Dangerous Obsession

by Natasha Peters

  “Did you win?” I asked again. I already knew the answer. He never won any more.

  “I’m cursed,” he said with a humorless laugh. “My luck has run out. I think some Gypsy has put a curse on me."

  I hated it when he talked that way. He meant it, that I was to blame for his bad luck.

  “We’re down to our last thousand pounds,” he said. “I’m thinking of selling the house in Paris.”

  “Oh, oh!” I protested. “Don’t do that. We will go back there someday. Please don’t sell it.”

  “Don’t nag me,” he said. “We need the money.”

  “No, we don’t! We haven’t touched my money yet. Take all you want, Seth. I have thousands in my jewels box, you know that. Please, it’s yours.”

  I half expected him to refuse, but he didn’t. The next night he lost again. He fussed at me because we couldn’t go to Paris. He implied that if he was free he could try his luck in distant places: Russia again, or even China. He spoke sneeringly of the entire continent of Europe as a dead bore and he told me that there was no lack of adventure in America.

  I tried to soothe him. “You’re tired and losing is hard for you, I know.”

  “You don’t know anything,” he snarled. “How did I get myself into this mess.”

  “Come to bed.” I sat on the arm of his chair and combed the dark curls away from his forehead with my fingers. “I’ll make you forget your troubles,” I whispered meaningfully. “Come.”

  I took off his white tie and began to work the diamond studs out of his shirt-front.

  He stood up swiftly, almost knocking me on the floor. “Damn it, stop pestering me,” he snarled. “A man can’t have any peace. Leave me alone.”

  “Why don’t you let yourself be happy?” I wondered sadly. “You’re fighting so hard.”

  “Shut up,” he said. “I’m going to bed.”

  The next morning when he was splashing water on his face and chest I saw small red bruises on his shoulders and chest. And there were long red scratches on his back. He didn’t even try to hide them from me. He had been with another woman and he didn’t care if I knew about it. I felt sick, and I asked him right then if it was true.

  “What do you want me to do?” He dragged his razor across his cheek. “Lie to you? You’ve been around. You know how I am. You can’t expect marriage to change a man’s character.”

  “But you were faithful to me for two whole years,” I said. “I know you were! I was all you needed then!”

  He looked pointedly at my distorted figure. “Things have changed since then, haven’t they?”

  I put my hands on the little mound of my belly. “Who was she?” I asked him.

  “Just a tart,” he said off-handedly. “Does that make you feel better?”

  “You do hate me!” I cried. “You must, or you would not hurt me like this! Oh, why didn’t you let me die in London?”

  He paused in his shaving for a moment. “I wish to God I knew,” he said.

  He continued to gamble. Three nights he didn’t come home at all. I cried until I was sick and Anna tried to comfort me. I was careful never to cry in front of him. I didn’t want him to see how much I cared.

  We went to Vienna in mid-December. The days were very short, and snow covered the ground. The days of waiting for the child to be born dragged by. Vienna was very gay, full of diversion, an elegant city with a rich tradition of fun and amusement and culture, like Paris. I hoped that Seth would feel at home there. But he behaved badly and acted as if I were keeping him prisoner in our hotel, the Grand Hotel de Paris on the Karlsplatz. I could hardly speak to him at all. Usually he disdained to answer me, and when he did it was to offer a cutting remark or a sneer about how I was acting like a nagging wife.

  I had never felt so lonely, so desperate, so afraid. I was certain that I would lose him. I took long walks every day, just to escape from the room at the hotel. And one afternoon, on impulse, I went to a Gypsy fortune-teller. I didn’t tell her that I was Rom, too. And the old woman confirmed my worst fears.

  “Your baby will be a fine boy, a son,” she droned. We were sitting over a cup of murky tea in a tavern at the edge of the student quarter. “But watch out for a man. A dark-haired man. He will bring you much sorrow. He is like a crow that wants to burst into flight. If you cut his tether—”

  “Be quiet, you hag,” I hissed in Romany. “You tell lies! All Gypsies tell lies! He won’t go, I tell you. He won’t!” The woman scolded me. “You are Rom and you come to me for your fortune! For shame, girl. You should know better than that. Go home to your husband and think about the baby soon to be born. Think of the many brothers and sisters he will have. Think of your mother and father and—”

  “I have no one,” I wailed. “Dead. They are all dead!” The fortune-teller shook her head. “Foolish one. Has he married you?” I nodded. “Then what are you worried about? All men get edgy about this time. He is afraid for you, that’s all.”

