"Daughter," she said softly, then briefly raised her head with a smile, as if surprised. "So we know this message is for a female." She lowered her head again. "Daughter, you need not seek a substitute solution. Your longing cannot be assuaged by contemporaries. You need what you need, and that need will be filled."
Ray Steele listened more intently in Sunday school and church. He asked questions of his Sunday school teacher
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that seemed to rattle her. Ray raised the questions his father had about the God of the Old Testament, who seemed judgmental and fearsome.
"I... uh ... I'm certainly not an expert on the Old Testament," Mrs. Knuth had said. "Our quarterly lessons are on New Testament stories and parables, so maybe you should save those questions for--"
"Well, but I was just wondering. I mean, what do you think? Does that sound fair? Does that sound like a loving God?"
"I really need to get back to the lesson, Ray. We have a lot to cover in a short time. Okay?"
Ray found the pastor's sermons just as confusing. He seemed to preach only from the New Testament, and he used the stories and accounts as jumping-off places to support his points. And his point usually was that "believers in Christianity ought to exemplify godly virtues in this world."
That was fine with Ray, except that if God was God and God was perfect and God was love, what about all that ugly stuff in the Old Testament? If Ray was a "believer in Christianity"--and he was starting to wonder if he really was or if he had just been dragged to church all his life--was one of those godly virtues murdering people who disagreed?
At Sunday dinner Ray raised the question, and as usual, his dad tried to give the final answer. "Look, Ray, your mother believes I shouldn't have gotten into all that with you the other day, and I have to say she's probably right. At your age you don't need to be
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thinking about the major issues of life and God and all that."
"But I just want to know--"
"I know you do, but listen, I was born and raised a Christian, and I don't understand it all. All we can do is the best we can and try to be good people. Respect other people. Don't talk politics or religion with them. I mean, you'd rather be a good person than a bad one, right?"
'"Course."
"And you are a good person, Rayford," his mother said.
"And that's all you need to worry about," his dad said. "Some stuff jubt isn't for us to know."
"This side of heaven," his mother said.
Sorin absolutely refused to go to another Tuesday night meeting, and he expressed shock that Marilena wasn't "over this silly pursuit. Surely you're not swayed by this woman."
"Of course not," she said, feeling like a liar. All the way home that evening, as Sorin crowed about having fulfilled his obligation, she had labored to convince herself that the message Viviana had shared could not have been for her.
It could have been for anyone. Again, no specifics. A dozen others could have applied it to their own situation.
Yet had she not, just moments before the message, been wondering whether friendships with colleagues or even people from this class might fill the need she saw no other way to fill?
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FIVE
I the le havre meeting was held at a clandestine villa ^belonging to one of the secret council, and no one--not a friend, a spouse, or a blood brother--even knew it was taking place, let alone what transpired there. Mr. S. ran i.the meeting, which was brief and to the point. Powerful |, men of finance and commerce from around the globe I swore themselves anew to common goals, to confidentiality, and to Project People's Victory.
|V __
Ten Tuesday nights later Marilena sat in her apartment, dozing. Footsteps in the hall roused her. She did not
want Sorin to find her in the dark, so she rose quickly, dizzying herself, to turn on a light as she heard him at the door.
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"Just get home?" he said. "The place looked dark from the street."
She nodded. Lying to him had become the norm. But what was the difference? His being gone and apparently feeling no compulsion to explain was a lie of omission, was it not? The way he studied her made her wonder if her countenance gave her away. The walk to the bus and the discussion with Viviana had shaken her.
"Any more messages from beyond?" he said, hanging his coat and pulling a beer from the refrigerator.
"Every week," she said, playing to him.
"And what was it this time? 'Someone is feeling regret over a childhood memory'?"
"Yes," she said. "Something like that."
As he turned on more lights and began puttering at his desk, she sat back down in her chair, causing him to ask if she was all right.
"I wouldn't mind a talk if it is all right with you."
"A talk?" He sat on the edge of his desk and gazed at her. "As long as you're not about to tell me you've contacted the netherworld."
"You know better than that."
"How long is this going to take?"
"Honestly, Sorin, if you don't have time to talk with me--"
"I'm just asking, dear. I have a big day tomorrow and a little more work to do, so--"
"Then just forget it."
"I don't want to forget it. I simply want to get an
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idea whether I'll have time to finish my work tonight or have to get up earlier."
She shook her head.
"I see," he said. "You want me to coax it from you."
"I want nothing of the sort. If you are so busy and have so much to do, where have you been?"
He moved to his desk chair. "Since when do you ask me where I've been?"
"When you complain of being too busy to talk with me."
i She hadn't expected it, but that seemed to leave him speechless. For once. Marilena had certainly learned the folly of arguing with him. No contest.
Now he sat straightening things on his desk. Finally he said, "Well, if nothing else, you have roused my curiosity."
"Forget it, Sorin."
