Kicking off her heels and hurling them into the closet, she sashayed into the adjoining sitting room where David had just entered, holding a stack of communiques from who knows where on the planet. He looked silly, still in his tailcoat and waistcoat; all he needed was a top hat and a cane. She wondered if he planned to sleep in his white tie get-up, along with his spats and patent-leather shoes. She thought not, but it was probably up to her to make sure. But first things first—he needed to account for the wars that inflamed the world, and she was ablaze to be unzipped.
She figured it would be easy. David was a sensitive, gentle man with big hands, soft lips, and a willingness to be seduced by his Asian Princess, as he so often called her. But she didn’t count on the affairs of the world, symbolized by the stack of cables in David’s hands, that frustrated her efforts to become a mother to David’s child—a needed step for her redemption.
Sabriya parted the canopied bed’s mosquito sheers, pulled down the spread and top sheet, then shimmied into the sitting room and backed up to where he was sitting. “Darling, unzip me?”
Nothing.
She twisted her head and looked down. He was engrossed in a cable that, by the looks of it, was a form letter from the prime minister. Not urgent, just protocol. Louder with an effort at seduction: “David! Unzip me…please.”
“Oh, sorry, dear.”
The man refused to take his eyes off the communique and blindly reached for the top of her gown and pawed her shoulders and neck, absentmindedly pushing aside her lengthy hair, but finding nothing to grab or unzip.
She took a deep breath, remembering something from Sun Tzu’s The Art of War: “Know your enemy and yourself. Manipulate your enemy’s emotions and perceptions. In a hundred battles, you will never be in peril.” David’s weakness was her strength, meaning he rarely could resist her long hair that draped the back of her slender neck. She turned slowly, took the stack of cables from his hands, and put them on the side table. He didn’t resist. She then turned again and sat on his knees, her back toward his chest. “David, unzip me.” She closed her eyes and waited.
She felt his wide hands gently grasp her shoulders and work their way through her long, thick, black hair, stroking it lovingly as he parted it to reveal, not just the zipper tab, but the prominent kanji symbol tattooed on the back of her neck. With a finger, David traced the slanted cross standing atop a horizontal line. It meant dirt, which she was; ground, from which she came; and sacrifice, which was her destiny. After he scribed the symbol slowly with his finger, he leisurely caressed its center with his lips—a tender ritual that began on their wedding night. Shivers galloped up her spine.
She didn’t have to ask again. The zipper cantered toward her sacrum, and David’s big hands encircled her bare waist as he kissed her neck once more.
Overcoming the abuse and trauma of her earlier life challenged her intimacy with David. Her five years of chastity living with the nuns, and then Mother’s demand that there be no physical contact during her courtship, gave her the sense that her virginity was being restored. Yet she had never divulged to David the full extent of her former life, as she had several times to priests who came to St. Mary Elias to hear confessions and celebrate Mass. She always smiled at Fr. Michael’s comment following the first time she confessed her former life. He told her that hearing her confession of numerous grave sins was ironically refreshing, since hearing the confessions of a dozen nuns in a row was like being stoned to death with popcorn.
She was grateful for David’s forgiving nature and for not prying, but dormant guilt continued to undermine her attempts to relax in his arms. She tried to be spontaneous but knew she was forcing it, although David didn’t seem to mind or notice. Such a great actor she was, and audience he; at least her intent was unadulterated. Over the past six years of their marriage, they had remained childless. It didn’t concern David too much, but she longed to bear him a child. She suspected the problem was hers—veiled anxiety.
In her closet, she found the pink, floor-length negligee he called her princess gown. Before slipping it on, she slipped into a plume of vanilla, jasmine, and musk, the perfect atmosphere for nocturnal pursuits. As the sheer silk fell over her smooth frame, the room lights suddenly went out, and from behind, she felt David’s broad hands on her hips. Then, taking her bare arm, he lifted her fingers to his mouth. Suddenly, her feet cantilevered off the floor as her svelte frame fell back into his muscular, naked arms. Helpless, she clung to his neck as he effortlessly carried her to the canopied bed.
They didn’t need candles. The soft, indirect light of the embassy’s security perimeter cascaded through the sheers across the French doors, which led to a private veranda overlooking the gardens and the mountains beyond. There was no moon tonight, but David’s eyes were moon-struck as he gazed down at her, laid her body across the cool cotton sheets, crawled into bed next to her, and pulled shut the mosquito sheers, creating an enchantment. Embracing her once again, he leaned in slowly and kissed her graceful shoulders, her lithesome neck, her almond cheek, and her ruby lips. His breath was warm, filled with promises and secrets that stirred her blood and solicited her arms to caress his broad shoulders and pull his body into hers. Forgetting the past, she relinquished her guilt, surrendered her will, and savoured the present. Tomorrow would care for itself...or so she hoped.
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