Chapter Thirteen

ALEKSANDER FLINGS OPEN the door before I even knock. He must have been watching for me from the attic window. Our building is across from a hospital, a strategic decision. There is constant action, so much so that a woman walking alone on the street is hardly noticed. I can only hope that a car or truck transporting ammo manages to get lost in the frenzy too.

“I’m back,” I say sheepishly, dropping my purse at the door, standing before him. Aleksander looks like a mess. His hair is sticking up in strange places and his eyes are wide as though having seen a ghost.

“I was so goddamn worried. I was about to come looking for you.” He moves in closer, just inches away. “Four hours? What the hell happened over there?”

I loosen the bow of my dress, which now feels like a noose. “We are getting the guns, ammo... everything you asked for on the list. Everything.” My face shines, triumphant but exhausted. I feel the heat warming my skin. Aleksander grabs me in a victory embrace and twirls me around. I laugh, and so does he. Good news for once. I’m careful to peel away from him first. I’m not making that same mistake again.

“You must be fatigued. Sit,” he commands.

I sit on the chair, and he takes his place on the cot in front of me. I flash back to Stach’s office. “Wait, first a little something to celebrate.” I pop off the chair, reach for my purse, and pull out the flattened chocolates that I grabbed off the tray and the extra biscuit I took from Stach’s assistant’s desk on the way out of the office. I also brought back four Gauloises. His eyes light up. I hand him the chocolate and cigarettes. “It’s not beetroot soup.” I laugh, as he savors one of the chocolates, careful only to nibble a corner of it, making it last, ghetto style.

He beams with delight. “Now tell me everything slowly. Start from the beginning.”

I wipe my hands, my voice waxes serious. “Motyl is Stach.”

“Sobieski?” He raises a brow. “Your Stach?”

“Yes, my Stach. Do you believe it?”

Over the next hour, I unpack it all: the Nazis stationed on every block, Stach, ?egota, Konrad Sobieski, Mateusz’s murder, the weapons arriving within three days, the thick wad of zlotys stuffed inside my dress for bribes... and then, I hesitate, but share what Stach demanded of me.

“He’s absolutely right,” Aleksander says, nibbling another corner of chocolate. “You are much more valuable to us out here than inside. And Stach is the head of ?egota—a fucking miracle. You do understand how big this is for us, Bina.” He stands, unable to sit, too excited, and begins pacing the tiny room. Five strides take him from one end to the other. “We have a real chance of survival. And...” He catches his reflection in the small oval wall mirror, starts patting down his wild hair. “We can bring more than just weapons inside. With Stach at the helm, I’m thinking food, medical supplies, perhaps even building materials for more bunkers and underground tunnels. We can move couriers safely across the border with their help. With you as our point person out here...” His eyes spark, and if I didn’t know better, he seems almost inebriated. But he’s right, there is now real hope for us.

“But I want to help inside the ghetto. I want to fight with Zelda, Eryk...” And you.

I quickly look down and pretend to fix something on my shoe before he can read the desire in my eyes.

But I feel his gaze burrowing through me, and I know he sees it all anyway. When I look up, the light in his eyes vacates, and the uninvited tension between us resurfaces. Suddenly, we are joined by the others: Jakub with his hooded, accusatory glare, Karina in her wedding dress, ghostlike, lounging on the cot. I remember that exquisite ecru lace dress, those dimples and curves, that bawdy infectious belly laugh I once loved—everyone loved. I exhale deeply. Just go, please, I beg them both inside my head.

Thankfully, our spouses vanish, and all that remains between us are the sounds of night—ambulances, traffic, sirens, and faint outside voices.

I can’t pretend anymore. Slowly, my eyes meet his, and this time, I don’t turn away. No more secrets. We know what’s at stake, what this is. What do I have to lose? My pride? I lost that a long time ago. He knows how I feel. He’s an artist, trained in detail, observation, and nuance. He has seen the dance in my eyes whenever he enters a room. He knows. And now he is returning to the ghetto to fight, perhaps to die. What if I lose him and never tell him how I feel? I swipe my hands and stand. I’m done hiding.

“I don’t want to be away from you,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “I can’t bear it.”

It’s out. I put a name to the tension. He moves in closer; his voice is deeply measured. “I... I kept picturing them catching you, Bina. Those animals raping or shooting you on the street. It was...” He stops speaking, presses his hand to his heart, and mine is beating uncontrollably, each word a revelation. “You are not alone here, okay. I feel it, too, and wish to God that I didn’t.” He squeezes his eyes shut briefly. “But I can’t. Do you understand me? I can’t do it to Karina, to my brother... my daughter. How could I live with myself?”

I say nothing at first. I roll his words over in my mind. I loved you from the beginning. Not Jakub, you. You, you, you. I yearn to spill everything, but I hold back. My face burns like I’m standing next to a bonfire.

