Days of Winter (3 page)

Nervously, he tried not to think about the consequences of his impulsiveness. He could no longer be philosophical. He had no choice. If what he was doing would make him suffer later, after his marriage to Jocelyn—that, of course, would still take place—then that was an atonement he would have to live with, alone. But all he knew or cared about at
this
moment was Magda.

He hesitated before her door, staring at it for a moment, then knocked. When it opened, Magda stood in front of him dressed in the same sheer wrapper, the expression on her face neither joyful nor sad. She merely opened the door wider so that he could come in. Inside, he put the suitcase down. He said, “I couldn’t leave.”

She lay down against the pillows and looked at him. “You look rather stupid standing there. Why don’t you sit down?” He did, on the battered velour chair.

A sardonic smile showed around her eyes. “So, you had to come back? Didn’t I give you enough of a souvenir to carry away?”

“I love you, Magda, can’t you understand—”

“And can’t you understand, how many times I’ve heard that in my life? I don’t
believe
in love.”

“That’s because you’ve never truly been loved—”

“And
you
truly love me. You adore me. You only met me yesterday! If it wasn’t so unbelievable, I would laugh.”

“Please don’t, Magda. I bought a ticket for Calais, and at the last moment I had to come back—”

“How touching. Why did you come back—to take me out of this place? To rescue me from a fate worse than death? Wait, I know! You came back to take me home to introduce me to your family.” She said this with unmistakable bitterness. “Get out of my life, Mr. Proper Englishman. You disturb me. …You have nothing to give me. Enough has been taken from me already.” Breathing hard she said, “Do you know how my parents lived and ate? …Why they survived? Well, I’ll tell you. Because they were blessed with a daughter who had a commodity to sell. Do you know what it feels like to starve? When the pains of hunger become so excruciating, so fierce, you thank God you have a body to sell. Who cares if it’s right or wrong, moral or immoral? When your belly’s empty, you beg someone to take you and get it over with so you can run to the bread line before it’s all gone. I died more than once that my parents should never know how the food was brought to their table. And you talk to me about
love
.”

Rubin went to the bed, took her in his arms and stroked her hair. “You and I are not really so different, Magda. Life has taken us both in … I’ve got my love for you and my … obligations to the life that was, frankly, planned for me. Until now it didn’t matter.”

Magda shook her head. “You will choose your obligations. Now, please, get out of my life. Go away and leave me in peace. I don’t want to be loved by you, it will only destroy both of us. Take your ticket, go back to where you belong and leave me alone.”

“Just listen to me,” Rubin pleaded.

“No. I don’t want to hear any more. I no longer have to sell myself to feed my stomach. Here I finally have some sanity in my life … even living in a place like this. My voice and talent, such as it is, pay for these lodgings. And I choose who I sleep with.”

“I want more for you than this, Magda. You deserve more—”

She threw back her hair, then laughed without humor. “How stupid you are, living in your little sheltered, narrow world. I ‘deserve more’? Since when do we get what we
deserve
? Did my father
deserve
to work since he was six and die at thirty, penniless? Did my mother
deserve
to go on living, wishing she could throw herself into his grave because her life had stopped? Did my brother, my beautiful, handsome Niko,
deserve
to be killed in the war at eighteen? You talk to me of deserve. What do you know about it … a barrister!”

With tears in his eyes, Rubin turned his face away so she wouldn’t see the hurt in them. Magda took his face in her hands. Taking the handkerchief out of his breast pocket she wiped his eyes. Almost too softly for Magda, she said, “Perhaps you are not so smart about life, but at least, Rubin Hack, you can cry. Under different circumstances I might get to like you. There’s more to you than I would have thought.”

“Can’t you believe that a person doesn’t have to be born into poverty to have feelings—”

“It’s guilt you feel. You are very rich. I know without your telling me. That is what makes you feel so guilty.”

