The Rhythm of Memory (34 page)

Often, when Octavio returned home from meeting with his counselor at the employment agency, he would discover that Rafael, far wiser than and sensitive beyond his years, had tidied the house, made his sisters’ beds, and begun preparing dinner. Octavio would try to tell his son how grateful he was for the assistance, but he too struggled to communicate his feelings.

Indeed, he felt terribly guilty toward his children. Not only had his actions harmed his wife, but his son and two daughters had also been forced to come to this cold, strange country where they would have to learn a new language and make new friends.

So there was more than one night when Octavio lay sleepless in bed, his eyes staring wide at the ceiling, his body restless, drowning in his feelings of failure.

V
ESTERÅS
, S
WEDEN

M
ARCH
1975

“Last week, you indicated that you were thinking of leaving your husband,” Samuel said as he began his session with Salomé. The tape recorder hummed in the background as he fingered through his writing pad.

“Yes, and I’m pretty sure I am going to do it this week.”

“Have you really thought this through, Salomé?”

“Yes, of course I have! I can’t stand it anymore—this constant charade.”

“A charade?”

“Yes, didn’t I just say that?” She bit one of her nails and slid herself lower into the leather couch.

“Salomé, you know it’s important to be absolutely clear with these things…”

Salomé exhaled deeply, her chest deflating as she sighed. “Every day I’m pretending that I’ve adjusted to this new life. That I’ve put my children in a safe, secure environment where they’re better off than they were with their old friends and grandparents in Chile.”

Samuel nodded.

“I feel I must keep my spirits high for everyone else, because they’re all relying on me to hold the family together. My husband still hasn’t found a job he’s happy with. The employment agency
has suggested various options for him, but none of them ever seem to satisfy him…the great actor.… Now, he’s saying that he wants to be a housepainter because all the identical, little red houses here are driving him mad!”

“It sounds as though he’s having problems adjusting here as well.”

“But it was his idea that we come here in the first place! And even worse…it was his stubbornness that got us in such danger in Chile.”

Samuel nodded.

“For God’s sake, I thought Allende was a good man, and it was devastating what happened in the coup. But I’ve always believed in placing my family first. Even now I do! That’s why I remain silent about what happened to me. That’s why every day I suffer alone.”

“And you think that not telling your family how you feel is the best solution?”

“You know I do! No one but I should have to endure these nightmares. I will never speak of them to anyone—except you.”

Samuel continued to stare at his patient, almost transfixed. He noticed that her face was flushed from frustration. Tiny patches of pink were spreading across her cheekbones. The blush made her look even more alluring.

Her striking features were even more beautiful in profile: her full lips, her thick mane of hair, her obsidian eyes. Even when she lay upon the couch, her tiny frame encapsulated in a simple green sheath, she had an irresistible ripeness.

During Salomé’s past few sessions, Samuel had struggled to sustain his objectivity. He had to remind himself that, as a psychiatrist, he maintained a sacred position. Not only was it his responsibility to listen to Salomé, but also to guide her. He realized it
would be wrong of him not to point out that she needed to confront Octavio about her feelings. It would be even more wrong of him to encourage her to dissolve her marriage.

“So you will never share these nightmares with Octavio?” he asked, trying to be fair.

“Not even to Octavio.”

“You just plan on leaving him…”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t think he’ll demand an explanation, after all you’ve been through together?”

“He has to realize that something has stopped working between us. After all, we haven’t had physical relations since I was abducted.”

“These things can take time, Salomé. It is understandable that you haven’t been able to make love to your husband.”

“But what if I want to be able to make love…just
not
with him.”

Samuel raised his eyebrows. Something that Salomé had just said struck him as out of character for her. He knew that her feelings were far from unfounded, considering all she had endured. And considering that it was her husband’s actions, not her own, that had led to her abduction, her anger was only normal. But why did he feel as if Salomé was trying to tell him something more?

