It was only several evenings later that Ames asked if there had been something amiss or in need of fixing in the cottage, not mentioning Hector at all, and when she told him there wasn’t he nodded and didn’t pursue it. Later Ames came into her bed and wanted to make love and she must have surprised him with her intensity for he was as physical with her as he had ever been, so lost in the moment that he was unaware of his hand pressing her throat, nearly to the point of her losing consciousness. Yet she had not resisted him in the slightest. He seemed to know that he could do whatever he wished to her, that she would give herself over to any extent, and in the veil of perfect darkness he was not so much a man as a fury, this starved force that sought out every peccant part of her. He fell asleep half atop her in the single bed and by morning the one side of her was numb. He dressed quickly for the day and kissed her but wouldn’t meet her gaze; it was always like this after their lovemaking, from the very beginning, a pale light of shame in his eyes. Perhaps it had nothing to do with her but this time she felt the depth of all her lies. As if he sensed something awry Ames embraced her, and she held on to him. What would she be, without him? That afternoon, while he took the children on a hike, she removed her kit from its hiding place in the trunk beneath her bed and threw it in the fire, aware of the miserable hours ahead of her but knowing that they would be so for the very last time.
Ames now returned from breakfast with a bowl of beef broth for her. It was milky white, made as it was in the Korean style, shin-bones completely boiled down. She didn’t want it but he asked her to try some and she took a sip and then another, the soup dense and rich and salty. Her stomach felt calm and she sipped some more. But then something seized and turned and spit up in the washbasin next to her bed. Ames braced her as she gagged. She wiped her mouth, her burning eyes.
“I shouldn’t go tomorrow,” he said. “You’re not getting better.” He was scheduled to go on his final trip to visit two recently opened orphanages along the eastern coastline. It was a slow journey on the poor roads across the coastal mountain range and down along the peninsula, three full days to go out and return.
“I’ll be okay.”
“I don’t see how,” he said. “You look as if you’re dying.”
“I’m not dying.”
He looked down at his hands. “Do you want me to go?”
“Of course not,” she said. “We have so little time left. No one wants you to leave. The children as much as I.”
“I can have Reverend Kim go in my place.”
“Do you truly think he can? Do you think he knows yet how an orphanage ought to be run?”
Ames didn’t answer. “Sometimes I wonder if he knows much besides conducting the liturgy.”
“And how to eat,” she said.
“He’s a champion eater, isn’t he!”
They laughed easily, the first time in a long while. Ames said: “He’s a good man, though. He’s smart, if a bit dreamy. He’ll learn.”
“I hope so,” she said. “But sometimes I worry. He never spends any extra time with the children. He has no natural feeling for how to be with them.”
“Perhaps sending him now would do him some good. Force him to connect.”
“That would be fine if we weren’t leaving, and you could go visit. But this is your last chance. Why should those children have to lose the benefit of your being there? Just because I’m not feeling well? I don’t want you to have to go anywhere, but should you take a chance with their welfare because you’re worried about me? I’d only feel worse, knowing they would be shortchanged.”
“I wish that you could come with me.”
“I will if you want.”
“How can you? Look at you. You have no strength. Besides, if you did come we’d be leaving Reverend Kim in charge.”
“The aunties and the children can handle him.”
“But of course Hector would be here.”
She would have wished for Ames not to say his name. But he went on: “You know, I’ve been thinking it might be best if he could stay around. I mean after we’ve gone. I know I’ve told him otherwise. But now I think I was wrong. Hector still doesn’t seem to know it, or perhaps he knows and doesn’t care, but he’s good for the children, in his own way.”
She nodded but was silent.
“I was thinking that perhaps it’s not so terrible, to have an adult around who’s not telling them what to do all day. Who’s not a preacher. I think I’ve been too strident about what I expect of them. Sometimes I think I’m not seeing who they are. They’re children, yes. But they’re not innocents, and maybe it’s not the worst thing to have someone like Hector around, who is obviously not so certain of his future. Who clearly struggles. But he works as hard as anyone I’ve ever seen and I know the children recognize that, too, and I wonder if that’s not better for them than any sermon from me.”
“You’ve only done wonders for them. Here and at all the other orphanages. No one could say anything otherwise. They love you.”
He clasped her cheek. “I have to teach now. Will you be all right?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll bring you something again at lunch.”
“Please don’t,” she said. “I can make myself tea. That’s all I need.”
“All right. Will you do something for me, dear?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I was hoping that you would speak to Hector. When you’re feeling better, I mean.”
“What about?”
“I’d like you to ask him to remain here, after we’re gone. I doubt my asking him would do any good. Don’t you think it would be best if he stayed on? I don’t know how I or Reverend Kim will find someone else who would know to do all the necessary things, before and after the winter comes. I think only you have any chance of convincing him.”
“He won’t listen to me.”
“Why not? He’s always thought so highly of you. Am I wrong?”
“We haven’t spoken very much of late.”
“I have noticed that,” he said, his wire spectacles still in his hand. The late-morning sun was streaming in from the window and brightly lighted the side of his face. He looked tired himself, worn down, and then oddly childlike, his sky-blue eyes appearing immense against the tight, drawn skin of his brow.
“Did something happen?” he muttered, looking down at his spectacles. “Did he offend you in some way?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?”
He waited, but she didn’t answer. Finally he pulled on his eyeglasses. She was sure he was going to say something difficult now, something irreparable and lasting, but he paused in mid-breath, literally swallowing the words. He reached for her then, and she shut her eyes, a flinch tensing her neck, but all she felt was his tender stroking of her hair.
“You should rest now,” he said, his own voice weary. He got up and put on his black suit jacket. “I’ll be back after lunch, to look in on you.”
“I’ll pack for you.”
“Just rest. I’ll do it. This is as good a time to learn as any. Because you were sick I had to help the three boys gather their things. We ended up simply stuffing what we could in each of their satchels. Nothing stayed folded. Jung wanted to bring his collection of rocks, Jin his live beetles. It was such a mess that Mrs. Stolz had to take everything out and start again, and I must admit I felt completely useless. You’ve spoiled me.”
“I’m the one who’s spoiled,” she said.
He leaned down and kissed her. “When I get back, I think we should tend to each other as much as we can. And do so right up to the time we settle down again in Spokane. Can we do that, dear? Can we promise each other?”
“Yes.”
They kissed and embraced again, but before he could leave she said, “I’ll talk to him, Ames. I’ll try.”
He nodded from the bedroom doorway. “I won’t expect that you can change his mind. I won’t expect anything.”