by Ava Zavora
“I was sixteen, with some friends. One of them was a girl. She said she wanted to die so she stood in the street in front of an oncoming car. I pushed her out of the way and got hit instead. I broke almost all of my bones. I spent six months in the hospital.”
A long silence followed. Eden’s throat had tightened and it took her a minute to be able to speak. He had said it all devoid of any emotion.
“You saved her life,” she said, feeling inadequate and very small.
“She was angry at me because I didn’t respect her wish to die.”
Eden didn’t know what to say to this, outraged and shocked.
“She’s never spoken to me since that day. Not even to visit when I was in the hospital. Oh, she’s alright now,” he said offhandedly. “Married with two kids.”
“Because of you."
“I suppose.”
She could hear a weariness in him. As though this was only one of many, many betrayals. Six months with a broken body.
"I have scars everywhere."
She tried to think of the most unlikely place. "Do you have them on your knees?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"When I was a boy, I borrowed my friend's bike. I rode it really fast, but I fainted so I hit a tree."
"You fainted?"
"From hunger. I hadn't eaten in three days."
"Why?" Eden's voice shook.
"There wasn't any food at home. My father cared more for cigarettes and drink than groceries." Again, no emotion. To him it was just a cold fact, from long ago. Or perhaps he had learned to not care anymore to survive such neglect.
When Eden opened her mouth a choking sound started to come out, so she closed it again.
"Oh, Adam," she finally said, not knowing which was greater, her sadness or her anger.
"Your chest," she asked in a whisper, afraid of what horror he would next reveal. "You said you would tell me."
"Yes, I did." His voice had changed. No longer matter of fact, it was now very dark and forbidding. "First, I want to know what made you ask me that."
Instantly she realized that up until this point, he had given her answers easily. This one was difficult for him. Out of everything she had asked, this topic was the most sensitive. He sounded almost threatening.
"I don't know."
"What I'm about to tell you is for no one's ears, but yours. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
He cleared his throat.
"Do you remember when I wrote that I left home when I was 15?"
"Yes."
"I slept on a bench for two weeks. In those two weeks, I came to realize two things. One - that I needed to make money. A lot of it. So that I would never be in that situation again. Second, for me to achieve that, I couldn't do it the usual way. That's when Marco found me. He took a special interest in me. Saw my potential. And he taught me about business so that I could get started on my own."
"You worked for him."
"Not exactly." He paused. "He mentored me. I worked with him but I've never worked for him. Or anyone. I've always worked for myself."
“What kind of business was he in?”
It was a few beats of silence before Adam answered. “The kind of business I cannot speak in detail about by phone. Only in person.”
“Why?”
“I think you can figure out why.” Eden decided not to press. It was clear from Adam’s tone that in this, he was intractable. From everything he had told her in his e-mails and tonight’s conversation, she felt sure now that he’d had a criminal past.
“Besides the rest of what I have to tell you will speak for itself.”
It was a moment before he continued.
"Marco had enemies. About nine years ago, I was with him when we were attacked. He died that day." For the first time since they started speaking, Eden felt frightened. Of Adam. His voice was deadly calm yet chilling.
"And I ended up in the hospital. I was as close to death as I could be. Eight men had to hold me down, I was in so much pain. One of them, I knocked his front teeth out before they gave me enough sedatives to calm me down. I owe everything to Ashraf, the doctor who operated on me. He gave me a new life."
"Those people," he said, again in that same frightening voice, "Had a picture of me. When I took care of things, I found it and took it from them."
She didn't want to ask what he meant by took care of things. His voice had gone so dark, it seemed to blacken her room, a world away, with cold rage.
"That's when you stopped letting people take your picture?"
"Yes. Safer that way. Plus," he said his voice almost normal again. "The flash. I don't like it."
He fell silent. He sounded as if this story was one he shared rarely, and that the telling of it had drained him.
“That's how I got the scar on my chest. Right above my heart." She heard a rustling sound, as though at that moment he was touching his scar. "It's faded a bit. But I'm very self-conscious of it. I always keep it covered. I'm never without a vest, even when I sleep."
He stopped speaking but she could hear him quietly exhaling the smoke from his cigarette.
"Does it still give you pain?"
"Sometimes. But I don't know if I imagine it or if it's real. I'm used to pain."
“That … part of your life,” Eden asked, easily slipping into the vague language Adam used, “Is it over?”
“Yes,” he replied without hesitation. “Has been for years now. When I got offered a second chance, I took it. Turned my back and left it all behind.”
He coughed, a racking sound.
"Are you sick?"
"It's nothing," he said hastily, showing some embarrassment, "I'm just getting over a cold."
"You must be chilly."
"It's freezing, yes. It's hot during the day, then gets very cold at night."
