The Russian Wife

The morning after... I woke up in the same position, head on his belly and all the rest. It had to have been a very quiet night, no nightmares. Yes, I winced a bit seeing... that part of my man. And recalling all the story... But then I relaxed. Confessed, forgiven, overcome. And all that remained was a taste of arbutus bitter honey in my mouth. But I knew, it was NOT arbutus bitter honey... And I smiled.

I stood up slowly, for not to wake him up. It was Saturday morning, he could rest... I had been the first who woke up, so I had to prepare the breakfast. And I did not want to cheat... Let him sleep, pamper him a bit more. He deserves it...

In the kitchen, I looked around me. There was a nice sunshine from the window, all was bright. And I felt fine. I had thought I had to leave that place, that house, that man. And I was there yet, free to stay there as long as I wished.

Did he forgive me to have me there, in the kitchen? He could cook for himself, or find another woman, I was not indispensable there, for him. I was indispensable in his life, not in his kitchen. He loved me, and he proved it once again. The biggest possible proof of love, except to give his life for me... Just one step below that... A prove I never could have given... I would have hated him, if he would have done what I had done...

Did I hate myself? Not indeed. But I felt unworthy of making love with him yet. I mean, letting him penetrate me. My sex was not ready, it was impure, so I felt it. I had to clean it well. And I had to confess. Yes, I had. And I would have done it.

But I was not yet ready for that too. Now I wanted to eat with him, to talk with him. To understand HOW could he have forgiven me... Since I could not yet forgive myself. Not completely, at least.

I wanted to take the breakfast to the bedroom, for him, but he did not give me the time to do it. He got in the kitchen and sit to eat. He seemed tranquil. The day before was history, more for him that for me. He said that the problem he had to solve did not exist anymore, and we could go to the sea together. Going back to the crime scene? Oh, no...

"Better off not... " I say. Then I looked at him. No. I could not be a spy. Double game, secrets, lies... It was not for me... "Don't you want to know?"

"I know enough..." he says. "But if you want to talk about it..."

He looked at me, without hostility. Talk, spit it out, throw it all away... As if I had to escape from a trauma... Well, it WAS a trauma, for me...

"What can I say..." I mumbled, downcast eyes.

"For instance... Who he was? What he was?"

"Ah. An Englishman... no, and American..."

"Oh, well, then it's all clear..." he said. I looked at him.

"It's all clear what? Why I have done it?"

"No: why you did not like it. They are not such bright guys, about it..."

"How can you say I did NOT like it?" I wondered. It was the pure truth, but HOW could he tell it?

"Well, you had to stay there a week, and you have come back after three days, on the double... You were quite upset, even If I did not understand why... You have confessed it all to me, as If I was Bàtyushka... If it had been something normal, something decent, maybe you would have kept it for yourself.."

"You're right... It's true..." I nodded. He knew me all right, more than myself, maybe. If I had gone to bed with that boy on the train... "Something decent", tender, a woman who teaches a boy about sex and love, and then let him go, smiling at him from the bed, still naked, relaxed, saying "see you again" for not to say "goodbye"... Yes, maybe then I would have kept mum... I would have not felt so guilty... "a good deed"... My self-esteem and all my love for him, both intact... "Are you sorry I had told you about that?"

"Hm, no... Do you feel better, now that you had told me?"

"Yes... I feel better..." I admitted, smiling. And I love you more than ever, I thought. But I did not say it. I shook my head. He was too good, it was all too nice to be true... "But how can you forgive me? How can you do it, so... completely? Don't tell me it is because I have... well, you know what..."

"Oh, no... It could happen, that's all... If you would have fallen in love with someone, that would have been serious, but so... You have told you will never do it anymore, and I think you were not kidding... " he looked at me. I shook my head no. He nodded. "So it was just a weakness, and even a negative experience. Because you did not like it. And that's another reason to think it will not happen anymore..."

"But I have DONE it!"

"Yes, you have done it. What can I do about that? You have done it. And I want you to stay with me. What should I do? To beat you, to kill you, to tell you to go away? What do I get if you go away? I would be alone, without you, looking for another woman that will not be you..."

"But why should you need a woman like me? I am a..." I shook my head. A whore, I meant.

"No, you are not. And you're not in love with another man. You have just made a silly thing. Everybody does. You will hardly do it again. You want to stay with me, you will stay with me. So, why bother? What did I lose, really?"

