Silence Is Golden (10 page)

“Don’t worry about what people say. He was waiting for you,” he says with a fatherly smile. I smile too, as I’m speechless.

I walk back to the bookstore with my head held high, without deigning to acknowledge people gawking at me. Benedetto says that Aris was waiting for me. Well, I’m here.

When I get back to the bookstore, it’s empty. Helga must be in the stockroom. I take off my coat and sit at the computer. Helga must have heard me come in, because she appears moments later.

“There you are. Someone came in looking for you.”

My heart leaps in my chest.

“Who was it?” I ask, feigning indifference.

“That woman, Tommaso’s widow . . . What’s her name?”

“Dora,” I say, and the sound of her name rings in my ears like a death knell.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Did she say what she wanted?”

“No, but she seemed pretty mad at you. What did you do?”

“Nothing!” I say vehemently.

“Well, as far as you know anyway. Just make sure that you don’t embarrass me.”

With that loving advice, she goes back into the storeroom.

At six o’clock I can finally leave. I haven’t said another word to Helga, and she hasn’t spoken to me. We nod good-bye and part ways. I wonder where she lives and if she lives with anyone. Maybe she has ten cats, or a canary. In fact, I don’t know much about her, nor about most of the other people I see every day. It’s just that when I lived in Abruzzo, I never had much contact with people outside my family. I’m not refined in the art of gossip. I’m sure Helga is, though, and even though she pretended not to know Dora’s name, I’m sure she knows all about her, and Aris too. In fact, I bet such a strange and beautiful boy is the talk of all the women’s crochet groups in this town. But even the gossips should beware of Dora. I don’t know what she wanted with me, but I can guess. I bet she wanted to intimidate me into not seeing Aris anymore. I’m curious to know how she’d planned to do that. Maybe by blackmailing me? It wouldn’t be easy, considering that almost no one here knows anything about me. Even if, for some strange reason, someone took the trouble to dig into my past, they would only see long years spent at home with my mother, acting as a slave to my father and brothers. Pretty boring as far as gossip goes.

As I’m starting to cross the forest toward home, I feel an irrepressible desire to see Aris, and I retrace my steps. I walk quickly along the nearly dark avenue to the alley where the carpenter’s shop is. The lights are on inside, but I just intend to peek in the window. I don’t want to go in and be at the mercy of that witch. Keeping well out of sight, I look inside. Aris is standing there, and simply the sight of him is enough to make the cold I feel seem negligible.

He’s staring straight ahead, but Dora is standing next to him. I can’t make out her words, but she’s definitely crying. His jaw is clenched, and his eyes are almost closed with an expression of anger unfamiliar to me. He’s clutching one of his tools so tightly that his knuckles are white. It doesn’t take long for me to realize that they’re in the middle of a discussion, even though he isn’t speaking. I’d like to lean closer in, but I’m afraid that if I did so, Dora will see me. It wouldn’t help me or Aris if she found out I was out here spying on them. So I tear myself away from the window and head back to my house as it starts to rain.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

It’s a horrible evening, and not just because I’m feeling sad and disappointed. The rain has turned into a massive storm. The wind is so strong that it’s rattling the windows, and it occasionally flings one open. I have to run to close it again so as not to end up drowning from the water pouring in by the bucketful. The shutters are so old that they’re of no help in keeping the water out. The electricity flickers on and off, forcing me to read in front of the open woodstove. I can’t even see Aris’s bookshelf from my vantage point; it usually keeps me company when I read in the evening. All this wind whistling and rain pounding on the roof is making me uneasy. Or maybe it’s just that all I can think about is seeing Aris again. My desire has left me with a hollow heart and a numb mind. What I wouldn’t give to know what Dora was ranting about. I wish I could try to talk to him, just for a moment
. . .

I try to focus on the book in front of me. I read a line, but a new gust of wind rattles the house and makes me shudder. I think I hear something brush against the front door, but maybe it’s just tree branches? I crack open the door and feel the wind immediately slip through.

