the gesture—he’d always been so much thinner before.
She unzipped his pants and tried to tug them down, but the architect reached a hand
to stop her.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ she said.
Things started to change with Leisel. They stopped taking walks around the grounds
and instead closed the door to her room and spent long afternoons exploring one another’s
bodies like teenagers.
After, she would lie against his chest and talk about their future.
‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ she told him. It was late one afternoon.
‘Me too.’
Leisel fell quiet.
The doctor had explained how the medication would calm her and over time begin to
regulate the chemicals in her brain. A side-effect was that Leisel put on weight;
her face grew rounder, filling out the lines around her eyes. The architect watched
for these changes, the curve of her belly and the difference in the shape of her
breasts. She still spent a lot of time in silence, but it didn’t take her away so
often.
‘When I’m out of here, maybe we can live somewhere together,’ she said.
He looked along her naked back and at her limbs strewn across him. ‘Of course we
can. Where would you like to live?’ he said.
‘In an apartment. One of the ones where you have to press a button at the entrance
so someone can buzz you in.’
‘I think we can find one of those.’
‘And when you’re an architect you’ll build us our house.’
‘If that’s what you’d like.’
Leisel ran her hand into the hair on his chest and traced a path downward. He held
his stomach in, although it made no difference to the way she saw him.
‘You really can’t tell, can you?’ he said.
‘Hmmm?’
‘You haven’t noticed anything different?’
Leisel lifted herself onto her elbow.
‘What?’ she said.
‘My hair. For a start, it’s thinning.’
Leisel shrugged. ‘Don’t be silly.’
‘I know you can’t see it, but I’m a thirty-six-year-old man.’
She looked at him.
‘And I am an architect. Have been for a while now, and I’m not really that good at
it, if you want to know the truth.’
Leisel reached over and touched his nipple. The architect took her hand to stop her.
‘I have a wife. I’m married. We’ve been trying to have a baby. It’s been maybe a
year now, but I guess something’s wrong.’
Leisel pulled her hand away and rolled onto her back. She ran her hands along her
stomach.
‘I think I’d like to have children. But I haven’t decided how many.’
The architect looked at the square tiles on the ceiling.
‘Why don’t we just wait and see?’ he said.
Leisel nodded.
‘Come here, you.’ He pulled her to him.
There was no way to hide the increasing frequency of his visits to the hospital.
Instead, the architect gave his wife brief but essentially accurate reports on Leisel’s
progress: she’s stable, she’s improving, she’s having a tough day. His wife responded
with practiced concern but never asked for detail.
‘Do you have to be this way?’ he said one day, in an effort to provoke confrontation.
‘What do you mean? This is me being sympathetic.’
‘You’re being patronising.’
‘I’m not sure why it bothers you.’
She was sorting through a box of old papers, searching for something she’d written,
case notes from when she was at school.
‘Leisel’s someone who matters to me and she’s going through a tough time.’
‘So I suppose I can expect to meet her soon, since she matters to you, and I’m your
wife?’ She waited. ‘I can tell you’re in love with her.’
‘Please. She’s a child.’
‘She’s a thirty-four-year-old woman.’
‘Yes, who thinks she’s a child.’
‘And you’re, what, her high-school boyfriend?
‘I’m her friend.’
‘I’m not blind.’
She turned to him.
‘You’re fucking her, aren’t you?’
‘For God’s sake. She’s sick. She needs someone and I’m trying to help.’
‘She needs you?’ His wife dumped a stack of papers back into
She unzipped his pants and tried to tug them down, but the architect reached a hand
to stop her.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ she said.
Things started to change with Leisel. They stopped taking walks around the grounds
and instead closed the door to her room and spent long afternoons exploring one another’s
bodies like teenagers.
After, she would lie against his chest and talk about their future.
‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ she told him. It was late one afternoon.
‘Me too.’
Leisel fell quiet.
The doctor had explained how the medication would calm her and over time begin to
regulate the chemicals in her brain. A side-effect was that Leisel put on weight;
her face grew rounder, filling out the lines around her eyes. The architect watched
for these changes, the curve of her belly and the difference in the shape of her
breasts. She still spent a lot of time in silence, but it didn’t take her away so
often.
‘When I’m out of here, maybe we can live somewhere together,’ she said.
He looked along her naked back and at her limbs strewn across him. ‘Of course we
can. Where would you like to live?’ he said.
‘In an apartment. One of the ones where you have to press a button at the entrance
so someone can buzz you in.’
‘I think we can find one of those.’
‘And when you’re an architect you’ll build us our house.’
‘If that’s what you’d like.’
Leisel ran her hand into the hair on his chest and traced a path downward. He held
his stomach in, although it made no difference to the way she saw him.
‘You really can’t tell, can you?’ he said.
‘Hmmm?’
‘You haven’t noticed anything different?’
Leisel lifted herself onto her elbow.
‘What?’ she said.
‘My hair. For a start, it’s thinning.’
Leisel shrugged. ‘Don’t be silly.’
‘I know you can’t see it, but I’m a thirty-six-year-old man.’
She looked at him.
‘And I am an architect. Have been for a while now, and I’m not really that good at
it, if you want to know the truth.’
Leisel reached over and touched his nipple. The architect took her hand to stop her.
‘I have a wife. I’m married. We’ve been trying to have a baby. It’s been maybe a
year now, but I guess something’s wrong.’
Leisel pulled her hand away and rolled onto her back. She ran her hands along her
stomach.
‘I think I’d like to have children. But I haven’t decided how many.’
The architect looked at the square tiles on the ceiling.
‘Why don’t we just wait and see?’ he said.
Leisel nodded.
‘Come here, you.’ He pulled her to him.
There was no way to hide the increasing frequency of his visits to the hospital.
Instead, the architect gave his wife brief but essentially accurate reports on Leisel’s
progress: she’s stable, she’s improving, she’s having a tough day. His wife responded
with practiced concern but never asked for detail.
‘Do you have to be this way?’ he said one day, in an effort to provoke confrontation.
‘What do you mean? This is me being sympathetic.’
‘You’re being patronising.’
‘I’m not sure why it bothers you.’
She was sorting through a box of old papers, searching for something she’d written,
case notes from when she was at school.
‘Leisel’s someone who matters to me and she’s going through a tough time.’
‘So I suppose I can expect to meet her soon, since she matters to you, and I’m your
wife?’ She waited. ‘I can tell you’re in love with her.’
‘Please. She’s a child.’
‘She’s a thirty-four-year-old woman.’
‘Yes, who thinks she’s a child.’
‘And you’re, what, her high-school boyfriend?
‘I’m her friend.’
‘I’m not blind.’
She turned to him.
‘You’re fucking her, aren’t you?’
‘For God’s sake. She’s sick. She needs someone and I’m trying to help.’
‘She needs you?’ His wife dumped a stack of papers back into
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