Anger by May Sarton Page A

Anna to her feet. “Let’s go to bed.”
    â€œWithout any supper?”
    â€œWe’ll make love till we’re ravenous. Then we’ll eat.”
    â€œNed!” Anna said, but she was pulled along. She felt the tide rising beyond either their ability or wish to hold it back. And she knew almost coldly that they had to get it over, to find out where they were, who they were, together.
    But that was not exactly what happened. For there in the big bed in Ned’s room, she experienced the jolting force of his need in darkness. His hard chest against her soft breasts hurt a little. Never had a man penetrated her so deeply, so that at one moment she gasped.
    â€œI’m hurting you.”
    â€œNo, don’t go.”
    â€œOh Anna, Anna!” He held her gently then and rocked her back and forth still deeply inside her, till the last spasm came and went. Then he gave a deep sigh, “It’s good to let go.”
    Anna was now living at such speed, hurtling among the stars, she felt, that her mind would not stop thinking, and at the same time she was wholly relaxed, one breast cupped in Ned’s hand. She was thinking with her whole body, still tingling, still wonderfully alive down to her toes. But at the same time she pondered the curious fact that this most intimate and personal of acts between human beings was, when fully consummated, actually quite impersonal. It was not Ned so much of whom she had been aware as of their being part together of a primal scene, of being as she put it as she lay there, united in some strange way with the universe itself rather than with each other. To go so far out with another person was a little frightening, now that she was coming back to the dark bedroom, alone. “Ned,” she whispered, and realized then that he was asleep.
    How could he be asleep? It seemed astonishing, but she supposed that that “letting go” as he had put it, had given him in the end this bliss, perhaps, of unconsciousness. He did not, as she did, have to be aware, for the stronger the emotion involved, the greater her need to understand what exactly was happening. So she lay there wide awake, until Ned suddenly sat up.
    â€œWhat time is it?”
    â€œGod knows, my darling. You’ve been asleep.”
    â€œWell, we’d better get ourselves something to eat!”
    â€œPut on the light, I want to see you.”
    It seemed to Anna the most natural of requests but its effect on Ned was unexpected. “No,” he said, “I’m not ready,” and he disappeared into the bathroom. When he came out and turned on the light he was in pajamas and Anna instinctively pulled the sheet up to her chin.
    â€œGet into a dressing gown or something and I’ll run down and start things … aren’t you ravenous?”
    â€œCome here, you oafish character,” she commanded. And he stood there by the bed looking down at her with a rather quizzical expression.
    â€œNed, are you there?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDo you love me?”
    â€œWhat do you think?”
    And before she could answer he had turned away and run down the stairs. Was it possible that he couldn’t say it?
    â€œWhat a splendid sight!” Ned said when she came down after a few moments in a bright red dressing gown ruffled at the throat. “The prima donna!”
    â€œHardly! Prima donnas do not eat supper at after nine in a bathrobe.”
    â€œIs that a bathrobe?” he teased. “It looks like something meant for a chaise longue … Stretch out here by the fire and I’ll open the champagne … steak will only take a few minutes. Rare, I trust?”
    â€œMedium rare.”
    Anna felt she was floating, not quite touching the ground, a little unreal. She didn’t stretch out, she sat on the chaise looking at the fire, or rather the ashes of the fire, a few bits of the log still glowing. Then he was standing, his back to the fire, lifting