A Separation(21)
Stefano continued speaking, as if he were afraid that if he stopped even for a moment, he would lose her conclusively. Now and again he gestured with his hands for emphasis, he leaned toward her imploringly. She did not reply. Even if he succeeded in persuading her—I speculated on what the finer points of his argument might be, it might have to do with Christopher (he was a waste of time, a treacherous and useless sort, I could not disagree) or it might have to do with something else entirely, it hardly mattered, I was certain that the real goal of all his discourse was to persuade her that she should love him, as he loved her—he would not win her, not in this way.
As if he sensed this, Stefano drew back, exasperated, his face clouded, he made a small but distinct and even violent gesture of anger. That anger was not necessarily directed at Maria, but it was anger nonetheless, directed perhaps at Christopher, perhaps at the situation or himself. From his perch behind the desk, Kostas raised his eyes to look at me. I met his gaze for a moment, then looked away.
Maria let out a sudden and wordless cry. Both Kostas—who had been looking at me—and I turned to look at her. She was standing with her arms rigid and her eyes pinned to Stefano’s face. Her own face, which was ashen, blank and inexpressive, was alarming. It was generally too expressive, it expressed things even when she did not mean to, even when there were not actually things to express. Now, although it retained its rounded fullness, it was as if it had been drained, the features had caved in. Stefano had turned away, he was still saying something, muttering to himself, but he would not look at her, he took a step toward the doors and then stopped, it was not so easy for him to leave her.
Maria then spoke, the words sounded harsh and rasping as she pronounced them. Behind his desk, Kostas let out a long and low whistle. Stefano’s face—he was still standing with his back to Maria—slowly turned a deep and troubled red. He raised his hand, as if to strike the face of someone standing before him, but of course there was no one there, he had turned away from Maria—and it was Maria, this time, who was without doubt the object of his anger. He was shaking, his face was growing mottled, as if he were having difficulty breathing.
She had humiliated him in some way, and I knew then that he was aware that I sat in the lobby behind him, although he gave no new indication of seeing me, it was obvious. And I also knew that Maria was similarly aware of my presence, of the fact that I was watching them, and that she had used this in order to humiliate him further. My skin prickled, I felt newly uneasy. The chair was now soaking wet, when I stood up there would be a large stain. Kostas continued to observe them from behind the desk, as though he were providing color commentary at a sporting event, with an expression at once jovial and concerned.
Soon, Stefano appeared to regain control of himself, at least to some degree: he lowered his hand. But his face was still flushed, he had not entirely mastered his emotions, his physiognomy was giving him away. He was obviously a man who was capable of violence, like so many. I turned to look at Maria, I expected that she might show some sign of fear, it was not a pleasant sight—this man, with his strangulated emotions, his barely suppressed rage, it would not have been made better by the fact that she did not love him, that she already held him in contempt—but she was in no way cowed, she only stood with her hands pressed to her sides.
Then, she repeated the phrase—or I thought she did, the words sounded much the same as before, but the intonation was entirely different, if her expression had not been so stony, her posture so rigid, I would have sworn she was beseeching him in some way. And indeed, Stefano’s posture seemed to soften, he turned his head a little, as if reconsidering. Yes—he was beginning to turn around, his face was hopeful, he was truly her slave, I had never seen a man so enthralled by a woman, and with so little effort on her part.
As she observed him, she briefly frowned, it was one of the quandaries a woman sometimes faces, not just a woman, but all of us: she entrances one man without effort, a man who is undesired, who follows her around like a dog, however much he is whipped or abused, while all her efforts to attract and then ensnare another man, the truly desired man, come to naught. Charm is not universal, desire is too often unreciprocated, it gathers and pools in the wrong places, slowly becoming toxic.
Her grimace was growing more and more self-reflexive, a smirk that was directed no longer at Stefano but at herself, she was obviously not unaware of the ironies of the situation. I did not see that either the situation or their respective positions had changed, her expression was not one that gave much hope. Nevertheless, Stefano reached forward and embraced her, using both arms to pull her body toward him. And although she did not appear to soften her posture, she also did not pull away. The result was an embrace that could not have satisfied Stefano, it was not unfriendly but it was certainly not sexual or romantic, she was only suffering his touch.
Still, it was clear to me that although she did not love him, she did not want to let him go. She wanted to keep it—whatever was taking place between the two of them—in play, in her back pocket, every woman needed a backup, at least every sensible one did. She was no fool, as Stefano had said, she was a practical woman, and although she stood stiff as a corpse in Stefano’s arms, she did not repulse him in any definitive way, it was all open to interpretation. As she stood there, she might even have been contemplating a future with this man. On the one hand there was security and love, the possibility of children, on the other the well of his desire, which would have to be satisfied. The situation would only grow more suffocating with time—time, an entire life of it, of avoiding or scorning his touch. No doubt he would make her pay for her disdain, for the men she would have preferred to love.