The weight of water - Anita Shreve [67]
I had never smoked a pipe without my husband, and never at such an early hour in the morning, but I confess that as I sat there observing Louis, my own yearning for a smoke grew, so that after a time, I got out my own pipe and, as Louis had just done, filled it with tobacco. I suppose I had been quite nervous altogether, for the first long draw on my pipe tasted wonderfully marvelous and calmed my hands.
Louis seemed amused that I was smoking with him. “In Prussia,” he said, “women do not smoke.”
“I am a married woman,” I said. “My husband has taught me to smoke.”
“And what other things has your husband taught you?” Louis asked quickly with a smile.
I hasten to say that I did not like this rejoinder and so did not answer him, but Louis seemed determined to tease me out of my somber demeanor, and so said to me, “You look too young to be a married woman.”
“Then you have seen not too many married women,” I said.
“I don’t have enough money for a proper woman.”
I colored at my understanding of the possible meaning of this utterance and turned my head away.
“John Hontvedt is very lucky to have such a beautiful wife,” he said, persisting in this inappropriate speech.
“You are being silly,” I said, “and I will not listen to such talk.”
“But it’s true,” he said. “I’ve been looking at the women in this country for eleven years, and none are so beautiful as you.”
I am ashamed to admit, so many years later, that at that moment I was at least partially flattered by this talk. I knew that Louis Wagner was flirting with me, and that it was improper for him to do so, but though I could scold him, I could not quite bring myself to banish him from my apartment. After all, I told myself, he meant no harm. And to be truthful, I had never in my life had a man call me beautiful. I don’t believe that my husband ever said such a thing. I don’t think, in fact, that he ever even called me pretty. I was not thinking at the time that any of these attentions were in any way dangerous.
“I have made some konfektkake,” I said, wishing to change the subject. “Can I give you a piece?”
“What is the konfektkake?” he asked.
“It’s a Norwegian sweet,” I said. “I think you will like it.”
I put before our boarder a plate of chocolate cake. Louis damped his pipe and laid it on the table. After he had taken his first bite of cake, I could see immediately that he had a great liking for it, and he ate steadily until nearly all of it was gone. I was thinking that I had ought to eat the remaining two pieces, as I would not be able to explain to my husband that evening what had happened to the rest, and so I did. Louis wiped the icing from his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.
“I think that you are seducing me with all this smoke and konfektkake,” he said, grinning and pronouncing the Norwegian badly.
I was shocked by his words. I stood up. “You must go now,” I said quickly.
“Oh, but Mrs. Hontvedt, do not send me away. We are having such a nice time. And I am only teasing you. I can see you have not been teased much lately. Am I correct?”
“Please go now,” I repeated.
He got up slowly from his chair, but in doing so, arranged himself so that he was standing even closer to me than he had been before. I did not like actually to back away from him, and besides, I would have had to press against the stove, which I could not do for fear of burning myself, and so it was that he reached out and put his fingers to my cheek, very gently, and to my everlasting shame, unbidden tears sprang quite suddenly to my eyes, tears so numerous that I was unable to hide them.
“Mrs. Hontvedt,” he said in an astonished voice.
I reached up and tore his hand away from my cheek. There was no reply I could have made to him that even I myself could have understood, and as I did not think that he would leave the room, I grabbed