We sat by the fireplace. We arrived at this magical place after a long boat trip, the one you finally took me on. A little chilled, self-conscious of our closeness, and not understanding the reason for this meeting. Candles were burning, and nearby were two glasses of wine? Red, semi-dry. Someone had served them in beautiful goblets. They must have been very old, similar to those used for Mass. I remember the same goblet from my childhood home.
I'm afraid that if I drink this much wine, which barely covers the bottom of the goblet, I'll lose touch with reality. And I don't want that. Not because I'll do anything inappropriate, but because I'll miss some detail of the conversation. Mo is an incredibly interesting man. I'm cold, and everything has been soaked by the rain. The wind we had to fight has sapped much of our strength. I have nothing to change into. Besides, I don't see anything edible. I'm starving! I wonder why we're here? I didn't even realize I'd said it out loud.
"You wanted to..." Mo replied in a low voice.
"Excuse me?" I replied
, snapped out of my reverie. "You wanted me to take you boating.
" "That's true." I'm getting lost in my thoughts again. Something reminds me of... what was that? Oh yes, I mentioned that once. Never mind.
"Can we eat here?" I asked in a low voice. I felt a little embarrassed to admit I was hungry. Appetite these days is nothing to brag about. But I was fighting those damn lines, even though I know nothing about them, and I'm terribly exhausted. Eat!
" "I think so." Mo trailed off. "If there's a cook here.
" "Excuse me?" I asked, astonished. "So we're all alone here?" I confirmed, already panicking.
"Yes, my dear, but I won't let you starve." "
I feel really safe with him. Am I searching for my lost relationship with my father in him? He's also caring and "so responsible." It doesn't really matter. I'm relying on what Mo has planned. I know he won't hurt me. And the dogs? Well, it turns out our worries that it wasn't the best idea to take them with us turned out to be completely unfounded. Admittedly, Roma put on a great show, as usual, going to the lake with me. I thought: I'm going crazy. I regretted ever agreeing to this escapade. Now I see it a bit differently.
The dogs fell asleep, exhausted from the cruise. Interesting. They accepted each other so quickly. They're sleeping snuggled up together. I hope that even though Roma is sleeping so deeply, she guarantees my safety. Although this place, it must be said, is rather peculiar. Mo noticed me looking at the animals thoughtfully.
"They're sleeping so peacefully. So we're in no danger," Mo said, as if reading my mind.
"Indeed," I admitted. "But can they protect us from ourselves?" I asked myself.
It's unbelievable that just a few weeks ago we didn't even know each other existed. Lately, a lot has been changing inside me. There was a time when anyone telling me I'd befriend a complete stranger, a chance encounter, older than my parents, would have been ridiculed. I'd always believed, and defended my opinion at every opportunity, that any intimate relationship between a much, much older man and a young woman was, well... distasteful, ambiguous, and at least self-serving. Seeing photos of such couples in the press—almost standard in showbiz—I can't resist the distasteful associations and crude comments. A few years ago, I read Wharton's "Belated Lovers." Although at times I felt downright nauseous, not least because of the author's evocative descriptions, the story remained deeply etched in my memory. It moved me deeply. And now I'm succumbing to similar emotions. How fate can be fickle. Now I'm sitting here. In circumstances... ambiguous. And at my own request. And it's wonderful. This evening, increasingly pleasant...
***
I have the impression that the situation is awkward for both of us. Although Mo doesn't look like an angel. As if awkwardness doesn't suit him. Yet these circumstances seem special. I avoid Mo's gaze.
I hadn't noticed I'd fallen asleep. It's incredible. I feel safe—though Roma, sound asleep, doesn't seem to guarantee undisturbed peace. Thanks, Mo? I'm very tired. Suddenly, I realize I'm in a horizontal position, and as I contemplate, I'm staring at the consistently geometric pattern of the wooden beams of the ceiling. I also notice that I'm lying on the bench where we sat together and... I'm afraid to look under the blanket under which I feel so warm. I should have expected this – apart from the dripping sweater, undershirt, trousers, and soaked socks – although I had little clothing left, what was left was there. Thanks to the fact that I was only in my underwear – I'm completely dry now.
It's a good thing I'm not wearing any hideous fustian clothes, I consoled myself, realizing with surprise that even in such circumstances I care about looking feminine and attractive.
Mo is touching me. I stand up, wrapping myself in a blanket. I see that fresh wood has been thrown into the fireplace, and on the floor by the bench… I must be dreaming! A red rose and a buttered roll with jam. The surprise momentarily took away my appetite. Where in this part of the world, forgotten by God and man, could I get a rose and buttermilk? Amazing.
How can I maintain a clear mind with such a man? Fate, you're putting me to a difficult test... I have a feeling that by eating this roll I'll be committing some kind of sacrilege. Oh, hunger! May the sacrilegious be damned. I approach the door.
Through the pouring rain, I glimpse the silhouette of Mo, struggling with the sailboat's rigging. From his movements, I read... irritation? I stand mesmerized, watching him struggle with things whose names I can't even guess. Sea wolves have always aroused my admiration. I smile inwardly at my memories, at the childish definition of a sea wolve, synonymous with a pirate. A tanned face, strong arms, a tattoo on his forearm—pirate, you name it. Entranced, I follow the figure, which seems remarkably young in what it does. It leaps from one end of the boat to the other with the ease of a youth. I'm sure I'd have done a picturesque eagle flip more than once, trying to avoid this tangle. And Mo?
He spots me standing in the doorway.
"I'm sorry, I'd love to help you, Mo, but I'm having a wardrobe problem. Or rather, the lack thereof," I attempt to wit, trying to cover my confusion.