“Emilia?”

I open the door fully, and the wind throws me off balance. Aris is standing before me, drenched from the rain, with muddy clothes and a dirty, scratched-up face.

“What’s happened to you?” I exclaim, pulling him inside. I immediately shut the door behind him, and he remains there, standing motionless, water dripping from his hair, staring at me with a crazed look in his eyes.

“I ran into the woods, and I fell . . . ,” he murmurs, shrugging his shoulders in his usual way that means “never mind.”

My heart is beating like a drum. It’s really him! He came to me. I grab a towel from the bathroom and begin to tousle his hair dry, which he lets me do with a smile. His face is completely caked with mud and soaking wet from the rain, and there’s a scratch on his cheekbone that may have come from a branch. I wipe away some dirt from his nose, and he starts to laugh. I burst out laughing too.

“You have to get out of these wet clothes,” I say, feeling a little silly. Those same words are an echo in my memory of what my mother would say whenever I returned home after having been out in the rain. “Come on.”

I take him by the hand, and he follows me. His hand is warm and dry in mine, although his clothes are sopping wet. Once we’re in the bathroom, I turn on the hot water to fill the bathtub. Aris stays still, gazing at me—silent as usual.

“You have to take a hot bath and warm up.”

He smiles softly and begins to take off his wet clothes, placing them neatly on the sink. If I don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to end up seeing him naked. I turn to leave the room, but Aris grabs me by my arm.

“Stay with me.”

I blush to the tips of my ears, but I nod. He’s now wearing only his shirt and pants, which he begins to loosen. I try to stay focused on his face; I’m so embarrassed I want to flee. If I see his naked body, I think I’ll die. But Aris seems perfectly at ease as he drops his pants on the ground. He folds them then with utter calm, stacks them with his jacket and socks. He unbuttons his shirt slowly, one button at a time, but I don’t think it’s for my benefit. This isn’t some silly striptease. This is just how Aris is. He moves like this in his shop, as he draws, and, now, as he’s undressing in front of me. As his undershirt comes off his thin body, I’m surprised to see that his shoulders and arms are muscular. If he’d only eat more, he’d be sculpted. I turn off the water. He’s only wearing boxers now. My cheeks are burning, and I make sure not to look down. His boxers join his other clothes on the floor, and he slips into the bathtub, relaxing. It’s a big tub, but he’s tall, so he rests his back against one end and lets his head drop over the edge. The electricity flickers out again.

“I’ll get some candles,” I say.

Once I’m outside the bathroom, I take a moment to catch my breath. It’s only then that I process what’s happening. Aris is in my house, naked in my bathtub. I shiver. Heat radiates outward from my stomach and diffuses throughout my body. I smile to myself, resisting the urge to literally jump for joy. Flashes of lightning illuminate the inside of my house, and I grab the old candelabra from the living room shelf. I light the candles with trembling hands, burning a finger in the process. Simultaneously excited and scared, I slowly make my way back to the bathroom, with the dim candlelight casting huge shadows on the walls.

Aris is in the same position as when I left, with his head resting on the edge of the tub, but now his eyes are closed. His chest is rhythmically rising and falling. Maybe he’s asleep. I sit on the floor and place the candelabra beside me. Now that his blue eyes are closed, I can take a good look at him. His skin is so clear. He has wonderfully full lips, and his blond eyebrows and tufts of golden hair shade his high forehead. Just as I’ve committed every detail of his features to memory, he opens his eyes. That flash of blue makes my stomach do flips.

“I thought you were asleep,” I say, stumbling over my words.

I start to get up, but his gaze stops me.

“I have to disinfect your scratch,” I add in explanation.

“Don’t hurt me,” Aris responds, grinning. He’s mocking my concern! If he only knew that I’m just trying to hide my intense feelings toward him.

“It might leave a scar,” I say, annoyed at how maternal I sound.

He shrugs, still staring at me. I can’t meet his gaze. Instead, I grab the disinfectant and a cotton ball, and sit down next to him again.

