At length she had decided to go to him (or merely allowed the greater
part of herself to act), telling herself that she should at least say
goodnight, and give him the chance to make it up to her. But as she
passed through the hallway and began to enter the dimly lit compound,
she saw a male figure hunched at the table, and another, female form
behind, touching him. Thinking it one of the other couples, she drew
back into the shadows of the doorframe. But as her eyes grew more
accustomed to the half-light, she saw plainly the scene laid out before
her.
And there she remained, her mind and heart a whirlwind of conflicting
impulses. She wanted to rush at the woman and scratch her eyes out.
She wanted to walk up calmly and ask, 'Have you quite finished with
my husband?' Her HUSBAND? She wanted to scream at Kalus, to
apologize for being cold, to seduce him, and to have him out of her life
forever.
But she did none of the things, remaining stock still in the doorway.
She forced herself to be calm, and tried to rationalize. Why was she so
upset? After all, what had he done? And why did it matter to her
anyway? She wanted to break away, and put the whole thing from her
mind. But she couldn't. She had to see what he would do.
After a time Kataya sensed the man-child's indifference, or at least
his unwillingness to yield to her. This did not cool her half-admitted
desire for him, but only made it more patient, tactful. She moved to
sit in a corner chair, beside him.
'Why so glum, Kalus? Or are you just ignoring me?'
'I am sorry, Kataya. It's not you. I just
feel. . .overwhelmed.' And with this, he surrendered.
'How so?'
'So much has happened,' he began, feeling as he said the words the
bewilderment that lay beneath all other emotions. 'Three weeks ago
Sylviana and I made love as if there was nothing else in the world. And
for us, there wasn't. Three months ago we struggled together against
the Cold World, in a place we called our home. At the time it often
seemed like Hell, but it brought us closer than you can possibly
imagine. And three days ago. Three days. I lived more or less in the
land where I was born, with paradise at my fingers.'
'Then why did you leave?'
'Because I couldn't keep lying to her, that we were alone.....
She isn't like me. She needs the company of her own kind.' He
spoke now more to himself, and to the darkness. She was silent for a
moment, her own feelings and experience submerged.
'And now?'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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