The Lost Wife (10 page)
Authors: Alyson Richman
I laughed nervously. “I found it almost by accident . . . I was walking and I saw that fallen tree over there.” I pointed to an old hollow log. The brittle bark had intrigued me, and its dark center made an interesting composition with its bright green moss. “But after I finished my sketch of it, I walked further on and discovered this.”
Josef pointed to the left of the valley, where the cupola of the town’s church seemed to pierce through the low-hanging clouds. “You have a bird’s-eye view here, don’t you?”
“I wish I had the talent to do it justice.” I sighed as I dropped my satchel from my shoulders.
He shook his head. “I’m sure your talent is as deep as your modesty.”
He was staring at me and not moving. We were alone for the first time and I felt fear flooding through my body.
My fingers gripped the handles of my satchel and I stiffened as we stood there awkwardly in the silence of the forest.
His arm extended for a second, and I felt faint as it reached closer to me.
“Can I see what you’ve done so far?” Josef reached not for me but for my satchel.
I saw his hands gesturing at the sketchbook.
I knelt down and pulled out my book. The heavy white parchment was full of sketches from the past week. Some were better than others, and my favorite was the one of the fallen tree.
I turned to the page and showed it to him. I could feel his breath against my neck. I felt cold and my body shuddered as he moved closer. Still we were not touching.
I whispered quietly, “It’s still not finished.”
Josef took his finger to the smudges of green and brown on the base of the page and touched it lightly.
“It’s beautiful. So delicate . . . It’s as though it’s almost moving.”
“It’s flawed,” I said, pointing to the image of the tree. “The perspective is off.”
“I think it’s perfect,” he said.
I folded the sketchpad and put it on the ground. He reached for it again and I went to stop him.
“Lenka,” he uttered as our hands grazed for the first time.
That first touch. A feather against my skin.
He finds the small birthmark on the inner part of my forearm and glides his finger over it. There is the slightest pull coming from him as if he were guiding me to turn to him.
“Lenka.” He said my name again.
Hearing it said, I lifted my face to him.
We hesitated before I felt his hands travel from my arms to my shoulders. He took a deep breath, as if he were taking the air from my own lungs and swallowing it for himself.
His palms brushing along my neck, before resting on my cheeks.
His lips on mine.
His kiss is like lightning in my chest. Firefly wings beating against a glass jar.
I close my eyes. Josef Kohn touching me, his hands gently mapping those hidden surfaces of my body, his mouth traveling over my naked skin.
That night we gaze at each other over candlelight, the serenade of his parents’ and Věruška’s voices are a muddled melody in our ears. Neither of us has much of an appetite for our food or our wine.
The dining room is white. White walls. White curtains. A crystal chandelier hangs in the center of the round table, its light perfect and soft.
But inside I am burning. Crimson. Scarlet. Ruby red. The heat of my body searing against my cotton dress.
“Are you all right, Lenka?” Věruška whispers to me over dinner. “Your cheeks are flushed.”
I tapped my finger to my glass and tried to smile. “It must be the wine . . .”
“But you haven’t had a sip. I’ve been watching you.”
I shook my head. “I’m fine.”
She raises one of her eyebrows and casts me a puzzled look.
I try not to lift my head. I know if I lock eyes with Josef, I will reveal myself to the others.
So I keep my head bowed like a nun deep in prayer.
But my thoughts are the furthest thing from pure.
He comes to me in the middle of the night. He opens the door with a slow, careful movement of his hand.
His black hair is unruly, his features full and ripe. He holds a candlestick and places it down.
“Lenka,” he whispers, “are you asleep?”
I raise myself to one elbow. Darkness envelops the room. A flicker of candlelight. A sheaf of moonlight. He pulls back my bedsheet and I curl forward, raising myself to my knees.
I wrap my arms around his neck. He touches my nightdress, the pad of his finger like a match.
Is this what a kiss from the man you love feels like? All fire and heat. The color of purple. Indigo. The blue red in our veins before it meets the air.
I want to kiss him forever. My body, like sand beneath him, shifting to his shape, the pressure of his weight against mine.
“Give me your hands,” he whispers.
I raise my palms in front of me. He takes hold of them. His fingers interlace with mine.
And then he falls against me. Kissing my neck, moving his hand up and down the length of my body, over my nightdress, then under it.
He is both tender and curious at the same time, like a little boy who is finally given the chance to explore what has been forbidden. But there is also the strength of someone more grown. More attuned. Someone who knows exactly what he hungers for.
The hunger. That desire to eat both the flesh and the core of the fruit. To want to lick every ounce of the juice from my fingers. To swallow every seed. To know a taste in its entirety.
How have I grown this hungry?
Josef moans softly, kissing me again. I feel his breath and heart racing against my chest.
“I could kiss you forever, Lenka,” he says.
I wrap my arms around him tighter.
He pulls one of my hands against his chest.
“I think I have to leave or I’m going to do something I’ll regret.”
He kisses the pads of my fingers and then presses them to his heart.
He rolls over and pulls his nightshirt on. I watch his legs walk across the floorboards, his reflection caught in the standing mirror. He reaches the door, touches the handle, and turns to look at me one more time.
“Josef,” I whisper. “I miss you already.”
How could it be that those two weeks slipped away so quickly? I awoke that next morning as if in a trance. I had slept maybe an hour at the most. The mirror in my room is no longer full of Josef’s reflection, but mine. My braids are half undone, my nightdress unbuttoned at the top. But my face is saturated with color and my eyes are bright even without sleep.
I smelled Josef on me. I imagined that he had left a trail of fingerprints on my body, imprinted the path of his tongue as it had traveled along my neck, my cheeks, my collarbone, and my belly. I did not want to ponder the dreaded reality that the next day would be our last in Karlovy Vary. We would soon be in the compartment of the train. Our eyes averted, Věruška chattering on, and each of us bobbing our head to pretend that we were listening, when our thoughts were only of each other.
The night before, we had agreed to leave separately early after breakfast and meet at the valley where we shared our first kiss. From there, he would take me to his favorite spot.
I arrived before him and was wearing a sundress the color of the sky. I carried a basket full of strawberries I had gathered on the way.
The strawberries seemed to be ripening with each minute that passed. I could smell their perfume and yet the smell made me hungry for something altogether different from the fruit. All I could think about was Josef in my arms. The weight of him pressing into me. The salt of his skin. The taste of peaches on his tongue.
I glanced at my watch. He was late and my heart beat nervously. What if he didn’t come? My head was racing with thoughts that were unbearable to me.
“Lenka!” I finally heard his voice and the sound of it made my entire skin come alive.
“I was beginning to worry,” I said, rushing to him.
“It took me a while to get away from Pavla,” he said. “She kept trying to feed me more sausages!”
I laughed and I must have sounded mad because my laughter was more of a release of all that I was keeping inside than a reflection of my amusement at Pavla’s doting.
“Mother and Father decided at the last minute not to take a cure today but to rest at the house instead, and that delayed me as well.”
“You are here now,” I said softly. His hands were now reaching for mine and I let him take the basket from me. “That is what matters.”
He kissed me and this time there was no hint of hesitation.
We walked until we were at a clearing with a beautiful natural lake. Secluded by rocks and large trees, it was an oasis in the middle of the forest.
“I used to swim here as a child with Ruška. I taught her how one summer.”
“You didn’t tell me that we were going to go swimming!” I said with concern. “I didn’t bring a bathing suit.”
“That was my plan . . . It’s such a warm day, Lenka, it would be cruel not to suggest a dip!”
I watched him as his fingers moved deftly to unbutton his shirt.
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