"But I should have not to do it... You did not deserve it... It's such an ugly thing, such a bad thing... I feel so..."

"Yes, you should have not to do it, but... You did. There's no man who lives and does not commit sins... Or woman too... We are humans... "

Hey, just a moment... Maybe he was preparing an alibi, an excuse for himself? For the future, or even for the present? "NIè dài Bog", God forbid... I raised my head, stiffening my spine straight.

"If YOU would have such a "weakness", I would kill you..."

I was not joking, and he knew that. I was looking at him, seriously, with THAT glance I was afraid to lose. Stubborn, adamant, "kot ubèi", you can kill me, I will not give up... Or even harder, as a she-wolf, a sphinx... The sphinx is Russia, since centuries, centuries, centuries... cloaked in black blood... she looks, looks, looks at you... with hatred and with love...

"I know it." he said, tranquilly. "Before, I presumed it. Now I know it."

"Why?"

"Because a woman who can do what you have done, the way that you have done it, can kill too..."

I did not realize immediately, but then I blushed and cover my mouth. He was not talking about my cheating... Arbutus bitter honey... How I did it, so shamelessly... Some she-wolf, I had been a "sùka", a bitch... And I know I was ready to do it again... to BE it again...

No, he did not think so. He was not looking at me as if I was a bitch... He was looking at a woman: emotional, passionate, who had made a mistake, but was still in love with his man. With all that "love" means, jealousy included... Capable of love, capable of death... If he loved me, I was ready to kiss his sex again, lick it, and all the rest. With joy, with abandonment, closing my eyes, as I had done it. But if he cheated me...

And there was no fear in his eyes. Not even the despise you can have when you look at a mad person. He was looking at me with respect, with his frank soldier's face. Brave, self-assured, and loyal. "Pùst mnie bùdet pùsto", if I will cheat you...

Well, if that was the idea he had about me, after all that jazz, I was REALLY damn lucky...

"And aren't you bothered that I could kill you for a something you have forgiven me for?"

"It only means we are different." he shrugged.

"And THIS does not bother you?"

He thought about that, then shrugged again.

"I would have never married someone who was just exactly like me..."

I had done it. I have married someone just exactly like him. And I would have done it again, on the spot...

"Why not? What do you dislike, in yourself?" I smiled. He shrugged again, spreading his arms.

"First of all, males are not my cup of tea..." he said. Sorry, I'm from the old generation...

I laughed and shook my head. My man, my beloved man... Sure, he was not a "galubòi". And "Slava Bogu", halleluyah, thank God for that, too...

We kept silent for a while, He wanted to put a cross on the whole matter. And who I was to say "no"?

"So, Americans are a bit "chàiniki" with sex, really?" I said. "Chàiniki", teapots, water boilers: "dummies"...

"Well, surely many of them take that matter seriously, they engage in it... But generally... They are too much self-satisfied, too sure to be number one... And this gets them. In that field and in others too..."

"And do you think YOU are the number one?"

"Surely no. If you look around, you can find someone better than me..."

"And where should I look for him?" I said, rising from my chair and going towards him.

"Just around the corner? Or down under there in Australia?"

"Why not? "Aussies" are clever guys, though a bit "male chauvinist pigs", I was told... And there are a lot of Italians there too..."

"Has him to be an Italian?" I wondered. He looked at me, surprised by my surprise. Has the sea to be salty?

"Well... "My dièlaem ievò lùchshe", ain't it?" he shrugged. Come on, it's obvious...

I snorted, kissed him on his forehead and started to clean the table. He helped me, and some minutes later we got out for a walk, as if nothing had happened the day before.

And indeed, what had happened? I had just discovered my man again, and the reasons why I had married him. We strolled in the center, among the tourists, and I was looking at the women, ALL the women, tourists and not, younger and not... Sorry, girls, that's MY man, I have it, and you have not. I HAVE it, in my heart, in my belly, in my troath, if he wants... And you have NOT...

That night, in our bed, he would have liked to make love, but I did not feel at ease. He had forgiven me, but I couldn't forgive myself. Not to the point to make love with him again. It seemed to me too much easy... Easy for me... Yes, I felt my sex was not worthy of his own. Not yet.

I didn't explain him all these reasons, I just said that I did not feel good, and he did not insist. But before he could turn his back to me to sleep, I stopped him.