He took her hand and held it tightly. “Yes, of course I feel guilty. Life has given me so damn much and you so little, but I’m going to change that, I’m at least going to take care of you—”

She laughed again, but this time loudly. “I’ll become your mistress, yes? What makes you think I want you? Men! What microbes you are. You think all you need to say is ‘I’ll take care of you,’ and I’ll come running. I said you were not too smart, and I was right. You don’t know Magda, Magda Charascu from Bucharest. …You want a mistress, so get yourself one. You’ll have no problem, you’re very rich. I’ll concede that you are … quite handsome, not that it would matter to some mistresses. Don’t let it turn your head, but you are. It wouldn’t matter to most, but you happen to be a very good lover. With all of that you’ll have no problem.”

“Magda, I love you. Can’t you understand? God only knows how much I want you—and
not
as a mistress.”

She released her hand from his grasp, lying back against the pillows, bit her lower lip and looked at him. “Light me a cigarette,” she said, not taking her eyes from him.” What do you really want from me?”

“Let me make you … happy—”

“
Happy
? And how would you accomplish such a thing? You’re going back to your world, where you belong, and I’ll stay in mine. Now, tell me about happy. What kind of nonsense is that?”

“Magda, I’m going to take care of you so you won’t ever—”

Getting out of bed quickly, she shouted, “
Ever
? I think you’re crazy.”

He took her in his arms. “I don’t want you ever to have to do what you’re doing, at least I want to make it possible for you to live with dignity—”

She broke away from him, looking at him in honest bewilderment. After a long, tense silence, she said, shaking her head, “Why? What will you get out of this? Nobody does anything for nothing.”

“It will make me happy, knowing that when I leave … you’ll have a … well, a decent chance—”

Narrowing her eyes in disbelief, she said, “You would really do that for me, that’s all you want?”

“Yes, that’s all I want.”

Still not believing, she said, “I don’t understand you, Rubin Hack. Who does such a thing? You’re a fool.”

“No, I’m not a fool. I would marry you if I could, but since I can’t, at least it will help to know you’ll never be in need or—”

“And what about my not loving you? Doesn’t that bother you? Because I don’t. I don’t know how to love anyone. Now, do you still want to support me … forever?”

“Yes …
yes
, damn it.”

Shaking her head, she said, “I thought I knew everything about men. But what I don’t understand about you is almost frightening.”

He took her up in his arms, placed her on the bed, lay down alongside her. “Don’t be frightened. Don’t try to understand. We all think we know all the answers and suddenly they blow away like feathers. Please … accept what I have to give you. Knowing
I
love
you
will be enough … please believe me …”

She looked at him, tears in her eyes this time. “I still don’t understand …”

“I find something … magical in you, Magda, that goes beyond my ability to describe it, beyond any logic—which is meaningless anyway. All I know is that you are part of me, and that won’t change. Not ever. And don’t mock it, please, not now. …”

Mocking him was the last thing she wanted to do as he took her gently, then almost violently, speaking his feeling for her the best way he knew how.

At dawn Rubin woke up to the sound of Magda’s soft breathing. He looked at her face in such gentle repose. She slept like a child … a lovely child. There were no traces of bitterness, or fear. Nothing in her lovely face revealed whatever inner torment she might be feeling.

Going to his suitcase he took out his dressing robe and put it on, then found the writing case under his shirts. He began to compose a letter to Jocelyn. He looked down at the blank piece of paper for a very long time. He felt chilled, yet beads of perspiration broke out on his forehead. His hand sweating, he began writing the letter, only to tear it up and start another. Five times he got no further than “My dear.” Then he forced himself to write: “Dear Jocelyn, please forgive my neglect in not writing sooner. The delay has been unforgivable, but Paris becomes so intoxicating that each day melts into the next and one forgets about time and obligations. I offer my apologies and trust you will understand. Upon my return I will try to redeem myself. May this letter find you happy and radiant as always. My very best regards to your family. With affection, Rubin.” Sighing, he moistened his dry lips. With contempt for his own weakness, he quickly sealed the envelope, put a stamp in the corner, and proceeded to dress hurriedly.

Looking like the London barrister he was, he scribbled a note to Magda that he would return by noon. He propped the note against the mirror, took one more look at her sleeping body, and left.

When he returned and saw Magda sitting up in bed against the pillows, his feelings took over again. The guilt he had fought was again pushed aside. Magda regarded him over the rim of her coffee cup.

