“What time is it?” I ask him feeling confused about what he is doing here and —what is going on
He reaches for his watch that is next to the lamp beside the bed,
“it is just going on three now,” he says
I rub my eyes and look at him in the shadows of the dark room. He watches me.
“Were you here all night?” I ask him as…. I still cannot be sure what or how much was real
It is an oddly slow reaction I see cross his face as he still just watches me with the most pensive look
He says,
“I came up after the meeting ended….” and still watches me. He reaches to draw away a mass of hair that falls heavy over my face and holds my face steady, pulling it up to look at him. And with an oddly peculiar tenderness, he strokes his thumb across my cheek and then says in a very low tone, “you were asleep when I came in….” and still he holds my face and studies me with ….such an unfathomable expression. I don’t know this one of his at all as I have never seen that look
“So….” I struggle to think as my mind is distracted by his touch and the look in his eyes
“Jörn….” I say and start to move from his hold, but he does not let go and keeps me there
“You were dreaming,” he says in the same thoughtful tone but now it is curious, “what were you dreaming, duva?”
“I was…. did we—? I mean, did you….? Or…. did I dream that?”
“Were you dreaming about me?” now he lightly chuckles as his hand releases my face then to comb with his fingers through my hair…. and then I realize that he is teasing me —and so, now figure out he must also know what I’m wondering too—which answers the question …. I suppose
….and as I look at him now, I become aware of that internal bruised feeling and the other areas of soreness as proof of that indisputable knowledge it was not all the dream —which now sharply brings back parts of the moment in a sudden flash that burns my face
He asks,
“so, was it a good dream, min lilla duva?” and hardly gives himself away if not for the smallest clue of a smile in the grooves at the corners of his mouth and…. it makes me think back to our conversation on the pier but then, consciously avoid thoughts of Stina’s
I look up at him as parts of the dreams come back to me. There were two dreams together —no…. three…. strangely overlaid and seeming to run in parallels ….danger, fear, and sense of a deep —heartbreak ….with violence and I wonder now too about what I might have said
“Jörn—please, I must ask you —is this your property?”
Now he does smile and glances away to hide a guilty expression but not before I see it; his poker face must be slipping
But so like him —he does not bother to answer the question—I suppose because it is obvious
Instead he says,
“Do you remember when I asked you awhile back—?—why you stay….” and again surprises me with a gesture rather uncharacteristic to him; he runs his hand with such a kind of shocking tenderness along the side of my face.
“Why do you stay, duva….?” he asks me now as he caresses my cheek and stares deeply into my eyes
But it seems slowly does his question come to me, and it is something like a delayed moment before any comprehension, caught inside his stare, it seems to dull my mind and so he says,
“I mean, I know at first —but then things happened between us, maybe because I was not straight with you about my work —but duva…. if there had been no assassin, and no pandemic ….would you have stayed?”
“would I have?” I repeat back at him only half aware of the question —still distracted by something else
“Please, duva, answer me,” he says in a low voice
but I lower my eyes from his and say it in a whisper,
“….yes.”
“Tell me why,” he asks softly
“Why?”
“Why….”
“Jörn, what did you not tell me? About that —thing— of my mother’s you said you found in the compartment in the secretary? Why did you say that strange remark about that it requires I trust you?”
He shakes his head and closes his eyes and reaches to grip hold of me by the back of my head and pulls me to him,
“—snälla du! snälla svara på min fråga!” and makes a frustrated sound and in an almost painful grip, he pulls me tight against him and pressing his forehead to mine, says into my ear, “I want to know why you stayed.”
but then I ask,
“did you want me to go?”
I feel the tug of my hair as he angles my head to look at him with an emphatic pull —so I look up and into his piercing gaze ….then instantly feel that strange seasick feeling, recalling the memory of a boat and the brilliance of such eyes
I say,
“du vet varför….” and look directly back at those eyes
and he just stares back at me a long moment, but then slowly shakes his head and with narrowed eyes, inclines his head
I take a deep breath and hesitating begin to say,
“I know you came back…. and for the record…. no, I never thought your opera was just part of your spy cover…. it’s too beautiful to just be some contrived and meaningless think tank cover, I thought you knew how I felt about ….your work—don’t you? I thought you knew …. you need to finish it, it needs to be performed….”
“Well,” he shrugs with a self deprecating chuckle but shakes his head, “and our ….shared….dreams, duva?—you think I made all that up—and when we went to see your friend Gerald—what about that?”
“I don’t think I ever said I believed you made that up!”
“Well, no, not exactly. Only that you have suggested you feel a great deal of doubt about my —my…. well—intentions—“
“Intentions,” I repeat slightly amused then I say, “since we are asking questions here…. Jörn, I have one I’m still trying to get the answer to— so, going way, way back to before we first ~’bumped into’~ each other in the lobby that day claiming that you kept getting my mail —which I’d love to know how you contrived— don’t tell me, is the Swedish government infiltrated in the postal service here-?-so, anyway, this I have been wanting to know: when exactly in the grand scheme of it all—did you actually first stumble across me? Because, it seems it had to have been long —long— before my convenient presence at the Manhattan penthouse…. and—actually too—how perfectly convenient you happen to also live there —I mean, never mind also getting my mail—which, have you ever explained any of this to me?”
only he smiles like he finds this all amusing and shakes his head,
“don’t think you can squirm out of the question, it is still your turn but —I’ll indulge you and oblige you—since you ask….”
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