"What's up?"

"You did not ask me, whether I liked..."

"Whether you liked what?"

"What I did to you, yesterday night..."

"Well... I guess yes..." he said,

"You guess right!" I smiled,

"But... didn't you feel anything... disgusting?"

"When?"

"Well, you know... that thing... when I have... that is, my own... "

"Ah... No, nothing so filthy... It was even... Good. Strong, a bit harsh... But good."

"Good?" he wondered.

"Hm-hm!" I nodded. He was really perplexed. 'Good'? Downright 'good'? "Do you remember when we were with your friends, in Sardinia?"

"Yes. But what... What has it got to do with that?"

I told him in his ear what it had got to do. I had tasted arbutus bitter honey, there, for the first time in my life, it was a typical Sardinian products, and It had impressed me. Not the "usual" honey...

He remained definitely surprised...

From that day on, we never could see a jar of arbutus bitter honey without laughing. "This is NOT mine!" my man said...

And I kept appreciating HIS own bitter honey...

The day after I went to the church, alone. I had told my man I preferred that way. I went there early, before the service: I had to confess, and it took time. He could come later.

When Bàtyushka knew what I had done, he did not say a word, not even something like "I didn't expect that from you". I should be neither the first nor the only one. Maybe he was disappointed, but I had to tell him about that. This time, really, "kak na dukù"... Adultery was a deadly sin, a "disqualifying foul", as my man said... He asked me if I was repented, and of course I said "yes": I was, indeed... And he said that I had to tell my husband too.

"Well..." I mumbled.

"I know, I know: it's hard. But you must do it..."

"No, no, it's not that... The point is, if this is the penance, I had done it already. I have told him..."

He looked at me, surprised. Then he smiled.

"Judging by your face, It's no use asking you, whether he has pardoned you..."

"It has." I nodded. It was clear...

"You have found a really good man..." Batyushka said.

"I know..."

"And then you have made love. Right?"

"Well... How can you say that?" I wondered. Batyushka was smiling.

"I am a man too, I have a wife too... And Màtyushka has the same face you have now, when she comes to church the morning after we make love. She likes it, she knows that there's nothing wrong, we are married, we respect the abstinences, we do it when it's allowed... But she always feels a bit embarrassed. Happy, but embarrassed... She remembers... you know... " he snorted. A nice, happy man, in love with his wife...

"Well, I'm embarrassed because we have done it... In a certain way..."

"What way?"

I told him "what way", in the most synthetic and polite way, without looking at him.

"It was the first time for me. And I've not repented of it" I added, to be fair and honest. "Though I know it's "Isvrashènie"... Isn't it?"

"Well, to some extent... It is..." he confirmed. Isvrashènie. Not a grievous fault like adultery, maybe, but, surely, something seriously out of turn... "It has happened between you and your husband, right?"

"Of course."

"Has he forced you? Was it the price for the forgiving or..."

"Oh, no! If someone has forced the other to do it, it was me...". I looked at him. He was perplexed.

"You are a very dangerous girl!"

"I know..." I said. A lost woman, a "bludniza". Who had the luck to be married to a man and a male like my own. Or else...

"And you have not repented."

I shook my head no, my eyes closed. "Prostì, Gospòdi", God, forgive me, but I was not, at all... It had been so sweet... I was not kissing "a dick", I was kissing my man, my love... I retook the control of my thoughts and looked at "Bàtyushka".

"Is it a serious fault?" I asked him. He thought about it. In the concrete case...

"In the room of the spouses, there are only the spouses, not the priest. You are two spouses, you love each other, and your love allows you to go beyond yourselves, to help each other, and even the other people. The rest is not so important. It's impossible to forgive a cheating, if there is no love. And I'm sure that you have done what you have done, with your husband, only out of love. And for nothing else."

"To thank him, and to reassure him..." I tried to specify. "to reassure him that I..."

"That you love him. And that's love. Go in peace, "dòchka"...". He was smiling. "Dòchka", daughter. The confession was over. I went toward the door, but I had a doubt yet. I looked at him.

"Do I have to stop hosting the children, at home?"

"Why? Are you tired? Have you changed your mind?"

"No, but... after that... After what I have done..."

"What you have done does not exist anymore. You have made a mistake, but now it's gone. You don't have to worry about it, neither in this world, nor in the other one. And as for the rest, what you do with your husband... well, I guess you won't do it when there are children around, right?" he snorted. I smiled.

