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She was already wet; she rubbed herself against my hand. 'Which one of us are you thinking of?' I asked her. Was that cruel?
But she said, 'All of you,' and laughed. 'Two and three and four at a time,' she said. I was in her mouth very quickly and she covered my ears with her thighs. Utch tasted like nutmeg, like vanilla, like an avocado; she was careful with her teeth. Was it only with me that Edith lacked control in this position? Did Severin really say to her, 'You've both got quite the setup. Utch and I are supposed to keep each other occupied while you have a perfect guiltless affair. It wouldn't do to have Utch and me feeling useless and pathetic, would it?' How could he regard Utch that way? She tasted sweeter than roast lamb, like the pan juices; she had a mouth large enough for illusions.
I asked her, 'Do you feel manipulated? Is that what Severin feels? And I know you never had another lover before Severin, right?'
She pushed herself firmer against me. 'I never asked you about Sally Frotsch,' she said, 'though you never changed your mind overnight about a baby-sitter before.' I was in and out of her mouth so her sentences were short. I was amazed at what she knew. 'Or that Gretchen What's-her-name? An independent study in what?' I couldn't believe it. 'And that poor divorced Mrs Stewart. I never knew you were so talented fixing hot-water heaters.' She put me neatly back in her mouth and kept me there.
Did she know about the others? Not that there were many, and they were never serious. I couldn't think of a time when it seemed likely that she'd had a lover; there'd never been a man I was suspicious of. But who could be sure? At least I knew that until me, Edith had never been involved. I reached into Utch's mouth to ask her, but she rang my ears with her thighs. What her thighs said was, 'Better go ask Edith again.' I resisted, but her rhythm made it hard to hold back. And Severin? Surely that moral absolutist could never have had a dalliance before he and Utch went to the mat together.
'Ask Utch,' Edith had said. I was trying. When I came, her mouth turned as soft as a flower with the petals pushed back. But though I'd felt her on the edge at least twice, I knew that she hadn't come herself. 'It's all right,' she whispered. 'I'll get mine later.' From him or me? I wondered. I went to the bathroom and drank three glasses of water.
When I came back to the bedroom, she was helping herself to get there. Occasionally she got overstimulated and could only finish by herself. It was delicate because sometimes I could help her, but other times I got in the way. It was a matter of not getting too involved. I lay down beside her but didn't touch her. I watched her touching herself, her eyes shut tightly, her concentration a marvel. Sometimes if I touched her then, it would be just what she needed; other times, it would destroy it. I recognized her rhythm; I knew she was close. Her breathing skipped, then picked up; her hips made a familiar circular motion. Sometimes a word would push her over; any word would do; it was the sound of my voice which mattered. But when I looked at her squint-shut eyes and her clenched face, I suddenly knew that I had no idea which one of us she was seeing - or if it was either of us! I wanted to shout at her, 'Is it him or me?' but I knew that would distract her. And then she was coming, her voice starting in her throat and reaching deeper, her whole diaphragm moving like a lion's way of roaring. She slowed her rhythm, as if drawing out each note of a groan. She was coming and nothing would stop it; I could do anything - scream, bite, even slide into her. It was downhill now, but I did nothing. I watched her face for some clue. I listened for his name - or mine, or someone else's.
But what she said wasn't even in English. 'Noch eins!' she cried. Twisting, grinding into the bed. 'Noch eins!'
Even I could understand it; I'd been in enough bars to know it. It's what you say when your beer's finished and you want another. 'Noch eins!' you holler, and the waiter brings you 'one more'.
Utch lay relaxed with one hand still touching herself and the other to her lips. She was tasting herself, I knew; she liked herself, she had told me. In that pose she looked like Kurt Winter's drawing of Katrina Marek.
We historical novelists are frequently struck by meaningless coincidences, but I wondered if I knew Utch at all - and whether the four of us were wise to want to find out more about each other than we already knew.
I lay beside my wife who wanted one more. She looked content to me.
7
Carnival's Quarrel with Lent
THEN ONE NIGHT Severin took Utch to the wrestling room. Throughout dinner we had all noticed that he was not as morose as usual - not as caustic, not as consciously trying to make us feel guilty for his great unnamed Schmerz. When he helped Utch into her coat, he winked at Edith. I could see she was surprised. She was used to getting a martyred look from him - that son-of-a-bitch, as if he were saying, 'Well, here I go, off to do my duty.' He made it appear that sex with Utch was just another good husband's task, as if he were doing us all a favor.
But on this night he touched Utch a lot at dinner and spoke German quietly to her. Both Edith and I were struck by how attentive he was; I noticed Edith watched them more than usual. Was he trying to make her jealous? She'd told him repeatedly that she wasn't in the least jealous. 'Of course you're not,' he said. 'It's a perfect setup. You've got yourself a lover of your choice, and you've placated me with a poor cowlike creature whom you've no need to be jealous of - and you know it.' But Utch wasn't a 'poor cowlike creature'. That swinish, snobbish, self-important cuntsman! I've seen my bedroom after he left it; there was little evidence of condescension there.
So - one night - he was cordial, devilish, comically lewd. He goosed Edith goodnight, and when he was helping her into her coat, he cupped Utch's breasts.
'I think he's coming around,' I told Edith after they'd left. She watched their headlights run across the ceiling of the living room, but said nothing. 'Don't you see what he's doing?' I persisted. 'He's trying to make you jealous. He's trying to induce his reaction in you.'
She shook her head. 'He's not acting naturally,' she said. 'He hasn't been like himself since the whole thing began.'
I tried to reassure her. 'I think he's adjusting to it. He's letting himself relax more with Utch.' Edith shut her eyes; she didn't believe me, but she wouldn't elaborate. 'Well, anything's better than having him mooning around,' I said, 'waiting for one of us to ask him "What's wrong?" so that he can say "Nothing".' Edith did not look convinced.
We took our love shower and went to bed, but she was restless. She wanted to call my house and ask Severin something, but she wouldn't tell me what. I argued against it. We might catch them in the middle of something, and he might think the phone call was intentionally timed--
'Bunk,' Edith said; she was cross with me.
Severin came back later than usual. I'd gotten out of bed to pee and when I came back I found that he'd taken my place. He was giggling, lying in bed next to Edith with all his clothes on. I had the feeling he'd been waiting outside the door for me to get up, just so he could pull this stunt. He undressed under the covers, churning up the bed, disturbing Edith, who woke up, started, stared at us both, shook her head and rolled over.
'Well, you're in high spirits,' I said; it was awkward getting dressed in front of him, but he obviously enjoyed it.
'Take the old ashtray when you go, OK?' he asked.
I decided to keep his game going; I said, 'I've been meaning to speak to you about the apple cores, Severin. I don't mind the crumbs in bed, really, but the apple cores and c
heese rinds are a bit much.'
He laughed. 'Well, you won't find a mess tonight,' he said. 'We've been as neat as a pin.' His teeth, I swear, glowed in the dark. I wanted to kiss Edith goodnight. Was she asleep? Was she angry? I blew out the candle on the dresser.
'Blah-urf!' Edith said, as if he'd touched her suddenly.
'Goodnight, Edith,' I said in the dark. His hand reached out and caught my wrist as I passed their bed. His grip frightened me; it didn't hurt, but I knew that it could hold on all day. Maybe it was just an affectionate goodnight grasp. 'Goodnight, Severin,' I said. He laughed and let me go.
