"What are you baking, Jelena? It smells awfully good," Bora called from the bedroom to the kitchen, knowing how, after almost twenty years of marriage, his wife still blushed at his compliments about her cooking. She deserved every bit of credit for more than good cooking.
Bora usually griped against entertaining, while he actually loved it. Jelena did all the work in preparing her memorable delicious feasts, while he was in charge of the intellectual nourishment. Nothing to prepare, just be his charming self, the center, and the success of all the gatherings. Their friends were interesting people: writers, artists, successful businessmen, in their prime age and that fascinating era after the World War II in Belgrade, Yugoslavia.
Since the morning he has been feeling great, getting him ready for the guests, whistling "La Donna e Mobile" and "Carmen" while Jelena busily clanged in the kitchen and the enticing aroma of the freshly baked fruitcake floated in the air, spreading through the house. Standing in front of the antique Venetian mirror, Bora fixed a silver pin to his tie. The pin was a gift from Vera. Smiling with satisfaction, he remembered that eventful, memorable year and Vera, with her big, dark eyes; wild, curly hair, and only eighteen years of life in her perfect, succulent body. His already counted full forty-two including the WW II and its hardships, some close encounters with death, and -- yes -- the memories of other women, too. Many forgotten, of course, but some still present in the memory of his bloodstream. Jelena, his wife, not to be lightly passed over. The formidable green-eyed siren powerful pilot in their turbulent, far from easy life together. Always a winner, that woman. Bora often felt awe close to fear of his wife. He had married her not out of love, but that owe and respect. Different from any other woman, with a mystique he never quite figured out, Jelena saved his life during the war, with a kind of wisdom only a woman possesses. Maybe it is love, the attachment that he feels for her now, after all those years together; not love-passion that Vera inspired, but a bond strong, too strong to break. No woman has ever been so elusive like Jelena. He often wondered how much she knew or sensed of his escapades with other women. From a wild kitten, she turned into a strong, protective wife and a perfect mother. Always full of understanding. No questions asked. It was still unclear, however, whether she understood that he couldn't miss any new experience life offered, or whether she were too innocent and faithful herself to understand his needs. Marriage is a secret, hard to explain, Bora concluded with a sigh.
As a contrast to Jelena, Vera, young and inexperienced, was outspoken and direct: "You are selfish and unfair," she accused him at the peak of their love-hate affair. Sweet addiction it was for Bora. Vera, that thoroughbred, loved him almost too much, with the thirst of the first, newly discovered passion. After a year of bliss, the tension grew and erupted in uneven intervals, like a volcano constantly churning inside. A considerable difference in age, Bora's marriage and other complexities turned that into a bittersweet affair. Vera's youth and temperament required complete freedom in a love relationship, Bora's marriage, however, had to be observed, after all. He and Vera actually spent plenty of time together: Bora's business trips and long meetings covering amply for it all. Vera even went with him whenever possible. It still was not enough for her. Out of the blue, in the middle of the greatest happiness, she would start shaking her chains, revolting against her position worse than that of a kept woman (as she complained). Like a wolf with a leg caught in a trap, she was capable of chewing off her own leg to obtain freedom. But, over and over again, she would break with Bora, then come back, defeated. Oh, how sweet those victories were for him, how sweet.
Yes, he was selfish, as she had said, but she would have been too, if she were over twenty years older and knowing life as he had. Sure he was jealous of her colleagues, hating the thought of her sitting in a small room studying for hours with an eighteen or nineteen-old buck. To make things worse, the young buck usually looked like a model: wide shoulders and curly hair. A real Billy Budd. Bora hated wide shoulders and curly hair. In other men, that is, especially young men. His own waistline was gradually disappearing , the shoulders still broad, but the muscle not taut as when he had actively played sports and made love instead of passively sitting in the office making money.
Studying together! His imagination readily supplied a scene from his own experience with a colleague. He could imagine Vera and that Billy Budd, during the breaks, chatting, laughing, probably kissing... If they have not discovered it yet, they soon would.
