“Some Strauss is a bit too modern for my taste,” he said. “I prefer Mozart. Do you sing Mozart? Oh, of course you do. What a dumb question.”
She continued to smile, engaging him, tugging on his heart. He draped his arm over the roof of the car and leaned his hip against the door and would have loved to settle in for a long chat as between friends.
But it was the middle of the night, they were on their way someplace, and he had a job to do. Ladies, even great ones, respected men for doing their duty. He swept his flashlight over the driver’s passport again. Something was wrong. The name didn’t go with the woman.
He met her eyes again and she held his glance, her lips opening slightly and hinting at a smile. No woman had ever looked at him with such intensity, such openness. He seemed to fall into her; he had the feeling that, had she been standing in front of him instead of sitting down, she would have allowed him to embrace her.
Somewhere in the distance he heard a telephone ring. The glass front of the guard station was reflected in the rear side window of the car, and without turning around, he saw the figure of his comrade waving at him, signaling wildly. He felt suspended, for just a heartbeat. Then something in him broke, or blossomed, or changed. He handed back the two passports, the real one and the counterfeit one, and raised the barrier.
“Have a nice evening, ladies.”
For several minutes the two of them drove in silence, as if talking would set off some alarm and they would be pursued. But when it became clear that no one followed them, relief settled on them like warm air. Katherina was fully awake now, excited by the near disaster they had weathered. The danger was past, she was in West Germany again, with Anastasia, and she had never felt happier.
“So what do we do next? I mean, we’re driving west, but I live in Berlin, which is in the other direction. Inconvenient, I realize.” Lightheartedness crept into her voice.
Anastasia also seemed a bit giddy at having succeeded in what amounted to heroic rescue. “Yes, I vaguely recall where Berlin is. Right in the heart of the DDR. Don’t worry. It’s all pretty easy from here. We just drive to Hanover, where we leave this car. If you feel that you need to rest, we can stay in Hanover at the hotel where I was living. But we’ll be arriving in the morning, so if you have the strength, we can fly directly from Hanover to Berlin. There’s a ten a.m. flight to Tempelhof.”
“I’d prefer that. You’re doing all the work, after all. If you can hold out, I can. Besides, I want to show you my house, cook you a nice breakfast.” Katherina imagined showing Anastasia from room to room, preparing a meal for both of them as if they were a couple, leading her upstairs. Then uncertainty clouded the picture. What would happen in Berlin, she realized, was not at all clear. Murky, even. She inhaled deeply and posed the question she had to ask, but which could ruin everything.
“Boris. So you are reconciled with him now? Has he agreed to the baby?”
“No, just the opposite. We made a different deal. He agreed to help me sneak in and get you out of the DDR.”
“And what did you agree to?” Katherina held her breath.
“I agreed to give him his divorce.”
Katherina felt a guarded joy at the announcement, still new, still fragile. She wanted to be sure she’d heard correctly. “So, you don’t have to go right back to him? I mean you can stay in Berlin…for a while?” She was careful not to say “with me.”
“Would you like me to? I mean, now that you’re rescued, you don’t really need me any longer.”
“Oh, but I do need you. You can’t imagine. I want you to come home with me. Stay with me. Sleep with me.” The moment she said the words, warmth spread upward from her sex to her chest, then to her face. The admission was as powerful as their kiss had been, and just as fraught with risk. Had she taken a step too far?
Anastasia let a long agonizing moment pass. “I’d like that too. Although I don’t quite know what to do. I mean, the sleeping part. I’ve never…”
Katherina dared for the first time that night to touch Anastasia’s shoulder, then her neck, playing with a lock of hair curled over her ear. “I know what to do. I think.” She laughed softly, nervously. “I’ve thought for months of what it would be like, every moment of it. I’ve felt a strange and wonderful sort of desire that I never knew before. The kind that makes people write sonnets, I suppose.”
“I love you, you know,” Anastasia said simply, as if she were talking about the road.
“Oh, God. I hope so.”