“Darling, get dressed,” he said.

“Why?” she asked.

“I have something to show you.”

“You’re going to take me on a sight-seeing tour of Paris? Lunch at Maxim’s in my black satin skirt? Or the Louvre, to soak up a little culture … yes?”

“Something more important than that.”

“More important than the Louvre! My, my, my! What could be more important than that? Just one thing, a Paris bordello. Am I right, Rubin Hack?”

“Don’t be so bitter, Magda, please, not today.”

“What’s different about today? Is it a holiday? A day of great hope and expectations?”

“Yes, it’s a very great day,” he answered, kissing her gently.

She did not respond to his kiss. Her mouth remained rigid. “Do you know how ridiculous you look,” she said, “dressed in your tailored London suit, as though you were ready to walk into Parliament? Look around you, Rubin Hack, and tell me how these surroundings suit you. What a handsome pair we would make promenading the boulevards of Paris together. It’s so funny I could laugh.” There were tears in her eyes.

“Magda, there’s no need to torture yourself like this. I can’t bear it …” Stroking her hair, he went on, “Get dressed, darling. Please.”

She hesitated, then slipped out of bed and went to the wardrobe closet. She opened the doors wide, took out a black wool skirt and sweater and threw them on the bed. She quickly applied a thick layer of lip rouge, penciled her eyes, combed her hair, then sat on the edge of the bed and pulled up the black silk stockings which clung to her long, slender legs. She rolled the garters to her thighs and stepped into a sheer chemise. Dressed, she adjusted her black beret. “
Voilà
,” she said, facing Rubin. “You see the transformation? It only proves fine clothes make a fine lady, yes? Come, Rubin Hack, now you will lead me to my very important day.”

When the taxi stopped in front of Chanel’s, Rubin helped Magda out. As he paid the fare she walked to the window and stood looking through it at the magnificent creation on the other side, draped in such studied perfection on the mannikin. For a moment she visualized herself standing there instead of the lifeless form so perfectly poised. Then her own image overpowered the fantasy, and all she saw was what she was, a shabby tart in a black clinging skirt and tight sweater revealing every curve of her body. All the anger, the pain and the hatred she kept carefully hidden away, deep inside her, rose to the surface. Swiftly, her mind moved to Bucharest, to death and war and poverty; to sweating bodies and filthy perverted men, to a twelve-year-old child. And at this moment she despised Rubin Hack more than the painful memories, for showing her a world she did not belong in; for evoking all the fears and self-hatred she thought she finally had overcome.

Rubin’s reflection now replaced her own. She watched him pay the fare, mirrored in the glass window. He looked stately, impeccably dressed in his Bond Street suit, his black bowler hat on his head. She wanted to shriek with laughter at the two of them. It was a game of insanity. Did this stranger, this Rubin Hack, think a dress from Chanel would make her a lady? No, she was a lady only in her garret, from which they had just come. In the café, where she was admired, desired …She wanted to run back to where she felt safe. If she went along with this charade, she would lose the most important, the only, thing she owned, herself.

Turning abruptly, she faced Rubin, who now stood beside her. Her eyes were cold as they met his. “You’re mad, completely out of your mind, if you think I’m going in there.
Look at me
. Look at you …We look like a pair of clowns.”

Rubin at least recognized her vulnerability, and saw the fear in her eyes. He understood it more than Magda could possibly have realized. To him she looked like a fragile, heartbreaking child. Quietly he answered, “All I see is you, and what I see is beauty. Come, Magda.”

She looked again at Rubin, debating with herself, then her eyes wandered back to the creation in the window. Could she look like that? Above all, could she feel beautiful inside? Rubin took her arm and opened the door. She walked in, her head high.

Rubin wanted Magda to model the clothes. Patiently, he waited for her to come out of the dressing room. When she did, he was genuinely speechless. Her beauty was now beyond anything he’d ever seen. Even her hair had been carefully arranged in a French twist. She stood before him, majestically, all her fears carefully guarded. Not even the tremor in her hands could be detected as her eyes met Rubin’s.

“Do you like it?” he asked, smiling broadly.

“It’s very pretty. Do you?”