Chapter 14: Vices
Thursday
Maria didn't remember the time she'd had a treat like this, a crumbly biscuit dusted with powdery white sugar. Maybe it's been too long since the holidays, she thought, her teeth breaking through a thick bite. Like the almonds I buy when I can. I know I let myself buy biscuits, then. She licked her lips, her eyes drifting up to Georg beside her. I know I have neighbors who sometimes leave things I couldn't afford in the kitchen, for all of us. She took another bite. But it never tastes quite this nice.
Even after a childhood in Vienna—the last months in Salzburg—Maria still wasn't accustomed to so many people lining the streets. There were never so many people at home, she thought, shrinking into Georg's arm that he had long ago settled around her calls to sample the wares—an apple slice, a sort she'd never heard of ("We'll have nicer ones when the new crops are in!") or a jam ("Apricots picked just outside the city!"), or to just come and hear about a business or a farm. Georg wasn't really looking anywhere, just steering them this way and that. I'm not that silly, I want to be here with you, she thought, another cookie bite breaking between her teeth, the sugar and almond dough breaking apart between her fingers.
Georg tightened his arm around her shoulder, his fingers curling down around the very top of her arm. "Not the best use of your money, darling."
"I don't always see the best preserves at my shop." She had never seen cherry jam like the one she had just bought—she liked it better than apricots or peaches, the other two the vendor had on his table—the taste dancing across her mouth as she handed back the dented metal spoon and some coins as well. "And I don't see roasted almonds." Very occasionally, there were those raw almonds she liked, but never those ones tossed in cinnamon and sugar, crunching between her teeth. After the first, she couldn't resist handing over the demand for a bag. Maybe I'll give it to my students, she thought for a moment, tossing another into her mouth before she shoved it away, wishing she'd brought her bag from school. Oh, I know I won't, they're too nice to eat.
"I'm not thinking of that, more those biscuits dusted with sugar you haven't stopped eating. At least you've hidden the sugary nuts you just bought." But perhaps he couldn't quite complain, he had smoked two cigarettes as they walked, the plume of smoke masking any of the samples that interested Maria.
Georg had never seen her like this, her dark coat open to the afternoon breeze and what had to be another handmade dress hanging from her shoulders. It wasn't the dark blue he remembered from their Sunday afternoons at the Mirabell Gardens, something paler and the fabric probably lighter. Cheaper. Well, not that I've had much of a chance to know, he thought, tugging her out of the way of another man hurrying along the street. If you're really being honest, you hardly know her.
"I haven't had any for so long. My aunt never made any. My foster mother didn't, either." Maria shivered against him, tucking the paper bag with the last of her biscuits into her pocket, against the candied almonds. It had been far too long, she knew that, too many weeks since she wrote her foster mother a letter. Even after all the time to think—consider and worry—her pen had still skittered this way and that, a few scratched words left along the way, not wanting to crumple the paper in her fist and throw it away yet again. Like always, her words were slightly stilted—slightly unhappy, sending them back to Vienna. Her fingers had trembled even more, finally writing down Georg's name, the creeping heat growing again—
"Your aunt?" Maria nodded. "You've never said anything about her, only your uncle."
"Is it so surprising? Don't most people have someone to come home—" She bit down on her lip, her eyes searching for something—anything!—that would take her away from Georg. You can't actually say it, she told herself, suddenly wishing she hadn't pushed the last of her packet of biscuits into her pocket. "Or wouldn't it be nice, I suppose."
"I suppose it would be," Georg murmured, his fingers clawing into her shoulder. I remember what that feels like, darling, and it is just as lovely as you think it is. "And I suppose you don't have the time now."
"Hmm?"
"Making a tray of biscuits."
"No. I don't think I could even if I did, there's no space in the kitchen." I don't think I would even if I wasn't worried over the time and space.
The last few days had seen Maria cautious whenever she needed to wander to the common areas as her stomach began to grumble and demand something for breakfast—reminded her that she needed to pack something for lunch, reminded her that she didn't have enough money to simply buy something in the neighborhood like the headmaster or school governor might. But more than anything, she hated wandering to the kitchen in the evening: occasionally seeing her other neighbors but always hating—dreading—the thought of seeing him again. Her heart raced for a moment. You probably felt that, you notice everything—
"Maria?"
"Forgive me," she whispered, her footsteps slowing, one of her shoes scraping at the mix of stones and pavement. Or maybe I want to think you did.
"Why would I need to?"
"Maybe." I can't, not right now. "But I can't imagine you ever learned anything like that, cooking or baking."
"Not impossible, Maria—"
"So unlikely."
Georg nodded, turning his face down to her—brushing his mouth against the top of her hair. "Highly improbable," he whispered. Why are you so far away, darling?
She had haunted him all this week since he woke from his ill-timed nap Sunday afternoon, every muscle hard and his breathing threatening to grow harsher. When he wasted his mornings and afternoons outside. The sunlight burnt her memory away, hardly more than a breeze swirling through the smoke from his cigarettes, now almost his constant companion. But his fingers sometimes quivered, wondering what her skin would feel like under his. Georg tightened his hold on her, wishing more than ever that her coat and what had to be a scratchy dress were gone. You would be blushing, love, I know that much. At least in the sun—the rest of Salzburg out and about to hold him in line. He could push all his thoughts aside, shove them back into the darkness, later. The dark...Whenever the night washed over him, there was no more hiding from the dreams. Her moans in his ears were louder each evening and whatever wine he had sitting beside him was unable to silence her. Her body opened to him a little more easily—a little more happily—accepting everything he had to give her a little more greedily. Oh yes, darling, he thought, again pulling her toward him and out of the path of one more man walking toward them. You would be red faced right now if you could see what I see.
They didn't speak for a time, just making their way through the crowd, past more vendors with their apples pulled out of storage from last year, cabbages in green and varying shades of red and purple, more preserves and honey and sweet treats. And of course, a little farther ahead, another clutch of men in traditional costume that might still be little chilly in March, the cuffs nowhere near the ankles of their furry legs. Another cluster of string instruments he didn't care to identify any longer. One man with a horn, his fingers running along the valves speedily, no doubt well practiced over the course of years. Sometimes, I wish I could give it all back, Georg thought, Maria's hip brushing against his when they paused as another street crossed the one the market lined. There wasn't too much more to show her, maybe another block until it was time to turn around, find the way back to her boarding house. But perhaps you're right, Maria, and there is something about it. I'm not sure I quite believe you, but...He clenched his eyes shut, turning away from her as he almost pressed his chin down to his neck. Perhaps I can ignore it, Maria, if...One of the moans he had memorized in his dream cut through his ear again, lower than ever before.
"Don't you ever come past this market?" he murmured after another moment, the stream of people crossing their path breaking for a second. He pulled her through the gap, though the market had already ended at the last block. An easy question.
"No, I can't say I ever had." Still holding herself against him, Maria tucked her hand into her pocket and the little paper bag with the last of her sugary biscuits. There were still a few at the bottom, enough to snack on through the evening. At least they're small, she told herself, a thin spray of powdery sugar falling from her fingers as she pressed another past her lips. I know there is a reason my foster mother always told me I shouldn't have too many of them, even if we never had them at home.
"They set it up each week, Thursdays, unless God tells them its wrong—you must have at least heard of it."
Maria nodded, folding her hand to a fist to keep herself from reaching for the next one. I know it's not right, but it just tastes so good. "I've just never had time to come and I never knew if I should."
"I know you don't have too much money—forgive me, I almost called it pocket money, and I know you don't like that."
She nodded again, her head brushing against his shoulder. "Thank you." It was what she couldn't stand more than anything Lukas had said to her. I'm not a child, and you know I'm not, don't you.