“But I’m pregnant. You know that. I’ve left Boris, but I can’t mess up your life. I have enough money to support myself and a child.”
“Don’t talk about messing up my life. You’ve just given life back to me. And right now I don’t want to be with anyone but you. Tonight…” She looked at her watch. “Well, tomorrow morning, I want to be in your arms. I want to feel you, smell, taste your skin, touch you, excite you, lie on, under, next to you. I want to do all the things I’ve imagined doing since Salzburg.”
“I imagined them too. Or tried to.”
“Why didn’t you let them happen? If I had thought for just a moment you’d let me, I would have come to your room and ravished you.”
“I think I knew that and was terrified of it.”
“You broke my heart leaving that way, so suddenly.”
“I’m sorry. It broke my heart too. But so much was at stake, so many decisions to make. The first was actually the easiest. To not terminate the pregnancy. Then there was Boris. We were never in love, but he was a part of my life. I owed it to him to try to work something out, to give him a chance to be a father. As it turned out, fatherhood was never in his life plans. But you understand, I couldn’t make these life decisions on the basis of a kiss on a balcony in the middle of a snowfall. Even if it had also made me want to write sonnets.”
“Does he know about our Rosenkavalier kiss?”
Anastasia smiled. “Rosenkavalier kiss. What a nice word for it. I was still half Octavian that night, wasn’t I? The entire evening was operatic. But no, Boris doesn’t know about the kiss. He doesn’t need to. He’ll simply accept that we’re together. He has no reason to be jealous, and he likes you, anyhow. If he hadn’t alerted me of the danger you were in, and helped me set up this whole operation, you’d still be on the Brocken, who knows in what state.”
“I guess I wasted a lot of time disliking him, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did. He’s a decent man. He was part of that gangster world in postwar Berlin, but when times got better, he became a better man. You’ll see.”
“Will I?” Katherina wondered how her future would intersect with that of Boris Reichmann. Then she remembered Anastasia’s baby. To her surprise, it filled her with such tenderness that she almost cried.
XXXIV
Adagio et Passionata
It was noon when they arrived at the house on the Schlossstrasse. “That’s it,” Katherina said, pointing to the red-brick structure just ahead of them. Old trees grew on both sides, and a wall of ivy covered one corner of it like a shawl.
“Your father’s house?”
“My house now.” Our house, if you want, she thought, but didn’t dare say. It was too soon to offer marriage.
As they parked the car along the side, two familiar figures emerged from the house to welcome them. Katherina was relieved. The house would be heated and clean and ready to receive company. “Casimira, Tomasz, this is my friend Anastasia Ivanova. Anastasia, these are my…well…family. They took care of my father and lately they’ve been taking care of me again, too.”
“Enchanté, Madame,” Tomasz said, grasping Anastasia’s hand with cavalier formality. Casimira made a tiny curtsy.
“What’s this? You never curtsied for me.”
“Ah, but Madame Ivanova is a great lady of the opera stage.”
“I’m a great lady of the opera stage, too.”
Kissing Katherina on her forehead, Casimira remarked, “If you say so, dear.”
/> Next to her, Anastasia murmured comfortingly, “A prophet is without honor in his own house.”
“So it would seem.”
Thomas lifted Anastasia’s suitcase from the trunk and they entered the house. It smelled of fresh bread, Katherina noted with both gratitude and nostalgia. It was as if Casimira had known someone special was arriving.
“The bread is just out of the oven, so you can’t touch it until supper. Shall I cook something special tonight, or leave you two on your own?”
“Thank you, Casimira. I think we’ll just throw something simple together ourselves. Please don’t worry about us.”
“Of course, my dears. Call me if you need anything.” Then housekeeper and gardener retreated to their own sphere of activity where, Katherina knew, they would stay until summoned. That was what she appreciated most about them, their acute sense of the value of privacy.
“Are you hungry?”
“No, surprisingly, I’m not. But tea might be nice. Then you can show me around.”