He began to feel uneasy, and to doubt his own professionalism toward his patient. Had he been too aggressive in trying to get Salomé to admit her anger toward her husband? And where did this zeal on his part come from? Was it his own selfish desires?

He couldn’t deny that he no longer saw her as just another patient, but also as a woman whom he was strongly attracted to. He wrestled to regain control of his emotions. This was forbidden territory. Not only because he was married, but because he was
Salomé’s doctor. To harbor feelings toward one’s patient was unethical and could bring serious harm as well. But was she now suggesting that she found him attractive as well? His mind began to ache from the tension he sensed mounting between them.

“I don’t know.” She shook her head and pressed her palms over her eyes. “I want to start over. I still love my husband, I just can’t live with him anymore. Is it really that odd that I would now desire to be with someone who is able to acknowledge that I’ve changed? Someone who has the capacity to understand what I’m going through?”

“No, your feelings are not strange, Salomé,” Samuel replied as he tried to regain his concentration. “I think we all sometimes feel that—in any marriage.”

“Do you?”

“It would be wrong for me to talk about myself in your session, Salomé.”

“Well, I’ve made up my mind. I’m leaving him.”

“I think you should take some more time to think about this.”

“What’s the point?”

“Your mind should be clear for such an important decision.”

Salomé remained quiet.

“What about your children? After all, they are also suffering from the stress of relocating to a new country and having to make new friends…learn a new language. Now their entire family structure will be changing.”

Salomé was quiet for a moment. “Rafael will be able to handle it. He’s strong and resilient. But, you’re right, explaining it to the two girls will be difficult.”

Samuel nodded.

“Look, I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone as much as my husband. I doubt there’s a more poetic, idealistic soul on earth. But I
just can’t continue living with him.” She paused and readjusted herself on the sofa, crossing her feet at the ankles.

“May I ask you something, Dr. Rudin?”

“Yes, of course.” He looked up from his notes.

“Do you think I’m attractive?”

“Attractive?” Samuel blurted. It was as though he had been hit with a stone between his eyes.

“Yes, attractive,” she repeated.

“I’m your doctor, Salomé. It would be inappropriate for me to answer that question,” he said, obviously flustered. “But,” he mumbled underneath his breath, “I do think any man would find you beautiful.”

She found herself blushing at his answer. A moment of silence lingered between them and increased the tension in the air.

“I’m sorry, I should never have put you on the spot like that,” she said. “It was a stupid question. Let’s just forget I even mentioned it.”

Samuel adjusted himself in his chair, relieved that the subject of physical attraction between them had terminated.

He took a few seconds to gather himself. He glanced over his notes and fiddled with the tape recorder to make sure it was still working. He switched his pen, replacing it with another from his leather blotter, then finally looked up.

“Salomé, are you feeling stronger than when you first came to me five weeks ago?”

“Yes, immensely.”

“Good. Have you listened to any music? Have you tried to test your response to it, as we discussed?”

“A little. I’m improving, I think. Sometimes, I allow the children to play the radio when I’m in the apartment.” She paused. “I never used to, before our sessions. It was too painful. Even if it was
music other than opera, I couldn’t stand it. Just as I couldn’t stand the sound of dripping water because it reminded me of the electric shocks.

“Still, I am beginning to feel stronger. My nightmares are lessening since our conversations here.” She paused, touching her fingers to her throat. “I suppose I’ve just needed someone with whom I could be completely honest.”

“Of course. That’s why I’m here.”

“And since my sessions with you, I’ve realized that, ultimately, I need to start over. I need to live on my own for a while.

“Of course I’d take the children with me,” she continued. “But I need to have space from Octavio. I need to have time to sort out my feelings.”

“Well, perhaps some time apart would benefit the both of you.”

“It will devastate him to hear that I’m leaving.”

“Life cannot always be beautiful and poetic, Salomé.”

She nodded, her eyes finally fixing on the brown-beamed ceiling. “Yes, I know. If only Octavio knew that too.”