"I know what studying together is like," he said to Vera, while his thoughts re-visited his senior year in high school, when he had "studied" with Irma, a wild Hungarian classmate. She had had a low grade in mathematics and he promised to help her catch up. Bless her hot writhing body, Bora lulled on the waves of pleasant memories, we had never found time for math. He sighed deeply. Irma! Where is she now? Probably long married and tamed, a plump mother of several kids. The memory of Irma's limitless curiosity and inventiveness brought a broad smile on his face.
"Why can't you study with a girl-friend?" Bora often asked. What had irritated him the most was the thought that Vera would, unavoidably, compare him to those hunks, and it would not be in his favor. The feeling of helplessness was not something he could take. He too had moments of love-hate, just like Vera, and he too was addicted. It is easy to get addicted to a good thing!
Yes, he knew what was inevitable. Sooner or later, Vera would find a younger man. It is natural. It always ends that way. Considerably older and married, what could he expect? If their relationship could not last forever, at least he wanted it to last as long as possible. And so, they would argue and fight each time she met a new young man in class, borrowed a textbook, or even mentioned anyone.
That particular time, the time of the silver pin, had been different, Bora remembered. During the argument, Vera sounded annoyed, almost like tired of it all.
"What do you want?" She asked calmly. "I am only studying with Djoka. And how about you? Just think about it for a moment. I have to put up with much more. Djoka is only a friend, less than that. I am human. I need friends for the times when you are happily at home with your wife. You have friends, too. Djoka is engaged to a girl in his hometown. They will get married when he graduates. You should understand the part about marriage. It is a strong bond. Right?"
"Djoka? Who is Djoka now? A new one, of course. His name sounds quite appropriate, too. I see. 'A fiancee in his home town' usually doesn't make much difference. Many babies were born as a result of studying together," Bora finished, venom dripping from his voice.
After plenty of shouting (on his part) and some crying (on hers), they parted. Like before. Bora did not like it at all. She had always come back, true, but just one time she may not. Women are dangerous when mad. To make things worse, Vera's parents lived in another city and she had a tiny apartment close to campus. Plenty of freedom and privacy. There was only a big bed in her room, a small desk with a chair, and a wardrobe. Vera added plants, but the room was furnished for two purposes only, as Bora saw it.
Time was passing. Neither Vera nor Bora called. Two prides testing each other. The days lingered dull and uneventful. Every morning, before work, and every night, going home, Bora hoped Vera would be waiting for him as she had done before. But, no. Each time his telephone rang in the office, he jumped: Vera, but it never was her young, singing voice. He started acting like a teenager, sitting near the telephone, waiting. It infuriated him. But, that girl had been the only source of excitement he had in life. She was young and mature, playful and serious, coquettish and faithful, unpredictable yet dependable. There would be nothing else meaningful anymore, if she were gone. She had brought excitement and freshness, new inspiration and meaning to his life.
He remembered how, at the beginning, while their relationship had been growing, everything had turned restless and empty without her, but majestically peaceful and rich while they were together. That is when he even considered a divorce. But, no. Jelena would not settle for that and there was no telling whether it would last with Vera. She could drop him for a younger man even if they were married. In ten or twenty years she would be even more dangerous: a woman in her thirties with a man in his fifties? Oh, no.
Bora knew better. Even now, arguments with Vera had a regular pattern: each time he took a vacation with his family, each time he was seen with Jelena in public. Whether she knew it or not, Vera wanted marriage. Women always do.
"Vera, dearest, you don't know what marriage is like. You think it's a romance. But you'll be married one day. Then you will know better. Enjoy what we have now: true love. Not all marriages are based on love and definitely not on passion. You have the best of me. There is nothing left for Jelena. She and I don't even talk anymore. If we do, that is usually about the bills and home repairs. Wait till you get married, you will know then." Bora sounded tired and sincere.
Vera told him how she had felt, given time to think -- a young woman tied to a married man -- lonely, used, wasted and abandoned. She often cried from humiliation and hopelessness. She told him, if there was no future in their relationship, she was going to do her best to forget him. Usually, that meant hasty relationships, dating around, and coming back like a dog with the tail between the legs, defeated.
