‘Mind?’ I say. ‘I love it. Who needs that cool body-exchange swinging crap?’”
Karen looked at me pensively, then continued. “Truth is irresistible. It isn’t a mistake to tell you this, is it, Jonathan? I tell myself that it’s all right, that even if I don’t love you enough, I can’t stand your not loving me. Without your love I don’t have any power over you. I can accept making it with a man I don’t love—but not with one who doesn’t love me. I’m terrified of being taken lightly.”
Later that night she mentioned a letter I had sent her from Turkey. “You wrote that what excites a Turk most is to satiate his woman, to manipulate her body and mind, to enkindle her desire. Because Turkish men don’t lose themselves in the women they love, they’re supposed to be the best lovers. Why did you write me that?”
• • •
“The sect of lovers is distinct from all others; lovers have a religion and a faith all their own,” wrote Indian thinker Jalal-uddin Rumi.
• • •
Even so, my impulse is not to respond when Karen says that I will continue to be an important but not an essential part of her life. By letting many men define her, she will avoid smothering and driving any one of us away. Her demand for attention is so great that no one man can fulfill it. Karen seems to choose men with the power to destroy her; unless she feels threatened, she becomes bored and leaves. She vacillates between seeing herself as predator and prey.
Karen is certain that her fantasies about sodomy with old men are no more terrifying to me than her fantasies of marrying me, having my child, and serving tea in the late afternoon are to her. She has often pointed out that my sense of myself is as fragile as hers: after each date both of us are sure we will never be able to see each other again. With Karen I try to remain cool, yet whenever she decidesto hold something back from me, which is often, I find myself hounding her with questions, voicing objections, sulking, and falling into despair. Like her, I prefer to remain oblique, to avoid direct confrontation until a crisis—her open involvement with another man, for instance—compels me to define the true nature of my commitment. Meanwhile, each of us is going a separate way, and there is a danger that we will both lose by default. I keep recalling that ominous remark by Tolstoy: “Man survives earthquakes, epidemics, the horror of illness, and all the agonies of the spirit; but throughout all generations, the tragedy that has tormented him, and will torment him the most, is—and will be—the tragedy of the bedroom.”
• • •
Living abroad, where my name did not win me instant acceptance, I was forced to see myself afresh. I noticed, for instance, that I avoided smiling because my smile exposed my unevenly shaped, irregularly set, and discolored teeth. I was reminded of that flaw again recently when Karen—whose own impeccably regular lips and faultless teeth are her professional trademark—studied my face and remarked that because I have beautiful eyes I should stare more at people, and smile less.
Through the company’s medical research department, I thereupon met with one of the best dental surgeons in the country. I told him I wanted my teeth evened up and capped with a material that would make them look perfectly natural and, far more important, naturally perfect. After the surgeon had examined, X-rayed, and reexamined my mouth, he said that although he saw nothing wrong with my teeth, as long as I was troubled by their shape and color I should by all means have the work done. He then briefly outlined theprocedures, as well as the cost, for such extensive orthodontic work, which he told me would take approximately two months.
“Is there any way of having it done faster?” I asked.
“Well, yes. We could schedule more appointments per week and speed up the lab work a bit,” he said.
“I
Karen looked at me pensively, then continued. “Truth is irresistible. It isn’t a mistake to tell you this, is it, Jonathan? I tell myself that it’s all right, that even if I don’t love you enough, I can’t stand your not loving me. Without your love I don’t have any power over you. I can accept making it with a man I don’t love—but not with one who doesn’t love me. I’m terrified of being taken lightly.”
Later that night she mentioned a letter I had sent her from Turkey. “You wrote that what excites a Turk most is to satiate his woman, to manipulate her body and mind, to enkindle her desire. Because Turkish men don’t lose themselves in the women they love, they’re supposed to be the best lovers. Why did you write me that?”
• • •
“The sect of lovers is distinct from all others; lovers have a religion and a faith all their own,” wrote Indian thinker Jalal-uddin Rumi.
• • •
Even so, my impulse is not to respond when Karen says that I will continue to be an important but not an essential part of her life. By letting many men define her, she will avoid smothering and driving any one of us away. Her demand for attention is so great that no one man can fulfill it. Karen seems to choose men with the power to destroy her; unless she feels threatened, she becomes bored and leaves. She vacillates between seeing herself as predator and prey.
Karen is certain that her fantasies about sodomy with old men are no more terrifying to me than her fantasies of marrying me, having my child, and serving tea in the late afternoon are to her. She has often pointed out that my sense of myself is as fragile as hers: after each date both of us are sure we will never be able to see each other again. With Karen I try to remain cool, yet whenever she decidesto hold something back from me, which is often, I find myself hounding her with questions, voicing objections, sulking, and falling into despair. Like her, I prefer to remain oblique, to avoid direct confrontation until a crisis—her open involvement with another man, for instance—compels me to define the true nature of my commitment. Meanwhile, each of us is going a separate way, and there is a danger that we will both lose by default. I keep recalling that ominous remark by Tolstoy: “Man survives earthquakes, epidemics, the horror of illness, and all the agonies of the spirit; but throughout all generations, the tragedy that has tormented him, and will torment him the most, is—and will be—the tragedy of the bedroom.”
• • •
Living abroad, where my name did not win me instant acceptance, I was forced to see myself afresh. I noticed, for instance, that I avoided smiling because my smile exposed my unevenly shaped, irregularly set, and discolored teeth. I was reminded of that flaw again recently when Karen—whose own impeccably regular lips and faultless teeth are her professional trademark—studied my face and remarked that because I have beautiful eyes I should stare more at people, and smile less.
Through the company’s medical research department, I thereupon met with one of the best dental surgeons in the country. I told him I wanted my teeth evened up and capped with a material that would make them look perfectly natural and, far more important, naturally perfect. After the surgeon had examined, X-rayed, and reexamined my mouth, he said that although he saw nothing wrong with my teeth, as long as I was troubled by their shape and color I should by all means have the work done. He then briefly outlined theprocedures, as well as the cost, for such extensive orthodontic work, which he told me would take approximately two months.
“Is there any way of having it done faster?” I asked.
“Well, yes. We could schedule more appointments per week and speed up the lab work a bit,” he said.
“I
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