Obsession

  “Until a few weeks ago, yes,” he admitted, pushing Matilde off his lap so he could stand up. “This session on the Chinese zodiac is over. I need to get rid of some of this energy. Let’s go to see the horses. I’m dying for a ride. Thank you, Laurette, for this magnificent meal. And thank you, my dear sensei, for scaring my woman.”

  They all laughed, including Al-Saud once he sensed Matilde’s happiness. All that’s important, he thought, is that she’s forgotten what she told me about her father. On the way to the stables, he commented, “Takumi sensei was particularly talkative today. It was because he liked you so much. Usually, he’s a withdrawn man, not absentminded but silent, listening and observing. He doesn’t talk much.”

  “I really liked Takumi too. Laurette as well, though I could barely understand what she was saying. You have a lot of love for Takumi, don’t you?”

  “Yes. I’ve known him since I was thirteen. In a way, he’s my mentor and my master. He’s the one who taught me to get to know and accept myself.”

  “I realize, after what Takumi said about Pigs, that I never made an effort to get to know myself. Maybe it’s because I’m always trying to please everyone else and mold my personality to the wishes of my parents, my grandparents, my sisters…but with the freedom you’ve given me, I’m starting to become conscious of who and what I am.”

  “You’re a wonderful woman and person, Matilde. I don’t think you know that. Bonjour, Jean-Louis!”

  A few steps from the door to the stables, they ran into a young man wearing a white coat. Al-Saud introduced him as Jean-Louis Manais, the head vet. Matilde immediately noted the immaculate state and smell of disinfectant in the stables. Jean-Louis explained that hygiene regulations were strictly respected; they were dealing with extremely pure horses, highly valuable specimens, and treated them like small children. They took a tour of the stallions’ stable. The other building was set aside for pregnancy and foaling. He explained that the paddock, a field of rich pasture, was divided into different areas, one for the mothers and foals, the other for weaning and the last for the stud horses. Finally, Jean-Louis opened the top of one of the stalls and a black horse poked its head out.

  “How beautiful!” Matilde exclaimed, going over to it.

  It was the first time she had ever seen a Friesian horse. Its mane, curled into ringlets and combed to the left, hung down to the floor; a curly fringe partially covered its eyes and gave it a seductive, coquettish air. The vet took it outside and the animal looked resplendent in its shining coat and tail, which was as long as its mane; its hooves were covered in thick hair, like Percherons. Unlike the draft horses, the Friesian was very tall; its body was robust, something that, Jean-Louis explained, had been valued on ancient battlefields. The vet pointed out other features such as the convex head, the stiff neck that gave it a haughty look, the big, dark eyes and the pointed ears whose tips turned slightly inward.

  “All our specimens are black,” he commented. “Some have a very small white star on the forehead.”

  “Can I touch it?”

  “Of course,” said Al-Saud, and Matilde stroked its snout.

  “You’re beautiful, the most beautiful horse I’ve ever seen. What’s it called?”

  “This is Rex. He was named after a horse that belonged to my mother. My father bought him for her before they got married. And she loved it. It was very painful for her when he died.”

  “Why are they called Friesians?”

  “Because they come from Friesland, a region in the Netherlands,” the vet answered. “The species was on the edge of extinction. Luckily, haras like this have saved them from disappearing.”

  They saddled a stallion, Diavolo, for Eliah, and for Matilde they chose a mare named Lattuga. The horses’ ankles were wrapped in red bands to keep the hair on the hooves from getting dirty, and the contrast between the red and the black coats embellished the horses’ appearance. Though he was dying to break into a gallop, Al-Saud made sure that Matilde got used to riding after all these years. They went away from the stables toward the pastureland. Matilde proposed heading to the woods that she had noticed from afar. Trusting Lattuga’s tameness, Al-Saud asked, “Do you feel like going for a little gallop?”

  She agreed, and they shot off toward their objective. Matilde took up the rear and stayed there on purpose so she could admire Eliah on Diavolo. She was excited by his long, thin legs, whose muscles strained against the elastic of his riding pants as they moved with the horse. The gray sky and cool breeze didn’t disappoint her, on the contrary, she exulted in the fertile surroundings of these green pastures. The mares and their foals, who were grazing a few hundred feet away, lifted their heads to watch them pass; as the wind tossed their long manes, Matilde was struck by so much beauty.