"I cannot do that. I love you too much. Those boys are so boring. All they talk about is tests and sports. They don't understand me. I miss you. I love you. Only you." And she would look at him with her big, doe-like eyes, full of devotion and guilt.
At the same time, she was not telling him that she was afraid she would never be able to love anyone, and no young man of her age could love her, knowing her past. She had tried to break loose from that liaison dangereouse with no success. Nobody could help her anymore, and she was too weak for the necessary amputation.
Bora knew Vera was sincere, yet he knew, too, that these swings of mood were dangerous. She may find someone who would not appear boring. An acquaintance can easily become a lover; a lover can become a husband. Everything is easy at that age.
"How much do you think I miss you? I don't have anything in life but you, you just don't see it. That is because you idealize marriage. You don't know how irritable and grouchy I am with Jelena when you abandon me. I wish you could ask her. I hate every minute I spend at home." And, in a way, that was true, too.
Their getting together after those separations was a real feast. He would take her to the ice cream parlor to splurge, laughing like children. Or, she would buy a new dress, just for him, change a hairstyle, and come to his office to show him. Then, they would go celebrate. They would celebrate all her tests, too. And, they would make love thirstily, tenderly, and more passionately than ever.
Gradually, unnoticed, the relationship had corroded, like the river doomed to eat its own banks to extinction. Bora knew all along: time was not his ally. He had been Vera's first love, the first man in her life. He knew the power and his advantages over those tenderfeet: he was a mature, experienced, still attractive man. Women had always loved him. He knew them and could easily please them. With Vera it was different.
He was fully absorbed and just as vulnerable as she. His experience was of no use and he did not want to use it. He was attached to that young woman desperately, with his last flame, as he liked to tell her. The time was running out for him and he enjoyed every minute of that life's unexpected gift. He tried to be fair and let her have other friends; he even believed that he wanted her to get married happily. But, there was time for her. She should not get married too early anyway. There was plenty of time for her, not for him, though. Those young hunks made him aware of his wrinkles and the expanding waistline.
Their last argument had been different than the previous ones. The separation grew longer. He was seriously worried. What if this really was the end? They both gambled, weighing the opponent's weakness.
And then, he had to leave for an international seminar abroad. He hated to go away like that. He wrote to Vera constantly, impatient to return. Somehow, he always believed that she was going to find someone while he was abroad. His letters and postcards were not answered, and it felt like a nightmare: calling for help in a vacuum, like a telephone ringing in an empty room.
What was Vera doing all this time?
A brief, warm spring shower surprised the people walking on the streets of Belgrade. Washed by rain, the lilacs in bloom exuded a stronger, more intoxicating scent and the air vibrated with electricity. Vera ran to take a shelter in a doorway of a cafe, when a man's voice and a light touch on her shoulder stopped her.
"May I offer you an umbrella, or would you rather have my heart?" A tall, dark-eyed young man was saying, extending his umbrella over her. His eyes were smiling, as warm as his deep, sonorous voice.
"Oh, Voya, what a good timing! I would hate to get soaked in my new blouse," Vera exclaimed, blushing from surprise, while Voya's eyes embraced her budding bust wrapped in the soft silky material, already clinging to her dewy skin.
"Good to see you again, Vera. I love spring showers," he added meaningfully. They had met, recently, at a mutual friend's birthday party and spent the whole evening talking, Voya was a young doctor, just about to leave for his internship in another city. He appeared more serious and mature than other young men Vera knew; yet he was fun to talk to. After a long, inspiring conversation touching upon literature, music, art, philosophy and more, Voya told her he regretted having to leave now that they had just met.
That statement touched her. His eyes were serious but warm, almost caressing, and she felt it was more than just a compliment. "Why don't we go sit in this little cafe," he was saying now. The rain was getting heavier every minute.