"No. I apologize. You have my full attention for as long as you need it." When she simply stared at him, he continued. "I'm serious, Marilena. You're right. You're not asking for too much, and I am on pace with my work, so please ..."
"Then promise you'll hear me out."
"I believe I just did."
"Sorin, I know this is going to come as a shock to you as much as it has to me. Believe me, it is not a passing fancy but something that has been weighing on me for months. I have tried to fight it, tried to talk myself out of it, and determined to keep it from you."
His brow knotted. She certainly had his attention.
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"I want to talk to you about it, and I don't want you to get upset or defensive."
He leaned back in his chair. "I know," he said.
"You know?"
He nodded. "It's been written all over you for a long time."
"It shows?"
"Of course. I know you, Marilena. I know we don't have a conventional marriage, but you have to recognize that our minds often seem like one."
"Often."
"So it shouldn't surprise you that I know what you're thinking. Even more than your favorite fortuneteller."
"She's not a--"
"I'm teasing, Marilena. I'm just saying that I know."
"And so?"
"And so you want to know if there is someone else."
Marilena fought a smile. The great intellect thought he knew so much, knew her so well. In fact, while she was curious, that had been the last thing on her mind. Of course there was someone else. Sorin was a man, wasn't he? He was sleeping with someone, and frankly, that was more than all right with her. It took the pressure off her, and she did not desire him that way. Never had.
Curious who it was? Sure. She had speculated it might not be just one. It could have been several women. Maybe he was a grazer, a bar hopper, a one-night stander. She didn't care. It made her resolve never to let her gua
rd down, never to give in if he pressured her for romance. Who knew what disease he might bring to bed?
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Was he about to tell her? Would it be someone she knew? Marilena had never suspected anyone from the university. He had to be smarter than that. She had detected nothing between him and anyone there.
"Okay," she said carefully. "Do you need me to ask?"
"No," he said. "You deserve to know. It's time you knew. It's Baduna."
"What? Baduna! But, you, I--Baduna Marius?"
"Don't worry," Sorin said. "I won't leave you for him. I can't. He's married, and happily, believe it or not."
"But I--"
"And he is not willing to come out."
Marilena closed her eyes and shook her head. "And you are!"
"Am I what?"
"Willing to come out?"
"Who do you think doesn't know about me, Marilena?"
"Well, I for one!"
"Come now. Please."
"I didn't know!"
"Marilena! Why do you think my children will have nothing to do with me? Why do you think I was divorced? Why do you think I have shown little interest in--?"
"I didn't know."
"Well, now you do. Frankly, I'm relieved. Maybe now I can simply tell you, 'I'm off to see Baduna.' Maybe I can , even be gone overnight occasionally. I need not remind you that no one knows about him."
"Don't worry. I barely know his wife."
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Ray Steele began to be more difficult and vocal at home. He was sarcastic and sassy, and even he hated the way he sounded and acted. Sunday school and church seemed meaningless and boring now, and while he had a few friends there, he fought going. His dad laid down the law: Ray was going and that was that. But Ray hated it, acted up in class, doodled and read in church. None of it made sense to him anymore, so he simply tuned it all out.
So it wasn't her. Marilena was living with a brilliant scholar who happened to be a homosexual. She tried to imagine his life had he been born a few generations earlier. Tolerance had come slowly to Romania, especially in the area of sexual preference.
So much for admitting to him that she longed for a child and wondering if he would ever consider changing his mind about giving her one. Had she discovered that he had had a bevy of female companions--and knowing that he had apparently lost interest in her sexually long before--she had planned to ask him to simply be a sperm donor anyway. She certainly didn't want to subject him to anything as distasteful as sleeping with her. And now that went double.
What could she do now? Find a man? Have an affair? Marilena certainly felt justified, but she had to admit there had been times when she wondered if she herself
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; was a homosexual. She couldn't imagine it, because she had never felt attracted to a woman that way. But neither was she attracted to men, except to Sorin because of his mind. Finally, in her reading, she hit upon the perfect description of herself. She decided she was asexual.
That wouldn't do, however, in the matter of her current need. Adoption was an option, of course, but she ruled it out except as a last resort. It had come to Mari- , lena over the past several months that this child she ' longed for had to be flesh of her flesh. She wanted to experience pregnancy, birth, breast-feeding, nurturing her own child and being loved by it.
That was way too much to lay on Sorin, of course, f especially when he had entirely misread her. She would wait several weeks, then broach the subject again, just to test the waters. It would be hypocritical of him to deny her a relationship that would result in a pregnancy, I' but that was no longer the issue. He had made it plain years before that he wanted no more children, and she didn't think the technicality of its being someone else's child would make a difference.
* Marilena couldn't bring herself to unfold her whole plan, the idea of a brief pragmatic affair. The concept remained so bizarre to her that it was impossible to put into words. Oh, she knew there were men who would sleep with any woman for any reason. Even a plain one like her. But what kind of men were they? What genes might join hers in the creation of a new life? Those from a drunk, a scoundrel, a rounder, someone who slept around?
