quickly from curious to terrified. “Feeling nothing sounds like death.”
“You feel relaxed. As if you don’t have a care in the world. You might just feel as if you’re dreaming. You might even fall asleep. It will do you a world of good.”
I breathed in some of the smoke, exhaled, happy to see that I was still upright, then inhaled again, three more times, each intake of breath longer and deeper. I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes, breathing much more slowly than usual.
“How do you feel?” he asked as I opened my eyes again.
“I feel … at ease,” I said, surprised that I had been affected so quickly. “As you said, I feel relaxed. Perhaps too relaxed. I can barely move my lips to form sentences.”
There is a moment before you kiss a man where your life seems to stand still. Your brain slows, then your heartbeat, which slows your pulse and relaxes your muscles. It’s a rare, physical quietude. I knew Red was leaning in to kiss me just then. I saw his face inch closer and closer to mine, but I felt unable to stop him. I couldn’t move. I ran my hand over my face. I hardly registered my own touch. My entire body felt soft, as if my muscles had snapped, and though I wanted to stop him, I also didn’t want to ruin the feeling that had washed over me. The feeling of being free from my own body.
I closed my eyes and didn’t push him off.
“I can’t not kiss you,” he said, leaning closer. “It’s as simple as that. I can’t not.”
He leaned in and kissed me, somehow finding the strength to pull me into him.
“How is your marriage?” he murmured when we had pulled apart, our faces still close, almost touching.
“It’s wonderful,” I whispered, the words sounding strange, as if my voice wasn’t my own.
He smiled, fatigue in his eyes, and kissed me again, harder this time. “I don’t believe you,” he replied.
* * *
I woke up the next morning bathed in dried sweat and guilt. The sweat was Red’s; the guilt was mine. I turned to look at the chair in his room, and at the other side of his bed. Red wasn’t there. I moved a few inches onto the drier part of the sheets, my stomach lurching as I moved. I put my hand on it and lay back, my head painfully heavy, my brain cloudy. I felt as if I’d drunk all the champagne in the world. I closed my eyes but heard a knock that I couldn’t get up to answer. The door creaked open, and I rolled over slightly to see who it was.
“Good morning,” he said, striding in, an annoyingly casual movement, and gestured to the view out the window. “Fantastic, isn’t it? Burma was scenic, but it didn’t have anything like this.”
“It is,” I said. My stomach groaned again, and I pulled the covers over it to muffle the sound. I looked up at him. It had to be said. “Red, last night. It was a terrible decision on my part. Victor isn’t perfect, but he’s still my husband, and he’s a good man. The best man I know, really. He doesn’t deserve to have a wife who—”
“What do you know of your plantations?” Red asked, interrupting me.
“What do you mean?” I asked, confused. “I know quite a lot about the Michelin plantations.”
“Do you?” said Red. He took an orange out of a bowl of fruit that was on the table near the window. He held it to his nose, the tip of it almost on the peel. “Like your watch,” he said and pointed to my wrist. “It’s a very nice watch.”
“It was a gift,” I murmured, flipping the face back around.
“Dau Tieng and Phu Rieng,” he repeated. “Have you been there yet? Have you seen the plantations? Been on the ground? Seen the men who work there? Or the women? Eighteen percent of your coolies are women. Did you know that?”
“Yes,” I said, though I hadn’t.
“I thought so,” he said. “It was in the newspaper a few weeks back. Still, I think you should visit in person. Smart woman like yourself. You’ve been here how long, a month or two?”
“Something like that.”
“It’s a world apart down there,” he said, the tenor of his voice dropping. “That’s what everyone says. Aren’t you curious?”
“Not especially.”
“Well, you should be. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel so guilty about a small kiss.”
“A small kiss?”