wait, beside the bed, not on it. The bed would be for the two of us only. I searched for just the right poem, and found a title by Boutens I had never read: "Kissing."
After last night, but not before, I could have written that poem.
I wanted to kiss Isaak again. But I grew nervous thinking about what would happen after that. I wasn't ready. What had I been thinking? But Rilke's "Autumn Day" ran through my head, and wouldn't leave. "
He who is alone now, will remain alone.
" I had been alone long enough. Terrible things happened to people who were alone. So when Isaak knocked below I told myself I was ready enough.
I let him in and we climbed to the roof. We searched each other's eyes, and then looked away.
"Well," I said.
"Well."
We were the closest of friends, yet we stood beside each other awkwardly and gazed out at the roofs of our city, our closeness between us now. There was nothing to say, as if we were finished speaking through words. I took his hand and led him to the bed I had made, and then I lay down.
My heart beat so hard I thought Isaak would see it jump through my skin. I remembered my trick for being brave: Take only the first small step. I lifted my fingers to my throat and unbuttoned a single button.
Isaak fell to his knees beside me.
Carefully, deliberately, as he did everything, he unbuttoned my blouse. I took his hand and led it under my slip, onto the bare skin of my breast. I gasped at the touch and Isaak pulled away, as if he had hurt me. He pulled the velvet over us, and then he lay down beside me and worked my clothes off under my skirt. My skin chilled in the surprise of cool air, but burned where it met his. He spread my legs apart and rolled between them and began to push against me.
Anneke had been wrong, that our bodies would know what to do. Then I remembered. "Wait, wait..." I whispered. I found his mouth and kissed him. I could have done that forever. But he broke away and buried his face in my neck and began to press against me again.
I stopped him. I took off my slip and opened his shirt, ran my palms down his chest, then pulled him to me to feel our hearts beat together. But when I reached lower, he pushed my hand away and grunted. And then I felt him inside me and I cried out at the deep, sweet shock of it.
And then, finally, it was the way Anneke had promised. We pressed our bodies closer because we couldn't pull them apart. We moved in a rhythm that was the only one that had ever existed. It had always been inside us. But suddenly Isaak shuddered and cried out, then crumpled and fell beside me.
He rolled away and reached for his shirt. I tried to pull him back. "Stay."
He tensed and raised his head.
"Listen!"
It took me a moment, as if I were struggling to the surface after a deep dive. The blood rushing in my own head was all I heard at first. Isaak rose and crept along the wall. I took my blouse to cover myself, and followed. The words were German, and angry.
I crouched beside Isaak and peered over the edge down upon the shoulders of two men. Soldiers.
"The second day," I caught, and murmured curses.
And then: "Break it down."
EIGHTEEN
I gathered my things.
"Stay calm," Isaak said. But he was dressing quickly also. "Maybe they won't look here."
But maybe they would. The door to the stairwell was in the back room, and I couldn't remember if I had closed it, or left anything out that might lead them up here.
Glass shattered on the pavement.
"I'm going down," I said.
Isaak held my arm. "No! We'll stay still up here until they leave."
I heard more glass—the splintering of wood. "You stay. I'll send them away." I twisted away from him, grabbed my blouse, and ran down the stairs, buttoning as I went.
They were inside already. I tried to sound angry as I walked out of the storeroom. "What do you want?"
They were SS, not
Wehrmacht,
and their uniforms told me they were a
Kapitan
and a trooper, an
Oberschütze.
They had smashed the window beside the door and the
After last night, but not before, I could have written that poem.
I wanted to kiss Isaak again. But I grew nervous thinking about what would happen after that. I wasn't ready. What had I been thinking? But Rilke's "Autumn Day" ran through my head, and wouldn't leave. "
He who is alone now, will remain alone.
" I had been alone long enough. Terrible things happened to people who were alone. So when Isaak knocked below I told myself I was ready enough.
I let him in and we climbed to the roof. We searched each other's eyes, and then looked away.
"Well," I said.
"Well."
We were the closest of friends, yet we stood beside each other awkwardly and gazed out at the roofs of our city, our closeness between us now. There was nothing to say, as if we were finished speaking through words. I took his hand and led him to the bed I had made, and then I lay down.
My heart beat so hard I thought Isaak would see it jump through my skin. I remembered my trick for being brave: Take only the first small step. I lifted my fingers to my throat and unbuttoned a single button.
Isaak fell to his knees beside me.
Carefully, deliberately, as he did everything, he unbuttoned my blouse. I took his hand and led it under my slip, onto the bare skin of my breast. I gasped at the touch and Isaak pulled away, as if he had hurt me. He pulled the velvet over us, and then he lay down beside me and worked my clothes off under my skirt. My skin chilled in the surprise of cool air, but burned where it met his. He spread my legs apart and rolled between them and began to push against me.
Anneke had been wrong, that our bodies would know what to do. Then I remembered. "Wait, wait..." I whispered. I found his mouth and kissed him. I could have done that forever. But he broke away and buried his face in my neck and began to press against me again.
I stopped him. I took off my slip and opened his shirt, ran my palms down his chest, then pulled him to me to feel our hearts beat together. But when I reached lower, he pushed my hand away and grunted. And then I felt him inside me and I cried out at the deep, sweet shock of it.
And then, finally, it was the way Anneke had promised. We pressed our bodies closer because we couldn't pull them apart. We moved in a rhythm that was the only one that had ever existed. It had always been inside us. But suddenly Isaak shuddered and cried out, then crumpled and fell beside me.
He rolled away and reached for his shirt. I tried to pull him back. "Stay."
He tensed and raised his head.
"Listen!"
It took me a moment, as if I were struggling to the surface after a deep dive. The blood rushing in my own head was all I heard at first. Isaak rose and crept along the wall. I took my blouse to cover myself, and followed. The words were German, and angry.
I crouched beside Isaak and peered over the edge down upon the shoulders of two men. Soldiers.
"The second day," I caught, and murmured curses.
And then: "Break it down."
EIGHTEEN
I gathered my things.
"Stay calm," Isaak said. But he was dressing quickly also. "Maybe they won't look here."
But maybe they would. The door to the stairwell was in the back room, and I couldn't remember if I had closed it, or left anything out that might lead them up here.
Glass shattered on the pavement.
"I'm going down," I said.
Isaak held my arm. "No! We'll stay still up here until they leave."
I heard more glass—the splintering of wood. "You stay. I'll send them away." I twisted away from him, grabbed my blouse, and ran down the stairs, buttoning as I went.
They were inside already. I tried to sound angry as I walked out of the storeroom. "What do you want?"
They were SS, not
Wehrmacht,
and their uniforms told me they were a
Kapitan
and a trooper, an
Oberschütze.
They had smashed the window beside the door and the
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