“This is my father’s study.” Katherina wandered along the bookshelves. “I’ve left it as it was the day he died, though I suppose that’s rather morbid. I just haven’t gotten around to moving anything. Too many concerts.” She ran the fingertips of one hand along the edge of a shelf, then found herself at the oaken desk.
Anastasia stood in the doorway, her steaming tea mug in hand. “Is it strange for you to be here, knowing that it all belongs to you now?”
“No, I haven’t digested that part yet. But it is strange being here with you. Look.” She picked up the jacket cover of Berlioz’ Damnation of Faust with Anastasia’s face gazing heavenward. “This seems to be the last thing he listened to.” A sudden sense of gratitude washed over her. “Yours was the last kind voice he heard.”
“Please put it away. I don’t like to think I had anything to do with his sorrow.”
Katherina slid the cover back into the bookshelf with the other vinyl records. “None of us did, really. He carried it around inside of himself.” She urged Anastasia again toward the doorway. “Let me show you the rooms upstairs.”
At the top of the stairs, Katherina pointed toward the left. “That’s my father’s room. It’s spacious and bright, and one of these days I’ll use it again. For now, this is my room over here.”
Less sunny than the master bedroom, Katherina’s room was nonetheless warmly furnished and inviting. Anastasia stood at the center of the room, surveying the walls. A row of shelves on one side held sheet music, histories of opera, libretti, a German-Italian dictionary, a biography of Wagner, a few novels. On the other side stood an upright piano with the score of Rosenkavalier open to the “Rose Duet.” Next to it, a small wooden desk was comfortably cluttered with letters, papers, and a cup of pencils.
“It suits you, I think, though it doesn’t look all that much lived in. Rather like my—well—like Boris’ house in Munich.”
“Yes, we’re vagabonds, aren’t we? But we don’t have to be.” She stopped. Letting the conversation drift farther into future plans would be premature before they had even embraced. Instead, Katherina drew Anastasia toward her. “I have longed for a month to hold you in my arms again.”
“I have, too. Please, it’s time.”
They embraced gently, unhurriedly, kissing softly on necks and cheeks, exploring each other’s outlines with arms and hands. There was at first no urgency in their kisses, only great joy in having found their way to one another. Then Katherina’s body took over, sending a wave of warmth up from between her legs, the delicious tightness of sexual hunger. Their kisses became harder, more ardent, more invasive, until Katherina broke away, breathing heavily.
“I’ve waited too long for this to let it be less than perfect. And I will not seduce you in my current squalid state. In the last twenty-four hours, I’ve sung an opera to savages, been almost raped on a rock and thrown in the snow, then run half-naked for my life down a mountainside. I need a bath.”
Anastasia leaned back into the embrace. “You smell of stage makeup and lotion, and other, uh, more natural things. And by now, so do I. Is your bathtub big enough for two?”
With the steaming water pouring into the vast tub, they stood in front of each other. “Please let me do it,” Anastasia said, and gently drew Katherina’s borrowed sweater over her head.
“Oh, my god. I didn’t see it when you dressed in the car. You’re covered with bruises. And there’s a big abrasion on your back. You must have been in pain all night. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Katherina looked down at herself. “It must have happened on the rock, when Gustav and the soldiers were throwing me around. But I don’t remember any pain. Just fear. Then you arrived and all I cared about was escaping. I don’t think anything’s serious, though. Nothing a good washing won’t fix.”
Anastasia kissed Katherina’s wounded back, a safe distance from the torn flesh. “This could become infected, though, and the bruises can get worse if you’re not careful. My poor Katherina!”
Katherina turned in her arms. “Oh, I love that,” she whispered. “No one has kissed my bruises since my mother.”
“What about Casimira?” Anastasia unbuttoned the long skirt at Katherina’s hip and let it drop to the bathroom floor. Katherina realized she still wore the underpants that were torn from the onstage assault. She removed them unceremoniously and tossed them into the trash.
“Casimira? No, she arrived when I was twelve. Her kisses were limited to my forehead, and then only for good behavior.”
