Bodies in Motion (22 page)

She was good with math, good with small, precise calculations. If Chaya added this to that, then looked over there, in exactly the right place—she'd find the hidden star. A tiny bit off, subtraction instead of addition, a misplaced decimal, and it would be lost to her sight, lost in the expanse of constantly moving celestial bodies, and the vast spaces between them. But she rarely lost a star. She didn't know words—bodies in motion, that was what she knew. That was all she knew. He was an astronomer too, so why wasn't it enough for him?

Daniel sighed. He continued to hold her feet, and after a time his fingers started to caress them, tracing the instep while Chaya tried not to jerk them away. Eventually, his hands moved up her legs, and she gratefully parted them for him. As he bent to kiss her, he said softly, “Talk to me…”

 

JULY WAS BLAZING THAT YEAR. CHAYA SPENT MOST OF HER TIME IN
her air-conditioned office, and when Daniel came by, she was always
too busy running analyses to talk. His apartment wasn't air-conditioned, so they weren't having much sex. Once or twice, they used the upholstered chair in the office Daniel shared, but his officemate was often around, even at night. It wasn't very comfortable in any case.

By the end of the month, Daniel was stopping by less often than he had been. Chaya's hair was still growing, but she wasn't sure why.

 

THE END, WHEN IT CAME, WAS NOT UNEXPECTED. THE HURT, BEWILDERED
look in Daniel's eyes had faded, and Chaya had no trouble reading the pure frustration that replaced it. The night he chose to break up with her, she watched him pace around his living room, building up his nerve while she turned the pages of a book she wasn't reading. Her heart twisted, and she decided to make it easier for him. Chaya closed the book and said, “We need to talk.”

It went quickly after that. She said that she was sorry, but this wasn't working. He politely protested, but not for long. Daniel said he'd always care for her. She didn't say that her chest felt as if it were being pierced by long, thin knives, that her throat felt like it was being choked of air, strangled by a Thuggee's silk cord. Daniel gave her a long hug, and she tried not to go stiff in his arms. Chaya kissed him once, gently. He offered to drive her home, and she said she'd rather walk the twelve blocks.

“Are you sure?”

Chaya nodded. He walked her to the door, and she went out into the night.

The stars were shining brightly, in a sky unnaturally clear for that time of year. It didn't seem appropriate; it should have been a cloudy night. But at least it meant that she didn't have to stay home in her empty apartment. Chaya picked up the Dobsonian, loaded it in her car, and drove north until she found a good cow pasture, wide and open and relatively free of cows. She watched the stars all night, count
ing them, naming them, the way she had as a little girl, sitting on the back porch and leaning against her father's strong arms.

He had introduced her to the constellations, had traced the outline of Orion's belt, his scabbard. Her father hadn't been a scientist, or even an intellectual. But he had loved the stars, had talked about how he'd like to take her on a rocket ship and go out there someday, just the two of them. Go out and visit the moon, or Mars—and just keep going, out and out. Leaning against her father, Chaya had always felt as if she knew exactly where she was, and where she was going.

When Daniel had held her in his arms, she had felt just a little of that feeling again.

 

SHE WENT OFF THE PILL. THERE SEEMED NO REASON TO CONTINUE
with it after he left. Chaya knew she should date, should try to meet someone else—but why? The gaps were too large, the spaces unbridgeable. No matter how precise your calculations, people never moved along the expected paths—she hadn't dated anyone before Daniel, but she had always known that was true, had felt the certainty buried deep within her, where logic couldn't reach. She had not known how to warn Savitha before her sister married and moved away. She had never known how to say this to her mother, how to say it without reminding her of Appa.

Her mother knew nothing of Daniel's presence, then absence, in her life. Her mother still said to her, “Chaya, what about this one? Dr. Singh's son—medical school at Northwestern, so close, and handsome too.”

“Not right now, Amma. I don't have time to take care of a husband.”

Her mother sighed. “You're getting so thin, Chaya; you're not eating right. Just settle down with a nice boy—let him take care of you! No wonder none of you modern girls are getting married; you're too self-sufficient. You think you don't need anyone.”

