Before either one of them realizes it, they are seeing each other three days a week. They make love two or three times each afternoon. There’s never enough time for simple conversation. Neither is the least bit interested in the daily particulars of each other’s lives, but they would both likely discuss music, books, movies, food, the increased violence on the public buses, and the poor neighborhoods of Guatemala City if they had the time.
But the only place that really matters to them is the bed. Before they know it, two hours have elapsed and the last few minutes together are filled with showering and dressing, and sometimes with slight recriminations for not being able to find a better way to be together more.
One day Guillermo promises to devise a plan for them to get away for a long weekend to Ambergris Cay in Belize.
Maryam looks at him with doubt. “You must be dreaming.”
“I can make it work,” he tells her. “Just watch me.”
In the end, they are afraid to even take an afternoon in La Antigua, only thirty-five kilometers away.
* * *
Thursday when they meet, Maryam insists they talk.
They sit in the ersatz living room, he on a chaise longue and she in an overstuffed green chair that overlooks the fountain in the Plazuela España. They are sitting as far from each other as they ever have in this apartment.
“I can’t go on like this, Guillermo.”
When she says this, his heart panics. He suspects the end is near. Both of them are fully invested in the relationship, but he feels he has no right to insist they continue to see one another secretly. He is afraid to divorce Rosa Esther for what it might do to her and their children: he is convinced his family is helpless without him.
Guillermo and Maryam’s relationship is not ideal — what in life is? He doesn’t want to change anything. At least they are able to be with one another on a regular basis. And a divorce, even a separation, could affect his business.
“What do you mean, my love?” he says, trying to be tender.
“I hate all this skulking around. It’s as if we’re committing a crime.” He can see that she is very upset.
“Some would say we are.”
“I know that. . Maybe it’s something else,” she says, scratching the palm of her hand. “I hate it when we part. I want to be with you all the time.”
He thinks about this and finds himself saying something he has never said to Araceli or any of his other lovers: “I do too.”
She slaps her knees. “I can’t just leave Samir. We got married eight months after his wife died of cancer.”
“I didn’t know that.” This is the first time she mentions anything about how they met. Or about her thoughts of leaving him.
“He’s a leader of Guatemala’s small Lebanese community, and highly respected. Even my father admires him because, though we are Maronites, Samir has forged contacts with our Islamic and Jewish brothers. Do you even know what he does for a living?” she challenges him.
Embarrassed, Guillermo can’t recall.
“He owns a hardware store on Eleventh Avenue, downtown. He barely makes ends meet. He works hard and is respected by everyone. He has grown children, a boy and a girl, who have gone back to live in Lebanon. Did you know that I am the stepmother of children almost my own age? As much as he repels me, I can’t abandon him. Not only for where that would leave him, but also for what he might try to do in revenge.”
“No one is asking you to leave him,” Guillermo counters somewhat testily.
“Please don’t raise your voice at me, Guillermo. I am not Rosa Esther. Whenever we plan to see each other, I have to come up with a pretext: I’m going shopping, I’ve gone to Sophos.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know. This wears me out, all this sneaking about. I can’t just walk out on him, not at this stage. Any day someone will see us, and I need to know where we stand. To be honest, I have no idea where our affair is going.”
This comment echoes some of their earlier text messages, before they started seeing each other more regularly and Guillermo rented the apartment. Every few weeks Maryam seems to have a panic attack: she reaches a point where she wants things to change, to adjust to the new reality of their relationship, to demand more commitment. She believes that they can’t just keep fucking each other three times a week for forty years. He’s not so sure.
“Why do we need to decide this now? I promise to come up with a better solution,” he says, as if he is trying to calm a client. “But can’t we just enjoy ourselves in the meantime?”
Rather than answer this question, Maryam simply ignores him. She refuses to be deflected from her own train of thought. “Samir asks so little of me. I am nearly twenty-five years younger than him. You might not want to hear this, but he isn’t interested in coming inside of me. He is happy if I masturbate him once a month. Thank God he’s happy with my hand and not my mouth—”
“I don’t need to hear this, Maryam,” Guillermo says, standing up.
“It’s his age or his reduced libido,” Maryam continues. “He has no desire for me. He’s more interested in having me manage the home while he goes to work. He spends most of his time staying in touch with old friends in Sidon, which is also where his children live with his younger sister Dahlia. He is a man of simple pleasures who would prefer to wear slippers and a robe on Sunday mornings instead of playing golf.”
“Uh huh.”
“Do you understand what I’m saying, Guillermo?”
“What can we do?” he finally says, fighting the urge to touch her.
Her eyes are swollen red, holding back tears, and she is gripping her chair. “Samir suspects that something has changed. Maybe he has spies, for all I know. Or maybe he can tell I’m distracted. What frustrates me is knowing you won’t do a thing.”
He walks over to her and strokes her hair. “Give me a chance to think of something. . Maryam, are you about to have your period?”
She glares at him. “You think this is about hormones?” she says, getting up to leave.
“Maryam, where are you going?”
She slams the door without saying a word.
* * *
One night, almost two months after Guillermo and Maryam first met up at the Stofella, Rosa Esther takes Guillermo’s cell phone out of its belt case while he’s having one of his evening showers. She’s always been too afraid to do this and assumes he would be cautious enough to use a password anyway.
When she awakens his BlackBerry, she notices he has eleven saved-as-new text messages. She closes her eyes briefly, anticipating that the next step will lead to a place where she shouldn’t go. In fact, she doesn’t want to go there. Not this night. So she puts the phone back in its leather case.
The next time he takes an evening shower, she’s determined. She wants to know what’s happening on the flip side of Guillermo’s life. Her face darkens as she begins reading the texts he has stupidly saved.
Words like divino, amor, querido, corazón dot the messages, some of which are sexually quite graphic: Divino, I just got off the tennis court and my underwear is wet — for you; or, Habibi, I’m shopping, and when I touch the cucumbers and the badinjan I begin to perspire; or, Corazón, the dream I had of you, with your erect penis, made me touch myself till I came twice in bed. Then she checked his sent messages: at a meeting with some corporate lawyers, and I only think of licking you; or, I see you naked, with your lush breasts swinging above me; or Amor, I can’t get up from the table because of the huge erection I have, thinking of you. I thirst for you and want to taste your peppery cunt.