“Once,” I say, my voice barely a sound.

“Once,” he repeats, twisting his mouth, his eyes unblinking, pained, tormented.

“You’re leaving tonight, aren’t you?” I quickly change subjects as my heart splits into a thousand tiny pieces. “They are waiting for you, for the good news. You must go back and tell them.”

“Yes,” he says softly.

His emerald eyes wax tender and then cloud with guilt, but suddenly, I see the other—the desire, the strain against his pants—a truth that can’t be hidden, can’t be controlled. My heart regenerates. He wants me too. Once. One sin. One time. His body is saying yes, even if his mind is fighting it, throwing red flags at him. I ignore his mind, choose his body.

I rise and begin to unbutton my dress, undo the wide belt at my waist and let it fall away. He watches, frozen, but doesn’t stop me.

Once is all I get. We get. And I’m taking it.

I step out of the dress, and it puddles around me. I move toward him, skin and bones in my tattered silvery gray silk undergarments. I wish he could have seen me before, at the height of my beauty—when I was fuller, shapelier—not like this, at the end of it. You’re barely there and yet, oddly, more beautiful. I hear the echo of Stach’s words, and I cling to them, wishing they were true. Aleksander’s hands are flexing at his sides. He wants to touch me. He’s resisting. I give him more time.

I turn, walk toward the sink, fill a small basin with water, take a cloth and dip it inside. I turn around so he can see me, can decide. I dab the cloth and slowly trace it down the side of my face, along the length of my neck, and pull down the straps of the slip and let them fall, revealing my breasts. I hear the heavy intake of his breath as I make circular motions with the cloth around each nipple, then down my torso, slowly, gently, washing in front of him. He doesn’t move a muscle, just watches me with unabashed intensity, the way I used to watch him. I feel the ardor in each unguarded exhalation. He’s losing his resolve. I know because I know everything about him. I have studied him, the way I’ve studied lines in a play, memorizing every detail. I also know that he is painting me inside his head. I see the way his eyes dart back and forth, absorbing me, filling a blank canvas with color, detail, and form. Not his brother’s wife, but a woman, a muse, standing before him, challenging him to use his imagination.

I’m burning for him, and I can’t wait any longer. I reach up and my hand trails his set jaw with featherlike strokes at first and then becomes more demanding. He doesn’t stop me, doesn’t shame me. His eyes are equally kindled. I bring his face to my right breast, and he greedily takes my nipple into his mouth. Hard, wanting... not tentative, like... Don’t think about Jakub. Keep him out of the damn room. I close my eyes and will my husband away, then remind myself to open them, to see it all, so I can remember every movement of Aleksander’s face, his body. For later. And all the laters after that.

Untethered, he scoops me up, carries me to the cot, and lays me across it. He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he quickly strips naked. There are no surprises. I know every inch of him. The chiseled face; the defined jaw; those broad shoulders belonging to an athlete, not an artist; the long, sculpted torso joining into a perfect V; and at its center his manhood is now throbbing, demanding. I sit up as he stands over me, and I take him fully into my mouth. I hear his heart pounding rapidly above me—or is that mine?

“Lie back and spread your legs,” he orders huskily, pulling himself out of my mouth just before he finishes. He, too, wants this to last. Taking his time, he deliberately kisses and explores his way down the length of my body until landing between my thighs. It takes everything inside me not to cry out as I run my fingers through his thick, wavy hair and experience the exquisite tango of his tongue, mouth, and skilled fingers, as he readies to enter me.

Our eyes lock as he thrusts himself inside me, over and over. “Don’t stop,” I whisper. “Don’t ever stop.” I grasp his firm buttocks and squeeze him tightly to me. Skin to skin, breath to breath. Neither of us closes our eyes, not even for a second. I don’t want to miss a thing. I want to devour him. I could die right here, right now, and it would be enough.

But it will never be enough. I will always want more of him, more of this, more of what I can never have again. Our fingers are twined as we climax together, a synchronous muffled cry, and I hold on to the fervent sound for as long as I can, until it slips from my throat, through my hands, and fades into the night. We say nothing when it’s over. Words elude both of us.

A wave of sadness climbs over me as I lie in the afterward, ensconced in the crook of Aleksander’s arm, inhaling his scent, listening to his steadying breath, the satiated snore, feeling the elusive tenderness of this precious moment. I touch the air next to the fringe of his long eyelashes. I want more. So much more.

I don’t want to forget a single breath or sensation. Jakub’s face flashes through my mind. Yes, I think guiltily. I must write it down.

The flame of the small candle on the table sways sultrily, casting a crown of radiance over the wall behind it. As night turns into morning, I cling to the only man I will ever love. Once. Just once.