In mid-September, Daniel knocked on her door. It was bright and sunny that day—one of those brief warm days that come to Chicago in September. Yet he looked cold. Maybe that was why she let him in. Daniel hated the cold; he did all his viewing from inside insulated control centers, protected by thick layers of glass. He should never have become an astronomer.

“Nice place,” he said.

“Thanks.”

They stood there for a moment with the door still open, and then he stepped forward, letting it close behind him. Daniel stepped forward, and Chaya stepped into his arms. He bent his head down and took her face in his hands; he began kissing her. Fierce, hard kisses, oddly contrasted with the gentleness of his hands. He lifted his head for a moment to start to talk, “Chaya…”

“Shh…,” she said, and went up on her toes to kiss him again. Her lips were aching for his.

They didn't make it to the bedroom—they slid down to the floor. Chaya didn't know what to say to Daniel, whether to tell him to stay or go, but her fingers were unbuttoning his shirt, unbuckling his belt. His hands slid under her shirt, caressed her spine, unhooked her bra, and cupped her breasts. Their bodies knew how to speak to each other. His mouth was on her skin and her mouth was on his skin.

Very quickly they were both naked enough on the scratchy carpet, and he was whispering her name as he slid into her. Was it then that she remembered? Was it then that Chaya said softly, “No…”—while her body strained up to meet him? There was no time to explain the why of it, almost no time at all between his first feverish, frantic entry and their mutual explosion. Just time enough for confusion to taint it all, and afterward she lay with his face against her neck, his mouth still whispering her name.

She didn't explain. Daniel started to say something about missing her, needing her, wanting to work things out. Chaya pulled away and dressed again. She asked him to go.

After Daniel left, she climbed into her old rocking chair, pulling her legs up to her chest. Chaya started to rock; as she rocked, she replayed the scene in her mind, the moments when he knocked on the door, the kiss, the undressing, the entry, the protest, the conclusion. Or was it the protest, the entry, the conclusion? Or even the entry, the conclusion, with no protest at all? Chaya didn't know. She did not know what she had said with her atrophied mouth, and the language of the body had betrayed her.

Tomorrow she would go to a clinic, minimize the consequences. And after that—she didn't know.

 

CHAYA DIDN
'
T KNOW WHEN EVERYONE LEARNED ABOUT THE NEW
woman. She only knew that she was the last to find out, in the bitter cold of late November.

She learned from the silences. Colleagues would either fall silent as she walked into a room or turn and heartily greet her: “Chaya! So, what are you working on these days?” She hadn't even realized that they had known about her and Daniel—Chaya had thought it was private, their own secret, but clearly her colleagues had known. Oh, everyone was very kind, very tactful. If they had been less so, perhaps she would have found out sooner, and been saved some embarrassment.

Daniel was engaged. What was worse, as Chaya discovered, was that he had started dating the woman, a young poli sci professor, in August. Chaya didn't know whether it had happened before or after they'd broken up, and she wasn't going to ask Daniel. But it had started before the incident at Chaya's apartment, which raised unpleasant questions of what else Daniel hadn't told her. The questions spun in her head, tracing new elliptical paths. Chaya had almost decided, at the end of October, that she should call Daniel. Had almost decided that she should trust him, had been persuading herself to try to forgive him for that day, for what had happened,
if
it had happened…

Chaya had stared at the phone, cursing her indecision. She had almost called a dozen, a hundred times. She was lucky she had not.

Perhaps she should tell him that.

She wasn't getting any work done anyway. Hadn't accomplished anything productive in weeks. In a few days she'd be flying to Tucson for some time on the big telescope at Kitt Peak. The time had been scheduled months ago; Chaya had been so pleased when her proposal had been approved, with three whole nights of observation. Enough time to gather the evidence that might actually prove her latest theory. But now she couldn't bring herself to care; lately, Chaya hadn't even been going up on the roof. She just sat in her office, stared at the computer, and stewed.

On the first day of December, Chaya cut her hair, so short that the ice wind bit at her ears. Windchill put the temperature at minus fifteen, with worse to come. She didn't care.

