She thanks him and hopes her voice does not betray how relieved she is. She tells him she’ll pick him up in her ridiculous car; that way there’ll be nothing else to know about her. He’ll have seen everything.
‘I wish!’ he exclaims. ‘Ok, see you this evening.’ Hana imagines his smile, sees it cracking his face with expectant amusement.
‘And I’m paying,’ she adds.
‘Have you finished laying down conditions?’
The restaurant Hana has imagined for months that she would choose is perfect. They decide to sit outside on the patio rather than inside with the air conditioning. Soothing Celtic music plays in the background.
They order scallops, which are served in a thick white sauce.
Hana launches right into her apologies.
‘I’m sorry for every time I’ve put you out with a question; I’m sorry about my reservations; I’m sorry about my doubts.’
O’Connor doesn’t answer. He’s tanned, she notices. He must have been out sailing.
Another couple sits at the table near them. Patrick looks at Hana tenderly.
‘All we do is explain, reflect, argue. How about we try lightening up a little? How about changing the subject for once?’
Hana explains she’s the opposite of the kind of woman Patrick must like.
‘And what kind of woman would that be?’
‘Gorgeous, well-educated, chic, poised.’
He doesn’t give an inch. Hana decides to start eating her food. She thanks the defenseless bivalve drowning in the béchamel. It’s delicious.
Hana knows how to be silent. She knows how not to die. She knows how to love. She knows how to write. But she doesn’t know how to make love. And she doesn’t know how to hate. Now she knows all these things about herself. She also knows things can’t go on as they are. She says all this to Patrick with unusual calm.
‘There are some things,’ she says, ‘you and I can’t talk about and … ’ she stops.
‘You’re forgetting I learned your story by rote,’ he says, reassuring her. ‘It’s all written in your diaries.’
Patrick rests his chin on both hands.
‘So let’s go make love,’ he says, as naturally as ever. ‘Let’s finish these damn scallops. You pay the bill, since you’re so concerned about it. Nobody is stopping you. And we’ll get out of here. Nobody is stopping us. Don’t panic. I’m not asking you to marry me, to have kids, to commit yourself for eternity. Friends give each other a hand. So let’s try making love, if you feel like it. Start with that and then see what happens with your life.’
Hana has gone red. She tries smiling at Patrick and succeeds, without feeling awkward.
‘Normally friends don’t go to bed, right?’ she quips, scared to mess up again.
‘Nothing is normal between us, so what’s the problem?’ he says, coming to her aid. ‘Let’s go, Hana. We’re not having this tug of war just out of friendship. There’s more to it. Shall we try and find out what there is? You decide. Are we going to talk about it all night, or shall we go? It’s been a while since I last made love too, if you really want to know.’
‘How come?’
Patrick doesn’t answer. Before getting up he silently swills down the last of the wine in his glass.
‘The bathroom is at the end on the left if you need it.’
Hana goes into the enormous room. She doesn’t look around, she goes straight to the mirror. She sees herself reflected dressed in red, in a tight knitted skirt. She steps out without even rinsing her face, which is burning. Then she goes into the sitting room, where Patrick has lit a small table lamp and lots of candles.
He sits her down on the sofa and hugs her. Then he kisses her on her forehead.
Patrick’s hands slowly stroke her nipples, then slide down towards her hips, where they come to rest. Hana takes a while before she lets herself go. He caresses and kisses her, while she tries to figure out whether she likes what he’s doing. She’s terrified of reciprocating his gestures, so she grabs hold of the sheet and feels safer.
‘You’re not drowning,’ he whispers.
He realizes Hana is still not feeling much, so he moves down and gently opens the lips of her vagina with his tongue. He plays with her, teasing her clitoris, doing all those things she’s seen in the films but this time she’s beginning to sense the pleasure, then she feels it take her over. Patrick readjusts his body until the two forms fit together perfectly, and waits until she’s ready before slowly sliding into her.
He carries on kissing her, warm and relaxed, happy even. Sitting up against the bedstead, he pulls her to him and she rests her head on his shoulder.
‘It’s been a year since I last made love.’
‘And I’m free of this thing,’ Hana says, amazed, smelling his skin and wondering what happens now. He hugs her closer.
‘So?’ he jokes. ‘We’re free of this thing together. Are you happy now?’
‘How come you didn’t make love for a year?’
He kisses her on the temple.
‘I’ll tell you another time, ok?’
Silence.
‘But I didn’t reach orgasm …’
‘It’ll happen. Next time we’ll work on it.’
‘It’s not work,’ Hana says, furrowing her brow.
‘No, it’s not. You’re right.’
‘Patrick?’
‘Yes?’
‘Did you like it?’
‘I think so; I really think so.’
‘Swear.’
‘God, you talk a lot!’ Patrick laughs, still holding her close, while Hana begins to feel awkward. She tries to free herself.
‘Stay here,’ he whispers. ‘There’s no hurry. There’s absolutely no hurry.’
And he falls asleep.
She only pulls away from his embrace when Patrick’s breathing becomes regular. She dresses and leaves his apartment. She drives home, concentrating fiercely on the road, and smokes the cigarette she has been saving for this after.
The night is deserted and strangely slow. But she is not at all. She feels alert and, as soon as she gets home, she has another smoke. Now she knows she has a life to live, whatever happens from now on. Before day comes, she’ll sleep. Before any fear creeps back. She doesn’t think it will. She hates her fear.
She has felt her body react; she felt it pulse.
‘Welcome back, body,’ she says out loud.
She throws her cigarette butt out of the window.
It’s good to know she’s alive.
Author’s Acknowledgments
I am grateful beyond words to each and every person involved in the delicate process of shaping this story in translation from another language.
First to Clarissa Botsford: the deepest gratitude for loving my story in its original Italian, for deciding to translate it wonderfully at her own time and risk, and for her relentless search for a publisher. Clarissa’s determination not to give up until she found one was my and this novel’s good fortune.
I also extend grateful thanks to two other translators without whom Sworn Virgin would not be complete: Ruth Christie, who translated Nâzim Hikmet’s poems from the Turkish, and John Hodgson, who translated Ismail Kadare’s foreword from the Albanian.
I cannot thank And Other Stories and Stefan Tobler enough for believing in my novel — and indeed for being crazy enough to believe in literature in translation in the first place.
And a special thank you to Sophie Lewis for her meticulous work: I could not have dreamed of a better editor.
Elvira Dones
Notes