“This might sting a little,” I say, holding up the cotton ball full of hydrogen peroxide. He nods, and I wipe the scratch with the cotton ball. He holds still and doesn’t say anything. He closes his eyes again.

“You should wash your face now. It’s filthy!” Why am I saying these things? Why can’t I just shut up and enjoy his presence?

“I’m tired,” he responds without opening his eyes.

“Then I’ll do it for you.”

I turn on the faucet and collect some water with my fingers, then pass them over his face. He completely submits to my care, his eyes still closed. My hand moves down his face, starting from his forehead to his nose, gently around the scratch on his cheek, and then to his lips, which form a smile. My stomach does another flip. He takes my hand before I can dip it into the water again and rests it against his cheek.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m glad you’re here.”

He opens his eyes and lifts up his head, still firmly clasping my hand. Our faces are so close. I see his eyes settling on my lips, and I know he’s going to kiss me. But I can’t, not just yet. I slide my hand away and dunk it under the water.

“The water’s cold,” I say. “You should get out.”

Aris sighs, chuckling. He sees through my plan. I turn to get my robe for him. It’s the only one I have, and I’m glad it’s clean. I hear the water slosh as he stands up, and I hold out the robe, keeping my eyes fixed on his. He climbs over the edge of the tub and turns away from me, swaddling himself in my robe. I sigh with relief, no longer straining with the effort of not staring at his naked body. I take his hand again, and he lets me. Is there anything he won’t let me do? I lead him into my bedroom.

“You said you were tired. Do you want to lie down?”

“Only if you stay here too.”

Both of us in my bed together. Oh God.

“I’m going to put your clothes in front of the woodstove to dry,” I say, placing the candelabra on the dresser. “I don’t think I have any clothes that will fit you,” I add, chuckling. He gazes at me, then suddenly pulls me into a hug. My face is pressed against his neck. I can smell his scent. I close my eyes. He slips his hand into my hair and runs his fingers through it. He sighs and kisses me on the forehead. If only I could stay like this, close to him, silent. But I can’t.

“Let me go take care of your clothes.”

I gather Aris’s clothes in my arms and head straight into the other room. What am I doing? Why can’t I just let myself be with this wonderful guy who seems to want the same things I do? I can’t come up with an answer, although I’m afraid I already know what it is. I spread his clothes out on a chair in front of the woodstove. Once dry, the mud will flake off easily, and he can wear them again. I adjust the clothes yet again, and I realize I’m just trying to waste time. I’m acting insane. I can’t stay out here forever. What am I waiting for?

I practically run to my room. Aris is lying in bed with his eyes closed and the covers pulled up to his chest. The bathrobe is folded on the chair. Instinctively, I climb into bed, and he pulls me to him. My hands graze against his soft, smooth skin. We remain motionless: I fully clothed, he completely naked.

“Why did you run into the woods?” I murmur into the dark. I can see the outlines of his face, and I’m glad that his eyes are closed.

“I was coming to visit you.”

“What for?”

“For this,” he answers, squeezing me.

His hair falls over his face. I tuck a lock behind his ear, and he smiles. I stroke his cheek, his nose, his lips. He kisses my finger. My breathing becomes labored.

“I saw you in your shop today,” I say.

“You didn’t come in, though.”

“No, I didn’t. I saw you and Dora from the window, and it seemed like you were in the middle of an intense conversation.”

Aris is silent. Why am I talking about this instead of kissing him and enjoying what we both want to happen?

“Dora is very protective of me,” he finally says.

“Who is she protecting you from?”

“From you.”

She’s not protective. She’s jealous.

“Does she think I’m going to hurt you?” I ask.

“Mm,” he responds, pulling me to him again. “Maybe.”

“Do you think so?”

He opens his eyes, looking right at me. “It doesn’t matter whether I think that or not.”

I don’t say anything. I swallow hard to get rid of the lump in my throat that his words have caused to form. I can’t cry right now. Unless it’s for joy.

“I thought you were afraid of me,” I say.