"But I'm surprised. It isn't all that far. And at a church, I'd think you'd like that."
"I know. I'm just so used to going to the shops. It never worked for my foster mother, going to the markets in Vienna, and all the shops were so close."
"Well, you might be able to find a few small things here, if it helps you along your way. I know you just did."
"I suppose I can always use that." Her tongue ran along her lips again. "I don't need that much—"
"But you need what you need."
"Yes, but I don't always need what I want. Don't you know that?"
"Oh yes," he muttered, drawing her a little closer. The years of walking about Salzburg with Louisa and Brigitta had taught him that, even if he often found himself carrying the littlest girl who couldn't yet walk—there always seemed to be another—her gangly arms wrapped around his neck when the eldest were too fast, her legs too short to catch up with them. The demand for sweets on a walk around the corner when the elder were in a shop with their mother, always looking to him and hoping for a little treat, sometimes even a few coins to give the shop assistant themselves."Just like Liesl," Brigitta had said more than once, her little hands up on the counter."Forgive me for wanting to not...Think about it all the time." And not you.
Now it was a bus on the street they were approaching, veering a little to the left for a second, so he pulled her closer, not ready to see one of her rogue steps on the pavement send her forward just like when they met, crushing her body into the road. Not when— Christ, she really was going to haunt him until...Georg swallowed. Until I finally let it all go, Maria. "You're thinking about something, don't pretend you aren't—"
"Aren't you, usually? At least I always—tell you everything that comes into my head."
"No, darling, you forget yourself." He shoved her a step forward—then dragged her back in as another car barreled along the road, its honking horn brash and loud, almost wincing as he felt her ribs cutting through both their coats and the many layers of other clothes separating them. "And I'm very glad when you do," he added quietly, another light kiss brushed over her hair.
He couldn't do this, not much longer. Couldn't...not. Every little touch—every little smell of her—continued to stoke the thoughts in him. And certainly in her as well if her little shudders whenever he had her close were to be believed, though Georg suspected she was less understanding of whatever dreams clung to her, probably didn't even have the words to describe how mortified she was. But even thinking that...A deep breath was what he needed, something to calm his racing pulse. "I'm certain you'll be lovely when I see it."
"Did you…" Maria let the words die, not bothering to ask. You did say something, she thought, one of the nuts from the cookie she had just eaten suddenly scratching at the back of her mouth, caught in one of her teeth. I don't know why I would ask, you're not like me and you wouldn't tell me anything unless you actually want to. "But it's the same in the end, whether I decide to or I just do."
"Very true, darling." Another little kiss, this one brushed to her temple—and Georg didn't miss the faint sigh he heard rushing from her mouth. "But may I ask you something, Maria?"
"Of course."
He had had to laugh when he first read it, one of the only moments that left him smiling over the course of the days in Aigen. More than ever, he hadn't smiled during his stay in Aigen, always cringing at the sound of the children's shoes over the threshold when school concluded or it was time for their dinner, even if he still huddled in his study. Max, at least, could always bring a smile to his face. Sometimes, he felt that he'd known the man his entire life, even though it had only been a few years—and a few years since he invited himself to the house, Agathe— Another deep breath. Not here, darling, and certainly not now.
He was a friend of Elsa's late husband— God, he couldn't even think of her, now, not with Maria tucked into his arm. But I suppose Max is fine. The man had been involved in banking for years when—he had been when met him, always a little curious about the finer and nicer things in life. Georg wasn't certain how the man had grown in his family's life as the years went by, so long ago he couldn't remember when it all began, but it was only a visit or two before the children seemed happy to declare him their new uncle—and perhaps more importantly, Max was happy to settle into that name, to send the children letters and gifts as the years went by, even happily spending more than one Christmas in Salzburg, like this one just gone. Though perhaps that was more for his own benefit than the children's, not that Georg would have turned him away especially not...But that didn't matter.
"You've talked about going to the music hall on Saturdays."
"Yes." Her face rubbed against his shoulder as she nodded.
"I'm really quite jealous, Georg, all those new artists looking for someone to look out for them. And frankly, they do. It's only a moment for someone to take advantage of them"—Georg had snorted back a brief moment of laughter, reading that—"if they don't have someone to take care of them. There are some coming down to Salzburg, I almost wish I could visit to persuade them that they need someone. But I know you aren't around your villa too often right now—" He hadn't read much more of the letter; it was certainly full of worries over the children— You can't be here, you have to stay at home! Georg thought, one of the last murmurs of the quartet—quintet—whatever it was—rushing past.
"You don't buy your tickets too early, I think," he said, "if you always want the cheapest ones."
"They're the most I can afford—"
"Probably the last they have, and if they see you'll walk away, the teller will probably sell them even cheaper."
"Are you saying that's wrong?"
"No, darling, it's just the way of the world. Enlightened self-interest, I think it's been called before. But you go to the counter and ask, don't you?"
She nodded again; she probably couldn't do it again, the fibers in his coat were starting to scratch at her face. "I've never done anything else—I wouldn't be able to."
"Then you don't have one for this Saturday."
Maria grabbed for his hand, not ready to take another step. Are you going to..."No."
"Then don't buy one."
"Why?"Oh, I'm not that young—or silly, Georg. Even if I don't think you would ever tell me properly, right now. His grasp tightened. It might have been small—gentle—even lighter than she remembered when her foster mother saw her off to school, or especially the morning she knocked on her son-in-law's door, her hand tight and dry around hers. I did feel it, just now."Why...not."
"If you enjoy music that much, then I suppose you would like art as well, and at least then you won't have to listen to the screeching strings—"
"That's not what they do and you know that!"
"Perhaps, but there's enough art in Salzburg to compete with it for an afternoon."
"If you say so, I don't have that much experience with it."
"Nothing your father sent?"
"Not much. I still have the little dolls he sent me from the Soviet Union, but most of them disappeared."
"I would have thought you liked them enough to keep them, the way you talk about him sometimes—"
"As many as I could. I didn't...want to let them go." She had tucked those little dolls into her drawers almost the moment she moved into her uncle's house, well back behind her socks and undergarments, back where she couldn't imagine him looking. After all, she was only little, only a little girl. Whenever her hands brushed against them when she looked for a pair of socks or underwear for the day, she wished she could leave them on the dresser in what must have been a guest bedroom before she stepped through the front door, her foster mother whispering for her to be a good girl. I don't think I was ever there when I couldn't worry about him.
"I'm sorry."
"It's nothing that can be changed now."
"No." I'm sorry, he wanted to say, holding her closer than ever. You don't ever really say what it was, but there was someone who wore you down when you were young, I only hope that...God, his dreams really would be the death of him. The little worries over what she wouldn't say, all her confused groans and sighs as he imagined burying himself so deep in her he couldn't stand it any longer..."So then Saturday?"
"What, then?" Maria was embarrassed how her belly had tightened, just with those few words. But for today, since they had met, it was only Sundays, only their short afternoons walking and talking after she had come from mass. I think even God might be humiliated, she thought, another gentle lunge into his chest. But at least I can say that I'm confused, Georg, I'm sure you know more than I do.
"There's a gallery in Salzburg, it's hosting a new sort of art I don't think you would have seen even if you had been wandering through those sorts of halls since you were a child."
"I didn't think you would like that."
"You might remember everything I say, darling, but you don't know everything about me."
"But…" There would be so much to think about—to do—at the weekend, if it was anything like their walks in the gardens or even here along the streets of Salzburg. Well, Sunday is the weekend as well, she hadn't said anything, but she had seen how he turned them through the streets, surely leading her home ahead of whatever lay ahead of him for the evening. "I'll have to be starting all my work over the weekend—"
"I think you can manage if you want to come—"
"That's not what I meant! Why do you think I wouldn't?"