"I'm sorry I left you alone. But... you fell asleep so soundly, I didn't have the heart to wake you. And if you'd stayed in your wet clothes any longer, you probably would have caught pneumonia," he began to explain earnestly, approaching the door where I was standing. "I hope I didn't offend you? I was trying to be like a father to his daughter, you know..." he added, now quite close to me.
Close, very close. So close that I felt his hot breath on my forehead and saw steam – like a halo – hovering over his figure. It must have gotten even colder. But at the same moment, I felt myself getting warmer. Instinctively, I put my hands on Mo's shoulders and, standing on my tiptoes, whispered directly into his ear, "Thank you, Mo." My whisper was spontaneous, but it made me realize that for several hours now, the situation had been spiraling out of control. Mo put his arm around my waist and brushed my bangs back from my forehead with his hand.
"What are we doing, girl?" he whispered.
"I don't know. I don't think there's anything wrong..." I replied, like a schoolgirl.
"Okay, girl, get inside, it's really cold, and I'll finish up and be back soon," he said firmly, turning me around 180 degrees in one deft movement, right into the doorway, and giving me a gentle push.
I could already feel my father's slap in the face. He'd done nothing of the sort. He treats me like a child? Maybe he should, because am I behaving like a thirty-year-old? This is all so incredible. I'm starting to worry about breaking something. Am I infatuated? No, this is nonsense! It's good that at least one of us is alert, grown, and responsible. I try to recreate the scene from just a few minutes ago. He stood across from me, so fantastically strong and wet. And those eyes. Gray with blue flecks. Fantastic. And they say men are visual creatures. Who writes all these books and self-help books? Isn't Mo starting to become too important to me? What is happening to me?
"Ready to continue your journey?" Mo asked, right from the doorway.
"But now? Already?" I asked, a little flustered.
"Why not?
" "Well... hmm, actually, as the captain wishes..." I tried to cover up my embarrassment.
"Why haven't you dressed yet?
" "But... I only have what I'm wearing. I mean... I don't know where my luggage is or what condition it's in, and..." I started to explain, feeling like he was either mocking me or I'd acted like an idiot, and my dry clothes were lying somewhere nearby, I just hadn't noticed. Instinctively, I wrapped the blanket tighter around myself.
Mo was standing next to me in almost a second. A little too abruptly? And I, completely disconcerted, lowered my eyes, trying not to let him see that I was feeling dizzy and had tears in my eyes.
"Are you cold?" he asked, again just above my head.
"No, not anymore.
" "Then why are you shaking so much?"
I really did start to shiver. It would be better to acknowledge my coldness than to admit these strange emotions. Emotion mixed with a vague fear had completely devastated me. I felt Mo's hands rubbing my shoulders. I immediately felt better. I rested my cheek on his damp chest. How cliché, I thought. But how romantic, I immediately answered myself. He embraced me in a completely unfatherly way.
"You're completely soaked," I said in a low voice, afraid to provoke a whisper.
"And soon you'll be wet."
My thoughts began to wander in a completely different time and space. This man stirred in me a multitude of feelings, both familiar and unfamiliar. I was afraid to look into his eyes. That could, of course, seal the plans for that night. At least on my part. I probably wouldn't be able to resist. And suddenly I felt what I feared most at that moment. Holding my waist with one hand, he lifted my chin with the index finger of the other. I didn't know what to do. Resist?—childish. Not open my eyes? Probably even worse. What if he misunderstands? I don't want to provoke him. There was no time to think. I felt his lips, cooled by the night rain, on mine. We stayed like that for a moment, like a couple posing for students at the Academy of Fine Arts. But the spell was broken. Quite unexpectedly—still with my eyes closed—though as you can see, it didn't help much—I was left alone in the middle of the room.
Now, like in a classic comedy of errors, the scene should have been: he pretends nothing happened, and she roars at the top of her lungs—I mentally summarized my situation.
"And why are you roaring?" I heard, and realized the idiocy of the whole situation.
And what should I do now?
"Open your eyes. What's happening?" he asked gently.
"I'm sorry, Mo, I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm really not behaving normally like this... abnormally." I started babbling again.
"I'm sorry for myself and for you," Mo replied
. I opened my eyes in surprise.
"This shouldn't have happened at all. I wanted to take you for a nice walk, but everything got completely out of control. I want us to still be friends. You don't deserve this.
" "Nor you," I tried to add, feeling like I was losing something irrevocably. This man became even more dear to me.
He hugged me, gently stroking my head. How I love it...
" "I love it when someone pets me like that, you know?" I murmured, pleased, especially since things had finally taken this turn, and the atmosphere of intimacy and understanding hadn't vanished forever.
"So I'll pet you like this for the rest of the night.
" "
I'm thinking about the rest of the night. In front of the fireplace, hides stolen from several deer. Although this setting seems awful to me," I gave in. It's the only place you can take a nap.
"Maybe take off those wet clothes, Mo," I suggested hesitantly.
"Are you starting to...?" Mo asked with a mischievous smile.
"No, I didn't mean it to sound like that, but I just thought...
" "You're right, it's better if I take it off. But won't it bother you? Surely?
" "Haven't I seen a man in his underwear?"
"Oh, so you mean the underwear has to stay on?" Mo asked, sounding somewhat serious.
"Er... well," I tried to respond, unsure how I should react at that moment.
"I'm joking," Mo replied with a laugh.
It was good; his resonant laugh defused the situation. In spite of myself, I noticed with genuine astonishment that, despite his 69 years, Mo is very well built. He also wears boxers. I hadn't expected that. A fascinating man. Young in character and yet capable of surprising others.
"Mo? And where did that rose come from?" – I asked, trying to mask my confusion and trying to steer our conversation in a slightly different direction.
- What rose?
- Please stop...
- I don't think so... but I can't...
You couldn't... neither of us could afford it...
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