  They entered the forest; a mixture of maples and Pyrenean oak, whose few leaves had turned a yellowy color. The smell of damp, rotting leaves floated in the cold air. They walked slowly through the trees. The breath of the horses and the riders turned into steam, making the silent, lugubrious place seem mysterious. Matilde’s heart beat faster at the beauty and peace of the forest.

  “Eliah,” she whispered, and he came over on his horse. “Thank you for bringing me to your estate. You always make everything so marvelous for me.”

  “It must be because I feel so happy when I’m with you.”

  What he thought would be a fleeting brush of the lips turned into a kiss that made the horses restless. They snorted, tossed their manes and pawed the ground until the two separated. They looked at each other across the space.

  “Let’s go home. I’m desperate to make love to you.”

  They emerged from the forest spurred on by desire and galloped enthusiastically across the field as though they were being chased by an army of Cossacks. Near the stables, Matilde admired the way Al-Saud hopped off his mount before Diavolo had even stopped moving. In seconds his hands were on her waist, helping her down. The stable boys who came over to take the horses watched them run toward the big house.

  “That’s the first time I’ve heard the boss laugh,” one commented, and the other nodded.

  They flew across the living room and sprinted up the stairs. Al-Saud pushed the door closed with his foot as he pressed Matilde against the wall. They were caught up in a delirious excitement. Kissing wasn’t enough, nothing their hands could do could assuage the desperation. Matilde dug her nails into his scalp; she wanted him inside her, just the same way as his tongue was in her mouth. She slipped her fingers under his leather jacket and squeezed his pecs, caressed his tense shoulder muscles and moved her hands down until they found the indentations to the sides of his buttocks. She buried her fingers in his gluteus. She felt him tense up and also the dampness of his breath on her neck as Eliah breathed hoarsely through his mouth. She left his buttocks and moved forward until she reached the bulge straining against his riding pants. Eliah leaned his forearms against the wall over Matilde’s head, rested his forehead on them and spread his legs to allow her hand to wander freely.

  “Please…” he mumbled.

  “Yes, I know,” she whispered as she unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants and boxers to liberate his member. She stared at it, wondering why she found it so attractive when it wasn’t a very handsome appendage. She trailed her finger down the line of black hair that started under his belly button and led to the bush that surrounded his penis, knowing full well that the light caress would tease him. Eliah bit the flesh of his forearm when Matilde took hold of his testicles and groaned loudly when he felt her hand close around his member. She pulled back the foreskin until she found the wet, shining head. Eliah wasn’t expecting what happened next. A convulsion made his back arch and he let out a bloodcurdling scream. Incredulous, he looked down to be sure of what was happening: Matilde, kneeling in front of him, had taken him in her mouth.

  “Oh, mon Dieu, Matilde! Mon Dieu…”

  Matilde concentrated so as not to make mistakes as she tried to remember Juana??
?s advice and her lessons with the bananas. Eliah hurt her when he dug his fingers into her left arm to pull her to her feet.

  “Take off your pants!” he ordered her in French as he tore the wrapper off a condom.

  They were so awkward, still in their riding boots with their pants around their knees, but they didn’t have time to worry about minor details. They were acting as though possessed by a strange, passionate fever in which impatience ruled and the surroundings were unimportant. They kissed hungrily until Eliah turned her around against the wall. Instinctively, Matilde stood on tiptoe and raised up her bottom toward him. He aimed the head of his penis and pushed it into her. They both let out sighs of relief that immediately transformed into groans and moans of pleasure as he started thrusting faster and faster. Matilde had an orgasm almost immediately. He bent over and kissed the hand that grasped at the wall in desperation. He rested his forehead there and continued to thrust. Matilde sensed that Al-Saud was restraining himself; sometimes he moved slowly and occasionally he stopped and pulled out, moaning as if he was in pain.

