The Casanova Embrace (34 page)

Strong arms grabbed him now, bending his body, shackling
his wrists to the sides of the table. A huge leather strap gripped his body and
he felt his legs being spread and a pinching on his testicles.

"I really did not want to go this far," the
officer said. Eduardo opened his eyes. Wires stretched from his testicles to a
machine on a little table in the corner.

Whose names shall I give them? he asked himself. Who shall
live and who shall die? I am about to play God. There was comfort in the
thought of a deity, although he did not believe in God.

"Now I will ask you once more," the officer said.
His tone was even, quite businesslike. The litany began again. Names? Silence.

"All right," the officer said pleasantly. "I
am going to give you a tiny taste of this, just a little bit. It will indicate
how painful a longer jolt will be."

Eduardo braced himself, waiting. The jolt did not come.
They were torturing him now without pain. Give me pain, he shouted in his head,
while I am ready for it.

When the jolt came, it reached into the heart of him, an
animal tearing at his innards, exploding his genitals, destroying his sense of
manhood. The explosion radiated upward and downward. No perception of pain
escaped. The pores of his body opened.

"Miranda!" he screamed. The current was off, but
the pain continued.

"Who?" the officer asked.

He could not believe what he had shouted. Pressing his lips
together, he hoped they would seal themselves. The interrogation began once
more. Names. He longed for the escape of paralysis, the death of feeling.

Again, he felt the jolt, the accelerated radiation of pain.
It seemed endless. He was in hell. His body was burning. How long must he
endure this? he wondered, before he would tell them.

"I am just doing my duty," the officer said
pleasantly, forcibly but gently opening Eduardo's eyelids. "Believe me, I
understand your pain."

Eduardo remained silent, letting the jolt come again and
again, bracing himself, waiting for the moment. Had he been punished enough?
Would they all forgive him now? he wondered.

"All right," he whispered finally. He had decided
to avoid the drugs. "I will tell you."

"Thank God," the officer said, crossing himself.

Eduardo talked into the tape recorder, giving them names
selectively. When he had given them what might be enough to satisfy them, he
lay back on the table and closed his eyes. The officer had unfastened the
clippers from his genitals with careful delicacy.

"It is awful," he whispered, but it was not
intended for Eduardo to hear. He imagined how the young officer would be tonight.
Perhaps he would find a woman to prove that he was all right and it would take
away his revulsion.

"We could have avoided this," the young officer
said. Eduardo felt the burning continue in the center of him. Yes, his mind
repeated, I could have avoided this. How could he know I needed this, he
thought, feeling a sense of victory now.

Dobbs closed the file in disgust. His eyes ached. It had
taken the CIA nearly a year to persuade them to release Eduardo. Did the world
really believe it was an act of mercy? He would be their bird dog. He would
find all the little birds hiding in the crannies of the trees, the burrows of
the fields. It had been a grandiose plan, with Dobbs as architect. It was to be
the crowning glory of his long career.

"Damn!" he shouted, banging a fist into his palm.
The sound and action seemed so uncharacteristic that he had to pause and
listen. Had they heard?

Only Eduardo had heard. Dobbs was certain of that, once
again feeling his spirit pervade the room. Did he detect a faint squeal of
laughter on the outer edge of audibility?

He had tracked the women and Eduardo's activities with
them. He had known everything. Everything. He had facts. But not wisdom. He
looked around the room surreptitiously. Then, reaching downward, he grabbed his
own genitals, squeezing them hard. He felt nothing.

She could be sustained, Marie decided, if she could be with
him once a week, perhaps twice. Not that it would satisfy her need for him,
that overwhelming addiction to his person. That was the way she could justify
the madness to herself, an addiction to his person.

She would endure Claude, endure her children, endure the
guilt, endure whatever humiliation to her body, endure anything ... providing
she could one day look forward to his possession of her, forever.

"You mustn't flog yourself," Eduardo had said.

"It is unbearable," she had told him,
deliberately censoring her mind's picture of it. "I am living a gross
lie."

"We cope," he had said, as if the purpose of life
was merely to endure. "There is something greater to be considered, beyond
our personal desires."

"But my cause is you," she had protested. It was
a familiar refrain, and he was expected to understand.

Yet she could not bring herself to tell him how the device
was planted in the ambassador's study. She had wiped the ugliness from her
mind. Only the objective was important. The means were trivial. There was
solace in such reasoning, tempering her disgust. Not that it had been easy. She
had lain awake that night, tossing and turning next to Claude, who slept,
finally convinced that he had won her affection again. He might even have been
thinking that life had slipped back into its accustomed groove. To him she was
surely the great success of the evening, having drawn the attention of the ambassador
to the exclusion of others. He could enjoy living in the glow of her success
and, of course, the implication that it reflected on him, the husband, for
having the power to have won and kept her.

In her hurt body, she carried the reminder of the scene.
Was it seduction on her part? Or rape on his? A few months ago, perhaps weeks,
it would have been unthinkable. But she had done it. She had done it for
Eduardo. She took pride in that. The violation was simply necessary, hardly
deserving of more than passing interest. Convincing herself eased her mind,
although she slept fitfully.

