside me, our rushed breathing, our bodies moving together, our mouths coming together, never parting for more than a moment. Our moans become more and more intense. It seems impossible that I could feel anything stronger than this—but suddenly, I do. When it happens, my eyes are fixed on Aris, and his eyes are wide open too, incredulous and glistening with tears. I feel him shudder inside me, with me, and I hold him close. After a while, Aris rolls onto his back, dragging me with him. I lie with my head on his chest as he pulls up the covers that we’d kicked off. He silently continues to stroke my hair.

“You called me Emi . . . ,” I whisper into the shadows.

“I love you, Emi.”

I’m rendered speechless. Lifting my head, I see that his face is wet with tears. He doesn’t move to dry them, so I do. It seems like I washed his dirt-stained face a century ago. I bring my hand up to his face and kiss him. I can’t speak. I want to tell him that I love him too, that I’ve loved him from the moment I first saw him, but I just can’t say the words. I give up, falling back onto his warm body. We remain in that embrace for a long time. I worry that he must be tired from supporting my weight, so I start to shift away. But his arms tighten around me, as if he’ll never let me go.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t say—” I start to explain, but he stops me.

“Shh . . .” He lays my head back down on his chest. “It doesn’t matter.” But I do feel the same. Can you love someone so much that you can read their thoughts? I’m not sure, but I think it’s happening to us. From the moment I first saw him, I’ve been able to understand what he’s thinking without him actually saying it. Maybe it’s the same for him, and I shouldn’t bother with words.

The wind and rain have stopped, and silence surrounds us. Aris brings his lips to my ear and whispers, “Wait for me.” Then he leaves, placing me gently on the mattress. He quickly kisses my forehead and slips into the bathroom. Suddenly, I feel cold down to my soul. I know that I’ll always feel this way from now on when he’s not beside me. I hear the roar of the water filling the tub. After a while, the noise stops and Aris returns. He gently pulls the covers off me, only briefly glancing at the bloodstain on the sheet. He picks me up, lifting me as if I’m as light as a feather. How is he so strong when he’s so thin? I wrap my arms around his neck, and he takes me over to the bathtub, sliding me gently down into the hot water. The clouds have scattered, and the moonlight shines on us through the window. I smile as I gaze at him, curled up beside the bathtub, probably wondering if I’m enjoying the bath. As usual, I don’t need words to know what he’s thinking.

“It’s lovely. Come join me,” I say.

He joins me in the tub. Once he’s in the water, he takes the washcloth and starts to wash my shoulders, arms, and breasts. He motions for me to stand up, and even though I’m shy, I do what he asks. He washes the insides of my thighs, where my blood has soiled my skin. His touch is delicate, as if he’s afraid to hurt me. His face is masked with regret. I sit back down and lift his head with my hand.

“It was the happiest moment of my life,” I tell him, looking him straight in the eye. “And it still is. I wish tomorrow would never come.”

His expression softens, and he smiles.

“I’ll stay beside you forever, if you’d like,” he responds.

He so rarely speaks, but when he does, his words weigh like stones.

“I’d like that,” I answer.

The bathwater has gotten cold, so Aris gets out and brings me my robe from the bedroom. I also get out of the bathtub, and he wraps the damp robe around me, enfolding me in his arms. We walk back to the bedroom, where he sets me on the bed and covers me up, then slips in next to me. He tightly pulls me against him, trying to dry me off, and I laugh. Then he pulls off my robe and tosses it over the side of the bed. Within seconds, we are back in a breathtaking embrace, and again our lips seek each other.

The first rays of the rising sun shine through the window at dawn, illuminating Aris’s hair. With the sunlight on him, he looks almost golden. With his naked body lying next to me, I know that there’s no way last night was only a dream. His deep, regular breathing indicates that he’s still asleep. I slowly move his arms off me, then slide out of bed, shivering. Quickly putting on my robe, I run to the bathroom. I check myself out in the mirror as I brush my teeth. My hair is sticking up all over the place, and I try desperately to tame it, without success. There are giant bags under my eyes. I don’t think I slept more than three hours last night. But if I could sign a contract that would bind me to repeat last night over and over again for the rest of my life, I would. I freshen up, head back to my bedroom, and get dressed. Aris moans in his sleep. I sit on the edge of the bed, watching him. His nose is straight, his lips are full, his cheeks are a little gaunt, and his eyebrows are defined. I tap his nose with my finger, and he opens his eyes. I don’t know if I should thank his French mother or his father for the color of his eyes—they’re amazing. He smiles, stretches, and lifts his head onto my hand.

“Good morning,” I say.