“Not anymore,” he responds, closing his eyes again and curling up against me. I can’t move a muscle. The warmth of him against my clothed body is making me sweat, but I don’t have the courage to undress. I know he won’t do it for me, just as he won’t do anything else that he isn’t sure I want to do. I also know he won’t hurt me. But will I hurt him? I stay still, savoring his scent and the warmth of his breath on my neck. The storm outside has subsided, and the wind has stopped blowing. The only sound I hear is a light drizzle on the roof. Aris’s breathing has become slower and deeper. I caress his cheek and realize he’s asleep. I let tears silently fall from my eyes without trying to stop them, and I know that this is the best moment of my entire life so far.

Aris is sound asleep next to me, but I can’t fall asleep. There, safe in his arms, I let myself think about memories that I hid long ago, ones that I vowed never to think of again. I see myself on my bed in my room—both of which are too small for me. I’m crying, mourning my mother’s death. I hear a knock at the door and my father’s voice asking if he can come in. It’s the first time since I was born that he’s actually asked that, instead of just busting in and ordering me to hurry up and do something. This time, he doesn’t call me stupid, lazy, or useless. Instead, he quietly sits down on the bed next to me. I’m lying on my side, facing the window, my back to him. My fear of him halts my tears, and I wait. His hand is raised, and I instinctively close my eyes and flinch, waiting for a slap, but it never comes. Instead, his hand caresses my hair. I lie there with bated breath.

“I’m sorry, Emilia. I know how much you loved your mother.”

I can’t believe it. I’ve never heard this dulcet tone of his, and I certainly didn’t expect words of consolation. I don’t trust him, so I don’t say anything, and I don’t move.

“It’s going to be tough for all of us, without her,” he says, continuing to stroke my hair. “You’ll have to be very patient, just like your mother was. You’ll become the woman of the house. You’ll have many responsibilities, but I’m sure you’ll do great.”

His hand moves away from my hair, along my neck, to my shoulders, and then down my back. He continues to caress me as he speaks.

“You’ve always been such a good daughter, and I know you’ll continue to be good. You’ll take fine care of the house, of your brothers, and of your father.”

His hand continues down along my side.

“I also think that from now on, you should sleep with me.”

His hand descends farther, down my thigh. I am numb, trying to overcome the waves of nausea that are attacking me.

“And what’s wrong with that? You are my daughter after all.”

The temptation to get up and smack his hand away is almost irrepressible, but I force myself to resist the urge.

“You’ll like it, after a while,” he adds, stroking my backside. “Your mother never complained.” At that, he gives a disgusting laugh and finally leaves, closing the door behind him.

Now, in my little house in the woods, I again feel that same nausea and slide off the bed, trying not to wake Aris. I run to the bathroom and vomit into the toilet, retching until my stomach is empty. I sit on the cold floor, trying to breathe slowly and calm myself down. I feel as if I might cry again, but I don’t. I will not cry again. I let more memories come flooding back, and I see myself packing my suitcase that night. Some clothes, a few books, and the money my mother gave me two days before her death, which she instructed me to hide with care. I closed my suitcase, put on my coat and shoes, and sat on my bed, waiting. I had made dinner for my father and brothers a few hours before. I’d cleaned the kitchen, washed the dishes, and made sure everything was in order. I told my father that if he didn’t need anything else, I was going to go to sleep. He looked at me with a twinkle in his eye, perhaps thinking I’d sleep with him that night, but then he turned his head and said, “Go ahead. You must be tired,” and I realized that I was safe. I sat all night on my bed, waiting until I saw the first light of dawn to leave my room. I opened the door as quietly as possible, my heart pounding. I tiptoed carefully through the house and shut the door behind me, hoping that no one heard the click of the lock. I then broke into a run, not stopping until I got to the station, where I caught the first train to Rome. I thought I’d decide my destination when I got to the station, but at that moment, I just wanted to disappear. As the train pulled away from the platform, I swore to myself that I’d never return to my hometown.