THE KETTLE HAD LONG since whistled itself empty when Bruno came back into the kitchen and took it off the burner. Anna opened her eyes and watched his boots shuffle around her head. Her own feet were hot in her shoes. They’d landed against the radiator when she fell. She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep.
Anna tried to rearrange her feet and attempted to push herself up from the floor but she didn’t have the muscle for it. She made a noise that couldn’t be interpreted as words. Bruno stepped over her and moved to the sink. He turned on the water, then turned it off almost as quickly. Anna tried once more to rise. “Stop,” he said. It was an aggravated command. He crossed over her two, three more times, moving with purpose. Anna didn’t know what he was doing. She heard a drawer open and close and the faucet being turned on again, then off once more. Then Bruno knelt down by her head. Anna flinched against his approach. “Stop it,” he repeated, and reached his hand toward her trembling face and laid a wet, cool cloth to the bruised side of it. “Hold this.” Anna did as he told her. “Come on.”
He put his hands under her arms and against her deadweight managed to turn her over and sit her up. She moaned as he leaned her against the same wall he’d thrown her into. “Does this hurt?” Bruno held her by the jaw and turned it toward better light and ran a finger along the ridge of her nose, which was still bleeding.
“Yes.”
“It doesn’t feel broken.” It was a clinical statement. “Put your arms around my neck.” Bruno took one of her arms and hooked it over his shoulder. Anna followed suit with the other one. “Stand up,” he ordered, even as he was pulling her to her feet. He put an arm around her waist and held her as she steadied herself. The room jerked and Anna dropped the washcloth. “Come on.” Anna didn’t have a choice but to follow him as he led her out of the kitchen and into the bathroom.
Bruno flipped down the toilet seat and positioned Anna on top of it. “Can you sit up?” Anna shook her head no, so Bruno angled her sideways and, as in the kitchen, leaned her against the wall. Anna would have laughed but for the ache in her ribs. So much of me has been so frivolous, Anna thought. So very laughable. Ha, ha. Anna was light-headed and loopy. She let her weight fall into the green tiled wall. She was suspicious of the architecture of the room but had no choice other than to trust it.
Bruno turned his back to her, put the stopper in the drain, and ran water into the tub. Anna asked again where the children were; Bruno had told her but she’d forgotten. Bruno didn’t answer. Instead he swiveled back around to face her. He reached for Anna’s left foot and removed her shoe and her sock and then set her foot back down. He repeated the process with the right foot. Then he helped her stand.
Her legs were jelly; she put her hands on his shoulders for support. Bruno unfastened her jeans, unzipped them, and pulled them down. “Step out.” It was a tedious procedure but Anna did it without falling. Next came her panties. Anna wore a black thong with a satin bow. Under the circumstances, her underwear seemed obscene. Between the pain and her remorse, or a variable combination of the two, Anna started crying again. Her sweater was more difficult to remove. It caught on her nose as Bruno pulled it over her head. “Hush,” he said again. It was not meant to console her. Anna wasn’t wearing a bra. Bruno helped Anna into the tub with the same lack of ceremony with which he’d undressed her.
“Is it warm enough?”
“No.” Anna reached to adjust the faucet but Bruno pushed her hand away and did it for her.
“Better?”
Anna nodded.