  “He is seeing other women,” I whispered brokenly. The woman shrugged. “So? He is still a man, even though you are almost a mother and too big with child to want him. It happens a lot. Don’t worry. After the birth he’ll be as proud as a prince, and he’ll come back to you. Don’t worry.”

  I paid her and left. I needed to hear consoling words from a Gypsy, even though I knew in my heart that they were lies. I wandered into the Prater, the huge park located on the island formed by the Danube River and the Danube Canal. I found an iron chair in a quiet corner, under a statue of a half-draped female. My cheeks were wet with tears and I sniffed loudly.

  A man sitting on a chair nearby spoke to me, first in German, then when he saw my incomprehension, in English.

  “Such a pretty lady as yourself shouldn’t have any reason to sigh,” he said kindly. “May I offer my handkerchief, Madame?”

  In spite of the pain in my heart, I smiled at him. He was ridiculous looking. His hair stuck out at odd angles from under his hat. It was light brown, like his big mustache, and threaded with grey. His eyes were blue and smiling, with lots of little wrinkles at the corners.

  “No, thank you, sir,” I said, searching through my reticule. “I have a handkerchief here someplace.” I found a fine linen square with a broad lace border; a handkerchief more useful for flirting than for blowing.

  “It hurts me deeply to see such beauty unhappy,” the man sighed. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “No, no,” I shook my head and smiled at him again. “I am just being silly, I know. The baby and the snow and the cold—” I bit my lip and looked down at my hands.

  “Yes, of course,” the man said. “My wife was the same way. She cried all the time, as I recall. I felt quite rejected.”

  “You did?” I looked up. “You’re right. I’m not being fair to him, my husband. Am I? He is feeling just as frightened as I, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, yes,” my new friend nodded. “I would say most definitely that that was the case. Definitely.”

  “Of course,” I said decisively, stuffing my damp handkerchief into my muff. “We are both nervous. I shouldn’t think only of myself. It is very selfish.”

  “Now you’re being a sensible young lady,” he said approvingly. “Gracious, snowing again!” He looked up at the sky. It had been snowing for half an hour, his hat and hair were white with snow, but he just now noticed it. “Perhaps I can offer you a cup of tea, Madame.” He stood up and gave me a courtly little bow. “Beauty should never feel sad—or cold.”

  “No, thank you. Some other time, perhaps.” I rose and extended my hand. He kissed my fingertips gallantly. “You have been very kind, sir. Thank you. Good-bye.”

  “Good-bye, Madame. I hope all goes well for you.”

  I walked out of the park. He was very nice, I thought. Kind. And well-dressed, too. He might have been a businessman, although from what I understood, at that hour of the afternoon businessmen were hunched over their desks. He had an abstracted, dreamy air, like a professor I
had met once in Paris. That man thought he had a winning system for faro, and he had been crushed when he lost. Yes, this man reminded me of a professor.

  Seth and I dined in the hotel dining room. Neither of us had much of an appetite, but we drank two bottles of wine between us. I didn’t tell him about the Gypsy, but I described my encounter with the man in the park.

  “You should have taken tea with him,” Seth said. “It might have led—to other things.” His meaning was clear.

  I kept a smile pasted on my lips and said, “Oh, you can’t think that he was interested in me in that way!”

  “Why not? Some men have very peculiar tastes. Cows. Sheep. Dogs. Gypsies. Even pregnant women.” He chuckled into his wine glass. I flushed.

  “If my pregnancy disgusts you so deeply, you should leave me,” I said sharply. “You feel no loyalty to me. Why should you feel loyalty to a baby you haven’t even seen yet?”

  “You have a point there,” he replied. He raised his glass to me and winked. “Very logical.”

  “You are going out tonight?” I asked.

