Christine returns from Mass. "You are still angry with me," she notes.

"I'm not angry with you anymore, Christine."

"Will you let me go now?"

"Why?" I demand. She is speechless. "You're my wife and I love you, Christine. I may not touch you, but I love you," I finish, acidly. She lowers her eyes. She knows she is not a good wife to me. "Why do you want to leave me, Christine? You no longer love your little husband?

"I love you," she admits, her shoulders drooping.

"What did you say? I cannot hear you." I approach her.

"I said I love you." She will not look at me; I understand.

"Why won't you let me be your lover, Christine?" I place my hands on her hips and draw her tightly against me. "Why will you deny your own desire, Angel?" I whisper.

"Don't," she whines.

"No," I answer blackly, shoving her away. "I won't."

-0-0-0-0-

I must find another woman. Christine and I drift through these rooms like sleepwalkers. I am lost. I don't know how to bring her back to me. I don't want to hurt any more girls, but it is not safe for Christine if I continue as I am. I feel angrier with each passing day. Where is the peace I felt sure to find if only my precious Christine was with me?

No more opera girls; I must haunt the alleys at night. If only I could pay a whore, but I am afraid of having my good money refused for a few moments' writhing in a dark corner. I watch lovers part reluctantly under a street lamp. I hear cats fight several yards over. I cannot do this! I fall to my knees, emptying my stomach. Weeping, I scramble to my feet and escape underground.

-0-0-0-0-

Christine squeezes my arm. "Erik?" She peers into the coffin. "Are you ill?"

"No."

She does not believe me and feels my forehead. "Do you want some wine?"

I nod.

"Shall I run you a bath? You got very dirty."

I nod again. She bustles back shortly with my wine. I disappear into the bath. When I emerge, Christine wants to know if I am hungry.

"No. I am going to bed."

She follows me, fretting and she climbs onto the bed. "Erik, I don't understand what is wrong," she says to my back.

"Why are you suddenly so solicitous for my welfare, Christine?" I ask wearily.

"It's not suddenly!" she replies petulantly.

"Oh no?"

"Be-because you're…my…husband." I can barely hear her. "You're still angry," she despairs.

"I'm not angry, Christine."

"What is it, then? I'm afraid of you," she whimpers.

"Christine…" I shake my head. I don't know how this has all become so difficult. It is as though each of us speaks and understands a different language. I turn, reaching out to her impulsively. Christine comes into my arms gratefully, needing comfort like a little child. She does not want me to touch her, but there is no one else. Perhaps I have watched and waited for Christine's moment of vulnerability; if so, I was unaware of doing so. One thing I know: now that it is here, I will seize the opportunity it offers. I kiss her neck; she squirms, but I hold her more tightly.

"You said you wouldn't unless I agreed," she reminds me.

"I intend to see that you agree this time. Don't you remember how you kissed me a fortnight ago when you had the night terrors? There was desire in your kiss."

"There was not," she insists.

"Yes, there was," I whisper. I begin removing her dress. "Look at how beautiful you are, Christine." I peel her garments away slowly. She permits it silently, lying frozen. "You should be kinder to me, Christine. I ask very little of you; do you realize that?"

"Yes," she whispers.

I begin touching Christine randomly, in a way that I hope is not threatening. "There is no shame in allowing your husband his privilege. It is right for you to enjoy my caresses. Ask the good father sometime, when you are in Church."

Christine emits a horrified squeal and pulls the covers up to her neck. "Don't mention the priest! Church! I'm…n-u-d-e." I cannot help laughing at her. Her eyes crackle; her lip juts out.

"Oh, my Angel, how charming your modesty is. Christine…" I reach for the covers. My eyes promise that there is no mockery in my laughter. Her anger drains away and she releases the covers. I move close and whisper "I won't mention it again in this room." She nods her approval. I kiss her as mildly as I can and cup her breast, barely touching her. She clutches fistfuls of my shirt. She pulls her lips free.

"Don't sing; you promised." She gazes up at me expectantly.

"No, I won't sing."

She opens her sweet lips for me and wraps her arms around my neck. "Take your clothes off," she whispers shyly.