She imagined a man in shadows, all alone, in a falling down, ancient house.
"I wish I could make you a cup of hot tea," she said impulsively. Her glance fell on the plush throw folded at the edge of her bed. "And wrap you in a blanket."
He was quiet on the other end for a few moments, as though speechless with surprise. "I've never met anyone so compulsively maternal. You can't help it at all, can you?"
"What do you mean?" She sat up, irritated now, remembering his "mother" comments.
"It's not a criticism. Just an observation. Not only can you not help it, you're quite proud of being a mother."
"Yes, I'm proud of it. Should I be ashamed?" she retorted. "And because I want to make you warm, doesn't mean I'm being maternal. It means I care."
"I know," he said softly. "It's just very different from most women."
"That can't be true," she protested. "What kind of women have you been with?" The "whore" comment he had made earlier made sense now. "Almost every woman I know is nurturing. It's innate."
"Nurturing, yes," he mused. "But this is more than that. Like you wrote, it's part of your identity."
Eden's heart started sinking. He just saw her as a mother. Which means zero romance. He was so masculine, he thought her concern for his cough indicated that she saw weakness in him. But he was right. She couldn't help it. Something about him, despite his confidence and swagger paradoxically triggered the need to take care of him.
"You don't like being made a fuss of?"
"I didn't say I didn't like it. Women don't usually respond that way to me."
She detected a note in his voice. That little boy hiding beneath the deep-voiced, tough exterior. Untold amount of hurt buried beneath the surface. "The incurable darkness" he had written about.
"I don't know," she said. "I want to give you tea because you're coughing. I want to make you warm because you're cold. And I want to take all your rough edges, all your scars and ..." She cut herself off. She was being presumptuous.
"And erase them," he finished in a voice so low she could barely hear him.
"Yes."
They were both quiet.
>
She heard a tinkle, like metal. "Do you wear jewelry?"
"A silver ring on my right hand. A silver bracelet on my right wrist. And a silver necklace with a cross beneath my shirt. Every day."
"A cross?" There was a reverence when he said the word and the fact that he kept it hidden spoke of something significant. It wasn't just for adornment.
"Yes. You should know I'm Catholic." He said it as though he expected her to challenge him. Though she hadn't speculated on his religion, if she had prior to the conversation, she would have guessed he'd be an atheist or Protestant because he was British. The fact that he lived in Italy made even more sense.
Something occurred to her. “Did you become a Catholic after you almost died?”
“Yes.”
“And that’s why you … left the business?”
“I realized that for the grace of God, I would have died.”
"I’m Catholic too but I'm lapsed. I have issues with the Church, primarily having to do with the sexual abuse cover-ups." She still identified as a Catholic even though it had been years since she's been to mass, to her parents' distress.
"I have a problem with that too," he admitted reluctantly.
"But I admire that you have faith," she said, not wanting to get in a debate with him, at least during their first talk. "And respect it. For me, I can't support an organization which protects child molesters."
"I don't either," he said firmly.
"Or won't let women be priests."
"Completely understandable." He sounded as though he had guessed she would say so and was smiling on the other end.
"Or condemn homosexuals."
"I don't believe in that."
She smiled. "I'm glad we feel the same way."
"No," he said, "I don't believe that homosexuality is normal. Or right. It's unnatural."
For about the third time that night, Eden was speechless. Her throat had closed again in pain and her eyes started to well. But this time it was for a very different reason.
When she could speak, it was with great sadness. Her voice sounded very small and shaky. "This isn't going to work, Adam."
"What?"
"Us. I can tell you're the kind of person with entrenched beliefs. You feel strongly about certain things. And once you've made up your mind, it's set. Plus, you’re faithful to your religion, right?"
"Yes."
"Well, I can't be with someone who believes that homosexuality is wrong."
"Why not?" His voice had risen, as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She had caught him completely off-guard.
"Homosexuality is not a choice, Adam! And even if it was, it's still not a moral issue of right or wrong! Or a sin!" Her voice was rising but she didn't want to tone it down. "It's like, it's like," she stammered, cursing herself for lacking any eloquence. "It's like saying that black people or Jews aren't human or shit like that."
He made a sound of outrage. "That's not true. It's not the same thing! Look," he lowered his voice to normal. "We can disagree. People disagree all the time and stay together."
"This isn't just a simple disagreement, Adam. This is fundamental to me and to you."
"It isn't fundamental to me."
"But it is to me. It is the core of who I am and if I was with you, I'd be condoning your beliefs. It goes against everything I believe in."
He made a sound of frustration. "This is not the core of who you are. It can't be. And besides, if you were with me, it wouldn't be condoning my belief about homosexuality."
