Maria said something in a loud, rough voice—as expected, they were speaking Greek, and in deciphering the substance of their conversation, I could only go by the tone and gestures they employed. However, I could observe all these more clearly, now that I was inside. As Maria spoke, she shook her head. She lifted her chin sharply and looked directly into Stefano’s eyes as if she were issuing a challenge. I leaned forward, the damp from my bathing suit was soaking into the cushion, I worried it might leave a stain. Did water leave stains? Maria and Stefano continued to take no notice of me, for a moment I regretted not choosing a chair that was closer to the pair.
Now Stefano was speaking in a low and urgent tone. Maria was listening in sullen silence, eyes averted, he should have known better than to lecture her in that way, I couldn’t understand what he was saying, but I recognized the hectoring tone all too well, he was patronizing her without being aware of it. Although Maria listened without interrupting, her expression remained sullen, she twisted her mouth into a grimace and continued to look away from him.
Whatever he was saying, it did not please her. Her face contorted, moving from one grimace to the next, passing through an extraordinary range of expressions, all of them unhappy. She no longer seemed attractive, her eyes were red and the lids were swollen from crying, it further weighted her already heavy features. I couldn’t tell if Stefano noticed, it seemed to be the furthest thing from his mind, perhaps he was incapable of perceiving the alteration. He was gazing at her with adoration, although he was trying to be stern—or, at least, so I gathered.
Stefano continued speaking, as if he were afraid that if he stopped even for a moment, he would lose her conclusively. Now and again he gestured with his hands for emphasis, he leaned toward her imploringly. She did not reply. Even if he succeeded in persuading her—I speculated on what the finer points of his argument might be, it might have to do with Christopher (he was a waste of time, a treacherous and useless sort, I could not disagree) or it might have to do with something else entirely, it hardly mattered, I was certain that the real goal of all his discourse was to persuade her that she should love him, as he loved her—he would not win her, not in this way.
As if he sensed this, Stefano drew back, exasperated, his face clouded, he made a small but distinct and even violent gesture of anger. That anger was not necessarily directed at Maria, but it was anger nonetheless, directed perhaps at Christopher, perhaps at the situation or himself. From his perch behind the desk, Kostas raised his eyes to look at me. I met his gaze for a moment, then looked away.
Maria let out a sudden and wordless cry. Both Kostas—who had been looking at me—and I turned to look at her. She was standing with her arms rigid and her eyes pinned to Stefano’s face. Her own face, which was ashen, blank and inexpressive, was alarming. It was generally too expressive, it expressed things even when she did not mean to, even when there were not actually things to express. Now, although it retained its rounded fullness, it was as if it had been drained, the features had caved in. Stefano had turned away, he was still saying something, muttering to himself, but he would not look at her, he took a step toward the doors and then stopped, it was not so easy for him to leave her.
Maria then spoke, the words sounded harsh and rasping as she pronounced them. Behind his desk, Kostas let out a long and low whistle. Stefano’s face—he was still standing with his back to Maria—slowly turned a deep and troubled red. He raised his hand, as if to strike the face of someone standing before him, but of course there was no one there, he had turned away from Maria—and it was Maria, this time, who was without doubt the object of his anger. He was shaking, his face was growing mottled, as if he were having difficulty breathing.
She had humiliated him in some way, and I knew then that he was aware that I sat in the lobby behind him, although he gave no new indication of seeing me, it was obvious. And I also knew that Maria was similarly aware of my presence, of the fact that I was watching them, and that she had used this in order to humiliate him further. My skin prickled, I felt newly uneasy. The chair was now soaking wet, when I stood up there would be a large stain. Kostas continued to observe them from behind the desk, as though he were providing color commentary at a sporting event, with an expression at once jovial and concerned.