The Girl They Left Behind

by Roxanne Veletzos

  41

  “I MUST TALK TO YOU,” NATALIA said.

  “Of course, sweetheart. Let’s talk.”

  Victor took her hand and placed it on his chest. He liked to do that, almost as a way to convince her that his heart was hers, that it beat only for her. She pulled her hand away gently and placed it in her lap. Someone strolled past the bench on which they sat at the edge of Lake Herastrau, beneath a willow tree heavy with the silvery bloom of early spring. She moved away from him a little. Some distance was necessary for what she wanted to say.

  “I want to talk to you about my father.”

  “Yes?” he said cautiously.

  She looked down at her hands as if she was searching for the right words. He had a way of intimidating her, even when they were close like this. “I don’t want him to ever know about us. About this, Victor.”

  His eyebrows went up in surprise. It wasn’t something she was accustomed to seeing on his handsome and guarded face.

  “He isn’t himself these days,” she explained, clearing her throat uncomfortably. “He hasn’t been for a while, really. I’m not sure that it would do him any good to see you again. After all this time.” There. She’d said it. It was out in the open.

  “You really believe that it would be so bad for him to see me again?” He sounded hurt, as if he had not considered the possibility. As if he’d forgotten how much had happened in the years since they had parted.

  Natalia shook her head miserably. “Most mornings, he leaves before sunrise. My mother has given up trying to get him back to bed, to keep him in the house. When we ask him where he’s going, he says he has errands to run, he can’t sit around idly all day.”

  Victor watched her intently from underneath his thick, black lashes. His gaze traveled toward the ripples spooling out over the lake, and he rubbed his chin pensively. A shard of light trickled through the branches above and fell across the edge of his jaw, over his hair, setting ablaze a few silver strands. The band on his finger gleamed in the light, too, mocking her.

  “What errands?” he asked quietly.

  “Well, that’s the point, Victor. Just the other day, when I was helping him find his house keys, he wished me a good day at school. I haven’t gone to school in years.”

  “So where does he go?”

  She sighed. How could she explain that he simply disappeared for hours on end? That they had no idea where he went? Just last Wednesday, he had returned home well after midnight. Her mother had been out of her mind with worry.

  “Oh, but I’m sure it’s nothing,” she said now with feigned nonchalance, wishing she hadn’t brought it up at all. “He’s probably just visiting old friends. Probably hanging out at Stefan’s.”

  He measured her again in that precise way, as if he was trying to read beyond her words. Then he looked away. Something about his reaction, the way he stiffened beside her, comforted her in an odd way. Perhaps he did care, after all. She had not considered that Victor might still miss her father, that for him he was more than just a relic, a faded memory.

  “Do you still think about him? My mother?”

  A sad smile passed over his face. “Of course I do, Talia. They are still dear to my heart, despite what you might think. And the way it appears.”

  She challenged him with her eyes. She knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help herself. “Do you, now?”

  “Yes, I do,” he said tersely.

  At last, she had managed to ignite something in him, a spark. It gave her a small sense of satisfaction knowing that she could do it.

  “I’m not going to have this conversation with you, Talia. You know how I feel about your family, that I would do anything in the world—”

  She did not know why she laughed. It came unexpectedly, surprising even her. She did not mean to ridicule him, but did he still actually believe in his devotion to her family? From what she could see, from what she could judge from the expensive linen jacket and tailored trousers, his only dedication, his sole loyalty, had been to himself.

  Recklessly, not caring how he might take it, she blurted out, “And what about you, Victor? Do you believe in what you do? Do you still believe in your cause? For I have seen what it has done to my family. I’ve seen what it has done to my father. He has been stripped, Victor. Stripped of his wealth and his home and his livelihood. But worse than that, he has been stripped of his dignity and his will to live.”

  He looked stricken. No, more than that. He looked as though she had lodged a blade in his heart. His face remained very still, but she saw the trembling of his hand as it came up to rake his hair. She had gone too far this time. Perhaps a small part of her had wanted to.

  She reached for her purse then, desperately wanting to flee, but the flap was open, and all its contents tumbled out, scattering at the foot of the bench. Bending down, she began picking them up one by one, her house keys, her rouge, the small bottle of French perfume and the gold Bulova watch that Victor had recently given her for her birthday. Gifts that she had accepted from him graciously, not having the heart to remind him that she’d never be able to wear them. That she couldn’t wear them at home, for her mother would surely ask where they came from, and she couldn’t wear them at work, for she might have been stabbed in a back alley for less.

  “What about Despina? How is your mother?”

  This time, it was Natalia who looked up in surprise. Her purse lay open on the ground, irrelevant for the moment, forgotten. A slight gust kicked up as he reached down and took her arm, then pulled her back onto the bench next to him. She shivered, and he removed his jacket and enveloped her in it.