  “I want us to come at the same time,” he said and felt his way around Matilde’s vulva until he found her clitoris. He massaged it, his fingers moving in sync with his thrusts as he went deeper and deeper into her. She was surprised to feel the ineffable feeling build again; she pictured it in her mind as a spark that, when it exploded, became a huge ball of light. She exploded for the second time in a few minutes and he accompanied her with bellowing that filled their ears. The next day she would find the bruises that Al-Saud’s fingers had left from grabbing her pelvis as he ejaculated. He had been holding her so tight and with such strength that she hadn’t been able to move during the orgasm. Al-Saud lunged into her with hard, quick thrusts and emptied his seed into the condom. Somehow, being confined by his hands increased Matilde’s ecstasy. She felt dizzy and a void enveloped her.

  Roy Blahetter knew as soon as he regained consciousness that his kneecap had been shattered with a single blow, and a spasm of pain plowed through him until it reached his throat and filled his mouth with a bitter taste. He howled and shook. His head hung down, and a thread of bloody saliva dangled from his lips, slowly soaking into the fabric of his jeans. It wouldn’t take much more to break him. In seconds his revolutionary invention would be worth nothing and he would hand it over just so that Jürkens, Professor Orville Wright’s thug, would put an end to the torment.

  Jürkens grabbed Blahetter’s hair and wrenched his head back.

  “Blahetter, open your eyes,” he demanded in English, and waited until the swollen eyelids opened in slits. “I’ll break both your legs if you don’t tell me where the designs for the uranium centrifuge are. You know I’m not joking,” he said, holding up the hammer, which he was ready to slam down on his femur.

  Roy sobbed in his chair where the gigantic man from Berlin had tied him.

  “Please,” he begged in Spanish. “Please, no…”

  “In English! I can’t understand a bloody word you’re saying.”

  “I don’t have the designs,” he expressed. “No, for the love of God, no!” he screamed as he saw the hammer coming down on his thigh.

  “Should I keep going?”

  “No, enough! I’ll tell you…I’ll tell you everything. A sip of water, please. I can’t…” Jürkens brought the rim of a glass up to his mouth and barely let him wet his lips. “More, please.”

  “First tell me where the designs are.”

  “In a locker in Gare du Nord station.”

  “Do you think you’re dealing with an idiot?”

  “It’s the truth!”

  “Give me the key and I’ll go right now to check what you’re saying.”

  “I don’t have it, my wife does.”

  “Your wife?” Jürkens saw him nod and could have sworn that he saw his sky-blue eyes fill with tears. “Where is she?”

  “She lives in an apartment on Rue Toullier.”

  That was enough information; he knew who he was talking about: the girl with the blonde braids, Al-Saud’s new lover. Moses had ordered him to postpone that matter because he needed the plans for the centrifuge urgently. Still, things were getting unexpectedly complicated. He thought about sneaking into Gare du Nord, one of Paris’s main stations, and opening the locker with a silent explosive. He discarded the idea seconds later; since the attack on the George V, the police had been on alert, especially at train stations, where the guard had been reinforced. Even if the explosive was practically soundless, it would make a flash that would draw attention. He regretted not having the skills to pick the lock. He would have to get the key.

  “Where is the key? In the apartment on Rue Toullier?”

  “No. The key…”

  “Tell me!”

  “She has it with her, on a chain around her neck.”

  Minutes later, Blahetter realized that Jürkens had gone out and left him alone. He never thought he would be happy that Matilde was with Al-Saud, but he had no doubt that the man could protect her from the German thug. For his part, he had to escape. He wasn’t sure that he’d be able to, because even if he managed to get his hands untied, he doubted he had enough strength to drag himself out to the street. Where was he? He didn’t know how much time he had spent rolling around in the back of the van. It wasn’t just his leg that hurt ferociously; he felt sharp stabs in his belly where Jürkens had taken a sadistic pleasure in hitting him. He knew that he was badly hurt.

  After shaking his wrists and massaging the knot with his fingers, he managed to loosen the rope. His skin was rubbed raw, but he managed to free his hands.

