Together, Apart

Chapter 2

    The next three weeks in the house are long. I spend my days cooking and cleaning. Sometimes, I sit in the den and pretend I don't hear the Colonel on the phone with his superior. From my eavesdropping, I know how close the rebels have gotten to our borders, how many were shot down.

The Colonel and I have eaten, and I have returned to the armchair by the fireplace. The Colonel sits across from me, his nose buried in a Holy newspaper. I can hear a jazz record playing softly, one my mother used to play. I lift my eyes from my skirt to look at my husband, wondering if he can hear it too. I take care not to notice how every muscle looks wrapped in the fabric of his suit, how blue his eyes look in the orange light of the setting sun, how those same eyes stare into mine from over the top of the newspaper.

I turn my head to hide my reddened face. I should not allow my mind to wander to such dark, unholy places. "Do you hear the music, Sir? Someone has a record." Perhaps he will forgive my mistake, my sin. I could be severely punished for looking into the eyes of my husband.

He sets the paper in his lap and listens closely. "I can't hear anything." I swear I see him smile, but it is gone just as fast. I listen for the music again, and it is still there. The shark bites, with his teeth, dear. The song seems to get louder. The Colonel makes a noise but covers it with a cough. I begin to believe he really cannot hear it. Surely he would have done something, as music is a forbidden thing.

I feel my eyes beginning to drift closed as the sun sinks lower in the sky, turning it shades of orange, then pink, then dark purple. The Colonel does not look at me as I stand, and I do not look at him. "Goodnight," I manage with a sigh. My brain aches and my feet barely leave the wood floor as I walk to my room. The mattress and pillow are soft. They lead me into a dark, dreamless sleep. I wish it would last forever.