One Good Turn part XI
.
.
.
Four days. Four of the happiest Erik had ever known. Four days of tutoring her, learning more about her. Four days of her laughter and her gentle teasing of him.
And then the nights; the nights were something indescribable! She was so utterly, enchantingly eager to be with him—with him!
The only fly in the ointment was his mask—his wretched face. He refused to show it to her again; never mind her having seen his deformity previously. The only time he removed the mask was at night in complete darkness, and if she wanted to make love with the lanterns lit, the mask stayed on. He thought back to last night, a small smile inadvertently coming to his lips as he remembered.
They had been going over conjugations for hours; the both of them working through lunch and dinner together. And as Erik had the foresight to get both meals delivered to their car that meant they wouldn't starve.
He heard her toss down the pencil she was using and saw her scrub at her face tiredly, "That's it! I'm done." He looked at the translations she had completed, and the pile she still had left to do, and he gave her an arch look gesturing to her pencil. "Oh, no. Don't you even, maestro. Not today!" She matched his look for stubborn look, her chin jutting at an angle.
"Megan, the sooner those translations are complete, the sooner you can move on to something more entertaining. I know it's dry, ptichka, but it is necessary."
The next thing he knew, he was tumbled headlong to the floor, and she was on top of him, tickling him. He hadn't even known he was ticklish. "I've had it, Erik!" she grunted above his gales and gasps of surprised laughter. She was skillfully adept at dodging his hands. "Enough is enough! No more Russian, tonight!" He groaned in capitulation, and she collapsed atop him in a heap, mumbling, "I mean it. If I hear another Russian word tonight, I won't be held responsible."
"You have my word, ptich—" her hiss cut him off," —Megan. No more Russian tonight."
She lifted her head and looked at him, "Thank God." And she had kissed him. And it had quickly escalated from there to loving caresses that ultimately had him gathering her skirts and unbuttoning his trousers. And then she was riding him to their mutual fulfillment right there on the wooden floor.
He contemplated the spot, and the small smile turning to a grin.
"Erik?" He blinked, coming back to himself. He found Megan looking at him, a knowing smile on her lips. "You must have been worlds away. I've been trying to get your attention for past five minutes." He rose and made his way over to her. "The train's stopped." Erik paused, blinking. So it had. "Nick said this might happen. Occasionally, the station-master needs to make equipment inspections and repairs to the train while in Minsk. I think that's where we are at any rate." She shrugged and wrinkled her nose.
"And how long do these repairs usually take?" he asked, and she shrugged, leaning her back against his chest and drawing his arms around her. She looked up. "Nick said they like to travel the last leg from Minsk to St. Petersburg by day, so we will probably be here through this evening." Erik's mind churned.
At length, he stated slowly in beginner's Russian, "I think it is time we put your newfound language skills to the test, Megan." Her answering smile could have shamed the sun.
"Really?" she rejoined, also in Russian.
"Da." Turning, she laughed and embraced him, even as she broke away, and made to don her heavy cloak, hat, and muff. He likewise followed suit, and they made their way outside the cab. For Megan, this was the first time in four days, she had set foot outside.
.
.
.
Early December in Belarus meant biting arctic cold, but the sun shone brightly, almost blindingly on the layer of snow as it covered the ground. They had checked with the station master; it seemed they would be there until early tomorrow morning. And so, as Meg watched Erik, bundled to the chin and wearing his flesh-colored mask, speak with a native in flawless Russian about the local attractions, she took a moment to think about all that had transpired in the four days since they had become lovers.
He was so incredibly passionate! And so willing to coax and teach her in all manner of things regarding their lovemaking. He was learning her body, he told her, every bit as thoroughly as he knew his own. And Meg was grateful for the many layers of clothing that now covered her face and neck because she was blushing to the roots of her hair as she remembered.
The night before last he had kissed her…had kissed her in the most intimate of places! Never had she heard of such being done. And after she had gotten over the initial shock of it, he had coaxed her, encouraged her to seek her pleasure, attain that height of bliss she had only ever encountered with him. And all the while, he spoke; his beautiful Voice, telling her how very much he loved and worshipped her. Showing her how very much her pleasure pleased him.
But all the while, she remained in the dark.
While he was getting to know her, her responses—her body— so well, she would have liked to have said the same of him, but it just wasn't true. She couldn't describe visually what the male part of him looked like. She still had yet to see him fully unclothed, and whenever she tried to broach the subject, he would direct her thoughts, her hands, elsewhere. It was frustrating, but worse than that, it just wasn't fair!
"Are you ready, my dear?" Meg looked down to find Erik holding his arm out to her. She took it, letting her thoughts fly away as she asked him haltingly in Russian where it was they were going.
Speaking very slowly in a blend of French and Russian so that she could understand, he began to walk, "The man with whom I spoke told us to visit the Russian Orthodox church of St. Mary Magdalene that was recently erected. He then suggested we visit the shops of Lenin Avenue and have dinner at a little restaurant near the Svislach River that serves authentic Belarusian fare. Finally, he suggested we attend the evening theatrical at the Minsk Theatre. It seems they are performing one of Leo Tolstoy's newest works. Tell me, ptichka, are you familiar with his Anna Karenina?"
