Free The Letter Opener by Kyo Maclear Page A

one night following Andrei’s disappearance what they had discussed while I was gone. We were lying in bed.
    “There is something…I was wondering…” I started tentatively. “Do you remember the last time you spoke with Andrei? We were at his apartment. I slipped out to the store and when I returned the two of you were deep in a conversation. When I walked in you were saying something about jet lag or flying. Something about the first time you travelled by plane, and how it was so fast there was no time to withdraw from the place you had left and adjust to the place you had arrived in.”
    Through the bedroom window I could see clouds tracking slowly across the moon. I needed Paolo to share his thoughts, but I was cautious. I feared an argument.
    In the darkness beside me, Paolo said, “He didn’t say anything about leaving, if that’s what you’re asking.”
    His yawn told me there should be no further questioning. I took the cue—what good would pressing do? Andrei was gone. I had dissected every minute of our last moments in early December. I had tried to understand what had happened, but so far I could detect no motive or forewarning. Andrei had simply vanished.
    I stayed up reading after Paolo fell asleep, not yet tired enough to close my eyes. When I did eventually sleep, the dream returned. This time, I was standing away from him. I could see the circular motion of the birds, hear the beating of wings. The movement was now smooth and regular. As the birds rose they appeared to melt into an orange sky. Once they had disappeared, Andrei lowered his head and saw me. Our eyes locked for a moment. When I awoke at 4 a.m., the warm colour of the dream stayed with me.
    I got up for a glass of water, and when I returned to the bedroom, I slipped into bed as quietly as possible. Paolo’s sleeping body was radiating warmth. His mouth was slightly open, and as I peered into his deeply dreaming face, I could feel my heart quicken. Sleep had laid him open. All the muscles of his face had relaxed, rearranging his features. His nose drooped closer to his mouth. The distance between his eye and his cheek had diminished. I observed a fresh vulnerability. As I shifted toward him, he stirred for a moment, then gave a soft grunt. I curled my body against his. The steady rhythm of his breath was reassuring. I closed my eyes.
    Paolo, I knew, wanted to make me happy, but for that he needed more from me. It was in his blood to take care of things—plants, flowers—just as it was in mine, despite the nature of my job, to mess them up.
    I felt a light touch on my arm, and I looked to see Paolo staring at me. He kissed my forehead.
    I gently rubbed his chest. “Do you think we’re good together?” I whispered.
    “Most of the time,” he whispered back.
    “What makes us good?”
    “Balance. I don’t know. We’re a nice combination, I suppose.” His eyelids were heavy. He yawned. His tongue clucked for moisture.
    “Like igloo and polar bear?” I said.
    “Hmm?” he said faintly, drifting off again.
    “Never mind,” I said to his sleeping face.
    As I lay beside him, the sound of a streetcar wafted through the window. In the fluttering of near sleep, the distant clanging became abstract, spinning and shifting in my mind until it was the groan of an anchor being hoisted above the water. The pull of it was hypnotic. The sound splintered again and the flotsam of a world I could never have known came streaming in.
    Before Andrei arrived, I had enjoyed the hush in my mind. But he brought with him the racket of the Cernavoda port, the clamour of the canal opening, the clink of a jib hitting a mast, the lapping of water against the hull of a boat, the creak of a wooden storage crate. Each sound brought an image, each image expanded, gathering in the eaves of my brain and overflowing, spilling into everything else. At times, the sounds obsessed me, pulsing with urgency, like a far-off distress signal.
    How could this be? I had