He kisses me behind my ear in response. This time, my shivering has nothing to do with the cold.

“Are you hungry?”

He nods. I place a kiss on his forehead, and he tries to hug me, but I sneak away, laughing.

“I’m making breakfast,” I say from the kitchen. I hear movement in the bedroom, then the sound of water coming from the bathroom. I light the range under the teakettle and put packets of instant coffee on the table. I don’t know what he likes for breakfast. I pull out some pastries and some pecan pie from Benedetto’s. Aris joins me as the kettle starts to whistle, and he removes it from the flame. He makes the tea, then takes out the milk and cuts two slices of pie, arranging them with some cookies on two plates. Dora definitely doesn’t get this kind of treatment at their house. We finally sit down at the table, and he pours the tea. He sweetens mine and stirs milk into both teacups. Our eyes meet, and we burst out laughing. I’m hungry, and I devour the pastries, dipping them in my tea. Aris eats heartily as well, and I let him have my slice of pie. Maybe he only eats when he’s happy. I’ll make it my mission to put some meat on those bones.

We finish eating, and I clear the table. Though I try to stop him, Aris insists on washing the dishes. I stare at him, dumbfounded.

“My work is waiting for me, and Helga will be upset if you’re late.” He turns back to the dishes. Dora definitely doesn’t take care of him at home. Will I ever be able to find a single flaw in Aris?

I head back into the living room and find Aris in front of my open door. The rain must have turned into snow overnight, as the world has been blanketed in white. He takes my hand, and we step into the yard, snow crackling under our feet. Though I’m used to snow, it’s a sight that never fails to fill me with awe. What always gets me is the absolute silence.

Sometimes happiness is about the little things. As we hold hands and bask in the warmth of the previous night and the beauty of the scene now before us, I’ve never been so happy. I hug him and impulsively stand on my tiptoes so that my lips reach his ear.

“I love you,” I say.

He silently hugs me back, his lips on my hair. He knows I haven’t forgotten that he already said it. It takes a lot of willpower to detach myself from him.

“Our desk isn’t finished,” he says. “Come see me tonight?”

I lower my head, thinking of Dora.

“It’s my shop, Emi,” Aris says. He clearly understood my hesitation. “And my girlfriend is welcome to visit whenever she wants and to stay as long as she wants. Don’t worry.”

I hug him again. To hell with being late to work. I’m his girlfriend. I didn’t know how lovely it could be to feel this way about someone.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I’ve read dozens of books, and I know that the way I’m feeling is corny. The morning after her beau makes love to her for the first time, the heroine of the story always happily skips down village streets, a smile plastered on her face, to tell her best friend every detail of the previous night’s events. But I’m not skipping because the snow has made the roads icy and slippery. I’m only smiling to myself. And I don’t have a best friend to whom I can spill all my secrets, so I’m replaying the night in my head over and over again. Indeed, I’m so lost in thought that I walk right past the bookstore. I double back quickly, only to slip on a patch of ice. I manage to stay on my feet and cautiously make my way into the village’s most peaceful shop. At least, it usually is.

As soon as I enter, I hear two voices arguing in the back room, and one of them is definitely Helga’s. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help but eavesdrop. Perhaps all the village talk is starting to affect me, and in a few years, I’ll become like the old wives, knitting doilies and gossiping.

“I never promised you anything!” says the male voice.

“That’s not true! You said you loved me, and that you wanted to be with me!” cries Helga, though I never could have imagined I’d hear her say that.

“Sure, I like to be with you, occasionally . . . But not every day for a lifetime. I already have a wife, remember?”

“You bastard!” Another inconceivable word uttered from Helga’s mouth.

The situation is crystal clear. Just as I feared, Mr. Moser must have taken advantage of Helga’s naïveté. If my poor boss had bothered to read what was in the books she’s been handling all these years, instead of just moving them around in disgust, this probably wouldn’t have happened. It doesn’t feel right to keep eavesdropping, so I quietly open the front door, then shut it with a bang. The voices immediately stop.

“Helga!” I call out, even though I never do this. “I’m here!”

I take off my coat and stomp my shoes on the floor, both to rid them of snow and to make a little more noise. Slowly, I head to the storeroom. Helga comes to meet me, her face streaked with tears and her lips tightly pressed together.

“Hello,” I say, trying to read her expression as I do with Aris. But of course, she’s not Aris, and she walks right by me without giving me a second glance. I feign surprise at the sight of Mr. Moser, who’s following her.

“Hello, Mr. Moser. You’re here early today.”

“Hello,” he responds curtly.

