Chapter 11 - Love Letters

     

      After our 'official' night at the theater the entire English-speaking group went dancing. Antonovna, our tour guide had planned the details as requested by the group. The group's request, though, hadn't specified what kind of music was desired. The music was unfamiliar to me.

      "It's Hungarian music," Anton explained.

      The music was swift, wild, and wonderful music to dance to. Anton was a also good dancer, swift to match the music, graceful in her movements, exciting to dance along with. She seemed to come intensely alive in the flow of the dance, so much so that we kissed spontaneously coming out of the 'whirlwind.' Maybe it was by accident, maybe it was by design. It might have even happened unconsciously. "I think I'm going to die. I feel like floating off into heaven," I said to her with a grin, closing my eyes after the kiss when the dance ended.

      She grinned, almost laughed. "You know what this means?"

      "This means I love you, Antonovna Valentina Lisitov," I said to her on the way back to the table.

      She grinned even more now. "But what do you really mean by, I love you? It's a very broad expression."

      "It means I adore you, Antonovna. It means I am proud to be with you, to go out with you, to know you. I am glad you're in the world. And when you're near, I feel cuddly and happy, and satisfied."

      She grinned and blushed. "Oh you! Are you trying to entice me again? No one has ever loved me that way. Though I love you for saying it. But it probably isn't really true. Maybe you are the sex-exploiter that I accused you of, since you are always pushing."

      "Me, no, Anton. I'm not a sex-exploiter. I'm a sex-lover. Invite me to your garden tonight and you'll see."

      "There you see, I was right all along," she said with a smile. "Your mind is latched onto sex. You are a fiend that never gives up."

      "Why should I give up, Anton? Aren't we both human beings? Maybe you are right. I really am a sex-exploiter of sorts, or rather hope to be that. I would love to exploit it for the joy it can bring for you and me, and the distance we would bridge towards one another if we let it be."

      "There you see, Peter, you are a fiend as I said, that never gives up," she began to laugh as she said this.

      "Ah, so you admit something too," I countered her. "You admit that I am at least constant in my offer to be your gardener for the sheer joy of it."

      She continued to laugh, but shook her head as she did. "My wannabe constant gardener, that's what you are indeed. Your daring is constant alright, I give you that to your credit, still it may cost you the dinner-date that you might be hoping to get."

      "Are you willing to pay such a high price?" I said cautiously.

      "I might have no choice but to pay it when the gulf between us becomes too great," she answered and didn't smile anymore. "Maybe you want to reconsider what you said."

      "Then I would lie to you," I replied.

     

      After the night of our dancing was over that had miraculously continued, even her dancing with me, and we were all back on the subway, I asked her quietly if she would consider in spite of what I said and have dinner with me once more rather than closing the door to our meeting of minds that we might never have the opportunity again after the conference ended.

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Stories about War from novels by Rolf A. F. Witzsche