And that’s when I’m supposed to open my eyes like a dewy fawn, and see him poised over me like the sun, and make a little gasping noise of wonder and gratitude, and then he fucks me.
AFTER, I LAY against his damp shoulder. I said, “My love, I miss you.”
He said nothing, but I could feel his impatience. The sweat was drying on his front, and his back was a swamp. Also, the reed ticking scratched through the sheet, and he’s used to a padded bed at home.
“What are you working on?” I asked. Because it is the one thing I know he will answer.
“A statue,” he said.
“Ah!” I closed my eyes. “I wish I could see it, darling. What is it of?”
“A girl.”
“It will be beautiful,” I said. “Is she for one of the men in town?”
“No,” he said. “I’m tired of those. This one is for myself.”
“How wonderful,” I said. “I hope I may see it when you are finished.”
“Maybe,” he said.
“I will be so good,” I said.
He said nothing.
“How old is the girl?” I asked.
“Ten,” he said.
I had expected him to say “young.” When I had once asked him how old he meant for me to be, he had said, “A virgin.”
“Ten,” I said. “Not twelve, perhaps?”
“No,” he said.
“I do love girls at fifteen,” I said. “The other day the nurse brought her daughter, and she was so beautiful. Her whole face was filled with light.”
“I have no interest in fifteen,” he said. “Or the nurse’s daughter.”
“Of course not.” I stroked his chest with my perfect fingers. I tried to make my voice loose and easy, like a yawn. “How is Paphos, my love?”
“Fine,” he said. Just that ugly, nothing word.
“Is she happy?”
“How could she be, after what her mother did?”
I was ready for this, and tipped the tears onto his chest. “I am so sorry, my darling. I wish I could make it up to her.”
He pushed me off him and sat up. “You grovel for her, but not for me.”
I wanted to say, What do you think I have been doing? But of course my husband would not appreciate that. He is a man who likes white, smooth surfaces. I knelt on the floor, my hands pressed together over my breasts. “My love, there is nothing more in the world I want than to come home with you. Just today I wished that I had something of you to comfort me. A painting, maybe. A painting of you.”
This surprised him. “A painting,” he said. “Not a statue.”
“Oh my darling, a statue would torment me too much,” I said. “It would be too much like you to bear.”
“Mmm,” he said. I let my hands fall a little so that he might see my breasts better. They were very fine, he had made sure of it.
“Do you not miss me? Even a little?”
“It is your own fault if I do.”
“It is, I know, I know it is. I’m so sorry, darling. I was such a fool, I don’t even know what I was doing.”
“A fool,” he said. He was looking at my breasts again.
“Yes, a terrible fool. An ungrateful fool.”
“You should not have run,” he said.
“I will never run again, I swear on my life. I can barely stand when you leave me. I live every day yearning for you to come. You are my husband, and father.”
“And mother,” he said.
“Yes, and mother. And brother too. And lover. All of these.”
He said, “You say this only because you want to see Paphos.”
“Of course I want to see her. What kind of mother would I be if I did not? Cold, and shameless. That is not how you and the goddess made me.”
I was breathing very hard, but trying to pretend I was not. The floor was hurting my knees, but I did not move.
“Shameless,” he said.
“Shameless,” I said.
I felt him looking at me, admiring his work. He had not carved me like this, but he was imagining doing it. A beautiful statue, named The Supplicant. He could have sold me and lived like a king in Araby.
He frowned, pointing. “What is that?”
I looked down at my belly and saw the faint silvery tracks on my skin, caught in the light.
“My love, it is the sign of our child. Where the belly stretched.”
He stared. “How long have they been there?”
“Since she was born.” Ten years ago now.
“They are ugly,” he said.