Samuel tried to regain his objectivity. “Still, I urge you to think carefully before you do anything. Remember, even if you believe your eldest, Rafael, is strong, he is still a child.”

“I know.”

Samuel pressed the off button of the tape recorder. “Unfortunately, our time today seems to have expired.” He glanced at the clock. “Will I see you next week?”

Salomé nodded, and her lips formed a small smile.

He watched as his patient stood up from the couch in her lime green dress and slowly left his office. He admitted to himself what his professional ethics had prevented him from telling her. He was wholly and undeniably attracted to her.

V
ESTERÅS
, S
WEDEN

M
ARCH
1975

Trying to calm himself after the tension from earlier that afternoon, Samuel remained in his office for nearly three hours before preparing to leave for home. In an overly deliberate manner, he finished going through his notes, filed them in his patients’ folders, and inserted the cassettes into the appropriate stapled paper pockets. Finally, after he could think of no further excuse for not leaving, he capped his pens and replaced them in the drawer, stood up, and pushed in his chair.

He had been looking forward to the spring for several months, and now, although the temperature had become somewhat warm and balmy, he had heard that rain was in the forecast. Peering through one of the venetian blinds, he noticed a light drizzle was already dancing off the steps of his building.

The patter of rain soothed him. Samuel walked over to his coatrack and slipped into his mackintosh, pulling each of his arms through the satin-lined sleeves.
I mustn’t forget my umbrella
, he reminded himself, smiling as he looked over and saw the red umbrella propped against the corner. His wife had bought it for him several months earlier, before she had grown listless and withdrawn. She told him that she had chosen the color because she knew he would never be able to forget it anywhere. She was always thinking of other people—never herself, even when she was at her
most despondent. Sometimes he wished she’d be more selfish and put herself first. He made a mental note to himself to have a talk with her about it soon.

He checked over his desk one last time. The tapes of his afternoon patients had already been filed away. His tea mug had been washed and dried, his notepads stacked high to the left of his phone. Everything was where it should be. He buttoned his coat, smoothed out the pockets, and finally opened the latch of the door.

As he opened up the crimson hood of his umbrella, his black-loafered foot stepping to the first-floor landing, he noticed that the rain was soft and misting. In the gray light of twilight, the fog was lifting off the pavement.

At first, he had thought it was his imagination. He had seen the patch of lime green material and believed he was seeing things. But, as he lifted his umbrella to rest against his shoulder, he saw that, indeed, he had seen correctly. Salomé Herrera was sitting by herself on a bench directly across from his office, her black curls soaking against her shoulders, her face glistening from the onset of rain.

He rushed across the street and stood over her. He held the umbrella over her to shield her from the water, though she was already soaked and shivering. Her teeth were chattering, and the lines of her body could clearly be seen underneath her dress.

“What’s the matter, Salomé?” Samuel asked with great concern.

She looked up at him, her eyes not wet from the rain but rather from something deep inside. She was shaking.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m not sure.” She stood up to face him. She looked at him for less than a second before wrapping him in her wet, slippery arms.

He surprised himself by kissing her back as strongly as he did.
He dropped his umbrella to grasp her more firmly. He moved one hand up her back slowly and felt the weight of her long, black hair, all the while kissing her. She tasted like almonds to him, as if her body were laced with the delectable, intoxicating perfume of marzipan.

She bit him sweetly on his bottom lip and he fell on her bosom, kissing her. He cupped his hands around each breast, caressing them with a wandering thumb.

But then, she stopped.

“We shouldn’t do this here, outside. What if people see?” Salomé whispered.

They were staring at each other now, both their faces streaked with water. Their skins felt suddenly cold in places that, only seconds before, had been warm from each other’s breath.

“We shouldn’t be doing this at all, Salomé.” Suddenly Samuel was overcome by great embarrassment. How could he have unleashed himself on this woman who was not only not his wife, but his patient? How could he have shown such a lack of control?