the lights and drawn the curtains. In the artificial light, the room had lost some of its frivolous gaiety and seemed almost oppressively luxurious. The cream drapes over the windows were cloying as a fancy dessert. The green chaise longue gleamed richly. The roses seemed larger, pinker than real roses and more heavily perfumed. I tried moving the cast on my left leg. With a great effort, I shifted its position a couple of inches. That was all.
I wanted a cigarette. Selena had smoked all that were in the pack by the bedside. I thought about ringing, but for some reason I shirked another meeting with a member of the family. My thoughts weren’t straight enough yet. I didn’t know whether I trusted them or whether they were enemies.
Of course they can't be enemies , I said.
There was a loud knock on the door.
I called: “Come in.”
The door opened on a giant. It was quite a startling experience. Before when the door opened, I had always caught a glimpse of the passage beyond. Now there was nothing but man.
He came in, shutting the door behind him. He must have been close on six foot five. He was dressed only in brief navy swimming trunks and a sleeveless blue polo shirt. His hair, shining and fair as Selena’s, fell forward over his forehead. His bare legs and arms were solid muscle and burnt by the sun to a light apricot. All I noticed of his face was a broad expanse of teeth bared in a dazzling smile.
It took him about two steps to reach the bed. He looked down at me. His eyes were the blue of denim faded in the sun. His nose was short, almost snub. His mouth, curled at the corners in a friendly smile, seemed amused by everything and by me in particular.
“Jan,” he said, stretching the smile even further.
I knew from Selena that old Mr. Friend’s “only gay thing” spoke no English. I certainly spoke no Dutch. But I tried: “Hiyah, Jan. How’s tricks?”
He shook his head, making his blond forelock slip down over his eyes. He tossed the hair back again into place and shrugged, indicating that it wasn’t worth my time to try to converse. And certainly, simple-minded or no, he seemed to know what to do without being told. Efficiently, he performed all the tasks which my mother had described as “those unfeminine bedroom things”. And all the time he was grinning as if I was an uproarious joke.
When he was through, he suddenly tugged all the bedclothes off me. The great arms slipped under me and, laughing out loud, he picked me up, casts and all, as if I was a bag of popovers, carried me across the room and laid me down on the green chaise longue. He brought a corn-colored quilt from a closet and spread it over me. In spite of his immense strength, he was gentle, almost tender. He made me feel like an elderly dowager with a lot of money to leave.
He crossed back to the bed, and, whistling some monotonous and presumably Sumatran melody, started to remake the bed. He was very careful about hospital corners, making them neat as if for inspection.
When the bed was ready, he came back to me, picked up the quilt, folded it meticulously, and took it back to a closet. He moved to a chest of drawers, selected a pair of opulent red and grey silk pajamas and came back to me. He sat down at my side and started unbuttoning my pajama coat. I protested, but he only laughed his big gusty laugh and stripped the jacket off. He eased the pants off too and then began to slip as much of me as the casts permitted into the clean pajamas.
It should have been pleasant to have such efficient valet service. But I disliked it. It made me so conscious of my own helplessness. As Jan bent over me, his fair hair tickling my chest, I knew that by slipping one arm around me, he could crush me as easily as a python crushes a deer. With only my left arm to protect myself, I would be completely at his mercy, or anyone else’s mercy.
Having tied the cord on my pants in a neat bow, he picked me up
I wanted a cigarette. Selena had smoked all that were in the pack by the bedside. I thought about ringing, but for some reason I shirked another meeting with a member of the family. My thoughts weren’t straight enough yet. I didn’t know whether I trusted them or whether they were enemies.
Of course they can't be enemies , I said.
There was a loud knock on the door.
I called: “Come in.”
The door opened on a giant. It was quite a startling experience. Before when the door opened, I had always caught a glimpse of the passage beyond. Now there was nothing but man.
He came in, shutting the door behind him. He must have been close on six foot five. He was dressed only in brief navy swimming trunks and a sleeveless blue polo shirt. His hair, shining and fair as Selena’s, fell forward over his forehead. His bare legs and arms were solid muscle and burnt by the sun to a light apricot. All I noticed of his face was a broad expanse of teeth bared in a dazzling smile.
It took him about two steps to reach the bed. He looked down at me. His eyes were the blue of denim faded in the sun. His nose was short, almost snub. His mouth, curled at the corners in a friendly smile, seemed amused by everything and by me in particular.
“Jan,” he said, stretching the smile even further.
I knew from Selena that old Mr. Friend’s “only gay thing” spoke no English. I certainly spoke no Dutch. But I tried: “Hiyah, Jan. How’s tricks?”
He shook his head, making his blond forelock slip down over his eyes. He tossed the hair back again into place and shrugged, indicating that it wasn’t worth my time to try to converse. And certainly, simple-minded or no, he seemed to know what to do without being told. Efficiently, he performed all the tasks which my mother had described as “those unfeminine bedroom things”. And all the time he was grinning as if I was an uproarious joke.
When he was through, he suddenly tugged all the bedclothes off me. The great arms slipped under me and, laughing out loud, he picked me up, casts and all, as if I was a bag of popovers, carried me across the room and laid me down on the green chaise longue. He brought a corn-colored quilt from a closet and spread it over me. In spite of his immense strength, he was gentle, almost tender. He made me feel like an elderly dowager with a lot of money to leave.
He crossed back to the bed, and, whistling some monotonous and presumably Sumatran melody, started to remake the bed. He was very careful about hospital corners, making them neat as if for inspection.
When the bed was ready, he came back to me, picked up the quilt, folded it meticulously, and took it back to a closet. He moved to a chest of drawers, selected a pair of opulent red and grey silk pajamas and came back to me. He sat down at my side and started unbuttoning my pajama coat. I protested, but he only laughed his big gusty laugh and stripped the jacket off. He eased the pants off too and then began to slip as much of me as the casts permitted into the clean pajamas.
It should have been pleasant to have such efficient valet service. But I disliked it. It made me so conscious of my own helplessness. As Jan bent over me, his fair hair tickling my chest, I knew that by slipping one arm around me, he could crush me as easily as a python crushes a deer. With only my left arm to protect myself, I would be completely at his mercy, or anyone else’s mercy.
Having tied the cord on my pants in a neat bow, he picked me up
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