“Can I help you with something?” I ask, my voice dripping with sweetness.

“No, thank you. Actually,” he says, looking at his watch, “I’m late, and I really must be going.”

“Good-bye!” I exclaim gleefully.

He raises a hand to say good-bye, or perhaps to tell me to go to hell. As the door slams, I turn around. Helga is behind the counter, her eyes fixed on the blank computer screen. I don’t know what to do. Do I tell her that I know what happened, or do I pretend like nothing’s changed? Because I feel like a new woman this morning, with my heart full of joy, I opt for sincerity.

“I’m so sorry, Helga. If you want to talk about it . . .”

If looks could kill.

“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

Okay then. Looks like I’m sentimentality’s latest victim.

“Never mind. I must be mistaken,” I say.

“I’d say so,” she says. “And you’re late.”

I’m worried that Emma will be able to tell that something happened to me last night. But if she does, then she’s a great actress, since there isn’t the slightest trace of surprise on her face. It’s just as well, really. There wouldn’t be much to explain after all: I’m a woman, Aris is a man. But I’m nervous about sharing my feelings with her. And then there’s always Giorgia to think about. Even so, I would love to tell them everything, to express my happiness, and to answer their questions. But I still can’t bring myself to trust the two of them, despite them having generously shown me consideration and confidence since I first came to town. In fact, the only person who has a clue about my relationship is Benedetto, but I certainly can’t regale him with stories from last night. I’ll have to keep it to myself, as usual. But this time, my secret is something wonderful, instead of something shameful and painful.

Back at the bookstore, I find a slip of paper from Helga tucked in the doorjamb. Apparently, she went home because she didn’t feel well, and she wrote that I’ll have to “fend for” myself all afternoon. Sometimes people’s behavior really baffles me. Helga knows damn well I’d be just fine if I were to stay here by myself every day. Yet she pretends otherwise. I’ve tried to become her friend, and I’m sure she could really use one, but she’s always so formal with me.

Back behind the counter, the weight of my loneliness settles over me, and I feel like crying. It must be love; before I met Aris, I almost never cried. But now, just the thought of him has me dabbing at my eyes. Right then, a customer enters. I look up and see Marcello Ferrari. Frankly, I think I’d rather see anyone else but him standing there—maybe even Dora.

“Hello,” I say without smiling.

“Hello there.”

The ensuing silence is deafening, but I resist the temptation to fill it. He doesn’t look at me.

“I thought a lot before coming here,” he finally says.

I stay silent.

“I’ve wondered many times if I should give you another chance.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the last time we saw each other, you spilled hot coffee all over me.”

I don’t like the expression on his face. He didn’t come here to apologize. He doesn’t think he’s in the wrong. Is everything going wrong in return for my day starting out perfectly?

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” I say with a fake calmness. “I thought that was obvious.”

“If you’d apologized to me the next day, I would have understood,” he says slowly.

“I have nothing to apologize for. You were insulting my friend, and I was defending her. Spilling the coffee was an accident.”

My answer seems to anger him. Apparently his self-composure was just an act while he waited to see how I’d respond. I’d be afraid if it weren’t for the counter separating us.

“I was completely wrong about you. I thought you were a smart girl, ready to seize any great opportunities offered to her.”

“Are you calling yourself one of those opportunities?” I ask him, suddenly furious.

“Exactly,” he cockily responds, completely sure of himself.

I can’t help it. Laughter bubbles up inside me, perhaps boosted by the overall sense of joy I am feeling for the first time in my life. When I finally stop laughing and glance at Marcello, he looks flushed. He definitely didn’t expect that from little old me.

“You know I could get you fired?” he threatens.

I shrug, just as Aris would do. “You know the saying,” I reply. “It’s not like I have anything to lose. This is just a job. Besides, how would you get me fired? By complaining that you didn’t like the books I recommended, or by informing her that I didn’t take advantage of the fantastic opportunity you represent?” My laughter returns. I think that in all his thirty years of life, the esteemed and honored Marcello Ferrari has never been as close to having a heart attack than he is at this very moment.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?”

“Oh, no. I just think I don’t need your protection, thank you.”

“We’ll see. I assure you, we’ll see about that!” he exclaims, slamming the door behind him as he leaves.

In hindsight, it would’ve been better if I had held my tongue. There are just so many things that I am only now discovering about myself, perhaps because I’ve never had the opportunity before to make my own choices. Obviously making enemies with Marcello and Mr. Moser was not a great strategy. But after so many years of obeying a horrible, ignorant tyrant of a father, I just don’t have any patience left for arrogant, overbearing people. I made a fresh start at the age of twenty-six, and I can certainly do it again. Although now, I can never leave Bren.

