Anna pointed to the kitchen. “Help yourself.” Edith set the chocolate and the flowers on the coffee table and took both the bottle of wine and her blasé attitude into the kitchen. Anna tried to be offended. Being offended would distract her. But Anna wasn’t ready to be distracted yet. There were pains she still needed to feel.
Edith returned with a single glass of wine. “Oh, did you want one?” Anna shook her head no as Edith plopped down on the couch’s opposite end and let out a protracted sigh. As if she’d just done something difficult. As if being in Anna’s presence was almost too demanding to bear. She made the worst small talk. “I’m sorry I haven’t been by.” Anna told her it was fine. “The girls. I took them to Paris. We’d planned it months ago.” Edith trailed off.
“I know,” Anna said, her voice empty of affect.
Edith nipped at her wine. “So. I’m still seeing Niklas.”
“Are you.” It wasn’t a question.
Edith cleared her throat. “Yes. Thrilling as ever.” Anna returned an odd, inquiring series of blinks and wondered why if it was so thrilling did Edith speak of the affair so parenthetically. “The whole ruse of it, Anna. Ha! I feel like a spy! So scheming! I love it! And it’s not just about the sex. It’s not even mostly about the sex.” Edith bit her bottom lip. “How about that?” The realization surprised her.
It hadn’t been just about the sex with Anna either. “Where do you go?” Anna didn’t really care. They were words to decorate the air. That was all.
“To fuck? I dunno. Lots of places. Many places. His apartment. A hotel. At the house—well, just once at the house—how forbidden! We had a weekend on the Bodensee three weeks ago.”
“What did you tell Otto?”
“I told him I was going away with Pauline.”
“Who’s Pauline?”
“Nobody. She’s imaginary. I invented her. But if it ever comes up—which it won’t—I know Pauline from one of the clubs I lie about belonging to.”
“Okay.” Anna chewed on a fingernail. “How do I know her?”
“Silly Anna,” Edith feigned exasperation. “You don’t. She’s one of my friends. You’ve just heard me talk about her. But only a little.” Anna nodded an assent.
The room was almost entirely quiet but for the sound of wine being swallowed, the whisper of twill rubbing against twill as Edith crossed then uncrossed then recrossed her legs, and the rustle of the blanket under which Anna shivered.
“What do you think would happen if Otto caught you?”
“If he caught me?” Edith repeated Anna’s question. “I haven’t thought about it. I don’t plan on getting caught.”
“Edith?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Edith telegraphed a waxing boredom. “What would you do if one of the twins died?”
“Jesus, Anna. Are you serious?” Anna shrugged. Edith sipped her wine once more and put on a cheeky face. “Good thing I have a spare, I guess.”
“Edith?”
“What is it now?”
“You really aren’t a very good friend.”
Edith looked into her wineglass. “I know,” she said. It was an admission without scruple or reproach.
SHORTLY AFTER BEGINNING THEIR affair, Stephen attempted to end it. “You’re surrendering to an attack of ethics now?” Anna asked. She was naked when she asked it.
Stephen hung his head and looked away from Anna as he buttoned his shirt, as if dressing himself was an act of contrition. “I’m just not sure this is a good idea.”
Of course it’s not, Anna thought, but said, “Of course it is!” Stephen squinted and tilted his head. He was waiting for an explication. She sighed. “Don’t you like me?” She had wanted to say “love.”
“Of course I like you.” He said it plainly. The way someone would announce his fondness for a sandwich or a pair of shoes. Yes, it tastes just fine. Most certainly they fit. Any other woman might have understood this as a signal. Anna took it as a challenge.
“It’s because I’m married?”
“Well, you are. It’s adultery.”
“Well then it’s a good thing we’re adults,” Anna said. And then, “What’s that have to do with anything?” It had everything to do with everything, but Anna underplayed it. She didn’t care. Her marriage had stopped mattering. Well, it’s starting to not matter, that’s enough.
Anna found the loophole they were looking for. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Technically you’re not the adulterer. I am.” Anna eyed Stephen with a deliberately threadbare gaze. She waited, but he didn’t counter her argument. They sat together on the edge of his bed in a near reverential silence for almost a minute before Anna dressed and left.
On the train ride home, as Anna relived the day’s lovemaking in her mind, she realized, in retrospect, that it had been more tentative than usual.
“IN GERMAN, AN ACTION that is done by one’s own self to one’s own self requires a reflexive verb. A reflexive verb is always accompanied by an accusative personal pronoun. To get dressed. To shave. To bathe. To clear your throat. To catch cold. To lie down. To feel either well or poorly. To fall in love. To behave. You are the object as well as the instigator. You do these things to yourself.”