In mid-morning, Eduardo called. She had dashed to the
telephone, hungry for the sound of him.

"It is done," she said.

"Where?"

"In the dust jacket of one of the books in the
study."

"Excellent."

"Eduardo.... "Her voice trailed off. She felt her
body's sudden need for him. "I need you, darling."

"I will call you."

"Please, Eduardo. Today. Now. I will come to you
now."

"You must understand."

"I need you today. Now." She felt the sob take
shape, an inflating balloon inside her and soon her body was shaking and she
was verging on hysteria. "I can't stand this, Eduardo."

"Please," he said softly. "I feel helpless
now. I cannot explain."

She tried to bring herself under control, but her breath
would not catch and she could barely talk.

"Please," he said again. She knew she was trying
to say something, but could not make herself understood, the anguish real,
painful. The idea of losing him became suddenly more painful than the realization
of her need for him.

He did not call back that day. Or the next. And, as always,
the waiting took on the characteristics of a nightmare in which she saw herself
as a fly trapped in a spider's web, her wings desperate for flight while her
legs moved helplessly, entangled in the sticky strands. Then he called,
beckoned her, and the hurt disappeared in his arms.

"It is impossible to convey how much you mean to
me," she said, her eyes feasting on his body, transfixed. "It is also
a joy to be watched," she said.

"Yes," he whispered.

"Do you feel what I feel, Eduardo?" His hands
caressed her hair, stroking as she bent down to implant a long, lingering kiss
on his penis.

"You are beautiful," she said, knowing that she
had come to uncharted waters. "I live only for you."

He said nothing. In reliving her moments with him, she
tried to will in herself a sense of what he felt, what he was thinking. Which
was where the abyss began. Do I really know him, she wondered, growing suddenly
sad, thinking of the empty moments of her life away from him. Then she drew him
inside of her.

"Tell me about your life in Chile," she asked
later. She had been greedy for him. Yet there was no surfeit. It was an endless
hunger.

"A life," he answered. She could sense his
reluctance, but it did not deter her. She would continue to probe, she decided.
It was her right.

"And your wife?"

"A wife."

"And your child."

"What can I say? A boy, Manuel."

"Do you love them?"

"I.... "He hesitated.

"Is this too painful, Eduardo?"

"It is unnecessary."

"But I want to know about you."

"Later."

"It's always later. What of now?"

"There is no now."

"I am not made from such stuff," she said,
entwining her fingers in his. "You are the central point of my life,
Eduardo. I can separate nothing. My children, my husband, my other life. All
that has no meaning whatsoever." She put her arms around him. "If I
died now. In your arms. Right now. It would be enough. Can you understand
that?"

He did not answer. She could hear the beating of his heart,
strong, rhythmical, powerful. Often at night, in her own bed, she had heard
that sound. "Can you understand that?" she repeated.

"I don't know," he said quietly, as if he had
given the matter much thought. She felt his heartbeat change its pace. Perhaps
there is a message there. And then his heart speeded again as he said suddenly,
"Do you think I am cruel, Marie?"

"Cruel?" It seemed an odd characterization.

"Perhaps callous might be a better description."

"You are confusing me."

"I hadn't meant to," he said gently. Then he turned
his head and lifted her face. "Whatever do you see in me?"

"See in you?" She rose on one elbow and tried to
probe beyond his eyes, which searched her own.

"What is this quality.... "He paused, sighed.
"It is an enigma."

"Yes, that," she said. "Believe me, I have
tried to understand it. One would think there would be a logical explanation.
But I have given up on that. You are the sun that gives me life. I would die
for you, my love."

"Die?"

"Yes."

"I can understand that there are things worth dying
for, Marie. That I can understand quite well. For a dream, for an ideal. I
would gladly die for the cause of my country's liberation. But to die for me, a
person. I think that's quite foolish. Schoolgirl nonsense."

She wanted to be angry, but the heat of rage would not
ignite. He does not understand. Perhaps it is because he is not a woman, she
thought, giggling suddenly.

"It is funny?"

She let her hand move downward over his bare chest,
caressing his penis, feeling the hardness begin under her fingers.

"I was thinking," she said, wanting to be
accurate, "that you don't understand because you are not a woman."

He looked downward at himself, the mysterious hardening,
perhaps feeling the strange flow of his blood into that part of his body.

"Now there is an absolute truth for you." He
smiled and she felt his body suddenly shake with laughter. "It is all so
ridiculous, the human body. Why does it do things like that?"

"I am sure there is some scientific explanation."
She paused. But I would not want to hear it, she thought, moving her body over
his, inserting him, feeling instantly the waves of joy, the sense of life.

The image of their lovemaking was an essential part of her
sustenance, a kind of refreshment that, like the reserves of a camel, could
keep her alive for long periods in the desert.