"You just tried to say no, Maria." God, it wouldn't be too long before they saw her street and the worn boarding house she shared with endless men and women, especially...that one. She hadn't said anything about him since that afternoon, perhaps she was simply too exhausted to hold it in, it was the day she could hardly place one foot in front of the other. "I just suppose—"
"Yes," Maria blurted out, loud enough that one of the pedestrians coming along the way glanced up, no longer concerned with their own shoes and the stones—another pausing and staring straight at the pair of them...and then going on their way. God, this was why he had to be in such a dismal corner of Salzburg. Whether it was some lingering memory of the war—some courageous or incredibly reckless choice he had made that somehow resulted in his nickname as he lingered in the dark corners of the Adriatic, waiting to hunt an Allied ship—or another dreaded member of the aristocracy who remembered him from some damnable party or event, it had happened time and again. His name called from across the street, a waving hand on the other side of the traffic. Or perhaps..."Now you're the one who won't let me finish a sentence," he muttered. Perhaps it was always her they were remembering—
"Yes." Maria's voice brought him back to the dustier lanes of the city and her side pressed into his. "It's the answer you wanted, isn't it?"
One moment to think about her body against his was enough to send a shiver down his spine—and perhaps she had sensed it as well. "No more worries about your students, then?" he murmured.
"That's not it—but I can say yes if I want to."
"Oh, very much so."
There couldn't be that much more time left, Maria knew, the buildings and little trees marking the alleys she never wandered down suddenly familiar. Even if she mostly saw them rushing along as she stared through the windows of the bus each weekday morning on her way to school, she recognized the bend and a knot in the trunk here, that corner of the brick demanding paint there. I know why he said it, she thought, suddenly wanting Georg's hand a little tighter around the top of her arm. Oh, why was she suddenly so hot, too, it still wasn't all that warm, but she felt it at her neck, beneath the collar of her dress and coat. And I know what...or maybe I don't know what I'm trying to imagine in my dreams. But can't I...can't I just want something in my life, someone. Her face was red again, she felt it on the plumpest parts of her cheeks. I already knew Georg had to be years older than me, you didn't need to tell me that. But...what you said, like I couldn't imagine him wanting something from me...I've already seen enough when I'm trying to go to sleep. The blush on her face had to be even darker, remembering how she imagined his mouth must feel and taste. But maybe I don't mind—I don't think you ever thought that I wouldn't, the way you talked—
"Maria?"
She started against him, her body pushing harder into his. "Oh, I'm sorry, I just…"
"Lost in your thoughts again?"
A nod, again her face against his chest. "A little."
"And here I worried you were finished talking with me today."
"No, I...I like talking to you. Just like you said." And...everyone walking past them must know, Maria realized—they must have always known. Today—the last time they met—even the afternoon he had her arm wrapped in his as he struggled to keep her from falling into the gravel along the paths of the Mirabell Gardens, and surely wouldn't have let her squirm away even if she tried!
"I remember, darling, it isn't that often I have to pull a girl off the street—"
"You do like to talk about that."
"It hasn't happened all that often."
"Often?"
"Ever." He glanced down at her, her long hair still somehow captured in the knot she always wore, not quite prepared to escape for the day. "I haven't really met a girl with her head so far up in the clouds."
"Is that really such a bad thing?"
"So long as you don't hurt yourself when you're thinking about everything but the road in front of you," Georg said softly as he held her a little closer, a little safer, he decided. I suppose I shouldn't call you that, just how you keep begging me not to. More than ever, I can't think of you as a girl. Not with you always naked and shivering against me, almost burning up, unless you're beneath me with your legs spread for me. God, I can almost smell you when I wake up, you always seem to find your way into my bed—
"I'm not always, but both times you found me after I had spent the afternoon listening to an orchestra. Georg?"
His bedroom with its lumpy mattress and worn table vanished, taking her moans and scent and wonderfully tight body with it. "Hmm?"
"It's you again. We always do this, don't we?"
His gaze returned to the street, more familiar than ever. "You talk like...What?"
"It's me—then you—who doesn't quite know where they are."
"Well, at least we know what to expect." The shadows were longer, now, and behind them, the sun was probably approaching the western horizon for the night. "But it's probably for the best that I've nearly got you home."
"Georg?"
"Yes, darling?"
She wasn't quite so unnerved, hearing him call her that throughout the afternoon. It was only a word—and he was only a man, wasn't he? And I'm only a girl—I understand I am, even if I don't want to be treated like one. She almost flicked her eyes up at him.I can't.But she was always wondering…
I know I don't know how I want you to talk to me, even if I always—act like I do. Just, sometimes, I feel I never quite had the chance to enjoy being a girl, between my father always seeming to want me to grow up before I was ready and...I know how my uncle looked at me. But...I remember when you called me that at first. It must have been that last day before you had to leave again. I feel you come and go so often, and it's always something that you're never that happy about. I've told you so—I know I have. But I don't think I could have quite heard you say it that day, I don't think I would have been ready, not when I hadn't quite let myself imagine—
"Just like you said, Maria, it was your turn to vanish."
She swallowed, hoping Georg hadn't heard the hitch in her breath that she had felt in her chest. "Why did...you want to take me to the market today?"
Georg dragged her harder against him, pulling them to a stop. "Not quite what I was expecting you to ask."
"Can't I?"
"Whether I care or not has never stopped you."
"It could have been anything—anywhere in Salzburg, I would have wanted to be there with you." It was there again, the rasp in her breathing, and he must have heard it this time.
His hand slid along her arm, down past her elbow and to her waist, twisting her to face him. Her eyes were wide, bright and clear, staring straight at him. "Yes, I'm quite certain of that by now—"
"But why?"
Her mouth was quivering even with just those simple words, as though she was suddenly nervous. I don't understand why you would suddenly be nervous now, darling, he thought, his heart racing for a few beats.Not after you fairly demanded I become a part of your life."I asked you why you hadn't and you said you hadn't had the time, that you know the shops. I think it's a little more. You don't always talk about it, Maria, but your world isn't very large—it never has been. It's why you wouldn't let me walk away, wasn't it? Someone who had seen more of the world."
Maria nodded, her gaze never wavering even as the few locks of shorter hair that had managed to escape from the knot at the back of her head bouncing against her cheeks. "You love life, don't you, Maria, no matter how much you probably worry about the next one."
"You shouldn't say that—"
"So not a love, but a passion for life. And you don't quite have the time or the money to experience any of it—and certainly neither before you left Vienna, you sound like you weren't very happy there. For the cost of my evening and what I am sure were a few of the last of those schillings I gave you, I would like to see you taste it a little more often."
"Cost of your evening? What is that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing, darling. But you would be at home marking papers—"
"But that isn't what you said." Why won't you tell me, Georg, it must be part of that unhappiness you never seem to escape.
"Hmm?"
"You said the cost of your evening. What would you be doing, if you weren't here with me?"
"Trying not to remember."
"Remember? Remember what?"
Christ, how had she worked her way under his skin so utterly—so completely. And so quickly! But she really was so tempting, peering up at him. "Don't ask me—"
"Is something wrong?"
"No, love, but if I told you...Everything would be different."
You called me that earlier—I heard it, and I don't know if you thought I actually did, Maria thought, that heat in her stomach suddenly roiling again. She had learned how to almost enjoy the little daydreams that came with it, the little flashes what it might be like: not just his arm around her shoulders earlier or her waist now , his fingers in hers, but his mouth on hers. Sometimes, she couldn't decide whether the guilt would be enough to deter her, that first moment of need had overwhelmed her so suddenly. But to feel it again here, far from the safety of her tiny world, it was almost shameful.I think God would see it, but..."No it wouldn't," she managed.