  “You need not worry about her,” she answered after a silence. “My mother will continue to make our lives as comfortable as possible, as she smiles at the strangers we share our home with and shrugs when there is no food and washes our clothes in the communal tub by candlelight. She collects fallen fruit from sidewalks, did you know, and makes three meals out of two eggs and a little flour. My mother is fine.”

  It was not meant to appease him, yet there it was, a faint smile. Was he amused by their circumstances? Did he find some twisted comfort in what she’d said? He who lived in a beautiful villa with a marble fireplace and gleaming parquet floors and a butler who vanished on command, only to reappear at the chime of a bell? It struck her then, the perversity of life, where one day you lived in an attic with no food and no light, and then the next in one of the city’s grand villas. And all it took was a war to reverse it. All it took was trading one’s misfortune for another’s. She stood up and tossed his jacket at him.

  “Talia, please. I’m sorry I’ve upset you. Don’t go.”

  But she was moving down the path, putting one foot in front of the other, and it took all her strength to do so. It had been nothing at all for him to catch up with her, for his arms to go around her shoulders, to hold her in place.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered in her hair. “I know how hard this is for you.”

  His proximity had the exact effect it had each time. It splintered her resolve and infuriated her, all at once.

  “I have to go, Victor. Please. Please, let me go.”

  “No.”

  There was something in his eyes, something that resembled despair and a raw neediness as he spun her around to face him.

  “Talia,” he whispered, leaning in and smoothing a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Talia, I only wish that I could.”

  What are we doing? she wanted to scream. What am I doing here with you? But she felt the warmth of his palm on her cheek, and his fingers pressed ever so slightly into her flushed skin as he cupped her face and drew her to him. Their eyes locked for a brief moment before his hand dropped away and his mouth was on hers. A wicked flame blazed through her, jolted her, catapulting her to a place she didn’t know, and she felt herself falling, raining down from the sky in a million shards of light. He reached around, and his hand was in her hair, pulling it backward, loosening her braid. The strands fe
ll apart, they coiled around his fingers. A whimper came from her lips, something that sounded like pain, and he released her. He dropped his head to the crook of her neck.

  They stood like that for a while in the deserted park, with only the chirping birds and rustling leaves for company. She could feel his warm, jagged breath on her collarbone and wanted desperately to say something. I’m all right, she thought would be appropriate, or something else, something entirely different. How will this end for us? were the words she wanted to utter. How will this end, Victor? Will a day ever come when I can walk down the street holding your hand, when I can smile at you openly, when I can rest my head on your shoulder without fear of being seen?

  42

  “I WANT TO TAKE YOU ON a trip to the Black Sea.”

  The sheer canopy fluttered in the warm June breeze, matching her quickening pulse as she heard his words. The first time she had seen that canopy, stretched like a horizon against the serene paleness of this room, it had made her dizzy with jealousy. But his lips and his hands had been there immediately, and they blotted out the room and everything in it, they blotted out the sun. In the months since, she had taken less notice of the oasis of peach and lilac hues, of delicate lace and sheer silk, that Victor’s wife had assembled with the utmost taste. Like a thief stealing away in the night, she chose to focus on the immediate, only on what was hers for the taking, no more.

  “For a few days,” Victor explained. “I want us to spend the whole time on the beach, maybe go dancing at night. I know a great hotel in Constanta. It’s very secluded, just a few short blocks from the beach. They have a great restaurant, too, one of the best at the sea, so we wouldn’t have to leave the place at all.”

  Natalia was dimly aware that she was biting her nails. That she was fiddling nervously with the piped edge of a silk pillow.

  “Well, what do you think?” he asked, pulling her into his arms and giving her one of his crooked, playful smiles that still had a way of making her knees go numb.

  Truly, she did not know how to answer. It sounded out of this world, of course, three days alone with him, uninterrupted. Three days without his work commitments, his trips, his wife. But she did not think it was possible. What would she tell her parents? How would she account for a three-day absence at work?

  “I don’t know, Victor,” she said. “I’m not sure this is the best time.”

  He sighed and pulled his arm out from underneath her. It came to rest on his chiseled chest that seemed to defy his forty years. “Can’t you think of a way?”

  “No, Victor. What excuse could I possibly come up with? You know how my mother is. I may be able to explain our evenings or even a full Sunday at Lidia’s—but three days? What excuse could I possibly come up with? And what about my job?”

  He sighed and sat up straight, leaning against the backboard. On the round bedside table, a crystal clock with a silvery dial was ticking away.

  “Victor, I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “You know, Natalia,” he snapped, “after all we go through to be together, I thought you might put some effort into it, that’s all.”

  He threw the covers off and marched directly to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. A moment later, she heard the shower running. A ribbon of steam floated up from underneath the door. She couldn’t remember the last time she had taken a hot shower. Most nights, she was lucky if there was a trace of lukewarm water by the time she stepped into the tub, after all the other tenants had had their turns.