  “Of course. Any reason why I shouldn’t?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I think the baby will come tonight. I know it will.”

  “Nonsense. By my calculations it won’t be here for another week yet. Have some more wine, my dear little wife, and don’t worry about it.”

  “No, thank you, Seth. I’ll go upstairs, if you don’t mind.”

  “Why should I mind?” he asked lightly. “You’re free to come and go.”

  “Good luck tonight,” I said. “In whatever you do.” When I was back in our room, sudden stabbing pain in my middle made me sit down. Anna ran to help me.

  “I have felt queer little flutterings all day,” I gasped. “I knew it would come tonight. He didn’t believe me.” Anna jerked her head at the door.

  “Should you get Seth? No, no. These things go on for hours, you know that. I wouldn’t want to spoil his fun.” I undressed and went to bed. The pains were far apart at first, every forty-five minutes, then every half-hour. I was happy that it would soon be over. At two in the morning I sent Anna for the midwife, who lived about a mile away. It was snowing heavily, and I hoped she would be all right. But as soon as she left the pains became much worse. The little one seemed to be waiting until we were alone.

  “So you think you want to be born in private, eh?” I asked him. “You’re up to your Gypsy tricks already.” An hour went by and Anna did not return. I was more worried about her than I was about myself. I struggled out of bed to look out the window. I went out to the sitting room and a terrible siege of pain drove me to my knees. Just then Seth came in.

  “What is it? What’s the matter?” He knelt beside me and put his arms around me. The stink of whiskey was strong on his breath and he was very unsteady. He had drunk a lot.

  “The baby is coming, very soon,” I said. I gripped his hand and pressed my face against his shoulder until the spasm passed. “I sent Anna for the midwife—she hasn’t come back. I think she is lost, or hurt. You must—”

  I couldn’t speak. He helped me back to bed held my hands until the moment passed.

  “You must fetch Anna,” I told him. “Find the midwife, somebody.”

  “There’s no time,” he said. “I can’t leave you.”

  “I’m—sorry.”

  “There’s no reason to be sorry. You said it would be tonight and I didn’t believe you.”

  “Did you win tonight?” I asked him.

  “Yes, I did. I made a packet. Everything will be fine, Rhawnie.”

  “I believe you. I love you. Have you ever seen a baby being born?” He nodded. “So have I. When I was twelve—or thirteen, I was allowed to see my father’s cousin’s baby, little Pyotyr. He was killed, along with the rest. You remember? How that woman screamed! She wasn’t very brave, that one. What’s a little pain?" I gasped and clutched his hands. He wiped my forehead with his immaculate handkerchief. “It was the most wonderful thing, Seth. So beautiful. Better than watching a horse foal. Horses don’t cry. People are so weak. At least babies don’t have such long—legs!”

  “Easy, take it easy, Rhawnie,” he soothed me. “Relax. That’s right.”

  “He is coming, isn’t he?”

  “Pretty soon.”

  “What if—the midwife doesn’t come?”

  “Then we’ll just have to bring him into the world without her,” he said soothingly. “Don’t worry. Don’t be afraid.”

  “I’m not afraid,” I said truthfully. “You are here, and you love me, that’s all that matters. I want to tell you something. I did a wicked thing. I went to a Gypsy, to have my fortune told. So foolish. Just like a gorgio woman.” I clamped my teeth down on my lips and closed my eyes. Sweat poured off me. “I was so afraid that you would leave me. I had to know. I have been very selfish. Thinking only of myself. Forgive me. It will be better after this is over. I will be a better wife to you, I promise.” I writhed and sucked in my breath. “You are a man,” I said. “You need the company of women. I understand. I will be better—”

  You’re a fine wife, a wonderful wife,” he said softly. "I love you very much. Don’t talk any more. Just be quiet, relax. I won’t leave you, I promise.”

  The baby started to come. I reached for Seth’s hand but he wasn’t there. He was helping, pulling, telling me to bear down. I chewed my lips until they were bloody so that I wouldn’t scream. I didn’t want to upset him. He talked to me all the while. I don’t remember his words, but his voice was smooth and calming, like velvet. He kept praising me and reassuring me, and I felt safe and confident that everything would be all right.