Georg's arm dropped from her waist, and he nodded her on, leaving her to hurry and catch his longer strides. "You can't know that."
"Of course not if you won't tell me!"
And what would you think? Georg thought, her little breaths vanishing for a second, though she was soon at his side again, her hand was brushing against his. Like she was reaching out for him again. Would you think so differently, darling? I doubt you would stand my hand in yours. It was so close, both to the front door to her boarding house that he had never quite seen, always tearing himself away from her a little earlier and his own empty flat, just a few blocks farther along the way. No children and no memories, just new dreams that would scandalize you. I doubt you would forgive me, darling, holding them so far away while I would gladly have you in my world.
"Georg?"
"Yes?"
"I don't think—" She stopped, suddenly wrapping her arms around her stomach. The burn was even stronger, now. I don't know what is so hard that you're hiding, or hiding from.
"What?"
"I don't think it would be any different for me."
"You don't?"
She shook her head, peeling one of her arms from her open coat, her hand searching for his again. Her fingers were always so soft whenever he was able to weave them together with his own, though now cooler in the fading afternoon sun. If I did wrap myself up with you like that—and I don't think you would resist if I told you quite everything I want from you—I don't think it would be very long before your belly began to swell, and there would certainly be no hiding it. I wouldn't quite be able stop myself—
"See, there you go again!"
"What?"
"You're far away. Where are you?"
Her grasp tightened, and Georg had to swallow down a sudden growl—hide it from her as a rush of arousal flooded his groin, leaving him happy for his coat despite how warm the afternoon had been when it began. "In a world I don't think—I can stand anymore." Which door exactly opened to the building she called home, he didn't know. At least you'll be safe, once you're inside. Between the children I don't want to look at and how you're haunting me, I don't know if I can endure much more of it all. At least Elsa was only a memory, not a sprite or fantasy always waiting for him to come back again.
"It can't be that bad."
"You can't know that."
"I think I know enough—and I know enough of my own unhappiness." She tucked her other hand into her pocket, the little paper sacks rustling against the inner lining. "Here," she said, holding it out to him.
Georg shook his head, disentangling his hand from hers and pushing the bag of biscuits back to her. "I don't care for sugar, Maria—"
"That's not why. You've looked after me, so many times. And you didn't have to. Can't I try to do the same for you?"
"I think you'll do exactly as you please, no matter what. But I think you're home, now, darling."
The familiar streets had melted away from Maria in the fading daylight, her world shrunk down to Georg, hoping once and again for him to finally tell her whatever it was troubling him. "Oh, we are," she murmured as she dropped the bag back into her pocket.
"Saturday, Maria?" She nodded, her mouth ever so slightly open. So tempting, Maria. "Four?" Another nod, and she didn't move as Georg took a step toward her, almost all of the space between them disappearing, hardly enough for a light breeze to ruffle their coats. "I suspect I'll need to see that you won't fall over from not eating—"
"It's only happened then—"
"And I don't ever want to see it happen again, love." His hand on one side of her face, Georg drew her a little closer, his mouth lingering against her cheek a little longer than a few days before, a faint sigh breaking from her lips. I truly don't think you could stand to hear it, Maria, all the things I would happily share with you if you would let me and I didn't worry what you would think. "But goodnight for now, Maria."
"Now?"
"You know what I mean," he whispered, his thumb brushing her lips. Her breathing was harsher, and beneath her coat, her breasts were surely rising and falling faster. I'll see you as soon as I close my eyes tonight, and I think it will be about the same for you, he thought, already rustling about for a cigarette and his lighter in his pocket. Even if it was only a few more short blocks to his flat—larger in size, but certainly barren of memories unlike Maria's—the certainty of what he would see when his eyes closed, even if just as the brandy burned his throat—
Maria wrapped her hand around his wrist, catching him before he had his fingers in his pocket. Tighter than she had ever clutched at his the whole afternoon. He narrowed his eyes. "What is it?"
"Just—please don't, Georg."
"You aren't the first person to tell me that." He couldn't think her name, not right now, not with her. He didn't know if he could stand to imagine the long dark rivers of hair, not when such a willing one—light, curly—was standing before him.
"It's been such a lovely afternoon."
"You don't know what that word means, Maria."
"I do—"
"No, you don't." His gaze couldn't resist drifting along the faint curves of her chest—the small breasts beneath—and her drawn waist and hips. She had to see his eyes wandering down her body, and surely the hunger was plain and naked. "It's never bothered you before," he whispered, needing to forget what waited in his imagination the moment he walked away. "A cigarette."
"But not tonight." She still hadn't released his wrist, only working her way down to his palm and fingers again, her own gaze falling down to their palms, now clasped so tightly, it might be his fingers left white and numb. "I want to remember...everything just the way it's been."
"Everything?"
She nodded faintly, hardly moving those loose strands of hair. "That's what I said."
"You mean me as well?"
Finally looking at his face again, her mouth was a little agape, like she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. "Yes."
He'd hardly heard her over the last pedestrians eager to be inside, away from the approaching twilight. Even though his fingertips were already tingling, Georg didn't fight against her hold, only pulling her with him, toward some worn brick or stone wall, he couldn't tell in the fading sunlight. "Well, Maria, you may as well know I am a man of many vices, not just cigarettes. I was a sailor. You said so yourself."
"What sort of…" Maria's breath caught in her chest. If she took a deep breath—she didn't think she could—she would feel him against her, the muscles she had scarcely dared imagine no doubt dulled by his shirt and suit coat and jacket.What would—"What sort of vices?" No, she couldn't even let herself think it, not here with him. Oh, I think I know what you're about to say.
"You won't let me alone until I tell you, will you?"
He had to be closer, even though another step would almost leave one of his shined shoes between her scratched boots. "You should know me well enough by now," she whispered. And even closer, she smelled the last cigarette from their afternoon flooding her nostrils.
"Just so."
I can't, Maria, not anymore. You're entirely too much—too tempting. He folded his hand around her chin, his fingers and thumbs along her cheeks—pulled her closer, the fading stream of men and women walking here and there suddenly a vile annoyance. He didn't even really hear them anymore, not even an from the corner and stone wall he had tucked them against. The blood pounded in his ear like he was a young man again, the girl attracting his desperate need peering up at him. Resisting a selfish need to crush her against the stone like he would the moment...if she was in his bed, Georg pulled her even closer instead, another rush of her breath on his cheek. God, if she hadn't stopped him from a cigarette, he wouldn't smell the sugar and nuts from those biscuits she had slowly eaten as the market disappeared or the little scents that always clung to her. I don't think I would be able to taste you as well, either, he thought, struggling to ignore his rising own heart rate.
His lips brushed against hers, dry and almost a little chapped, opening for a moment as he felt her breathe against him again. Just a moment to draw back, and then Georg pressed his mouth fully to hers, gently biting at her bottom lip with his, no longer dry as he heard her first tiny gasp, muffled against him. Her skin was so soft, almost slipping away until his teeth caught her lip, opening her mouth more and releasing a little gasp he needed to hear again.
Maria closed her eyes. He was too much—too close—to look at. If she had to see his bright blue eyes—still shining even in the dying day—and the faint lines on his cheeks that another girl might mind and worry over. And if she had to see him as the burn in her stomach threatened to settle down properly between her legs— Oh, I don't think I could stand it.
He had to breathe, releasing her mouth but holding her face even tighter. Her eyes finally opened as she licked her lips, almost as though she wanted to taste him as desperately as he needed to taste all of her, starting with all he could reach at the moment. "Do you understand, now?"
"Georg..."
"I fear you might be becoming one of them."
