The House of Wives by Simon Choa-Johnston

Author:Simon Choa-Johnston [Choa-Johnston, Simon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Canada
Published: 2016-05-03T00:00:00+00:00

Every evening, she left the door of their adjoining bedrooms open. First just a crack allowed muted candlelight to cast a beam onto his bedroom floor. He closed the door on it. As the weeks progressed, the opening widened and he could see her on the other side, standing in the centre of her bedroom lit by a forest of candles. The sliver of light had become a broad yellow path that invited him to enter. But fearful that he could not perform without sight of Ayah, he still closed the door upon her. Then one night, the door was not open. He hated being denied access to anything, and especially to things he considered his. He tried the handle. It turned. He put his ear to the door. He heard water sloshing. Semah was humming a melody. He opened the door and stepped into her bedroom. A whiff of rosewater and lavender scented the air. A solitary oil lamp glowed on the bedside table behind a three-panelled bathing screen to his left.

He walked slowly toward it, hoping the floorboards would not creak under his weight. As he approached, the humming got louder, as did the sound of a towel being soaked in water and wrung dry. At the screen, he looked through the slit between the panels. Semah was naked with her back toward him. He had never seen her like that. To steady herself she was standing with her legs apart, the prosthetic attached like a cage to her thigh. Her buttocks, creamy and rounded at the hips, flowed into a small waist and then curved upward. Her hair was down and thick black curls draped over her shoulders like a veil. She had raised one arm as she ran the wet towel under it, leaving a veneer of moisture on her flawless skin. Her body was taut and athletic. He shifted from one leg to the other and the floor creaked. Semah stopped humming and turned her head in profile. He could hear his own breathing. His heart pounded. Fighting eagerness, he reached for the side of the bathing screen and collapsed it like an accordion. He stepped in and heard a short intake of breath as he clasped her from behind, pulling her body against his. He reached one hand around her waist and pressed it on her soft belly. His other hand climbed up and cupped her breast.

He tore at the buckles and straps, ripping the false leg off her thigh, flinging it aside. She balanced herself by holding his shoulders before he lifted her up. With her thighs wrapped around his waist, he scurried to the bed and threw her on it. She landed with her arms and legs splayed out, her eyes searching his, her hands reaching for the buttons of his shirt. He pulled off his clothes, manic with heat. She caught a finger on the chain around his neck. The Magen David fell off and drowned in the roiling mess of clothing flung this way and that.

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