Held by Edeet Ravel Page A

of people are holding you. That’s all.”
    “What are they guessing?”
    “The worst, of course,” he said, sipping the white wine.
    “Like what?” I asked.
    “Like all the things you were worried about when you first arrived.”
    “Creepy,” I said. Suddenly the idea of people inventing horror stories about me was repellent—even scary, for some reason.
    “You can be forgotten as soon as you get back, if you want.”
    I watched him as he ate. He cut everything before eating it, even bread, and the pieces were always tiny. Or if the food couldn’t be cut, he put tiny bits on his fork. He seemed barely to chew. “What do you have against being hugged?” I asked him.
    “I don’t want to benefit from you in any way,” he said. His answer surprised me. He was admitting that he would enjoy it if I hugged him. He likes me , I thought.
    “But I’m the one who needs you.”
    He didn’t answer immediately. He stared at me, but I was used to his stares and I stared back. Finally he said, “I don’t want your forgiveness. I’ve taken away your freedom, and I almost let you die. If we manage to maintain some kind of equilibrium, we’re doing well. Anything else would be completely inappropriate.”
    “Fine!” I said, slouching in my chair. Trying to cover my embarrassment, I grumbled, “You know, you’re a very poor hostage-taker. You’re not supposed to care so much about me. Didn’t you read the hostage-taking manual?”
    He tilted his head sideways again, as if trying to see me from a different angle; I knew by now that this was his way of smiling. He said, “I understand your desire to joke, but it’s a serious matter after all. Women are almost always exploited in these situations. You narrowly escaped such a disaster yourself.”
    “You think I want to be harmed? I’m not a masochist.”
    “I think it’s hard for you to see clearly right now.”
    “You’re so patronizing!” I said, sinking my teeth into a deep-fried croquette of some sort. Eating was a welcome distraction from being rejected. I was starving, and I helped myself to seconds of everything.
    “I’m glad to see your appetite has returned,” he said.
    “What else did you read about me? Apart from that I used to do gymnastics?”
    “I don’t follow everything, there’s too much.”
    “Too much?”
    “You’re a good story for the media. Attractive, talented seventeen-year-old in captivity, someone people can watch on YouTube.”
    “That’s not my fault, the school posted it. They post all their competitions.”
    “I was quite impressed.”
    “I don’t know how I feel about all that publicity.”
    “The coverage is all very positive,” he assured me.
    “There’s not much to say, I’ve had a pretty boring life so far.”
    “The media can always find something, if they try hard enough.”
    Neither of us spoke for a few minutes. I put another CD in the player—this one was classical, and the enchanted melody of “Moonlight Sonata” floated in the air.
    My hostage-taker produced a paper bag filled with chocolate-chip cookies. I fished one out and munched on it. It was the best chocolate-chip cookie I’d ever had. “You’re a very good cook,” I said. “Maybe you should consider a career in the catering business instead of hostage-taking.”
    “I can’t stay long today, but I’ll be back tomorrow.”
    “Do you have a job?”
    “I’ll just do the washing up and then we can go out for a few minutes.”
    He carried the dishes to the old rusty sink in the bathroom and began washing them. I sat down on the toilet lid and watched him. I was in a mischievous mood. I felt like a little kid who wants to pester the babysitter. “You missed a spot,” I said.
    “You really are feeling better.”
    “This place is crawling with roaches.”
    “Yes, there’s not much to be done about that. Once you have them, they’re hard to get rid of.”
    I yawned. “I think I felt one on my foot during the night.