“She’s good to have around,” Marcelo said, handing her his pocket knife.
“I can see that,” said Rubén.
Marcelo pulled off his tee shirt.
Rubén’s heart skipped a beat. Marcelo was thin but well built, with muscles beautifully formed and skin golden from a lot of time in the sun. He wore a jade disk on a thin strip of leather that accentuated the lines of his neck. Rubén cleared his throat, squinting off at the mountains.
* * *
Rubén and Felipe had had one long holiday together, three weeks on the Greek Isles. It was the apex of their romance and the stuff of poetry: the azure sea, the cliffs, the sunsets, fish grilled over the fire, and two young men madly in love.
Who knew what went wrong in the end? Things got too quiet. Rubén spent more time at his own place, Felipe let the garden go. When Felipe was offered a job with a big theater in Berlin, Rubén didn’t protest. It was an excellent opportunity, it was not to be missed, but when Felipe was gone Rubén was crushed. But what was there to do? Life is like that.
The first time the puppet spoke was the night Felipe left. Rubén’s infant niece Daniela had just turned one and there was a big party that day at his sister Helena’s house. He ducked out to meet Felipe at the station and arrived first. He stood staring out at the empty tracks with his hands in his pockets. Felipe’s familiar form appeared, with his old canvas rucksack slung across his back, and they waited mostly in silence. Then the train. They embraced quickly. Rubén’s shoulders shook.
“Take care of yourself,” he said into Felipe’s ear, letting his cheek touch Felipe’s neck, and Felipe said, “I love you.” The I love you of goodbye. Rubén was gratified to hear him say it –they had loved each other— and to see that he looked pained. Then Felipe squeezed his hand and disappeared onto the train.
Back at his sister’s Rubén and his brother-in-law Ernesto, who needed no encouragement to drink, sat in a corner with a bottle of cognac. The baby, who seemed to be dressed in pure meringue, floated among the guests whose faces soon began to blur.
When the hour grew late, Rubén kissed his mother and sister and wove his way through the streets alone. At home he sat on his stool at the shop’s counter and said, “Well, it’s finished.” He wasn’t surprised to hear in return,
“Over and done.”
To which he replied, “Now it’s just us.” He laid his head on his arms and heard the voice say,
“Not more, not less.”
* * *
Segundo (he’d thought of it later) reminded him of his friend Osmar from long ago, the invisible one his mother would find him chatting to in the patio while the older children were at school. Osmar lived in the potted plants and could speak to animals, the little boy explained, and he wore a gold and green hat with red feathers.
On their hikes with their father along the ancient mule road, Mario would race ahead and Rubén would struggle to keep up. But just when he’d be about to be overwhelmed with the frustration of losing Mario, there would be Osmar, with the feathers of his hat appearing and disappearing among the rocks and vegetation.
* * *
When the light began to change, burnishing the stone and dry grasses, they made their way back down into the city. Rebecca was catching an evening train to Madrid, and from there would go on to meet some friends in Barcelona. In a month or two she would be back in the States to spend some time with her grandmother in Los Angeles.
“After that you’re coming to Córdoba,” Marcelo said, meaning the one in his own country. “You’re going to love my friends.”
They’d really hit it off, it was apparent. It was quite something the way travelers crossed paths in such momentary and intimate ways. These things never happened at home. Or almost never.
* * *
The sun was setting when Rubén entered his quiet apartment. He’d said goodbye and good luck to Rebecca, who thanked him again for being their host. He told her to stop in when she was next in Granada and she promised to send pictures. Marcelo accompanied her to the station. He’d be on his way the next day himself.
Rubén showered and shaved, and, refreshed, lay on his bed for a moment. He fell briefly asleep. A sound from the street woke him and he sat up disoriented, remembering his coffee pot he’d left downstairs in the shop. He stumbled down in his bare feet to get it.
“Staying in tonight?” The voice. He should have known.
Rubén paused beside the counter.
“No plans,” he said.
“How about the kid?” Segundo was always gentle, always the old friend, but he never let anything be.
“Well,” the puppet spoke again, “you aren’t still waiting for Felipe.”
“No, of course not.”
Rubén let the last of the twilight settle over him.
“Haven’t you thought about love, again?”
“Now you sound like Doña Leonora.”
“Someone to share your life?”
“I’m content.”
“I don’t agree.”
Rubén sighed.
* * *
A few stars were visible from the balcony. He gazed at them, thinking of Mario and his wife, Helena and her husband, married now for ten years or more. It wasn’t a life that suited him, obviously. But perhaps, he’d admit, neither was his own. He closed his eyes. Something tiny and insistent knocked at his heart. It requested only one thing: possibility.
* * *
A low whistle. Rubén looked over the balcony rail and into the dark street. A young man in a light jacket and chinos, holding some kind of flower with a long stem. Marcelo.
“I’m sorry,” he called, pushing a shock of dark hair aside and holding up the flower. “It will die if I don’t get it in some water.”