  The flames in the hearth were the only source of light in the living room. Outside, it was snowing, and the park was slowly being blanketed in white. Satisfied, Matilde was watching the snowflakes as they swayed in the air like white feathers before fluttering down to the ground. She didn’t know what time it was; she calculated that it must be late, around ten at night. After spending hours locked in the bedroom, she and Eliah had come down naked, wrapped in blankets, to find food. Tempted by the sight of the logs crackling, the carpet and the cushions, they decided to lie down in front of the fire to recover their strength. The CDs Matilde picked played one after the other. She didn’t know if Eliah was asleep—she couldn’t see him because he was spooning her from behind. She felt his naked, warm, relaxed body molded around hers. She smiled as she felt him tracing the outline of her behind with the hollow of his hand.

  “Now I understand where this ass came from. It’s not a tarantula butt, but a Pig of Metal. That’s why it’s so soft and perky.”

  Matilde, laughing, reached an arm back and whacked him on the legs with a pillow.

  “I love this song!” she exclaimed when the first notes of “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” by Gloria Gaynor played.

  Eliah shifted and Matilde spun on the cushion to see where he had gone. He was standing, completely naked, and holding his hand out to her.

  “Would you like to dance with me?”

  After what they had shared in the bedroom, she didn’t expect the contact of their naked, warm bodies to excite her and make her blush. He sang into her ear in a bass voice so deep that it sounded like it came from a deep, dark well.

  Matilde trembled when Eliah tightened his embrace. At some point in the song, he made her look at him. He kept singing to her, though Matilde fantasized that he was just talking to her and that the lyrics expressed what he wanted to say to her, that he loved her. As the chorus repeated, he stopped singing and pressed her against his chest again.

  Matilde bit her fist to stop the sob from exploding out of her. She loved him so much! The immensity of the feeling pressed down on her diaphragm and took away her breath. She had known from the second she laid eyes on him on the plane. Avoid him! she had urged herself. Get away from this alluring man because you’ll only end up hurt. Her iron will had abandoned her and she had ended up succumbing. She would suffer more than she had ever suffered in her life, which hadn
’t exactly been free of suffering. But if she loved him in this crazy way, their relationship should end. She would go to the Congo and he would get on with his life. The idea panicked her. She trembled and clutched his waist.

  “Matilde, what’s wrong, my love?”

  “Nothing. I’m cold.” Eliah picked up a blanket and wrapped it around her. “What time is it?”

  “Five past twelve,” he said.

  “I’ll be right back!”

  Al-Saud watched her gather the blanket and run upstairs. He put on a new log, poked the embers and settled back onto the cushions. Until he had paid attention to the lyrics of “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You,” he hadn’t noticed how exactly they described his feelings. He pointed the remote control at the stereo and the song started to play again. He hummed a few parts while he thought about them in French.

  Matilde came back and knelt at his side.

  “Happy birthday, Eliah,” she said, holding a package out to him.

  “How did you know?”

  “Alamán told me. I’m so happy that he did! I made you a present. It’s not much but I made it myself.”

  Al-Saud tore off the wrapping paper. It was a wooden frame with a portrait of Matilde. He took it over to the hearth to see it in the reddish firelight. He lingered over the picture because he wasn’t ready to face her yet.

  “Do you like it?” he heard her say. “I painted it.”

  “Really?” He stubbornly kept his head down.

  “Yes. I called my aunt Enriqueta and asked her how to do it. Do you see what I did?” Anxious as she was, she didn’t wait for him to answer. “It’s our love story. See? Here’s the plane, where everything started. Then I painted the subway, though it looks like a train,” she lamented. “But you and I know that we found each other on the subway. This is my aunt Sofía’s living room. The teacups are there, very tiny. They were hard to paint with a nib and Chinese ink.” Not noticing that he wasn’t lifting his head, she continued her explanations. “This is the facade of the Healing Hands headquarters, on Rue Breguet, where we saw each other again after your trip. And this is the little flower-shaped room outside your bedroom, where you made a woman of me and cured me.” At that point, Eliah’s eyes misted up. “And this is the table in the Mercure conference room and this is the Aston Martin, the most exotic places where we’ve made love. The photo isn’t very good. Juana took it with one of those disposable cameras. I’m in the Luxembourg Gardens. Anyway, it’s not a big present, but I made it with all my love.”