to herself. When they got to Paris, they would say good-bye and never see each other again. This certainty, which on one hand emboldened her to give herself up to the pleasure of feeling desired by this magnificent man, also saddened her because she wanted to see him again. But she also knew that she would make sure that there was no chance of that happening.
“Do you live in Paris?”
Eliah, who had withdrawn to the far left of his seat, quickly leaned forward again.
“Yes, it’s my home.”
He smiled and she felt butterflies in her still-sensitive stomach. She was seduced by his frank, almost innocent smile, which contrasted with a face that exuded experience and cynicism. Was this smile unusual? Did he only allow certain people to see it? He hadn’t smiled that way at the flight attendant.
They passed the next few hours absorbed in a whispered conversation about Paris and the character of the French people, which developed into an analysis of the idiosyncrasies of Argentineans, the excellent quality of the country’s beef, the custom of drinking mate and the superiority of dulce de leche over Nutella, which Eliah didn’t agree with.
Eliah was witty and Matilde had to stifle her laughter in her little pillow. She felt her spirits soar; all her problems had disappeared.With her seat reclined, curled up into a ball, she rested her left cheek against the edge of her seat, very close to him, so close that she could smell the cologne that Juana had noticed as soon as they boarded. She shivered suddenly, and Eliah rubbed his hand over her naked arm before pulling the blanket over her.
“Did you bring a coat? It can be very cold in Paris at this time of year.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, and sat up with the awkwardness of someone waking up from a dream. “I’ll be right back.”
What had broken the spell? Was it that he had touched her? Merde! He had stayed up all night when he should have been resting. When he got to Paris, he would meet with Shiloah, who would pester him with questions and problems. He rubbed his face and stretched his arms and legs until he heard the joints crack. He had no regrets; he hadn’t even noticed the hours passing. It had been a long time since he’d felt so happy in the company of a woman, since he’d felt so docile toward the opposite sex. It wasn’t that he wasn’t attracted to her; it was just that she brought out a relaxed air in him that allowed him to be completely genuine—he felt that he didn’t have to pose as macho, or a conqueror.
Matilde went to wash her face and, as she dried it, studied her reflection in the mirror. The horrible lighting accentuated the shadows under her eyes and her gaunt cheeks, giving her a sickly look. Is this the monstrous face I’ve been using to talk to an Adonis? She pinched her cheeks, rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and rinsed her mouth. She undid the rest of her braid and tucked the loose hair behind her ears. Why had she left her seat at such a bad moment? He had touched her. For the second time in a few hours. First he had dried her tear, then he had stroked her arm. She closed her eyes as if trying to get rid of the images and the thoughts that were smothering her. In vain she tried to get control of her brain, which was replaying the sensation of his hand on her arm. She took a deep breath and grabbed hold of the sink. She shook her head. No, she couldn’t like him, she couldn’t have any feelings for him, she couldn’t desire him.
She pushed back the folding door and bumped into him. He wasn’t smiling. He just stood there, unmoving. The camaraderie of a few minutes before had disappeared. The intensity of his stare frightened her. She moved toward her seat and he intercepted her.
“I want to hear you say my name. Say Eliah .”
She had avoided doing so on purpose; her lips hadn’t betrayed her once, because if she said his name, he would have a place in her life.
“Eliah,” she said in a clearly.
“Excuse
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