"We can have a lemonade, piece of cake, and a nice chat. This shower won't last long. Spring showers never do," and he smiled in his special way that always enriched the meaning of the simple statements.
"I'd enjoyed our conversation at Zora's party very much. In fact, I've been thinking about you and I'm grateful to the rain gods for this unexpected gift before my departure."
And they entered the cafe already engrossed in animated conversation, laughing together like old friends. Soon, they exchanged telephone numbers and Voya called her the next day. They visited an art exhibit together.
Everything was so natural, simple, and meaningful with Voya. Vera has never felt that way with any other man. He was like a big brother, a friend, protective and respectful, yet they both felt the same excitement, the same warm flame enveloping them, even radiating to the world around. And they talked, talked, talked, and having so much to say to each other. Till she met Voya, Vera only knew the roller-coaster love-hatred relationship with Bora or a complete boredom and awkwardness with the young men of her age.
She doubted she would ever be able to love anyone like she loved Bora, yet the relationship was destroying her with the feeling of shame and guilt. She knew it would kill her parents if they knew. They could never be happy if she married Bora. It was an inappropriate match, "stealing a man from his wife," as her parents called similar relationships. She wanted desperately to break out of the whole mess before it was too late, but -- like a bird batting against the walls of her small cage -- she never found an opening for escape. Maybe it was already too late, she feared. She knew she needed help to free herself from the invisible but powerful entanglement of her secret affair. Looking at Voya's clean-cut, honest face, she almost yearned to tell him the truth, to ask for help, to let him into her lonely, secret space she dared not share with anyone. But he looked so innocent, so far from her "other life," and she felt so old and sick of an illness hard to share. No, she respected him too much. He was going to leave soon and this would stay just a beautiful memory, just a glimpse of something she might have had if she were not already hopelessly entangled and lost..
And then, on the morning of Voya's departure, without previously planning it, she decided on the spur of the moment to go see him off. From a distance only, without his knowing it. She rushed frantically to the airport, almost getting into an accident. And she got there just to see him look hopelessly around himself, as if expecting something against all odds, before entering the departure gate. Spotting her, his face lit happily.
Spontaneously, he dropped his carry-on beg and rushed to her. They embraced, without a word, for what seemed a timeless eternity. Then, she looked at him, her big eyes trying to tell him all she never told anyone ... He looked at her with a long, serious look, smiled as if understanding it all, and - was gone.
Impatient to come back from the trip, Bora hurried to his office to check the mail and the messages. No phone messages of any importance except the usual business, but there was a little packet with Vera's pretty handwriting. He ripped it open, to find a box with a silver pin in it. His face lit with happiness.
The attached letter changed his mood. "Dear, very dear Bora. I beseech you as an honest man to prove your love now. If I ever meant anything to you, please do not try to see me or contact me in any way. Please help me. I cannot go on like this anymore. This is killing me. Maybe, later, we will be able to get together and talk like good, old friends. Keep the good memory intact. Love, Vera."
Almost ten years later, he can still remember the pain, the anguish. There were days when he wanted just to see her, just to talk to her. But, he did not do that. He started smoking, became a nervous wreck. Jelena and his co-workers noticed. They told him they had never known him like that. They worried for his health. He went into depression for a long time, even got some counseling. But he made a deal with himself: he was not going to do Vera any harm. He had so much to be grateful for. And Jelena, his green-eyed siren, saved his life again with patience, love and courage. He often wondered how much she knew or suspected. Never a word asked. He had married the right woman, no doubt.
For years he could not bear to look at the silver pin, not to mention wear it. One day, when he fastened it on his tie, he knew he was cured. He was going to live! It has been his favorite since.
While Bora was busy getting dressed, Jelena had arranged all the dishes and silverware she was going to need for the traditional Serbian "gibanitsa," (cheese pastry), ayvar (baked green pepper salad), platter with hors-d'oeuvres: meats, cheeses, deviled eggs and various salads. She took out her mother's "supentoff" (tureen) for the veal pottage and some Herrend platters for the cake and other desserts. After that, she rushed to get dressed. Like always, the doorbell announced the first guests, before she could finish. Bora could answer the door; he has been getting ready since the morning. But, he won't. He will expect her to do that. Smiling, she ran to open the door, checking in one glance if everything was in perfect order.