  Then he held the baby up for me to see. A red, wriggling thing no bigger than Seth’s two hands. Seth gave it a whack to start it breathing.

  “A boy?” I asked weakly. “He is all right? He is healthy?”

  “He’s fine. Listen to that.” Our son displayed the power of his lungs. I rested while Seth washed the baby and wrapped him in clean cloths. Then he rested the wee thing in the crook of my arm near my breast.

  I looked at the baby and then at Seth, who knelt at the side of the bed. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you for him.”

  He lowered his head on his arms and gave a long, shuddering sigh. “That’s a hell of a thing to do to a drunken man, Rhawnie,” he said with an odd, shaking laugh.

  “Why did you get drunk?” I asked softly.

  “I wish to hell I knew myself. I don’t know. But I never sobered up quicker in my life. Jesus.”

  I stroked his dark head. “You were wonderful tonight. Were you afraid?”

  “Scared to death,” he admitted. He lifted his head. He looked so drawn and haggard that my heart turned over. His cheeks were wet, but not with perspiration. He touched my face lightly and I kissed his hand. “You are the wonderful one, Rhawnie. Determined not to let on that it hurt, weren’t you? You’re brave. I hope he takes after you.”

  “What shall we call him?” I wondered drowsily. “We have never talked about it. How about Stefan, for a cousin of mine—”

  “No,” Seth said sharply. “We’ll call him Nicholas, for your grandfather. Is that all right?”

  I smiled and closed my eyes. It was all right.

  The midwife bustled in, her voice grating on the stillness in the room. “What a night!” she exclaimed. “All the babies in Vienna wanted to be born tonight. The second one was in labor for twenty hours! What’s all this?”

  “My wife and I have done very well without you,” Seth told her wearily. “We won’t be needing you after all.”

  “What do you mean, you won’t be needing me? Did you tie the cord? Where’s the afterbirth? Men don’t know anything about delivering babies!”

  The cord is tied, the afterbirth is in that basin, if you want to look. It’s all there. Here’s some money for your trouble. Good-night.”

  “Well! What are you, young man, a doctor?”

  “No,” Seth sounded exhausted and ir
ritated. “I am not a doctor. In fact, I’m not this lady’s husband at all. I just happened to be passing. Good-bye, Madame.”

  I heard Seth talking to Anna in a low voice, assuring her that it wasn’t her fault that she didn’t get back in time, giving her instructions about this and that. Then he stood over me and said my name. I opened my eyes and reached for his hand. He held mine lightly.

  “What are you going to do now?” I asked.

  “Take a few stiff drinks and go to sleep. I prescribe the same for you, only without the drinks. Rhawnie—” He stopped.

  “Yes, Seth, what is it?” An ancient fear tugged at my heart.

  He wanted to speak, he wanted to tell me, but he couldn’t. He wet his lips and dragged his free hand through his hair and said, “I love you.” Then he went out to the sitting room. The baby and I slept, both of us exhausted from our ordeal. Anna finished her ministrations and curled up in a chair, alert for any whisper, any sign of want.

  When we awoke a few hours later, Seth was gone. He left some money in my jewel box, enough to live on for a few weeks. And he left a note. I stared at the letters, the dots, the lines. They meant nothing to me. I sent Anna downstairs for the desk clerk, and when he appeared I asked him to read it to me.

  He was red-haired, bespectacled, and pompous. “It’s in French,” he informed me.

  “I don’t care if it’s in twenty languages,” I said. “Can you read it or can’t you?”

  “Yes, Madame.” He cleared his throat. You might have thought he was about to address the National Assembly or the Emperor’s court. “ ‘Going to Paris to sell the house and replenish funds,’ ” he read. “ ‘Will send for you all soon.’ And it’s signed, ‘S’,” he finished with a sniff.

  "That’s all? Not even a dear at the top and a love at the bottom?” I demanded.

  “That’s all? he said. “You can see for yourself—”

  Anna ushered him out. A lie. I knew it was a lie. He didn’t want to see me again. He waited until after the baby was born to desert me, because he knew I wouldn’t kill myself then. But that wasn’t really why he left.