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A sperm bank was the answer. She would have an idea of the background, nationality, profession, even IQ of the donor. But Marilena was not even prepared to speak of that to Sorin. It was not her pregnancy or where it originated that would matter to him. It would be the issue of bringing a newborn into their lives.
And if he forbade it? If he left her? How would she support herself and a baby when she would be out of work for a time? And when she returned to work, how would she afford child care? Despite the fact that this was a longing of the heart, Marilena could not let emotion get in the way of the practicalities. Frankly, she didn't imagine herself a working mother anyway--at least not outside the home. Surely with her gifts she could find work that could be done via the Internet.
Ideally, though, staying with Sorin, not having to move, his supporting them--that made the most sense. But would he agree?
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S I X
ray steele felt like a fool. Here he was, one of the cool fourth graders, and yet he was being a baby.
" His mother had dragged him along on an errand run. ^' Normally he didn't mind, because she mostly let him wait in the car. And when she did ask him to save her
By, some time by running into one store while she dashed into another, it was only to be sure they were home in time for dinner and the stuff he wanted to do that night.
Today she had asked him to pick up batteries in I. the hardware store while she went to a gigantic home interiors warehouse. Ray was then to wait in the car. 'I shouldn't be more than half an hour," she said.
"Half an hour!" he said. "Come on, it's not really ^ gonna take that long, is it?"
She ignored him, and while that infuriated him, he knew it was the best way to deal with his new attitude.
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Deep down what he really wanted was for his mom or dad to engage with him, argue with him. When they were indifferent or gave up--like when his dad would conclude, "Oh, no one can even talk to you"--Ray immediately regretted being so obstinate. He wanted anything but to be ignored.
But the way his mother did it was effective. She wouldn't say anything nasty or express exasperation. She merely pretended she had not heard him. That kept the back and forth from escalating to where Ray would realize how ridiculous he was, respond in anger, and say stupid things he couldn't take back. He had even made her cry, which made him feel like an idiot.
Sure, she was an old mom, and she was old-fashioned. She still called him Rayford most of the time. At least that was better than Raymie, which is what she had called him until he was about six. She had even made the mistake of recently calling him that in front of his friends, and he feared he would never hear the end of that.
But Ray knew his mom really cared about him and loved him in her own way. He didn't dwell on it, but if pushed he would have to admit that life would be awful without her in his corner.
Ray found the batteries and opted for self-checkout. He tossed the bag onto the front seat and stretched out in the back, trying to avoid being noticed in that old car by anyone he knew. He slouched, reading Extreme Sports magazine. Ray preferred the major sports, but he also enjoyed watching skateboarders and bikers and
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aowboarders on TV, so the magazine was all right.
11, he nodded and dozed, finally tossing the magazine side. He awoke with a start, sweating as the sun toasted through the window. His mother had been gone a lot longer than thirty minutes. Ah, well, she couldn't be
away and wouldn't be long. The store was directly in line with where she had parked, so he'd see her as an as she emerged. Ray thumbed through the magazine again but soon couldn't concentrate. As his solar-powered watch pushed past the forty-five- lute mark, Ray couldn't remain in the car. He stood jutside, leaning against it, not caring who saw him. Of irse, no
one did, despite how conspicuous he felt. Ray idied every woman who came out of the store, almost yery one initially looking like his mother. When an hour had passed, he used the car phone to call her cell. He heard her phone ring in the car. She had it between the seats. He called his dad. No answer. just his voice mail. He tried his dad's office. Closed. Why did he feel so nervous? Nothing could have happened to his mother. Could it? Not in public. Maybe the are was crowded. She was probably in a long checkout line. That had to be it. But she didn't come and didn't come. Finally, scolding himself for being such a nervous Kellie, Ray moseyed into the store.
It was cavernous and, surprisingly, not that crowded. He looked up and down the aisles. Soon he decided to ; start at the far end and walk every inch of the place. His mother was nowhere to be seen. Ray's pulse raced, his
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breath shortened. What was this? There would be a simple explanation, so why was he so panicky?
He began to imagine horrible things. Kidnapping. Murder. And, he was shocked to admit to himself, he found one other option even worse. What if Ray's mother had abandoned him? simply left him? She and his dad had had it with him and had taken off. If and when he called the police and made his way home, he would discover the house empty and his parents gone forever.
What was the matter with him? That was ludicrous. Yet why did it seem so logical and possible? And why did it seem so absurdly worse to him than his imaginings of horrible fates befalling his mother?
Ray was overcome by fear but also by a surprising love and deep longing for his mother. What am I, four years old? Get a grip!
But he couldn't get a grip, and as the minutes dragged by, his anxiety soared to where he could only pray. Sobs in his throat, and he knew he must look like a fool, a string bean of a young boy wandering a home- decorating outlet, red-faced, eyes full.