Along the Infinite Sea: Love, friendship and heartbreak, the perfect summer read
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“Please don’t stop. I’ll die if you stop.”
He muttered something in German and fumbled with his trousers and lowered himself over me, so that his forearms touched my shoulders and he arched above my ribs. I felt his legs settle between mine, pushing me apart while the grass prickled my spine. I loved his breath, the tobacco smell of him.
“Put your arms around me, Annabelle,” he said, and I pressed my palms against the back of his sunburned neck. He reached down with one hand and bent my knee upward, and I thought, My God, what have I done? He said, with his hand still on my raised knee, Are you sure, Annabelle, are you sure you want this? and I nodded my head once, because even when you looked down from the heights to measure the distance to the surface, and the terror turned your limbs to water, you knew you had to dive, you had no choice except to jump. And as I nodded, I lifted my other knee because I thought I’d be damned if I didn’t jump in with both feet. Stefan’s eyes went opaque. He sank his belly down to mine and said my name as he pushed into me, just my name—twice, a cry that was more like a groan, Annabelle, Annabelle—but I, Annabelle, had no air in my lungs to say anything at all, no way of telling him what I felt, the splitting apart, the roar of panic smothered by the gargantuan joy of possession.
He lay buried and still, breathing hard, and I thought, so dizzy I was almost sick, So that’s it, it’s over, we’ve made love, but then he moved again and I cried out, and he stopped and kissed me and said my name again, stroking my hair. Open your eyes, he said, but I couldn’t. He moved again, kissing me as he went, and the sickness undulated into something else, a collusion between us, his skin on my hands, the roughness of his breath. I opened my eyes and thought, My God, this is it, now we are making love.
2.
We lay submerged for ages, while the morning went on without us. I had no will to move, no idea what movement was. At some point I opened my eyes and found the slow crump of my heartbeat against Stefan’s ribs. He was beautifully heavy, pinning us to the earth, and in my bemusement I thought he had fallen asleep. The tiny green leaves rustled above us, as if nothing had happened, nothing had changed at all. I watched them move, watched the patient blue sky beyond them, the wisps of dark hair near my eyes. Stefan’s neck was smooth and damp beneath my fingers. Between my legs, I was shocked and stretched and aching, and I did not want it to stop, I wanted this abundance to continue forever.
When he spoke, the softness of his voice stunned me.
“Gott im Himmel. Annabelle. I did not expect that.”
“It was unexpected and beautiful.”
“Everything about you has been unexpected and beautiful.” He pushed back my hair, which had come loose across my face. “Look at you. What a brute I am.”
“I didn’t give you a choice.”
“A man has always the choice. Did I hurt you?”
“No, no.”
“Yes, I did. I hurt you. I tried to be gentle, but I have never done that before, been with an innocent.”
“Never? Really?”
“Never. And I can’t seem to regret it. A cad as well as a brute.” He kissed my lips, rose up on his hands, and lifted himself carefully away. He gazed back at me and his face was deep with remorse. I sat up and laid my bold palms against his cheeks. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want to take it all back.”
“No, never. It’s done now. We’re in God’s hands.”
“Listen to you. A moment ago you were offering me a villa by the sea and a shameless apartment in Paris.”
“Because I did not think you would be so foolish as to accept. I thought you would slap me as I deserved and stalk back to your father’s house.”
“But I’m unexpected.”
“Unexpected and beautiful.” He pulled my hands from his face and kissed each one, and he drew me into his chest and settled us in the grass. I lay bare and marveling in the curve of his body, thinking, My God, we are lovers now, we have actually made love together.
The silence stretched out lazily. I said, “I’ve shocked you, haven’t I?”
He laughed. “You have shocked and delighted me beyond words. But I must think a little. I must think what is to be done now.”
“You mentioned a villa.”
“Yes, I did. But this villa is something of a dream, and there is a reality to be considered first.” He shifted me on his chest and reached for his jacket, and this time he drew out his cigarettes and lit one briskly with his gold lighter. “Do you know what I have been thinking about, this past week?”
“I know I’ve spent the past week wishing that I did.”
“I have been thinking how I have arranged my life in a certain way, according to certain principles, and a rather arrogant belief that this was what God intended of me, and he would therefore overlook any little sins I might commit. And I have been wondering whether perhaps God has intended something entirely different, or if he has merely decided he should punish me after all.”
“Is this one of those little sins?”
“Yes, I suppose it is, according to the covenant. But I don’t regret it, I will never regret this moment. I am only pondering the path now before us.” He lay there, smoking quietly with one hand and holding me to his chest with the other. “You are a great complication, you know,” he said solemnly, after a moment.
“Am I?”
“A tremendous complication. So I suppose, before I ponder this matter any longer, I should humble myself to ask you what you want. What path you imagine for us. Since I find myself bound to you, by the pint of your blood that communicates in my veins, and now by honor, so therefore I am your servant on earth.”
This time, it was my turn to laugh. “I love your chivalry. You talk like a man from a hundred years ago.”
“Hmm. Yes. And what is your plan for this ancient servant you have brought under your command?”
“Well. I like the sound of this villa of yours, with the olives and the grapes.” I paused, because I had left something out, and I wanted to see if he would supply the word for me. But he said nothing, and I went on: “And then there’s that talk about Paris, and by a strange coincidence, I was just thinking this morning that an apartment in Montparnasse might be the very thing for me.”
“Montparnasse! Annabelle in Montparnasse?”
“Yes. Why not? It’s crammed with Americans and art. It’s the most interesting place in the world right now. I could live in some grubby little room above a café and teach the cello to the daughters of the bourgeoisie.”
“You realize that in Montparnasse, you will be expected to take a new lover every night, as a matter of course?”
“Ah, but I’m unexpected, remember? I think I’ll be happy with just the one.”
“I see. I suppose, so long as this lover is me, I cannot object.”
“Yes, this lover would be you.” I rolled over and propped my chin on my hands, atop his chest, between the white sides of his unbuttoned shirt. Stefan stubbed out his cigarette in the grass and cupped his hands around the backs of my bare shoulders. I felt suddenly daring and desirable, like somebody’s mistress. I said, “What do you think of my path, Herr Silverman? Would you like to travel it with me?”
He kissed me. The smoke was returning to his eyes. He kissed me again, a little harder. “This is your path. This is what you want of me.”
“Only if you want it, too.”
He studied me, kissed me, and then studied me again, as if the kiss might have made a difference. “All right, then. All right, Mademoiselle de Créouville. I will see what I can arrange. I will take care of everything for us. But come. The tide will be turning soon. I must be off.” He reached for my blouse and helped me into it.
“The tide?”
“Yes, the tide. I have left the tender at the Hôtel du Cap.”
“But where are you going?”
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