Intimacies(11)

* * *



—

Later that night, after we had returned to his apartment and fallen asleep in what until recently had been his conjugal bed but was now indisputably ours, I awoke. It was the middle of the night and Adriaan was fast asleep, his long limbs bare on the linen beside me. I reached over and touched him but he did not move, his skin smooth and still. After a moment, I rose to my feet and left the bedroom, closing the door gently. The darkness of the hall pooled around me. I fumbled for the light switch and went into the kitchen. I poured a glass of water. Idly, I looked out the window at the street below. It was mostly empty, at the far end I could see the outlines of a man and a woman. They were leaning into each other as they walked, moving a little and then stopping, moving a little and then stopping. At one point, the woman turned her head and glanced around them. I leaned forward, pressing my face to the glass.

The couple linked hands and hurried down the street. Another second and they had disappeared. Their manner had turned furtive, as if they sensed that they were being observed, and I wondered if they had seen me watching from the window. Perhaps they were involved in something illicit, or something that newly appeared so to them—the way we understood our own behavior shifted according to whether or not we thought we were being seen. I moved away from the window and went into the living room. I found myself again staring at the photograph of Gaby and Adriaan and the children—the children, whom I had not yet met, and whom I could not entirely envision. I wondered at the life they’d had here with their parents, how they had filled these rooms, what they missed now they were so far away, in another country altogether. I wondered if they knew their father was seeing another woman, and if so how they might feel: angry, wary, indifferent.

The idea of meeting them was difficult to grasp, I could not imagine how such an encounter might unfold, myself and these now teenaged children. There was a noise in the bedroom and I looked up from the photograph. I heard Adriaan get up from the bed. After a brief silence he called out. I’m here, I said, and I quickly moved away from the bookcase, I couldn’t sleep. He appeared in the doorway. My darling, come back to bed. I stared at him, he had never used that particular term of endearment before. His voice was affectionate and familiar and the thought occurred to me at once: he must have said these words to Gaby, that designation must have belonged to her, My darling, come back to bed. A shiver of apprehension moved through my body. I stepped closer to him, his eyes were hazy with sleep and for a moment I wasn’t certain that he was awake. It’s me, I almost said, and opened my mouth.

He put his hands on my shoulders, his touch clumsy, and I stiffened. What time is it? he asked. His voice was calm and impersonal, as though he were speaking to a stranger. It’s two, I said. He nodded as if digesting this information, his eyes almost closed again into slumber. I couldn’t sleep, I added, I didn’t want to wake you. He yawned and then suddenly leaned forward and kissed me on the neck and then mouth, his hands on my back and then slipping down. Come back to bed, he whispered again, his breath in my ear.

In a minute, I said and pulled away. What are you doing, he asked, his voice still slow and drowsy. Is something wrong? I shook my head. I just couldn’t sleep, I repeated, it’s nothing. I’ll be there in a moment. He nodded and kissed me again, as if we were a couple living together, as if this were already routine—she suffers from occasional insomnia, whereas I sleep like a log, I could sleep standing in a train carriage, it must be very irritating for her—perhaps that had been true of him and Gaby, perhaps he had said those very words in describing their marriage.

He retreated from the room. I watched him go and, once I was sure that he had returned to bed—the soft creak of the springs, the sound of a body shifting on the mattress—I looked up at the photograph of Gaby on the bookshelf. I realized that I had the wishful habit of thinking of her in the past tense, as if she and everything she represented were firmly contained, although I knew that was untrue, she is still with us. Even this life that was everywhere around me, the life she’d had within the walls of this apartment, was not necessarily confined to the past, it could jolt itself into the present with a mere phone call, a single airplane ticket, a moment of somnambulation.

I returned to the bedroom. Adriaan rolled over and faced me, he wasn’t asleep at all. He looked more alert than he had earlier, and when he looked at me I knew this time that he was seeing me and no one else. Is everything okay? he asked tentatively. I got into the bed. Everything is fine, I said, I had some water, I feel much better. And he nodded and pulled me close, his body warm. Good, he said. He already sounded as if sleep were approaching, he had been quickly reassured. Good night, I said, but I didn’t know if he heard, he was slipping away again, his arm across my chest and his head heavy upon my shoulder.





5.


The next morning we shared a breakfast of cheese and bread in the apartment, Adriaan made coffee using an expensive machine that generated a great deal of noise and then produced a coffee capped with mountains of milk foam. As he handed me the cup I asked if Gaby was responsible for the machine. Who else? he said and we both laughed.

He didn’t say anything about the previous night, and his manner was so perfectly natural that I wondered if it had happened at all. After we ate and dressed he drove me to the nearby bus stop. He kissed me and said that he would text me later. As I got out of the car, I saw the bus at the far end of the street. I leaned over and said goodbye again through the open window. He smiled and kissed me a second time. The bus was fast approaching, but I stood for a moment and watched until his car turned the corner.