“Good. Then I can be your kisser of bruises. And your throat kisser and your breast kisser…” She demonstrated each responsibility.
Katherina drew back. “Wait, I want to see you too. I’ve wondered for so long.” She pulled off Anastasia’s sweater and let her eyes sweep over the landscape of Anastasia’s body. Full womanly breasts rested in a lace brassiere. Katherina unhooked it and kissed the warm creatures that emerged. They embraced again, warming themselves against one another, and Katherina felt the pounding at the center of their joined chests. Was it her heart or Anastasia’s?
Katherina undid Anastasia’s jeans and underwear and slid them down. The triangle of light brown hair that emerged caused a sudden thrill of excitement. When had she last seen a woman nude? Like this? Never. She ran the palm of her hand over the swelling beneath the navel.
“The pregnancy is beginning to show, isn’t it? Do you feel anything yet?”
“No. I think that will happen in about a month.”
Katherina pressed her own abdomen gently against the roundness. “I love it that you have that little life inside of you. Really. And I love us being here this way, the three of us.”
“I do too, but our bath is getting cold and, frankly, we both stink.”
They climbed in and lay carefully side by side in the old tub, exhaling with the pure animal pleasure of soaking in warm water.
“Mmmm. I’ve never done this before.” Anastasia sighed.
Katherina smiled into her neck. “Not even with a boyfriend?”
“Forgive me if I laugh, darling. You forget, I grew up in Soviet Russia. It’s not the sort of thing you can do in a dormitory bathroom or a collective apartment with five people’s laundry hanging over the tub.”
“I’ve never done it before either, but I’ve wanted to. How fortunate that we both needed a bath at the same time.”
“Here, let me clean that that horrible scrape on your back.” Without moving from the embrace, Anastasia reached behind Katherina and gently drew the soap back and forth over the abrasion. “Is that better?”
“Yes, better. So much better.” Katherina took the soap from Anastasia’s hand and dropped it over the side of the tub out of reach. The urge to be clean had given way quickly to a force less civilized. Hot wet mouths on hot wet skin seemed a part of the steaming pool itself, a floating together in the primordial element. Something ancient and ancestral reminded her that the purpose of life was more life, and every nerve ur
ged her on to couple. Katherina slid her leg between Anastasia’s thighs to begin the act.
Anastasia opened to straddle the leg and undulated against it. “Yes,” she breathed. “But not here. It will go too fast. I want to do it to you too, and make it last.”
They staggered out of the bath, toweled just enough to avoid leaving a stream of water behind them, and moved to the bed. It seemed they had said everything already and what remained was the wordless talk of lovemaking, the rhythmic give and take of intimate exploration.
It was as natural as growing warm in the sun. Katherina embraced Anastasia unreservedly, licking, sucking every sweet part of her that she could take into her mouth. No longer passive, Anastasia moved over on top of her, biting gently along her neck and shoulder and beginning a delicious friction along the length of their bodies. Katherina was slick now with new wetness, every inch of her skin aroused, every touch electric. But she would be the seducer, not the seduced, at least this first time, and so she regained the upper position. Anastasia seemed to understand the game and yielded, whispering, “Yes.” In charge now, Katherina slid loving insistent fingers along Anastasia’s thigh and entered her. Anastasia opened, inviting more, moving her whole body in rhythm to each gentle thrust, and invaded Katherina’s mouth. Katherina shifted once again so that their two bellies touched, and while she stroked she sensed the third life that pulsed between them. A delicious mix of images swam in her head, of a boy in white silk, smelling of roses, of the snow maiden lying beneath her, harboring within a tiny precious being that grew with each of their panting breaths. “Oh, stay with me,” Katherina murmured. Anastasia breathed, “Always,” and her wrenching climax was the consummation of the Rosenkavalier kiss.
Then, feeling Anastasia drift off in her arms, Katherina herself fell into soft dreamless sleep.
Mephisto Aria Page 22
