When Darkness Loves Us

Instantly, Leon was wide awake. What in the hell was she doing? I gotta go home. The thought registered, but her little soft hand was rubbing his arm and it felt so good, so good.

Martha had never felt anything like this before. He was so smooth, so soft, his skin was cool and pleasant. She could stroke him like this for hours. Her hand ran up and down his arm, then down his side, over his hip—he didn’t have any clothes on at all—to the little hairs on his thigh. The feel of him made her sleepy. Her hand rested where it was.

Leon rolled over, completely aroused. He knew he was crazy, but suddenly it didn’t matter. She was so soft, so nice, so tender. He really cared about her. He pressed against her and ran his fingers lightly over her cheek as he looked at her profile silhouetted in the moonlight shining through the window. Her face was soft; he could see the little tiny white hairs that covered her cheek. He brushed his hand around her neck, down her arm, up over her breast and down to her ample middle. She felt marvelous. He kissed her cheek, then her neck.

Martha was in heaven. She had no idea people did this, but she loved it. She loved him. They would do this every night forever. He began talking to her in a low voice, and feelings began to pulse in her body. He took her hand and put it on a part of his body she’d never seen. She was startled, surprised, but as he told her what to do, she began to enjoy it, she enjoyed it all, she enjoyed him, oh, she loved him.

They stroked and caressed each other for hours, then drifted off to sleep, only to wake up and begin again. Leon pushed his conscience to the back of his head. He tried to take it slowly, easily, not to frighten her. She was alarmed when his muscles tightened and he jerked and warm wet stuff flowed all over her hand, but he didn’t seem to hurt, so she just wiped her hand on the underside of the pillow and didn’t tell him about it. The night had a magical quality, a newness, a strange feeling of sleeping but not really sleeping, of someone else in the bed, someone nice, always aware, yet comfortable and peaceful. In the early hours they both slept deeply.

Martha woke up as she always did, when the rooster crowed just before dawn. She felt warm and cozy, drifty, floating. She looked over at Leon, sleeping with one leg hanging over the edge of the bed, the sheet covering his chest to his thighs. His face was relaxed, peaceful, little whiskers growing darkly on his chin and under his nose. His sunblond hair scattered across his forehead.

She snuggled back down under the covers to watch him wake up. She kept to her side of the bed, wanting to touch him, not wanting to wake him. She wanted to watch him wake up all by himself. Feelings of the night before came back to her, memories in vivid detail of the closeness they had shared. She could understand this. She yawned, lazily.

Why would Priscilla be mad? Because Priscilla wants to sleep with Leon, that’s why, not because she wants to sleep with me. Why would Priscilla not want me and Leon to be together? What did he say? “It’s just that she’s got an eye on your money.” That’s what he said. Priscilla wants money? She can have money if that will make her not mad.

Somehow that didn’t feel right. Martha’s face screwed up in concentration. What does money have to do with sleeping together? She thinks I’m paying Leon to sleep with me? That’s silly. I’m paying Leon to fix the chicken house. Maybe that’s the money Priscilla wants. And Priscilla doesn’t want Leon to sleep with me because if he’s here every night, he’ll work every day, and he’ll get all the money for doing other things. Her heart started to pound. She looked at Leon, sleeping, his eyes moving under his lids.

This whole thing is silly, Martha thought. She thought of Mike, and that afternoon in the bar when Leon brought her home. She thought of the other day in the bar with the man with the toothpick, and the one who called her retard. She had answered him: Daddy. Oh, boy, did she really say that? And Mr. McRae in the market. What a nice person. The chickens really liked the food he gave her—what did he call it? Cluck peck. She smiled at the ceiling. Wait a minute. I gave it that name. The smile vanished. In front of all those other people. Shame crept up her face, burning her cheeks. Did I really say that?

Leon moaned and turned onto his stomach. She slid quietly out of bed and went into the kitchen.