  But it wasn’t this blatant oversight on his part that bothered her so. This was the first time he’d spoken to her in such a tone. After that day in the park, there had been no more accusations or words hurled in anger. It was as if that fight purged them both of what lay hidden inside them, what had been gnawing away at their souls for nearly a decade. The bitterness she had carried around for years, the guilt that perhaps had burdened him for even longer, all inexplicably vanished. What followed had been more blissful than in her wildest dreams. It had been more than she ever envisioned love would be, for there was no doubt they were in love, that he loved her, even though he never said it. Yet she was happy just with the knowledge of it. It was enough to be near him, to feel his lips upon hers, breathe in the scent of his skin. And for a while, he, too, seemed content with as much. But recently, his need for her had started to take on an overbearing quality, his demands on her time nearly tyrannical, his passion overwhelming. When they were together, Victor demanded her very breath. All of herself she gave with a full heart, but soon she began to fear that it would not be enough for a man like him. For somewhere along the way—she wasn’t quite sure when—things had begun to change.

  For a couple of weeks now, he’d been surly with her. She wasn’t sure how it had started, if it was something she’d said. A couple of times, he cut her off in mid-sentence. Often, it seemed that he wasn’t even listening as he smoked incessantly and frowned at the ceiling.

  Maybe he’d grown tired of the whole thing. She had not considered this possibility. Well, it had been nearly eight months, after all. Eight months of twisting their lives for mere moments together. Maybe that was it. All the excuses and planning and last-minute arrangements had become too much for him. It had become complicated. More than that, it had become dangerous.

  All along, she’d known what was at stake for him, how not only his career but his very life would be in jeopardy if word got out about their relationship, about his association with someone like her. The Secret Police were notoriously merciless in dealing with members of their own rank, especially ones like Victor who had been around for so long and knew so much about the inner workings of the bureaucracy. In his world, made up of only black and white and no half shades, she would be merely a pawn, a reason to silence him. And how she feared for him! Every day, she feared that the rope Victor had spent so many years braiding with his own hands could at any moment now be coiled around his neck like a noose. Wasn’t that the reason he always looked behind when they walked together, his peripheral vision acute even when he seemed to be focused only on her?

  Of course, it had not been easy for her, either. He did not know what it cost her, sneaking around to see him, meeting him on street corners in the dark, in alleyways where no proper young lady should go. He did not know what it did to her pride, coming to the flats of his friends who were out of town for the day, waiting around the corner from his house for his wife to leave and go about her day so that she could steal a few moments with him. “All we have is friendship,” he told her. “We are good friends, Katia and I.” Yet he shared his meals with her; they shared a roof. She didn’t have to sneak around for a glimpse of him, for a single word of affection.

  “I have to go, Talia,” he said now, stepping out of the bathroom in a navy terry-cloth robe. He moved about the room, seemingly preoccupied. He went to the dresser and rifled through his wallet, then flung open the armoire and examined his impressive collection of silk ties. His hair was perfectly slicked, and he smelled of fresh soap and expensive shampoo, the kind you could only find in exclusive export shops.

  “I have a meeting in an hour at the ministry. And Katia should be back soon, although she would probably offer you some tea if she found you here.”

  He had meant it in jest, to lighten the mood, perhaps, but it had the opposite effect. No words could have wounded her more. How could he make light of their situation, as if her being there meant nothing to him? She wasn’t like one of his other women, a meaningless diversion. Or was she? The thought slammed into her, and she couldn’t stop it from forming. Rising slowly, she swallowed against the tears forming in her throat. And along with her tears, she swallowed her pride, her pain, her love and disdain, her jealousy and self-loathing.

  As calmly as possible, she said, “Yes, Victor, I will go now. I’ll let myself out the back door. Before I go, I’ll wash the bar glasses and empty your ashtray. I will erase every trace of my presence, so that your wife will never know I w
as here.”

  And then she was on her feet, gathering her stockings and dress from the chair in the corner, where they’d been tossed with such abandon just hours ago. In her nervous haste, she knocked over a glass of water, and it clattered to the floor. That was all it took to make her burst into tears.

  “Talia, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Victor murmured, coming to her and encircling her waist. “I shouldn’t be so rough with you. I just want to spend a few days with you, that’s all.” Gently, he caressed her hair, looped it over her shoulder. “Do you think you might find a way to make it work? Could you try? It would mean so much to me, you know.”

  She wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands, and he, too, reached up and stroked her face, cupping her chin tenderly as if she was a child. This was beyond what she could handle, beyond what her twenty-three years had equipped her with. How could she say no to him? How could she ever deny him anything at all?

  “Yes,” she murmured against her better judgment. “Yes, Victor, I’ll go to the sea with you.”

  He bent down and kissed her hard then, pulling her to him possessively, and she willed herself to kiss him back the same way, grasping his hair, with an intensity that masked her desperation. For a moment, he hesitated, startled, she supposed, by her ardor, and then he lifted her as if she was no more than a feather and, smiling down at her with some wickedness, carried her back to his bed.