At six o’clock, I lock the door of the bookstore. When I turn around, Aris is there, again having appeared out of thin air. The shock makes me jump, and I almost slip on the snow, which has started falling again. He catches me, laughing, and he’s so genuine and sweet that I can’t scold him. Instead I hug him, and we hold hands as we head toward the carpenter’s shop. We take one careful step after another, and everyone we pass stops and stares. We’ll be the talk of the town tonight, which means I will officially be caught in Dora’s crosshairs from now on. But I don’t care.

I follow Aris into the shop. He turns on the light, closes the door, and locks it. It’s the first time he’s locked the door. I look around. The desk is in its usual place, waiting, and some of his drawings are on the table. I look at one more closely and see a chest, round and curvy in his usual style, decorated with a red cat and a gray dog standing near a house with a thatched roof.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, picking up the design. “Where did you see it?”

He points to his head. I cup his face in my hands and stand on tiptoes to kiss his forehead.

“I’d like to live there,” I add.

“In the house or in my head?” he asks, smiling.

“Both.”

“It’s been in my head for some time . . .”

“For a long time?” I can’t help but ask.

“Since I first saw it, out my window,” he responds.

I want him to tell me more about what he’s thinking, but he’s clearly already said enough. When he tries to kiss me, I slide out of his grasp and run to the desk.

“So, shall we get to work?” I exclaim, laughing.

Laughing too, Aris brings a chair next to the table for me.

Though I’d like to help him in his work, I’d probably only get in his way. So I stay put, savoring his every movement and every look that he gives me. When he pauses for a moment, I ask the question that’s been buzzing in my head.

“Was it your father who taught you how to work with wood?”

He nods. I’m afraid that’s all I’ll get, but he continues a few seconds later.

“I started young. He told me that I learned to walk in here. Then I would spend my days here, after school, and we spent every weekend together here too.”

He doesn’t say anything more, so I urge him on.

“Wasn’t it a bit dangerous for a child?”

“Yeah, but he couldn’t keep me out. I liked it too much.”

I smile, imagining a little Aris, happy among the tools.

“Once I fell and cut my face on a vise. I still have the scar,” he says, chuckling and pointing to a vertical mark between his upper lip and nose. I go over to him and look at his scar, tracing it with a finger. How could I not have seen it?

“Your father must’ve had a stroke!”

“I don’t remember what happened. I was too young. But he often told me that even though he’d almost died of fright, he was glad I ended up with this scar. He called it the carpenter’s mark. We always laughed about that.” He looks away, a half smile playing on his lips. I kiss his carpenter’s mark and go back to my chair.

At about eight o’clock, we hear someone push against the front door, but it’s still locked. I don’t need to look to know who it is. Dora begins knocking impatiently and then peeks through the frosted windowpanes. Aris doesn’t turn around, but glances at me.

“I think you should open it,” I say.

He sighs at length and goes to the door.

“Why was it locked?” I hear Dora ask in her usual unpleasant tone. Aris is planted in front of her, preventing her from getting by. He walks outside and closes the door behind him. He must not want me to hear what he says. I don’t think he knows that he doesn’t have to go outside for that.

“Dinner has been ready for a while, and you’re still here with
her
!” she exclaims.

Of course, his response is inaudible. He never raises his voice.

“I told you this morning that I was making the roast!”

Silence.

“What does it matter? You never respond!”

Silence again.

“I spent all afternoon in the kitchen!” Dora’s voice begins to taper off, but I can still hear it.

Moments later, Aris returns, alone. He kneels on the floor next to me, which is covered in woodchips and sawdust, and rests his head on my lap. I stroke his hair, playing with his blond locks.

“I’d better go,” I say. “It’s getting late.”

He lifts his head to look at me.

“Can I come see you?” he asks.

“You can always come over. Anytime. Even in the middle of the night.”

He places my hands on his face and closes his eyes. I kiss him, and we embrace. Then we both put on our coats.

“I’ll walk you home.”

I don’t even bother trying to refuse his offer. It gives me a few more minutes with him.

After eating dinner and cleaning up, I put on my nightgown and robe. Then I curl up with a book in the chair in front of the woodstove. I try to read a few lines, but I have to keep rereading the same lines because I can’t understand a word. Eventually I drop the book on the floor and try to rekindle the fire in the woodstove. Eventually I hear a soft knock on the door, and I jump. I open the door, and Aris enters, shivering. I take his hand and lead him into the bedroom. Moments later, we’re both under the covers, watching the snow fall outside.