"You seem distracted," Claude had said politely a
few evenings later at dinner, when the image had been particularly clear in her
mind. He seemed carefully polite, avoiding any condescension, as if the wrong
phrase, the wrong look might set her off again. If only he could look into her
mind, she thought, wondering if the time had come to finally confess it.

"Just tired."

"Then perhaps it would not be the time to tell."
Understanding was long in coming, as she fought to retain the image. Finally
she looked up at him, saw him watching her benignly, smiling.

"Tell?"

"I have a bit of news." He was feigning
innocence. It was a familiar pose and she knew that there was, indeed,
something about to upset her life.

"It is by way of an announcement." He seemed to
want to squeeze the last bit of suspense out of his news.

"Come now, Claude. This is ridiculous."

His face transformed itself from innocence to
disappointment. But once again, as he had been doing during the past few weeks
of their domestic dilemma, he denied his instincts. She knew he was itching to
be sarcastic and she enjoyed his discomfort.

"You are looking at a new ambassador."

"Ambassador." It had been the overriding goal of
his life. To be an ambassador before he was forty. In a strange way, she felt
jealous of his success.

"Well, aren't congratulations in order?" She got
up, as if in a dream, and went over to him, bending, kissing him on both cheeks
in the French way. She felt nothing, even when he grabbed her and pressed his
lips to her. She endured it.

"You will adore Egypt."

Stiffening, she stood over him, feeling a sudden deep
chill. "Egypt?"

"Quite an important deal for us," he said,
perceiving nothing of her panic. "It will be in the Mideast where
reputations are made. Finally." He paused. "Finally, we are getting
the recognition we deserve." He was being the consummate diplomat now,
creating the false humility of his trade. I can't bear it, she thought. A few
months ago, she might have reveled in the idea of it, prepared the gift of
herself for him, the ultimate act of obeisance and worship that he was
expecting. Now the thought of what was coming was terrifying. The need for
Eduardo overwhelmed her. We are coming to the moment of truth, she told
herself. I will never go to Egypt.

Later she let him extract what he might have construed as
his "reward" for his success, letting her body be used without
apparent purpose, for which she cursed herself, although she told herself that
there had to be a reason for postponing the inevitable. Thankfully, it was over
quickly.

The next few days were barely endurable, and she hovered on
the edge of despair, listening despondently as Claude made his plans known.

"Thirty days," he said. "We will have to
start preparing almost immediately. You have to begin the packing, the
arrangements."

She said nothing, and when three days had passed and she
had done nothing, he said again, "Really, Marie. There are deadlines.
Shipping deadlines." The packing crates had already arrived and were
cluttering up the hallways.

She nodded as if in affirmation. "I've got to get to
it tomorrow."

But when tomorrow came, all she could do was listen to the
impending sound of the telephone, and when it rang she rushed to it only to
hear the sound of a stranger's voice. This is absurd, she told herself, trying
to gather her strength and end the drifting and uncertainty.

By the time five days had passed and Eduardo had not
called, her sense of endurance had vanished, and although she had made some
halfhearted attempts to fill the packing cases, she knew she was merely buying
time, keeping Claude at bay, waiting. He cannot expect me to have that much
courage, she decided, taking the car one morning after Claude and the children
had left the house and driving to Eduardo's apartment house. Ignoring the
attendant, she walked past the desk and, taking the elevator to his floor,
knocked boldly at his apartment door. There was no answer. She put her ear to
the door, listening. No sound.

She lingered in the corridor, pacing its length, watching
his door, knowing how ridiculous she must have looked to the occasional people
who passed her on the way to the elevator. She felt their eyes brush over her
and sometimes she stared back at them with brazen haughtiness. How could they
know her anguish?

Later she waited in her car, watching the entrance, a
posted sentry, feeling stupidly helpless, annoyed at her dependency. She
watched the shadows lengthen as the sun swept westward in its great arc,
feeling the chill as the light faded. She started the motor, waiting for the
heat to come. Where was Eduardo?

On the edge of the driveway, leaning against a tree, she
saw a tall woman, her face an expressionless mask. Like her, she was watching
the entrance to the apartment house, her hands thrust into the pockets of her
trench coat. She seemed hawklike, predatory.

Marie had noticed her peripherally at first, and as the day
wore on and the woman continued to remain immobile against the tree, she began
to inspire greater interest. It was only when Marie had gunned the motor of her
car that the woman turned toward her, looking at her briefly, then continuing
her vigil.

Darkness descended quickly. The lights in the apartment
house, like match flickers, suddenly appeared and the traffic along Massachusetts
Avenue thickened. The tall woman's tenacity was compelling, the study of her a
distraction. She could see clouds of vapor coming from her mouth as the night
chill became more intense. The clock in the dashboard read six o'clock and
Marie knew she should have headed home long ago. Vestiges of her old life, the
old middle-class programming. The home! Motherhood! How she detested them.
Claude would be arriving in a half hour. The children were hungry. By now, they
had called Claude at the embassy, wondering where she was. Worry had begun, all
the usual anxieties. But she remained strangely calm. Indifferent to their
pain. She was waiting for Eduardo.