 

CHAYA KNOCKED ON DANIEL
'
S DOOR.

He opened it, and Chaya stood there in the doorway, looking in at the place that was achingly familiar. The white couch with the pillows arranged just so. The tidy bookshelves and desk. The soft grey rug. Daniel was a neat man—that had surprised her when she first came here. She had expected something more chaotic. There were a few changes now; bright paintings hung on the walls, cheerful abstracts in orange and red. The poli sci woman.

“Is she here?”

“No, Laurie's out of town for the week. Conference.” Daniel stepped aside, and Chaya came in.

Chaya wasn't sure what she was expecting. Daniel, to his credit, did not immediately try to make love to her once the door closed. That argued well for him; perhaps he hadn't been dating Laurie yet when he came to Chaya's apartment that day. Daniel didn't even step toward
her. Chaya didn't know why he did, or didn't, though.
Why
had become important.

“Why didn't you stop?” She said it abruptly, with no prelude—if she'd worked up to it, she wouldn't have been able to say it at all. That was how words so often behaved; fine in her head but choked in her throat, smothered in her mouth. So this time Chaya simply spit them out, without thinking about it.

“What?” Daniel looked completely confused.

“That time, at my apartment”—her voice rose in volume with each phrase—“why didn't you stop when I asked you to? Why didn't you stop when I said no?” Chaya was shouting. She had prided herself on never shouting in a family of frequent screaming fights. Chaya had always been the calm, contained, quiet one, but now, if she didn't shout, she would cry, and crying was unacceptable. “I trusted you!”

Daniel looked blank, bewildered, even a little angry. He didn't say anything at first, though—he just looked at her. Finally, he sank down onto the couch and started to speak. “Okay, I think there's some confusion here. Could we just go over this slowly?” He paused, but Chaya said nothing.

Daniel continued. “I'm sorry that I left when I did. I'm sorry that I started sleeping with Laurie right after we broke up. I'm sorry I didn't come after you sooner. I'm sorry I didn't talk to you first when I did come after you, and I'm particularly sorry that I didn't tell you about Laurie then.” He paused again, but Chaya still didn't speak. Daniel went on, slower. “I meant to talk to you, but I had missed you so much. When I saw you, my body just took over. I'm sorry that I just let you send me away that day, that I didn't stay, or at least come back. Maybe things would have worked out differently.” He shrugged.

Chaya's shoulders had relaxed a little, and her arms loosened. As she started to open her mouth, Daniel held up a hand. “Hang on. I wasn't done. I'm sorry for all of that, but you weren't exactly clear with me either. And more importantly, I also don't know what you're
talking about, when you ask me why I didn't stop. I thought you wanted it…and Laurie and I had only slept together a few times at that point…and we'd been using condoms, if that's what you're worried about. I didn't put you at any risk.” Daniel sounded almost indignant now.

“I wasn't on the pill.”

Daniel hunched over slightly, as if his stomach hurt. “Jesus. I didn't know.”

“I know that.” Chaya's face was completely still. “That's why I said no, why I told you to stop.”

Daniel's pale face grew even paler. “You didn't. I swear it, you didn't say anything at all. You just kissed me, and pulled me down, and took off my clothes. You didn't say a word. You never do. Trust me, if you had said anything, I would have noticed!”

Chaya stared at him, just stared, while her mind went back to that day in September. Had she actually said it at all, or had she simply thought it? Chaya bit her lip, wondering if she had ever really believed it, or if she had just convinced herself that she did, so she would have an excuse, a reason to be angry with him. What was wrong with her?

Daniel asked, in a voice suddenly rough, “Did you really think I could do that to you?”

Chaya shook her head, realizing that no, she didn't really believe it. She started to cry. Tears welled up, as if the ice in her chest were melting, as if she were flooding, drowning. She walked over to Daniel and, shaking, held out her hands to him.

“Hey…,” he said, and pulled her down to the couch, into his arms. Chaya huddled there, with her face pressed against him, sobbing until his shirt was soaked, her fingers digging into his chest while he slowly rocked her, whispering soft reassurances.