"Is that a—bad thing?" she murmured—and there went her heart again, pounding against her ribs. Why couldn't I keep my thoughts to myself just this once? Georg already seems to read my mind when it's earlier in the day—I don't need to help him when it's starting to turn dark—
Somehow, he had her flush against him, both hands flat against her back, suddenly harsh and firm where throughout the afternoon, his touch had been gentle, almost playful. But their teasing back and forth throughout much of their time at the market—laughing a little at one another when the world world melted into thoughts unknown—was gone, and instead his body was rough and hard, her breasts and hips almost aching.
His mouth was buried in her neck, open and warm on the curve left exposed by her hair still in its knot from her day in her classroom. "I...we can't—" But her arms were already around his back, hands tangled in his hair. She raised her head, opening the swell of her collarbone to him; rolling her shoulder against the stone behind her, she hoped to tug her coat to the side, not quite able to simply push it aside and offer him...She couldn't, she just couldn't: she couldn't let her fingers escape his hair, she didn't know the next time she would feel it, coarse and dark and rough. And more than that, he couldn't know—she didn't quite know herself what waited just after the end of her dreams, but if he was to ever…
"Oh, I do want to know," she hissed, a fresh rush of pleasure burning hotter than ever between her legs. She pushed herself harder against his coat, desperate for another breath of those cigarettes and all the other smells that always followed him—and if he ground one of his hands against her breasts, she didn't think she would be able to beg him to stop. I think I would beg you for more, she thought, his hand catching the small of her back as almost collapsed into the wall.
"Do you?" He had tried—truly tried—but he had her against the brick. Unable to move as she wouldn't be able to if...My body would be enough to hold you still. But I don't think you would want to squirm away.
Maria didn't even hear him, only felt him whispering against her neck. But he must know! she thought, gasping as a sudden ache cut through her back and bottom. Even the very back of her head, her entire body now flat against the rough stone, nothing to really cushion her against the sharpest bricks, and the pain in her breasts from the weight of his body was even worse. She nodded against his coat, the thick fabric certainly leaving a red mark along her cheek, scraped it along the houndstooth. "You can't let me go, but we...we can't." If you don't, I think I will find out always comes after the end of my dreams.
This wasn't the place, Georg knew, ravishing her neck—seeing her struggle to reveal more of herself to him—hoping more than anything that she didn't feel his growing erection through the layers of clothes that must lie beneath her long coat. At least the evening chill would destroy it as he walked away slowly. "Someday, darling," he murmured, a kiss to her jaw before he stepped back. Left open through the warmer afternoon—the growing cold ignored as he held her against him—her coat lay askew, the buttons misaligned, the back probably with a few dusty bits of brick or mortar to brush away. Likely wrinkles in the folds of her dress that might have to be explained to her classroom if she had students that curious. And certainly a few bruises on her back: her buttocks and shoulders, he had borne down on her so suddenly. Perhaps even a mark on her neck that would leave her needing wear her hair in the long plait he had seen her with that very first evening.
"You best get inside, Maria. Much more of that—" She had her lapels in her hands again—on her toes in her boots to reach up from the cobblestone—and her mouth pressed to his, gentler and nearly clumsy. You really don't know anything, he thought, pushing her jaw up to keep her against him for a second longer until the pressure on her feet saw her fall away. No blush in her cheeks, Georg knew that, even though her pale face was hardly visible in gloom. "I'll have to find out just how much of a vice you are." She turned away, though a hand on her shoulder brought her back. "You see, you do understand."
I'm not sure, she thought. And I don't know if I should go…"What of Saturday?" she whispered. Surely he couldn't want to see her, not after…"I don't know what you might think of me now."
"Just what I said, darling, you have a passion for life. But not that art gallery."
Maria let go of a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, reaching down for his hand again. After...everything they had just shared in these last hours—and especially the last minutes—it seemed wrong to wait even that long for just one more touch, one more moment. "No?"
"It can wait, if you would like…" Georg didn't know if he was hoping she would say yes as he folded his arm into her elbow again, pulling her along the last little way along the block. From what Max had written, it was one of the newer, stranger forms of art they might like in Vienna, but perhaps not Salzburg, anywhere that seemed a little slower, a little quieter. "I've seen and heard plenty of your world, darling. Perhaps I'd like to show you some of mine?"
"But you never seem to want to talk about so much of it," Maria said. She wanted to lean into him, press her face back into his shoulder and the warmth she felt through his coat. But she let him walk her along the last few feet to her boarding house instead. She couldn't see how much more there was until she saw the front door. "And we're nowhere near the ocean, at least anymore." It can't be that far—I don't think I could stand being with you that long, not without...Please, Father, don't let him hear my heart racing.
"I know that very well." At least you think that's all it is, darling, everything from me. I don't think I could see you again if you knew, you're a little too good for me. "But I told you, there are more than enough lakes near Salzburg, more than those rivers or streams you said you remember."
"What?"
He had felt her holding back from him, her steps deliberately a little farther from him than they had been throughout the afternoon. Georg steered his own toward hers. "It's only a day in your life, Maria, and I thought you wanted to see more of the world."
"But aren't there lakes in Salzburg—I told you I haven't seen all of it—"
"Or are you frightened?" Georg pulled her right against him, to a stop.
There was her heart again, pounding harder. "Of you? No—"
"In spite of what you do to me, darling, I'm not the one you're worried about, are you?"
Maria shook her arm away from his, her eyes down to the ground to search for any stones, her hurrying feet more likely than ever to catch on a rough stone set higher than she expected. I didn't do a thing, she thought. Or if I did, I didn't know it! I don't know what I can do to stop it, even if I don't want it. And what you just did...But I know I didn't resist it, how could I resist you for an entire day?
"And in the light of day, I don't think you need to worry about yourself, either. Eight Saturday morning?"
She was going to say yes, Maria already knew that as she didn't resist his arm around her waist. "You have a car?"
"Didn't I tell you the navy was rather good to me?"
"But you always seem to walk everywhere." She saw the door to her home, dark and chipped in places by the comings and goings of hundreds of men and women over the years. All with their tales of loneliness, she thought. "Just here, Georg." At least inside, I'll be safe from...myself.
"It's a bit of freedom, being out in the open under the sky." Thank God he had exchanged the fancier convertible for the more battered, plainer car used by the household to run errands and see to the edges of the estate. You might ask even more questions. "And…" His hand rose from her waist up her side, the shudder deep in her body impossible to miss. "Perhaps I wouldn't have met you."
Her eyes were glassy, almost confused like she'd had an entire bottle of champagne, drunk from a single tumbler. "Yes," she rasped.
"So, Saturday? Just here?" She nodded. "Good. Until then, you're lovely." He pressed his mouth to her cheek again, the warmth blooming against her skin.
"Georg?"
"Don't you have a classroom to worry about?" He was already reaching into his pocket, certainly for that cigarette and lighter.
"Yes, but…"
"And I think it's time for me to truly say goodnight, darling." He pushed her toward the door. "I'm sure you have enough to look after."
He didn't say anything else before he began down the street, not even looking back at her. He had already met the flick of the lighter to his cigarette, a first gulp of smoke burning his lungs as he soothed his nerves. Saturday, Maria, he thought, the next block appearing. I won't really be able to leave you alone much longer and maybe...If I'm remembering the sea—everything that waited home for me when the shores disappeared, I'll be a little wiser about it.
Maria hurried up the stairs a little quicker than she had the evening before, though not so fast as the days before. Though she had fairly run up them on Sunday and had hardly pulled the front door closed behind her on Monday before she did the same—not venturing out again until she hadn't heard a sound in the hall for nearly an hour despite the hunger churning in her stomach—the last days, her pace had slowed. She hadn't seen him since that last moment when she fled the kitchen. Maybe he's finally decided to leave me alone, she thought. Wrenching open the door to her small room, she slumped back against the door.
