The Rhythm of Memory

by Alyson Richman

  “I’ve made your favorite, lamb and new potatoes.” This time she spoke a bit louder than her usual voice, to ensure that he was listening.

  “That sounds delicious. Hard day at the office.” He stretched his back. “Would you mind if I took it upstairs? I still have some work to do.”

  “Actually, I would, Samuel.” Her tone was unusually firm for her. “I told you this morning that I had something important to tell you.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said, trying to be as agreeable as he could. He was already silently chiding himself for being so remiss about Kaija’s simple request, given his pledge from this morning to be a better husband.

  “What do you need to talk to me about? Is it important? Shall I sit down?” He was now overcompensating by lavishing his attention on her.

  “Let’s talk over our supper. I’ve already put Sabine to bed.”

  Samuel nodded. He went into the bathroom, washed his hands, then walked into the dining room, where he found the table set with their best dishes and sterling, two candles burning midtaper. She must have lit them over an hour ago, he thought, once again feeling bad that he had failed to be home on time.

  He ate his dinner and remarked how the meat had been cooked to perfection, and how the asparagus was a wonderful reminder of spring.

  “I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry I’ve been a bit beside myself lately,” she said over the meal. “I know that you noticed that I was not myself, but I didn’t feel strong enough to tell you why.” She paused for a second and took a sip of water, then carefully blotted her lips with the linen napkin.

  He looked up at his wife and felt himself getting choked up. She was so delicate sitting there, across from him. Her skin so translucent that he felt he could see right through her. How, he thought, could I have done anything to hurt this wonderful woman? How could I have been such a selfish beast, that I could have forgotten who it is that I love?

  “What is it, Kaija?” He was beginning to grow alarmed.

  She paused again. As he stared at his wife across the table, he could see the tension and the fear in her finely boned face. Her small, white hands nervously fingered the border of the tablecloth.

  She took one final exhale, then said quietly, “Samuel, I’m afraid we won’t be able to have any other children besides Sabine.” She was trying hard not to cry, but her voice was already wavering. Tears were beginning to well in her eyes. “Samuel”—Kaija’s voice was now barely audible—“I’m so very, very sorry.”

  He sat there for several seconds, stunned, before he could respond. “Kaija, what do you mean? What’s happened?”

  “I went to the doctor nearly eight weeks ago. I was feeling fine. Really. Actually I was feeling better than fine…I thought I was pregnant.” She was crying a bit louder now, and Samuel had to concentrate to hear her words through her sobs.

  “Anyway, they did some tests, which revealed that I wasn’t pregnant at all. But that I’m actually going through early menopause.”

  “An early menopause?” Samuel was in shock. He couldn’t believe what his wife was saying. “But, darling, you’re so young! How can that be?”

  “I know. I know.” Her face was now red and streaked with lines where her tears had fallen.

  From across the table, Samuel could see that his wife was shaking. How stupid he had been not to realize that something was deeply troubling his wife these past couple of months. When she needed him most, he had abandoned her for another! His mind suddenly flashed to the memory of Salomé and him embracing in the rain, and Samuel felt himself overcome with remorse.

  He tried to compose himself. He took a deep breath and tried to refocus his thoughts on the immediate needs of his wife. “It doesn’t matter, Kaija. None of this matters at all. I love you more than anything.” She was not listening to him, however. He looked up and saw that her head was shaking from side to side, her face pressed into her palms.

  “Kaija,” he started once again. This time, he was leaning toward her, his tie draping perilously close to the candles. “You mustn’t cry. We are blessed already. We have Sabine.”

  But Kaija began to cry even harder, her face crumpling like the napkin in her hand.

  Samuel, sensing that no words could bring his wife comfort, rose from his chair and went over to her. He crouched beside her and brought her into his arms.

  “I love you and our daughter. We have everything to be thankful for, and nothing for you to cry over. You’ve given me everything a man could want, and I’m sorry if I’ve never shown my appreciation enough.” He too was crying now.

  “Samuel,” Kaija said as she placed her palms over his head, “I was just so afraid that you wouldn’t want me anymore. I know how much you wanted a big family.”

  “No. No. Never. Don’t even say such a thing! Kaija, I’m just so sorry.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry about.” She dabbed her eyes. “You haven’t done anything wrong. It’s me who’s suffering from this crazy thing…this early menopause…” She looked up at him and tried to smile. “God, Samuel, I have such rotten luck!”

  He tried to smile at her. But inside, he felt tormented by just how awful he had been. “Well, you did get me as a husband,” he joked. “I guess you’re right, others wouldn’t consider you so lucky.…”

  She giggled, and he felt a little better hearing her laugh for the first time in weeks.

  “But, Kaija, I feel terrible. I should have sensed that you were in such deep pain.” Samuel’s voice was becoming more calm and doctorlike now. “I should have been more sympathetic. I should have been spending more time with you and Sabine!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Samuel. You know you tried to get me to talk about what was bothering me. I just wasn’t ready to discuss it. I needed more time to adjust.”

  Samuel shook his head and reached for his wife’s hand. He brought it close to his chest. He wanted to appear composed and attentive to his wife’s needs, but his insides were churning.