"Have I embarrassed you?", I asked. He shrugged and waved his hand.

"I've heard worse things than that..."

I met my man out of the church and we got inside. For the service.

Monday afternoon, I went to meet the only other person to whom I thought I felt I had to say about that story,: my girlfriend who had suggested me to "verify" myself.

If I had met her just after the "fact", I would have assailed her: "Look at what you made me do! I feel so bad! It's your fault!". Thinking about it, I realized that it was NOT her fault. Yes, she had said a lot of crap: pure total pseudofeminist crap. But it was not HER fault if I had made a crap. I was an adult person, I had acted on MY own, under MY responsibility, with MY head. It was MY fault, not hers.

But when we met, and at her house, she immediately asked me, whether I had done "you know what". She was sure that I had done it, that I HAD to do it... For my sake... Strange girl...

"Yes, I have done it." I reported. Flat as a military bulletin. Absolutely not enough, for her.

"So what? I want the details!"

"What the hell of details? A catastrophe! Disaster all down the line... The worst sex I ever had!"

"Oh... the disaster would be if your husband would know that... " she chuckled.

And THERE it was where I wanted her to go! I looked at here, with a bored, "existentialist" face...

"He KNOWS that. I have TOLD him..." I said. Torpedoes out!

My girlfriend remained speechless, to use an euphemism. She was really paralyzed, petrified by surprise. I have SAID THAT to my husband! And I had told her as if it was the most natural, obvious thing in the world! His mind was boggled. Russians: crazy, wild people!

"And... and he? What has he done?"

I smiled.

"We are alone, aren't we? What we say here, remains here, right?"

"Right... Of course..." she said, eyes wide open, impatient to hear.

And then I started to tell. What I had said, what my man said, and most of all, what I had DONE! And there, with ALL the details, ALL the technicalities, ALL the feelings! And as I was talking, I felt the same feelings of when I did it... I felt the softness of the tip of his sex on my lips , his sex swallowed by my mouth, up to the bottom of my troath, with no stimulus to gag... the taste of his skin on my lips while I kissed his shaft, the male smell of it...

And I talked, smiling, eyes closed, happy to remember it, happy to have done it... Really not repented, at all... I had been true, with "Bàtyushka", and I was proud of it...

When I finished my report, I looked at her. A statue of salt. Shocked, over shocked! Not only I had plainly confessed my sin to my husband, not only he had forgiven me, but I had done THAT! I doubt she ever DID it, and I, not only I did it, but I was TALKING about it, in detail, freely, enthusiastically. And I had done it WHITH MY HUSBAND! And I was talking as if I had done it with a concentrate of all the movie stars of Hollywood and Bollywood, all together!

Yes, I was happy! Happy to have the man I had, happy to have kissed, licked, swallowed, adored his sex, his "dick", his "chlen"! And all the rest, "trin travà", nothing, "nada de nada", "rien de rien"! "C'est payé, balayé, oublié, je m'en fout du passé!"...

"You have the eyes of a tamed mare!" she said.

"So what? It always depends on the rider, right?" I smiled. My girlfriends in Russia would have laughed. She did not. Westerner...

"So he has forgiven you... There is just one reason. He is willing to do everything, to forget everything, provided you don't leave him, He is frightened by that!"

"So what? Me too!" I shrugged.

"But you don't understand! He sees in you a gravity center, a mommy-whife! You feed him, you pamper him... And he is happy, he forgets the job, the bad world, the other children who get him mad, from whom he must defend himself! You can go with other men, provided you come back to him, to your baby, and take care of him! He has forgiven you because he NEEDS you! He is a weak, a wimp! You live with a wimp!"

I shrugged. My dear girl, he is NOT a wimp at all! A foreigner who lived in Moscow two years and something is NOT a wimp. A man who gets Russians men to respect him, to obey, to him, is NOT a wimp... And however, if his "weakness" is ME... "Mniè pòfigu", I don't give a damn, if he is wimp...

Really, I did not understand her. Instead of being happy that my marriage went on, regardless of my silly acts and her silly words, she kept saying MORE silly words. Yes, my man needed me. We all need those we love. So he was a "slabak"?

And I was strong? And assuming that I was strong, do I have to do to prove it? And how? Should I have to leave him to prove it? Madness! And then, to prove it to WHOM? And WHY?