And Meg nodded, narrowing her eyes to explain to him what she thought of the novel in as much Russian as she could. Talking as such, their arrival to the church took no time at all, and Meg drew up short in her defense of Anna's suicide when she saw it before them. "Oh, Erik!" she exclaimed, clutching at his arm, "Isn't it beautiful?"
"Yes, she is." Meg noticed he wasn't looking at the church; she blushed. "Come, ptichka, let us take time to meander for a time in Minskian art and architecture." And he led her through the vestibule to the cathedral proper, pointing out particular placements of stones and their individual groupings. Although Meg was no stranger to stained glass windows, seeing colored tiles on columns and walls was, indeed, a new experience. Erik told her it was in reminiscence of the art of the Byzantine era.
Meg thought it very colorful but ultimately very distracting. The priest was giving a brief homily, but she, like many others in attendance, could not focus on his words for all the opulence surrounding them. Erik led her out of the church by way of a little-used side entrance, and she gave him a questioning look. "Less crowds."
And he led her on to the shops of Lenin Avenue, and Meg had fun for a time window shopping and watching the various comings and goings of the townspeople as they went their varied errands. "Do you ever just look at people and make up their life stories, Erik?" Meg asked as she watched a harried mother and her young child squabble in the middle of the path they were traversing. Meg winced when the toddler's yells reached an ear-splitting crescendo.
"Hmm, yes. Although rarely do I drift in realms of fiction, my dear." He tsk'd. "The little boy we just passed is with his au pair. She is young and very inexperienced, and the child has been spoiled rotten."
Meg rolled her eyes, and directed their attention to a pottery shop displaying all sorts of crockery and bits of colored glass. "Or, he could be a changeling child from some legendary creature such as a troll or fairy, and he's been charged with plaguing the young woman who was cursed by an evil gypsy hag for some imagined slight. What do you think she did, I wonder, to warrant that?" They both looked over at the woman and child. He was now face down on the cobbled street, kicking and screaming in a tantrum that would have made her mother beat the child to within an inch of its life with her rattan cane.
In desperation, Erik directed them into the closest shop and closed the door; thereby drowning out the cries of woe.
"Ah, newlyweds! Would you like to have your portraits taken then?" Meg stared at the shopkeeper, barely able to discern the meaning behind the ancient man's words, and then she took a look around. Erik had inadvertently led them to a portrait-maker's. She looked up at him; the expression in his eyes was one of dread.
She bit her lip and met Erik's stare, replying in stuttering Russian, "My husband no pictures will he take, sir."
"Ah, you are French, yes?" Meg nodded. The man smiled and began speaking slowly so she could understand. "Few men who enter my shop are willing. But it is so very important to chronicle special moments. And I can tell the two of you have only just married. You have that look about you." He gave a beaming, knowing smile, his blue eyes behind his thick spectacles a twinkle. Meg still only caught every other word he uttered, but she got the general gist. "For you, I will give a special price: two for the price of one today—" he pointed at Meg and wagged his finger, "You remind me of my Eliza."
Meg watched as he fondly stroked the timepiece he wore at his waist, and she examined it closer. The watch had a well-worn spot on it, as if it had been used by the man as a touchstone or talisman. "I will set two tin-types, the same picture; one for the gentleman to wear as a watch, and one for you madam to wear about your lovely neck."
The man took out a box of his finest wares and directed that they look them over. Meg gave them a general perusal but when she looked back at Erik, she noticed his expression was pained. She put down the watch she held, "I don't think we—"
"We'll take them both. The lady will have that locket there, and I will take this watch." Meg looked over at Erik in disbelief as he examined the watch she had just held.
"Really?" Meg asked in French, practically dancing in her joy.
He gave her a long-suffering but indulgent smile, "I will do what pleases you, ptichka, and this is a small thing my zhena asks." Meg blinked at the use of the word—wife. He had called her his wife. She felt giddy and trembly, and absolutely radiant in her joy!
"There now, you see? Not so intractable is your new husband as he seems." The old man's eyes behind his thick-glasses sparkled. "The both of you stand just here. Yes, oh, but you are a tall one are you not? And to have married such a little slip of a thing." He said something in rapid Russian that Meg couldn't catch but had Erik's lips twitching even as his ears burned. "Yes, you are going to have to sit, sir. Here, in this chair. And madam, you stand at his back. Your right hand on his shoulder. Madam give us a small smile. Yes, there. Perfect. Now, don't move!" The old man went behind a tall box-looking contraption and underneath a dark cover. "Now one…two…three..." There was a flash and then another right after it. And then he was walking toward them, beaming. "My eyes—they are not so good anymore, but oh, you are lucky we have this new-fangled contraption here. It takes images in seconds. Why, I still remember using the Daguerreotypes! That tells you how very ancient I am, my dear! Oh, but go! Go the both of you and get some lunch. When you come back, the tin-type pictures—they will be set and ready for you to pick them up."
And waving them off, the little man disappeared behind the little black curtain in the back of his shop.
.
.
.
A/N: It is so unfortunate that this little authoress cannot live in the imaginary world of her creation but must instead split her time between husband, cats , and (gasp!) working for an actual living wage! As an aside, yesterday was spa day for the authoress—facial, massage, yoga, and quality time with my d3adlyg33k—by the end of yesterday, I was exhausted, believe me! ;D And so, I didn't get as much written as I would have liked. However, I will post part II of Erik & Meg's day spent in Minsk tomorrow afternoon.
DGM