* * *
They sat together on the balcony with the flower, a white lily, in an empty wine bottle on a small wooden crate, and a couple of votive candles flickering in amber glass. Rubén was curious about Argentina. There was an Argentine photographer he admired. They talked about music, the city of Toledo, where Marcelo was going next, the medicinal soups of their grandmothers, soccer, the stars… The votives reflected in the wine bottle like twin mirrors, under the pale shape of the lily.
“It’s pretty,” Rubén said of the flower, “like you.”
Marcelo seemed suddenly bashful. “And you,” he said.
After a moment he said, “I suppose it’s getting late.”
“I suppose,” said Rubén.
“I could stay,” Marcelo said.
Rubén bit his lip, then shook his head. “It wouldn’t be right.” The younger man looked at him, then frowned.
“I’m too young?” He asked.
Rubén shrugged and smiled.
“I’m not Catholic.”
“Not that.” Rubén laughed.
“So?”
“We don’t know each other well enough.”
Marcelo touched a fist to his chest with an exaggerated wince. “A pity,” he said.
“Yes.”
* * *
Rubén unlocked the side door of the shop and Marcelo stepped out into the street. Several doors down a young couple leaned against a motorcycle, kissing passionately.
“Feasting in front of the poor,” Marcelo said, giving Rubén that mischevious smile. He grabbed Rubén’s hand and kissed it, accepted a kiss on either cheek, and sprang away, light as a gazelle.
“O sole mio…” Marcelo sang. His voice echoed down the street. “...Quanno fa notte e ‘o sole se ne scenne...me vene quase ‘na malincunia…”
And he was gone.
Rubén stepped from the streetlight into the darkened foyer and closed the door, then turned and climbed the stairs.
Seven
The Teteriv
Zhytomyr, Polish Kingdom c. 1570
I did not exactly meet him. He was part of the Court, a Rake, whose only job it was to be charming. And handsome. So naturally I thought he would be a buffoon.
*
* *
My Lady had a seat at Table, to the far left of the Queen. She sat among the other Lesser Nobles, dressed in their clinking crowns and heavy robes, to eat, drink and listen to the Queen’s ridicule.
One night he was seated on a cushion on the floor before the table. I was behind him, in back of the curtain with the other girls, peeking out every few minutes to see if our ladies wanted something. I saw him lean over and thought he was preparing to play an instrument, but instead he picked up a cat, the big white one that was favorite of the Queen, and laid it languidly across his lap. His shoulders were broad beneath his black garment, and his wheat-colored hair fell to the side as he inclined over it. The girls tittered at the sensual way his long fingers slid over the white fur. How they envied the cat, they said. The Rake would doubtless flirt with all of them, and woo the prettiest ones. I had no taste for those shallow boys, so full of themselves. All the world worships beauty, and for what?
So it was a surprise to me when I saw his eyes. Another night, the whole Court was dancing in the Central Hall. The torchlight glittered on their jewels and satins. I was carrying a round silver pitcher that I’d gone to refill, and I had on a white gown. I felt a gaze on me and turned. The pupils were wide and black, edged in blue, like cobalt, and something rushed through my chest.
He gave a quick nod, respectfully and without a smile. I nodded back and hurried on my errand. When I refilled my Lady’s cup my hands shook.
My Lady was in a bad humor later that night. She insisted that I comb out every inch of her lank, tangled hair before she slept. When I finally lay in my own bed I thought of the Rake. I reviewed his features, having seen them more fully. I would not deny that he was well made, but what else had I glimpsed? Intelligence? Loneliness? He was seeing me, not looking to see if I was yet another admirer.
* * *
For weeks when we crossed paths or performed our courtly functions in the same room, he always greeted me with the same nod, a slight frown, never quite meeting my eyes. I believed he did not wish to offend me with an open look, or perhaps he was uninterested after all. But he could have ignored me and did not do so. So at times I added to my responding nod the hint of a bow. I didn’t mind being friendly if a person was respectful.
Then by chance once morning we crossed paths alone. I rounded a corner in one of the western halls and he was there. A look of alarm flashed over his face and then a look of purpose. He glanced around and, seeing no one, approached me quickly. He seized my wrist and pulled me into the nook of a tall window. Before I could protest he whispered, “I must speak with you,” and added, “Ana.” I didn’t know he knew my name. I looked down at his hand gripping my wrist. He let me go.
I had all but lost my breath.
“Not here,” he said. “Will you meet me tonight?”
I shook my head, not quite believing what I heard. Something in his eyes changed, he looked away, seemed to gather himself and met my eyes again.
“Please.” He waited. In that instant I could see he did not wish to dominate me, would not intend to do so. A curiosity overcame me. But that was not all I felt.
I made my feet walk slowly, my head not to turn and look back. I was conscious that I had assented, to the place and the hour, and of little else. A current carried me forward. I told myself I had no promise to keep, maybe I wouldn’t go.
But I didn’t sleep. I watched the half-moon rise. In the adjoining chamber my Lady was snoring. Now was my chance. I left soundlessly, without shoes. It was right after the spring thaw but still cold and the stone floors were like ice underfoot.
There was a passage down to the cellars, below the lower halls. I had a lie ready on my tongue should I meet somebody, but there was no one. Four small windows lined the passage where the moonlight stole in. He was there, standing in half-shadow against a pillar. The moon poured milk down his sleeve. He came to me, barely touched my elbow and guided me toward the stairs.