Everything was exactly as it had been the latch clicked behind her as she left in the morning, her stack of yesterday's marked papers and notebook of lesson plans on her shoulder, though she didn't have anything to take them in. Her guitar propped against the wardrobe, one door slightly ajar, and most of her father's books stacked on her desk; his watch and the increasingly tattered collection of fairy tales next to the lamp that occasionally flickered when the power lines outside swung in the wind; one of her neighbors said it might become worse as the summer wore on. Her bed, sloppily made as it usually was these days in her hurry to catch the bus she wanted, not just the one she managed, to avoid another late arrival to her classroom.
Maria bent down, tugged at the laces of her shoes, peeling their tongues away one by one and sliding them from her feet. "At least it's dry, tonight, and I won't have to worry about them warping the floor even more." Her thick socks caught on a few of the board slivers that occasionally snagged her bare feet, even just as they came back onto the floor. She needed to strip them away as soon as she could, her feet still sweaty after the day.
"But nothing feels the same," she murmured, her arms tight over her belly. "I almost don't remember...I don't remember who left, this morning." Lifting her right hand, she touched it to her mouth, a few of her fingers settling between her lips. "It was so warm, I...I hadn't expected it. And...I still don't understand." Her failing bun fell back against her neck. "Oh." She couldn't finish, her first steps across the old floorboards small, almost muddled as she danced around the worst of the wooden boards.
Maria dropped onto her bed, cringing as she heard the old mattress creak under her bottom. Bending forward, she twisted her fingers together, just on her knees. "Nothing feels the same. I thought I would be safe, here, but…" She drew a deep breath, his hand suddenly around her waist again: tight and certain, holding her against him. "Oh, Father, I didn't really want this, everything I know I shouldn't want. I just wanted to talk to someone who knew more than I did. Who had seen more than I did, just like...I didn't do anything wrong—I know I didn't, I just…"
"You really think he doesn't want anything from you?"
Maria ground her fingers against her eyelids, the black subsumed by the little swirls of white and pink and green, pulsing against the darkness. But I can't change what he does, only what I…
"It's not that," she whispered, her hands on her knees. "Is it so wrong, to just want something in my life? I've never had any...anyone like that. And isn't it all so simple? So...ordinary?" She reached for her hair, huffing when there was no chunk of gentle curls for her finger to catch.* "And I just think it would be…" She smiled. "I think it would be so lovely, but...Oh, I suppose I don't really know." Her smile was gone. "I don't even know what it would look like, how it would feel."
There wasn't that much time left this evening, Maria knew that. She had fairly fled her classroom the moment her students were gone, so eager to catch the bus just outside that she had left everything on her desk. Her papers were in a messy stack, her pencils scattered at the front edge where her students would probably see. Even her worn bag was still hanging from the back of the chair at her desk. I'll have to be so early, tomorrow, she thought as she stood, stretching one arm over her head. I was just so...so happy at the thought of seeing you again, Georg, I didn't even think to pack them in my bag—or even take it. She giggled as her arm came back down. "I guess you're distracting me a little too much. They won't be that surprised when they hear."
It would have to be an early morning, she decided as she finally slipped her winter coat from her shoulders. If the weather continued to change and turn as it had recently, she wouldn't need it for much longer, maybe just another week or so. She tossed it onto her bed, hanging it her wardrobe could wait for a few minutes. Can't I have that much?
There was no water glass on the edge of her sink, but she needed it, her mouth was too dry. She hadn't had a glass of water since lunch. Stepping around the noisiest floorboards, Maria made her way into the only room to the side of her bedroom. Twisting the cold tap open, she thrust her hands beneath the water, bringing her palms filled with water to her mouth when they were filled, gulping it down once, then a second time.
Shaking off the last drips of water, Maria looked up at her face in the mirror—then shook it, looked away. You always tell me that I'm lovely, but I...Her eyes came up again—then down—away from the little circles under her eyes. And I know it will only be worse tomorrow. I didn't even bring them home.
Maria splashed yet another handful of water across her face. But it won't be so bad, really. I know the plans I wrote for tomorrow, they'll be working on their civics papers while I mark their older ones. She reached for the towel hanging from the rod; she would have to throw it in the bathtub with her dresses tonight. But I still have to look to myself tonight, I know that. She wiped a few drops of water from her her neck.
I still don't quite know, she thought, her fingers already pulling at the bun at the base of her skull, pulling all over faint curls loose and wild. Only a moment to tie it back again as she didn't bother to tidy the papers had handed in as they filed through the door, finally ready to be home. Even on a Sunday after mass, it was all ending well before she and Georg finally parted ways. Georg…She pressed her fingers to her lips; beneath even her own skin, Maria thought she could still feel the warmth of his mouth. "I'll have to find out just how much of a vice you are." Her hand wandered down to the curve of her neck, almost ravished by him only a few minutes before. What...what are we?
She hadn't quite let herself ask the question until earlier today, Now, really. Perhaps I should have. It was a question that needed an answer, especially...The afternoons wandering in the gardens—the streets of Salzburg—through the market, even that apologetic meal shared in a quaint café she had never seen before. It was the men and women they sometimes passed, wrapped in their own worlds: talking and whispering, arm in arm, sometimes hand in hand. Just like us, more and more. And now...The way Georg had looked at her on the street, urging her inside—away from him and his ravenous gaze. God forgive me.
Maria dragged her dress from her shoulders, folding her face forward to bring it over her head. Well, at least I won't have to wear this one tomorrow, Maria thought, shaking some dust from the back and the bottom hem. She usually undressed in her room, not here, but it really didn't matter, after all. It's just what I'm used to, she thought as she rolled her head, something cracking in her neck.There's no one here to...She giggled again, the smell of Georg's hair against her face suddenly filling her nostrils again. Oh, maybe I'm just wrong. And…
Maria shook her head, wandering back into her bedroom and tossing her frock onto her bed for the moment beside her coat, probably adding a fresh wrinkle to look after when she finally laundered her dresses later. I'm glad I have one more, though I suppose I'll have to look after it for Saturday. There was the burn in her belly again, her mind back on the street once more. Oh, what have I gotten myself into?
She didn't suppose she knew, Maria allowed, now peeling away her greying chemise—it joined its companions—leaving her in only her underwear and the worn brassiere that hung a little less loosely than her first weeks in Salzburg. I suppose you'll like...She shoved her thumb between her teeth, biting hard against her nail. I shouldn't do that, I know Mother would tell me that. Her back was suddenly straighter. Well, I know she wouldn't like many things. But I think she would...but I can't change what I said, now.
In nothing but her undergarments, Maria hurried back into her washroom, spinning the knobs in her shower and pulling the valve up. How long will it take for hot water tonight? she wondered, her fingers caught at the very ends of her long hair. It was already ragged again, ready for another attack from the same scissors she used when she cut the fabric for her dresses. It's probably time for me to make another one. Her hand under the spray of water for a moment—the pressure always wavered, she could see it even now—it was still frigid.
"Really, I'll have to go so early tomorrow," she whispered as ran a hand along her back—cringing as it ran over the bumps in her spine. "I was so eager to see you today." Turning back to her sink, Maria pushed her hair from her shoulder and down over her back. "I didn't even think to bring…" She frowned. "I didn't even..."
What? She peered a little closer into the warped mirror over her sink. It wasn't all that much on her neck: small, round, but dark and stark against her pale skin. Right where...She pressed her hands to her cheeks, shaking her head. How can I even leave my room—let anyone see? But I—I can't miss tomorrow. I can't even be late, I know that. She spun around for a second, twisting her head around: twin bruises already growing on the protruding knobs of her shoulder blades. The façade? And one blooming on her backside by the feel of it. "I suppose you were telling me the truth, Georg. If you hadn't almost pushed me through the door and away from you…"
Vices.