"Oh, Dora, how good to see you. Come on in, take your coat off," and she helped her with the heavy fur coat. "Bora will be here in a minute," and ushering her guest into the living room, she offered her a seat on the comfortably cushioned antique sofa. Bora entered, bringing in a breeze of the herby scent of his Old Spice aftershave. After greeting Dora, they immediately slipped into an engaging conversation.
Jelena knew she could, quite unnoticed, leave for the kitchen for some final touches before the other guests arrived.
Dora had been their friend for over ten years, more Bora's than Jelena's that is. Tall, domineering woman with demanding manners, more feared than loved, she had conveniently married a young promising man with connections through his parents, members of the old, decent bourgeoisie, as well as with his own young, politically correct, upward climbing generation. The match never looked quite right, especially when she, a cold, shrewd woman, insisted on acting romantic, even inappropriately passionate in public. As a matter of fact, only in public, Jelena's instinct was telling her. And she imagined large and awkward Dora in bed with her petit husband. The roles reversed. She had to suppress a chuckle. He was a short, sensitive, kind man; she large, cold and calculating.
No, Dora can't seduce her Bora, Jelena knew. Not that Dora wouldn't try, just to test her powers.
Dora had always claimed that all men were weaker sex. They were losers in the bedroom scene, she almost boasted. Jelena had her opinion, based on the good old folk wisdom and a sharp feminine instinct.
She also knew her Bora through and through.
"Jelena, don't leave me alone with that woman. She is dangerous. I am not kidding," Bora had told her once, a long time ago, and she only laughed. He, afraid of women. Ha-ha. That'll be the day. But, she understood quite well what he had meant and never forgot it.
When Jelena entered the living room with the aperitifs, Bora and Dora were sitting on the sofa: he was showing her his newest book of Andrew Wyeth's art. Dora's large feet in black, flat shoes, resembling men's, caught Jelena's eye. Oh, my God, she thought. Couldn't she find something more graceful and feminine to wear, especially with a taffeta skirt? And that woman hoped to seduce her husband? Those shoes are huge, larger than Dora's husband's, and larger than Bora's, for goodness sakes! Dora's husband actually had a much better taste. Not in women, though. And Jelena smiled, proud of her husband.
It is not only the taste, but also the experience that counts in choosing one's mate, she thought seriously. She looked at Bora and he returned a smile of an accomplice, while Dora flashed a smile that was meant to be ravishing. She was admiring one of her prepared and rehearsed statements directed at Bora.
Then, the rest of the guests started coming and Jelena had to concentrate on food and entertainment.
While they were busy eating, she watched them with an inner smile of satisfaction. They always devoured her food. Didn't those women cook? Their men were always hungry and sincerely appreciative of good, home cooking. That's why Jelena always made sure the men get more than plenty of food in her home. They have always been nice to her, too. Always more respectful than with other women. Even telling Bora, half-jokingly, he didn't know what he had in her and that they hoped he appreciated her fully. They would kiss her hand, leaving, while she never saw them kiss anyone else's hand.
"Please finish all the food. It is so much easier to do the dishes when there are no leftovers," she smiled pleasantly, handing the dishes around.
Her schoolmate Sidonia was eating fast, talking over her food. Fleshless, as if scorched in her virginity, with a thin line of her lips and an immaculate hairstyle, she sat upright and rigid. Why do all the spinsters sit like that, Jelena thought? Sidonia ate greedily and with nervous, staccato movements, almost shoving the food into her mouth. Then, as if embarrassed, laboriously wiped her lips with the napkin.
And why do all the spinsters devour their food? Jelena continued her train of thought. There are many explanations, of course: they don't feel like cooking for themselves only. Probably hate to eat alone. Even the animals are like that too. Bora says some people use food to substitute and compensate for the lack of love and sex. He always explains everything with sex. Men!
