“What?” she asked. “You don’t agree?”
“I wasn’t thinking about that,” he said.
She fingered her napkin, suddenly self-conscious. “What were you thinking?”
He met her eyes. “I was thinking how beautiful you are.”
Zoe sat back in her chair, surprised by how much his words moved her. Suddenly, she lost all interest in conversation. She wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything in her life. She sipped her wine impatiently and watched him clean his plate. She had the leftover half of a chocolate cake Carol had baked in the refrigerator, but she decided not to mention it.
“I have a surprise for you,” she said, standing up.
“What is it?”
“You’ll see,” she said.
She led him through the darkened house to her bedroom, her skin tingling with anticipation. She threw aside the mosquito net and took his hand, drawing him onto the bed. He lay beside her and their lips met. She pushed him onto his back and straddled him, beginning to unbutton the sweater she had put on before dinner. Suddenly, she felt his hand on her arm.
“Wait,” he whispered, his eyes as dark as slate. “There’s something you should know.” He tried to sit up. “Please, I have to tell you.”
She moved off him slowly, her desire merging with apprehension and anger. “Damn it! You can’t keep doing this to me.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, crossing his legs on the bed. He looked at her in the shadows and spoke a truth she never could have imagined. “I’m HIV-positive.”
In the silence that followed, the grandfather clock chimed the hour.
“Why?” she said at last. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She sprang from the bed and fled into the living room. She looked out the window and saw the Southern Cross lying on its side above the tree line. A memory came to her of her mother standing on the night-shrouded plains of Kenya’s Maasailand. “When the world gets you down,” she had said, “don’t forget to look up.” Zoe closed her eyes. Not tonight, Mom.
Joseph broke into her thoughts. “Please, Zoe, listen to me. I didn’t know this would happen. I never expected that you would be so fantastic. And then when I saw what was happening, I didn’t want it to end. I should have told you earlier, but I didn’t know how.”
“I didn’t ask for this either,” she replied, tears gathering in her eyes. She sat down heavily on the couch. “How long ago were you tested?”
“The summer of 2009. My CD4 count was 710. I haven’t been back since.”
She twisted her mother’s ring. “What are you going to do?”
He was silent for a long moment. “What should I do?”
“I think you should get tested again. If they let you, you should start on ARVs.”
He went to the window and looked out at the dark sky. “My grandmother once told me that muzungus are intelligent but weak-willed. That’s why the colonists left Africa—they had no stamina. She made me promise I would never love a white woman. You’ve broken all the rules, Zoe. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the only one I want.”
Her tears began to flow again. “I need you to give me time. I need to think.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry to ruin your surprise.”
She didn’t know where the laugh came from. “By God, you did ruin it. I’ve been looking forward to this.”
“That makes two of us.”
chapter 22
For Zoe, the last days of 2011 passed excruciatingly slowly. Joseph’s revelation had the effect of an emotional tourniquet, at once throttling the natural flow of her feelings and accentuating her sensitivity to every disturbance. To distract herself, she learned everything she could about HIV—the stages of disease progression, the treatment guidelines from the World Health Organization, the effectiveness and side effects of antiretroviral therapy, the risks associated with sex between HIV-discordant couples, the methods of protection and their failure rates.
She read a summary of findings from the study conducted by Drs. Kruger and Luyt in Johannesburg. Where HIV-positive individuals began ARV treatment early—at a CD4 count between 350 and 550, not the original WHO trigger of 200—the rate of new infections decreased by 96%. Zoe took solace from the data, but it didn’t answer the deeper question: did she want a relationship in which every act of intimacy entailed risk, however slight?