  “I don’t want to feel pushed away. It makes me crazy. It makes me do things I regret.”

  “I’m sorry, Samuel,” she apologized once more.

  “No. Don’t say that. You have no reason to apologize. I’m just so sorry that you felt you couldn’t tell me.”

  “I didn’t want you to be angry.”

  “I could never be angry at you, Kaija,” he said tenderly, and inside he felt himself drowning in guilt.

  Minutes passed.

  “I think I need a cup of tea,” he finally said as he slowly got to his feet. “Can I get you anything, darling?”

  Kaija looked up at him. “Samuel, you look a bit peaked. Come over here.” She stood up and placed a cool palm on his forehead, completely forgetting about her own suffering. “You look worse than I do. Are you coming down with a fever?”

  “I just think I’m a bit under the weather, that’s all—the rain, the cold…”

  “Forget your tea. Let me draw you a bath and get you off to bed.”

  He nodded and braced himself on the back of the chair. “That sounds good, Kaija,” he said quietly. She motioned him to follow her and took his sweaty hand in hers.

  As he followed his wife wearily upstairs, the irony of the situation was clear to Samuel. Even in her darkest hour of need, Kaija was still nurturing him. And that only made him feel worse.

  Fifty-eight

  VESTERÅS, SWEDEN

  MARCH 1975

  He had half-expected her not to show up for her appointment the following Thursday, yet she did. Salomé arrived like clockwork at his office on Skolgatan at her usual time, closed the door quietly behind her, and headed straight for the leather couch in which she always reclined.

  “I didn’t think you’d come,” Samuel said quietly.

  “I need to come. I need to get better.” She paused and looked straight at him. “What I mean is, Samuel, I need to see you.”

  He had unrealistically hoped that she would avoid bringing up what had tr
anspired between them a week before. He had, however, prepared a speech just in case. He had been practicing it in his head for days now. Yet, suddenly, those gentle but firm words, those rehearsed, perfected sentences that he had constructed to put an end to any future physical relationship with Salomé, evaded him.

  “What we did was wrong, Salomé.” He cleared his throat and scratched his knee. Clearly, the situation was awkward for him. “Salomé, I am your doctor. We should have known better.” He corrected himself, “I should have known better.”

  All of this sounded so much better in my head, he thought to himself. Inside, he was chastising himself for stumbling over words that were obviously so important.

  “You can’t deny that there is something between us,” Salomé interrupted. She paused. “I haven’t felt that way for so long…”

  Samuel shook his head. Seeing her sitting there before him was difficult for him now. He had made love to this woman only a week before, in this very room, and his physical attraction to her was overwhelming. But he would be stronger-willed this time. For the sake of his marriage to Kaija and for the love he had for Sabine, he would concentrate only on Salomé’s immediate therapy.

  “You have helped me so much, Samuel.”

  “I only wanted to help you heal and to come to terms with your memories,” he said gently. “That is what I do for all my patients.”

  “You have. I am sleeping better. I am beginning to listen to music.”

  He laughed, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation. “So you can listen to music now without fear? You mean I’ve finally cured you, not with my words, but with my embrace?”

  “You know it was much more than a mere embrace, Samuel. And as for music? I’m hearing the most wonderful music in my head!” She tossed back her head and laughed heartily. “For the first time in months, beautiful music, not that awful ‘Queen of the Night Aria,’ but lovely, ethereal music. The kind that fills one’s veins and makes one feel as giddy as a schoolgirl.”

  “I see.” He fidgeted again.

  “Last week, I felt as though I carried you home with me. I heard your sweet voice in my head, your breaths deep in my ears. I felt your body shuddering over mine, your kisses on my skin.” She paused and looked straight at him. “You know everything about me and yet you still accept me for who I am. I don’t have that kind of relationship now with anyone else in the world.”

  For several seconds, Samuel just stared at her. Her pale lemon blouse was a surprisingly sheer choice for such a cold day in March, and he had to consciously try to avoid looking at her full breasts peeking through. He forced himself not to think about the way they had been with each other the last time. How she had threaded her arms around his waist. How he had slipped the straps of her dress around her shoulders only to reveal her naked, splendid form. He did not want to allow himself—to indulge himself with—the memory of the sensation of penetrating her, her ankles wrapped around him like two twisting vines.

  She stood there in front of him and he tried not to look at her. He knew if he lifted his gaze, he’d see her all over again as she had been with him days before.

  “Samuel,” she said, and he lifted his eyes. “This isn’t about sex.”

  She began to unbutton her blouse slowly, not looking down at the buttons, but rather staring directly ahead, her eyes locked firmly on him.

  “This is about me feeling comfortable enough to show you everything…”

  Her pale yellow shirt was now completely open. Her left hand entered her blouse and she touched her right breast. He could see her forefinger tracing over the outline of her nipple, and he remembered how he had kissed her there—that very place where that thick, red scar began, running all the way down to her first rib, where it ended.

  He still said nothing to her except her name. “Salomé…” He stopped midsentence. She had taken off her blouse.