Turning back, facing her tiny mirror as a sudden wave of heat burst from her shower, Maria pushed herself onto her toes to stand a little taller, peering at the little curves of her breasts just peeking over the ragged edges of her brassiere. She trailed a finger over the very top, the thin layer of fat giving way to the harsher bone beneath—she shuddered. And then along her waist as she looked down, just over her hips and cotton underwear, across her flat stomach. She bit on her lip—hard—a long breath rushing through her nose.
"I know I keep telling you I'm not a girl," she murmured, a hand running along her backside. "I keep telling myself. But...maybe I am. You're right that I look like one." She sighed. "I even told myself that, right before that—that first afternoon when you listened to me ask so many questions. And you..." She reached for the clasps at the back of her brassiere, snapping them apart. The ragged straps fell along her arms, almost lost in the waft of billowing steam suddenly filling the room, a fresh white cloud burying the little room. "Oh it can't be quite right, if you...you say…" She dropped her garment on the top of her toilet, one arm folded across her breast, her other hand clearing a patch of the mist from her mirror, already covered by the constant rush of steam. But she could still see the little circles under her eyes, a relic of the early start of the day. "I haven't seen them on you, though I suppose it's probably one of the things you don't want to talk about, that you don't worry about waking up in the morning. And you said…"
Maria wiped away a patch on the glass, though it immediately fogged again. The line of her jaw was so sharp and harsh, not even her aunt's had ever looked that way. "You said you're over forty, why would you...Why you even want to talk with me? I'm sure you've…" Her hand ran over the little mark again. I told you I read enough stories of sailors when I was younger—even though I think you just laughed, that day. She could still feel his lips against her skin, as though he was ready to devour her, some deep moan rising from his mouth to her ear. And I'm not silly, even if I am so young. There must have been someone for you in so many years, even if there hasn't been for me, at least not...not yet. She tightened her hand about the very base of her neck, another puff of steam billowing from her shower reminding her to hurry. But surely it must just be something so normal. Something that could happen to someone so...ordinary, someone like me.
Maria washed quickly, scraping the foul smelling tallow soap across her skin before she could really notice the scent. Once, she'd had a bar that smelled of lemon, but it was so long ago, she couldn't quite remember. She took a deep breath to clear some of the afternoon's growing cold from her lungs—and quickly coughed against the smell of the fat, twisting beneath the water again to wash every trace from her body. She peered down her body, the water rushing down between her legs. Would—Georg, would you want— She hissed, her soap back on the lip of the washtub. I can't think it. She spun around, the spray of water wavering. It was on the street, everyone saw.
There was only so much time with the hot water—and she had already wasted some of it, her gaze so suddenly caught on her reflection in the mirror—so she ran her hands through her hair as quickly as possible, the shampoo powder hardly having time to dissolve between her fingers, flinching when one hand touched the mark he had left on her neck. I can't...She craned her neck again, almost like she was opening to him, as if…She slid forward, both of her hands bracing her against the tile surrounding her shower. I didn't think of it, Father, I didn't! I didn't want to.
She wrapped herself in one of her larger towels once she was done—tied her hair up with another—already shivering when she stepped from the steamy world of her washroom into her chilly room. I suppose they'll need to be laundered, too.
"What time is it?" she murmured, a trail of damp footsteps forming behind her on the battered floorboards. Grabbing her father's pocket watch, she squinted at the hands ticking beneath the knob. Hardly past seven in the evening. "Well, it might not be the end of the world. I will have to leave so early tomorrow morning to finish everything I should have done tonight."
Maria dropped onto her bed, shoving her pile of clothes from the day a little farther; she had already forgotten about the wet towel wrapped around her entire body until she heard the squelch under her backside, the worn terrycloth already soaked through and probably leaving a mark of its own on her quilt. "I was just so happy to see you, Georg," she whispered, her neck already a little sore from the weight of all her damp hair. "Maybe that's a vice of my own…" She couldn't say it, despite the fact that he had called her that all through the afternoon. Darling.
Why would you even say that, Georg? she thought. The burn wasn't just in her stomach, now, not even just threatening to spread to down between her thighs, something catching ablaze and needing relief she didn't understand. Not even just threatening, not anymore. We get along and I...I adore the time I spend with you. I always want more and more of it, even if I don't quite know why.
Maria shook the towel loose from her head, wet hair tumbling around her bare shoulders as she dropped it to the side, not concerned if it would dampen the dress she still needed for the remainder of the week. Leaning forward, she folded her hands together on her knees. I suppose I mostly do that when I'm praying, when I'm on my knees in church. Peering down, she stretched out her legs as she tightened her arms against the wet towel covering her chest and thighs. A little bruise on one of her toenails—she couldn't remember where it came from, probably trying to trip over her own feet again—small but jet black. I hope you won't be there for too long, I know I'll feel you the next time I trip.
She pulled the towel around her body up along her legs, leaving her calves to dry a little even as she knew she would shiver a little more in the evening air. She couldn't quite resist pinching at her ankle. "Well, maybe you're right, Georg, I am a child, even though I don't want to be. I can't be, at least not right now. You tease me about it, but I can't be like one of my students." An itch rose behind her knee, and Maria shoved a hand down to scratch it, wet nails bending a little, though not so much as they had before, and if it was just another hand learning—
The burn suddenly rose—hotter and sharper than ever in her stomach. Am I really thinking this? she wondered, her fingers running along the soft and pale hair lining her legs, almost opening her temporary dressing gown and dipping between her legs for a moment—darting away at the first shiver of pleasure coursing up her spine. What would it be like...Georg's hands doing that? She bit down on her lip, so hard that she wondered if it would bleed.
She tugged the towel even higher, above her knees and exposing the lowest half of her thighs. The last of the droplets from her shower still glistened, just like...No. Maria bit down on her lip again, curling down into her arms. It can't be that wrong, no matter what you told me, Uncle Josef. I still don't understand what you were always trying to tell me. I don't really want to know why, I suppose.
It was all too hot, a fresh sweat blooming on her skin even in the midst of a late winter evening. Maria peeled the towel from her body, suddenly not caring about the wet hair glued to her shoulders as she lay back against her quilt half atop her clothes from the day, unsure if it was a chill or the last remnants of her shower clinging to her skin. Even through the hot water—the soap she never wanted to buy again—the chemical scent of her shampoo powder—she still remembered the scent of Georg rising up from her neck. I think I should be embarrassed, she thought, folding her arms over her chest—moving them instantly as her nipples hardened in the air. But I don't know if...Rolling over Maria giggled into the pillow, almost ready to pull her now damp quilt over her backside before she shivered.
She folded both arms under her chin, holding her face and hair from her pillow as she hoped to give it a little time to dry before she dragged her comb through the tangles. There was no need to rip out more than she often did. It's not wrong, really, wondering if I...want something from you, just like he said. But the place and the time I...I imagine, I don't think it would be. She couldn't stop herself, a finger searching for her wet hair even though the damp strands and locks wouldn't twirl as she needed.
But if it's what...I think...She rolled over again, her left hand grazing her breast as she reached for her throat, a little hiccup rising. Oh, please don't, she thought, a new shiver rising, something on the outside of her leg, but it couldn't be anything. I can't stand it whenever they happen. I just never know...Another hiccup and higher, now, across her naked waist .
And it was a fresh heat melting her, not just the fire singing her stomach or the hollow her legs, but along her thigh—skating along the outside of her leg through her short fair hair, like...She sat up, her breasts moving against her ribs. Her breaths were coming faster—her heart racing as she peered down along her naked legs. Is this...