The cellars were pitch black. I could smell the great casks of wine, the damp of the walls. He lit a candle, set it on a barrel and fumbled with a tinderbox.
“What’s your name,” I demanded. He gave a short laugh. He would have guessed I already knew it, everyone did, ever since he appeared on the arm of the Queen at the previous mid-summer ball. It was Constantin. Everyone said he was one of her relations from the North. But I wanted to test his manners. Even if I was only my Lady’s maid, he should present himself to me before speaking.
“My friends,” he said, tossing his head slightly, “call me Kostya.”
“What friends?” Around the Court it was always Constantin this, or Constantin that.
“Friends,” he fixed his eyes on mine, because now he was telling me something I was not supposed to know, “from my village.” We were silent some moments. No relation of the Queen came from a village.
“You’re not from the North.”
“No.”
So he was an outsider, like myself, but unlike me. We were quiet again, then I said, “Why did you ask me here?”
He took a few steps to and fro in the small space between the barrels. He shook his head and laughed again. “You’ll think me ridiculous,” He said, “Or mad.”
I waited.
He glanced at me and said, “Your silver pitcher. It’s a dream I had. A few nights before I saw you. Everything was the same, the music, the conversation. And then I saw a small boy with dark hair, carrying the pitcher. Then it seemed he saw me, startled, dropped the pitcher and ran off. I tried to follow him, but he was lost.
“And that was all,” He shrugged, “Until I saw you.”
“A dream then,” I said, not knowing what else to say. He nodded.
To risk more time was unwise. I would leave the cellars first. He placed the candle in my hands and pressed them in his. Warmth flooded me.
* * *
We met again two nights later. The candle, the barrel. We sat on a bin full of ashes. His father had been captain of a cargo vessel on the Teteriv. There were a couple of bad years, debts exceeded earnings, and he was unable to pay the new taxes. Then he fell ill and died, leaving the debts to Kostya’s older brother. Their mother, desperate, thought they might trade on the unusual beauty of her younger son, which was how he’d become a Rake. And because of this the older brother could stay out of prison, could continue to pilot the ship that no longer belonged to him, and could support the meagre existence of their mother.
Then the candle was nearly gone. He placed it in my hand and leaned close to me. I felt his breath against my ear. He kissed my cheek. No one had ever kissed me before, that I could remember. Not Aunt, who raised me. I thought I might faint. I caught his sleeve and pressed my forehead to his shoulder.
Aunt was not really my aunt. She had been the daughter of a Lesser Noble who gambled away his lands. Her mother was infirm and Aunt had never married, which suited her. She had retained the right to her quarters and gardens and I was her foundling. She said I was not marriageable, since I had no family and no one to furnish my dowry. What remained of her own possessions were already owed to the Queen, to be handed over after her death.
A soldier had found an infant in the ruins of a burned out village, on one of the campaigns to acquire more land. It was rumored there had been Jews there. Aunt and I never spoke of this detail in the company of others, my would-be tainted blood. The soldier, instead of leaving the me to die, brought me to Aunt, who took pity on the tiny orphan. He made her trade her most valuable jewel for me, an emerald pendant. That was how she became my guardian and my protector, a steadfast one, if not tender.
She called me to her one morning. I was just approaching womanhood. She was bent over her writing desk with a quill in her hand and I noticed how old she suddenly looked. She had been ill the previous winter and when she recovered had not regained the erect posture and regal air I’d always known her to possess. She was writing to request my place with another Lady, it was all that she could do for me, she said. I would start my menses b
efore that summer was out, and Aunt would be in her grave.
So we’d both been bartered, Kostya and I. Both the chattel of pity and greed.
We continued to meet nights, to burn most of one candle was all we dared. Sometimes the Queen and the Lesser Nobles gave him gifts, sweetmeats he shared with me. Once he brought a sticky dried fruit wrapped in a cloth. He said it was from far away, from a land that was always warm. I tasted the sweet sap of the fruit, and even before it was gone he was embracing me, and I tasted the sweetness of his mouth, which was an ache too terrible to name.
* * *
Summer came shyly on the winds and then gained strength over the land. We took great pains to conceal from others what was growing between us, and our night movements through the halls. Never did we speak during the day. We were not the first among the servants to risk such trysts, we would not be the first to suffer at the hands of the soldiers if we were discovered.
He knew a place in the forest.
The hour was late but there were still traces of light in the sky. He waited for me, as he said he would, at the first bend in the North Road. I came, running, terrified of being seen, and for what I knew we were about to do. His arm trembled as he encircled my waist.
It was the smallest of clearings, surrounded by an area of thick brush. Above, a small patch of sky just beginning to show stars. He went to his knees and drew me down. His kiss was both gentle and urgent, and his body, pushing us into the fragrant grass.
* * *
Back at my bed in my Lady’s chamber I hid my nightdress and put on another. The first I would wear each time I met Kostya in the clearing, those stolen moments, where we returned to make love again and again.
For the Love of Meat Page 6