An Astronaut's Life by Sonja Dechian Page A

if I don’t play along? What if I tell her I’m breaking up with her, or
if I never come back?’
    ‘It’s likely she’ll block it out, not hear you. Or, if you don’t visit, she might
believe you’re coming tomorrow or that you were here yesterday. We all hold on to
certain delusions, things we don’t examine because they’re difficult. Leisel’s not
so different from anyone else.’
    The architect could only do his best to help, visiting more often, encouraging Leisel
to keep up with her homework and write letters to her school friends, which he took
but never posted. She seemed frustrated with her lack of progress and freedom, as
he presumed a teenager should be. He worried he wasn’t doing enough. They were in
her room. Leisel had showed him the horse she’d painted in her sessions that morning.
Leisel hated the classes in anger management and relaxation, but she didn’t mind
the painting. They had a choice of four ceramic animals: kitten, dog, dolphin or
horse.
    The horses were twenty-five centimetres high and stood on their hind legs. Her latest
had a yellow flower around its left eye and a trail of branches circled its body.
    ‘It’s lovely,’ the architect said, tracing his finger over its black eyeball. ‘You’ve
done a good job with this one.’
    ‘It’s stupid.’ Leisel screwed up her face and slumped onto her bed. ‘It’s so boring
in here.’
    ‘It won’t be much longer.’
    ‘Be careful.’ She reached for her horse. ‘The paint’s wet.’
    The architect withdrew his hand and studied the smear of black on his fingertip.
Leisel sighed at the damage he’d inflicted. She started to cry.
    He wiped the finger on his jeans and then he took Leisel in his arms.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
    She sobbed against his shoulder. He held her tighter because he knew she wasn’t really
crying about the horse. She sank her fingers into his hair and kissed his neck and
cheeks. He kissed her in return. He didn’t want her to cry. He cupped her breasts
through her T-shirt. The architect took off her jeans and then her underwear. She
didn’t cry anymore.
    He wondered if Leisel would notice the differences in him. He flattered himself that
maybe this would be the thing to break her delusion, maybe it would happen right
as he entered her, unfamiliar and no longer the teenage boy she expected. He was
aroused and guilty at the sight of her almost naked, but with her closed eyes and
prodding fingers, he could tell Leisel was happy.
    The architect parted her legs and pushed into her slowly. He was gentle, as if it
was her first time, because he was unsure whether she believed it was.
    ‘What are we supposed to do with that?’
    The architect had come home with one of the horses. It was painted with fine black
and red stripes.
    ‘It was a gift,’ he said.
    His wife took the ceramic horse and inspected the paintwork.
    ‘Leisel always wanted to be an artist,’ he said.
    ‘So did she become one?’
    The architect didn’t know. He didn’t know anything about Leisel’s adult life. His
wife considered the gift then placed it in the bedroom cupboard.
    ‘Do you have to see her so often?’
    His wife was still in her work clothes; she sat on the bed, pulling off her stockings
as she spoke.
    ‘It’s not that much, it’s barely once a week. And what can I do anyway? She thinks
I’m her boyfriend.’
    ‘I know. And I think you’re my husband. Though I’m starting to wonder which of us
is more deluded.’
    ‘Please don’t.’
    ‘Well, it’s true, isn’t it?’
    ‘I’m just trying to do the right thing.’
    ‘By who?’
    ‘By her. By Leisel.’
    The architect’s wife unzipped her skirt and let if fall. She unbuttoned her blouse
and took off her bra. When she stood right in front of him, so close her nipples
touched his chest, the architect ran his hands over her waist out of habit. She rested
her palms against his stomach and squeezed. He knew it was meant as a truce but he
sensed a criticism in