Drawing her legs up against her chest—arms around her the rough bones poking through the skin of her knees—Maria shuddered. Her skin was still clammy and the chunks of wet hair against her shoulder. "Why can't...why can't it be tomorrow morning?" she whispered, pulling her legs closer. With no clothes—her nightgown hung in her wardrobe, shoved to the far side when she slipped it on the hanger with hurried fingers this morning as she worried over turning the key to her classroom on time—she didn't understand. Everything was so cold: goose pimples on her upper arms, even on her face. Maria wrapped her hand around her neck again, the sound of his moan in her ear again. I don't know what you would have...would have done.
She pressed her face into her legs, wishing she had reached for her nightgown despite the dampness lingering on her skin. At least it was just arm's length when she finally clamored from her bed. But...at least I wouldn't...The heat down in her belly was still there. Maria shook her head, all the damp hair now stuck to her back. I think this is what you meant, Georg, when you said I was...I was a vice. She scrubbed her forehead against her knee. If I don't open my eyes, maybe I won't see it— No, that was worse, what she imagined his muscles might look like—his chest and arms and legs—laid bare in her mind. And…
I know that's not all of you, I went to college. I do understand what you were saying today, about….She needed another breath as she opened her eyes, to quell the rush of heat down her body, fighting to keep her hands knotted together. One would be down between her legs if she wasn't careful, wouldn't her fingers stop the...the burning. She couldn't help it, Maria suddenly felt, her right hand tearing away and diving between the top of her thighs, forcing its way through the mess of her knotted limbs. Her fingers slid about—Nothing else is so wet right now, why is this? And it feels so sticky and hot.—one or two rising against—
Maria moaned; it ached, whatever it was—she couldn't make it go away. Are they going to hear? she wondered, her fingers refusing to fall still as some shiver of pleasure rose up along her back. They moved again, one scrape sending her head back into her pillow as she suddenly needed to breathe. No, I can't. She yanked her hand up—stretched out on her bed, first on one side, then she turned onto the other.
Vices. I know why you said it...She shuddered, fingers clenched even tighter this time. She wouldn't, not again. Is this what it would it would feel like. The heat was burning again, just like her face. If you saw what I just did, Georg...Is this what it would like when….She pushed her face harder into her knees, hating how bare she felt without her nightgown, just her towels and discarded clothes beside her, the smell of her soap still surrounding her. I'm not silly, Georg.
She took yet another deep breath, still almost convinced that she felt a hand along her side, the goose pimples rising just like when her aunt tickled her when she tucked her into bed those evenings her uncle was caught at his office late, not able to complain about coddling a little girl. No, it wasn't anything, she knew that as she closed her eyes, clenching them hard as the bit down on her lips, dry again now that the steam from her shower had completely faded. Stretching her legs out along her scratchy sheets, there was a strange ache in every muscle as she curled down into her bed, struggling to find her quilt. I can't, not like this, she told herself. Maria pulled everything closer. She needed her nightgown...Everything was too scratchy and too cold even as she wondered if she was about to begin sweating. I can't, not for much longer. It can only be a few minutes before it goes. If I just don't—
She moaned again; even her legs clenched together stoked the fire, the shudders harsher each time one came.
She tugged the quilt up, though she couldn't stand the thought of the heat. Is this what it would be like? Her damp fingers twisted into her blankets, otherwise she knew her hand would be reaching out for...Making...Her hand would be down between her legs again, desperate for it to go away before it burned her up, she couldn't even think of it, her legs suddenly crushed so hard against her chest that her breasts hurt. "Making…" Even harder now, so strong she felt the air go from her lungs. "Making love to you."
Hearing it bounce back from the walls was even worse, Maria knew, almost nauseous as she threw everything aside in her haste to scramble from her bed, quilt and sheet catching on the table. She felt the floorboards scratch at her knees as she landed beside her bed, refusing to look down at her naked body as her fingers danced over her chest in the familiar motions to form the cross.** Her forehead, the center of her chest, the top of one breast and then...Her hand fell lower. Would you, Georg— Oh, why was she even wondering, Maria knew as she folded her hands together, dropping back onto her feet as she felt his hand ghosting over her backside. Pinching, stroking, teasing, ready to dive down between...Just like I...Please stop.
She was on her knees for quarter of an hour, murmuring to God again and again that she hadnt meant it, begging forgiveness the whole time before she opened her wardrobe and found her nightgown, crawling into her bed again. "God shouldn't see your backside, Maria," she heard her foster mother whispering that at her again as she told her to pull her wrinkled skirt down.
"But I had to tell Him, I couldn't wait...I couldn't keep it from Him." She pulled her quilt tighter than ever, right up to her neck and closer than even through the harshest winter nights. She would be sweating in an hour or so, but it couldn't matter. I can't have you here.
Her little dreams still didn't stop—didn't relieve the tautness along her body—and she found herself back on her knees for another spell—she lost track of the time as her stomach churned—hoping her whispered prayers weren't just hitting her sheets, bouncing back to her ears.
"Please."
"I don't want to, to think about…"
"I can't."
"I wouldn't."
"But is it really—"
"No, Father, I didn't start to say that, I know what You would tell me."
Another quick mark of the cross on her chest, her fingers nowhere near where...Her nipples prickled, just remembering how they felt a few minutes earlier before she clamored out of bed. And wouldn't it...wouldn't it be lovely? Lovely to...I don't even know what it would be like, but...It still burned between her legs, wanted her fingers— No, I can't even think it.
Maria pressed her forehead into her folded hands, fingernails already cutting into the skin as she clenched her hands even tighter. "Oh, help."
* I don't know if this is more of a universal thing, but the hair twirling thing is a thing amongst about half the women in my mother's family. Half of us do it to varying degrees without realizing it, the other half have no idea what we're talking about. It's clearly not learned behavior, one of the gals who does it was an army brat who constantly moved around the Midwest through her young years rather than remaining in the fabulous locale that is southwest Ohio. (Her father is the biological member of the family, and no man understands/has enough hair to do it.) Stressed, bored, worried...there's a finger snagged in the hair. I know I've made this a behavior of Maria's in this story, that's where it comes from.
** Can't remember if I've mentioned it before, but I am not Catholic, I am Catholic adjacent in the sense that my father's family is Catholic to varying degrees of observance. Personally, I think they won this part of the stupid stupid dumb dumb game that is religion. I maintain to this day that Catholic guilt is nothing in comparison to evangelical Christian guilt. But just get out ASAP, kids, there's a much happier world outside.
A/N: Thanks to Andrea1984 for information on the market in Salzburg, hoping I didn't mangle it...too much! (I know I shifted the weekly timing.) Also, this is just my theory for this story as to how Max became Uncle Max. I know popular opinion seems to be that he and Georg met in the navy, that has never quite worked in my brain; I can't imagine Max ever letting himself become that uncomfortable. Also, part of the washroom scene with Maria was visually inspired by a scene from Disfigured, one of my favorite films. And not without its problems.
I had a conversation with at least one person after posting the last chapter, maybe more, regarding Georg's fascination with Maria being so small, and I don't think I answered the question well. In my mind, it's a part of the contrast between Maria and Agathe, and he needs to focus on everything about Maria that isn't similar to his recently deceased wife. She had seven children, that does things to your body. There's a little discussion around that in chapter 3; I'm constantly going back and forth to make sure there are no continuity errors. I have several small ones I still need to correct, they bother me like having multiple open things in the fridge at work, I will die on these hills. And, yes, that was Maria struggling not to masturbate for the first time in her life as she's finally letting her mind follow her body's urges and finally begin to imagine what it would be like to have sex with Georg. I think she still doesn't quite understand what she's wanting and wouldn't really have the words for it, especially the former. (She's gone to college and knows how babies are born, but knowing the terminology and physiology isn't enough to properly know.) Sex is an incredibly normal human desire, even if you've had religion piled on you since birth.