"It just won't work, Adam. It won't. We would fight about it and it would eat at me."
"I don't, I don't believe it." He sounded dazed. "If you do this, if you cut us off - It's for good, do you understand? I don't like dragging things out. Just say good-bye and be done with it then." He sounded harsh, closed off. She had hurt him.
"Okay," she started before he interrupted her.
"I can't believe it. I've got no choice but to think that I was wrong about you and that you're a fickle woman."
"Fickle! You can think whatever you want to make yourself feel better. But I am not being fickle. I am being realistic. And being true to myself."
"Listen, so far we've been dancing around what we mean to each other."
Eden started to deny it, but said nothing instead. As usual, he was right.
"Don't throw it away just because we have a difference of opinion. I know a couple who've been married over 20 years, but get them talking about politics and they get in a horrible row. But they don’t hold it against each other. It can work. I know it can. We can work."
She was quiet, trying to form the words. She didn’t know how to say goodbye to him.
“I want this so much,” she whispered. She just had to do it. Just tell him she was sorry and that she wished him well. And once she did, she would never hear from him again. That much was clear.
She could hear him fuming on the other end.
They sat in terse silence for a long time, neither willing to give in to the other, neither willing to let go.
“So is this it then?” he finally said. “I haven’t got all day.”
A stinging retort started to escape her when suddenly she saw in her mind’s eye a figure lying prone on a hospital bed, all alone. Broken.
She knew that she would not be saying goodbye.
“Alright,” she said, resigned. "But I want to be clear that I am in opposition to your stance on homosexuality."
She could hear him breathe a sigh of relief. After a moment, he replied, his voice back to being composed and reasonable.
“Of course. Now if we do this, you promise it won’t haunt us later?”
“I can’t promise that. All I can promise is that I’ll do everything I can to make it work, despite a fundamental disagreement.”
He made a noise that sounded suspiciously triumphant.
“Why am I the only one conceding?" she asked, very much irritated. "Why can’t you?”
“As a matter of fact, this whole thing has been a concession.”
“How so?" she challenged. She felt like she had just been in an emotional tug of war and just decided to give in and let go.
“If it had been any other person, I would have said, “You don’t agree with me? Fuck off.”
She stared at her iPod as though looking at him. This was the strangest conversation she had ever had. “It hasn’t even been a week yet. Do you realize that?” For lack of anything better to say.
“I do." He sounded like he was grinning.
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again. “I don’t care! I’m just going to say it. You should be in bed. It’s …” She glanced at the time and gasped. They had been talking for three hours. “Five o’clock in the morning there!"
He laughed, at ease once more. It was as though they had both come to a dark tunnel and emerged on the other side, safe. Together.
“Say good night,” she commanded crossly.
“Good night. Let’s do this again tomorrow night, shall we?”
“I have boxing,” she said with regret. “After tonight, I’m going to need it.”
“I wish I could watch you,” he said, a little forlorn.
“But you’ll write to me tomorrow?”
“I will.”
“Alright then. Good night, Adam.”
“Good night, Edie.”
Somehow she found herself down the stairs. Her stomach growled. She was ravenous and emotionally drained.
She stood in the kitchen, staring at the contents of the fridge, uncomprehending, before turning around and toasting bread.
“Who were you on the phone with?" she heard Dante ask from the living room.
She stood by the table, plate of toast in hand. “Adam.”
Dante turned his head from the T.V. to look at her, perhaps alerting to the strange note in her voice.
“How’d you meet?”
She shrugged. Opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She
tried again.
“Twitter?” It sounded strange and made up, even to her own ears.
“Ohhhhhkay,” Dante said, shaking his head, a dubious expression on his face.
She sat down and put the toast to her mouth. A minute passed before she bit into it. She had to remind herself to chew.
Dante shook his head again and went back to watching T.V.
Chapter 8
Subject: Wednesday
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From: Adam -
Date: Wed, Aug 8, at 10:38 AM
To: Eden E
You once asked if I'd harm you. I'd bite you.
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From: Eden E
Date: Wed, Aug 8, at 10:39 AM
To: Adam -
Where?
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From: Adam -
Date: Wed, Aug 8, at 10:39 AM
To: Eden E
Thighs.
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From: Eden E
Date: Wed, Aug 8, at 10:40 AM
To: Adam -
That's all?
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From: Adam -
Date: Wed, Aug 8, at 10:42 AM
To: Eden E
It isn't. Your derriere.
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From: Eden E
Date: Wed, Aug 8, at 10:43 AM
To: Adam -
I'm dissolving in a fit of giggles.
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From: Adam -
Date: Wed, Aug 8, at 10:46 AM
To: Eden E
What is the shape of your gluteus maximus? Flat, round, pear-shaped, square, triangular?
