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Still, the talk didn't last long. After we ate, we became more and more silent. Her nightgown was like the gown with the golden belt that I had seen in my dream, except the top of the gown was left unbuttoned. I could see her familiar breasts. The few words that we spoke now became more like a stutter than a flow of ideas. Eventually, I found myself taking her nightgown off, and mine. From then on we embraced each other in an endless embrace as we had done so quite often in the gentle warmth of Caracas, which now seemed so infinitely far away.
Her touch was as gentle as it had always been, and her genitals hot and sweet. For a brief moment I felt like a traitor towards Nicolai. I rejected the thought. I knew this could not be. Nothing had happened that hadn't happened in Caracas many times before, and the door to each other had remained as wide open as it had been, then. So I dismissed the reservations. After all, their wedding hadn't been announced yet.
We spoke not a word during those intimate times, nor were words needed. Our language was stronger than words. It was carried by the voice of the soul that no ear could ever hear. When this voice, too, fell silent, we lay content in each other's arms until we slept again.
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