She was seeing her guests that night as she had never seen them before. Sidonia's eating repulsed her. She is like a bloodthirsty cannibal, Jelena shuddered at the thought. She would probably devour men with the same gluttony she ate a rare steak. Dora is even worse in her cold intellectualism devoid of any love.
What had Bora once said about Sidonia? That she appreciated people only to the extent she could eat and drink in their home? Jelena had disagreed then, out of pity, but now...
Strangely, Bora never could stand Sidonia. He would usually leave under a pretext that he had a work to finish, whenever she dropped by. He told Jelena that Sidonia had tried to seduce him once, when Jelena was out of town. Could it be true or did he make a mistake? It was not quite clear to him either, he'd said.
One can never be quite sure in such things. Sidonia had been quite attractive in her youth, with her blue eyes and long hair, stubbornly in love with Mirko, who never took her seriously. He had dated nearly everybody but her, and would share some intimate details about other women. They were close friends.
One day he just got married. That was the end of it. Sidonia stayed single and loved him stubbornly with a hate-like passion. Everybody knew. It was not a secret. She stayed a spinster, her lips turning into a thin line, her body shrinking. She was getting more and more bitter, enjoying gossiping about other people, especially married couples. People invited her to their homes, anyway, feeling sorry for her.
What had Sidonia once tried to tell her about Bora? Years ago, maybe ten or so. Not clearly, so Jelena never quite understood: like Bora may have had an affair with a young girl, a college student or something. She said she was sure it was just people's gossip and Jelena shouldn't take it seriously. She, Sidonia, was telling her that only in case somebody else mentioned it. She should be aware, although those had to be lies. Even to this day Jelena can remember how -- although it all was unclear and confused like lies always are -- the conversation left her confused and with a foul feeling in her mouth. For some time she watched Bora closely and, of course, it seemed quite true, or at least possible. Lies like that are so destructive. Could Sidonia be so envious to create those stories on purpose? Would she be capable of doing this to her best friend?
All of a sudden, Jelena felt tired, very tired. She looked at Bora and he smiled at her with pride. She knew everything was all right.
"Please, have some more cake and ice cream," she said warmly. There was no need for her to worry. There were times, however, when she felt threatened by those professional women with degrees. She dropped out of college during the second year, to marry Bora. She never seriously regretted it. From time to time, however, she felt tired of being "only a housewife." Always cleaning, cooking, washing. Those women had a more interesting life and were, probably, more respected by men. At one time she even considered going back to school, but Bora told her that their home would lack warmth and nurturing
Like those others. Always in a rush, those women had no time to be feminine enough. She believed him. There was truth in it.
Sometimes, though, she felt like Bora's servant. Especially when he acted distantly, stayed much at work and even when he was at home, he just ate, read the newspaper and disappeared into his room to read, write, or listen to music, instead of spending time with her. She felt like a piece of furniture, less than that. For a while, she was afraid there was another woman. Then she bought sexy underwear and a black, lacy nightgown, tried to be very sweet and understanding with him, cooked his favorite food... but she almost exploded after a while, when he hardly noticed any of that. She hated him for that. But, Bora is like that. He sometimes acts as if having an affair, when he is actually in love with an idea or a project. Men always need some kind of a toy in their lives. Like children, they get bored easily. But, all of that is part of marriage and they have successfully spent a good chunk of their lives together. She could not imagine any other life but the one they have had together.
Looking around at her guests, she concluded that she and Bora actually were having the best life together. She smiled at him and, as if reading her thoughts, Bora said: "Isn't my Jelena the most beautiful woman in the world?" Everybody applauded. "And the best cook, indeed."
After all, the evening had been a success.
A bit later, she was shaking hands with their guests, inviting them to come again. Then closing the door sighing a deep sigh of relief, she looked at Bora questioningly.
"To bed, to bed," said he, with a smile. "As the good old Lady Mac Beth would say," and they laughed together, headed toward their bedroom. As he started to undress, he took off his silver pin first.