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means it completely. He pulls her down to him, rips off the shirt, kisses at the red patch of her neck where she has been scratching. She says nothing as he undresses the rest of her, rolls on top of her and enters her. Her eyes are closed and the breath comes through her teeth in short gasps. He sees his face in the mirror mounted above the headboard, his mouth open, his slick hair falling down over his forehead in a boyish bang. Within minutes he is satisfied, his body lumpy with contentment as he tumbles off her, the day's exertions overtaking him as he drifts into sleep on his side. She waits a few moments to confirm that he is unconscious, and then she throws on her robe, opens the doctor's case, and retrieves the vials of precious medicine. She can hear the unhurried whooshes of post-midnight traffic soaring by  |
outside the windows. She retreats down to the girls' private bedrooms, and visits them one by one, dishwashing gloves on her hands, the lower half of her face covered by a cloth mask -- precautions that she knows will do little good, but everyone must follow the government dicta, even if such dicta are archaic in the extreme. The same process, repeated over and over: a sick girl in bed, the curtains drawn, candlelights providing illumination (for those who are stricken are sensitive to bright light), her eyes wide and bright with the fever, the rest of her body like waxwork. Those who have been abused and bruised in the past have attained an unlikely glow to them, as old knife wounds and bites have disappeared. Some can barely speak but they nod their thanks, their eyes watering. It is almost too overwhelming for her, and she cannot  |
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