  Something about her standing there exposed—vulnerable—moved him. It wasn’t the reaction that he knew most men would have. He knew they would see the scars and lament the shame that something so beautiful could be marred so brutally. But when he saw Salomé now, he felt that he had never been more intimate with a woman before. In her nakedness, he knew she was trying to eliminate all the secrets between them, reaffirming that she was withholding absolutely nothing from him.

  He continued to stare at her transfixed. His eyes traced the delicate lines of her shoulders, the tiny scar over her left nipple.

  He thought she might try to cover herself while he stood there, his feet locked to the ground. But she didn’t. She simply stood there waiting for him to come to her.

  “I could never have done this four months ago, Samuel,” she said softly. The cold air in the office made her breasts seem even higher and more round, and he wanted desperately to get up from his chair and walk over to her and cover her with himself. But instead he sat in his chair immobilized, his eyes transfixed.

  In his eyes, she read that he was confused, that he was most probably thinking about his wife and children, but Salomé couldn’t have felt further away from Octavio. She was doing this for herself, and she knew that she could never be completely whole until she had proven to herself that she was still beautiful, still sensual. So she unbuttoned her skirt and slid down the zipper. She pushed her stockings down over her hips, rolling them over her thighs and calves until she could step out of them freely.

  She walked over to him, still in her thin, black underwear, and knelt by his feet.

  He wanted to tell himself, “Don’t do this, don’t let yourself fall away and be swept into this love affair that obviously has no future.” But instead, he said nothing except her name.

  “Salomé…” He reached out and placed his hands on the crown of her head. She was curled around his knees like a kitten. Her long, black hair swept down to the small of her back, but through the thick curls, he could see the high, round peaks of her shoulders, the thin ladder of her spine. He felt her hands reach into his lap and unbutton his belt and slide his pants down around his knees.

  He could hear a gentle sighing coming from her body as she rose and slipped off her underpants.

  She extended her hands to him as one might do when about to dance, and he stood up and let her place her hands around his back.

  He took one breath and inhaled her. He wanted to lick the taste of almonds, lift it right off her brown skin. He wanted to hold her up against the light and unabashedly tell her how magnificent she was.

  She sensed him relaxing into her, and she soon found her placing her hands on his shoulders and then moving her fingers over the buttons of his shirt, peeling it away from his skin.

  “I don’t want you to feel as though you have to leave your wife and child for this. But there is something between us and you shouldn’t deny it’s not there.”

  She brought his head into her palms and kissed him on the lips.

  He wanted to cry when she said this. Because he didn’t want to love two women, he wanted only to love Kaija. These things were far more complicated than just acknowledging one’s desire for another person.

  But there he was not listening to his conscience, or his practical sense. He couldn’t help himself. He kissed Salomé back.

  Her head rolled back and her neck stretched out from underneath his lips like a swan’s. She arched her back and let him look at her completely—that stretch of skin from her throat all the way down to her hipbones. He took his finger and began to trace her, beginning with the curve underneath her chin, through the rivers of small channels that belied her collarbone and the basin between her two breasts. Again, he kissed every scar, every red marking that his lips came across, as if the gentle anointment of his tongue might just have the capacity to heal her that much more.

  He followed her as she knelt on the ground. He loosened his embrace as she stretched out on the floor, the patterned carpet making her look like a sultana set against her natural, vibrant palette.

  “Tell me again that I’m
beautiful,” she whispered as he entered her.

  He wanted to tell her he hoped he wasn’t hurting her, that he was being as gentle as he could. But he answered her truthfully, all the same: “You’re so very beautiful, Salomé.”

  When he said those simple words, she seemed to shudder as if she were releasing her last ounces of pain.

  Fifty-nine

  VESTERÅS, SWEDEN

  MARCH 1975

  Salomé’s taste was still deep on his tongue, on his skin. He could still feel the sensation from where her fingernails had pressed gently into his back, where her thighs had sealed against his waist. He could not believe that he had betrayed Kaija not only once, but now a second time.

  He had to end their affair before they became even more involved than they already were. A lot was at stake here: his marriage, his professional reputation, even Salomé’s healing.

  He reminded himself to be reasonable. He told himself to focus.

  When Salomé arrived at his office the following Thursday, he noticed that she was wearing a little bit of makeup and that her hair was arranged over her shoulders.

  “I don’t think I should remain your therapist, Salomé,” he told her gently.

  She looked up at him, her heart sinking all the while she tried to conceal her surprise.

  “It would be unethical at this point.” He was trying to sound as rational as he could with her. “You must understand, Salomé, I’m no longer objective in my counseling. That isn’t fair to you.”

  “You are helping me, Samuel.” Her voice faltered. “I’m better.”

  He inched his chair up to his desk and stretched his arms over his leather blotter before straightening his back. “Salomé, I fear that you are confusing our therapy with intimacy.”

  “I know the difference, Samuel.” She looked away from him, hurt by his words. “The truth is, Samuel, I think I need to be with someone who didn’t know me as I once was. You’re the only person who understands me or my history. I would die without having you in my life right now.”