Monday, July 31, 2006
More Jesus at my door
Meanwhile, Stanislav would occasionally call on me, ringing my doorbell, dropping in unannounced. Through the peephole, I’d see him standing there in the corridor. I would be mystified as to why he was so persistent in coming to see me. I didn’t answer the door, but I could always expect that the next day or after several days, he’d be back.
Finally, out of curiosity, I let him in. As always, I had plenty of evenings alone now, unless Sherzod visited, which was usually on the weekends. I let Stanislav in, prepared tea and set it out on my living room coffee table. He produced a folder with texts in Polish and was proud to have found Hebrew translations for me. He would read the Polish to me for a few minutes, while I sat there trying not to register my boredom and discomfort, wondering how ever did I get stuck in this absurd situation. Then he would ask me to read the Hebrew. Though my Hebrew was rusty, I'd scan the page and could tell that this was religious liturgy. “I’m sorry,” I told Stanislav, “I can’t do this.”
"Please," he would beg. I wanted to shake him and yell at him and tell him that his religion was so beside the point. But that seemed a little harsh on my part. I didn't have to say much, he sensed my irritation. He reached over to me and put his hands on my head, as though he was blessing me, closing his eyes tightly registering a deep pain, as though he was going to cry.
I would sigh and let my body grow limp. Though I really wanted him to leave at that moment. I wondered if I made the slightest suggestive move, would I open the floodgates to having sex with him? Actually, more than sex itself, I just wanted to be rid of him. I said that I needed for him to leave, that it was time for me to go to sleep. It was only nine o’clock. ¶ 8:30 AM
Meanwhile, Stanislav would occasionally call on me, ringing my doorbell, dropping in unannounced. Through the peephole, I’d see him standing there in the corridor. I would be mystified as to why he was so persistent in coming to see me. I didn’t answer the door, but I could always expect that the next day or after several days, he’d be back.
Finally, out of curiosity, I let him in. As always, I had plenty of evenings alone now, unless Sherzod visited, which was usually on the weekends. I let Stanislav in, prepared tea and set it out on my living room coffee table. He produced a folder with texts in Polish and was proud to have found Hebrew translations for me. He would read the Polish to me for a few minutes, while I sat there trying not to register my boredom and discomfort, wondering how ever did I get stuck in this absurd situation. Then he would ask me to read the Hebrew. Though my Hebrew was rusty, I'd scan the page and could tell that this was religious liturgy. “I’m sorry,” I told Stanislav, “I can’t do this.”
"Please," he would beg. I wanted to shake him and yell at him and tell him that his religion was so beside the point. But that seemed a little harsh on my part. I didn't have to say much, he sensed my irritation. He reached over to me and put his hands on my head, as though he was blessing me, closing his eyes tightly registering a deep pain, as though he was going to cry.
I would sigh and let my body grow limp. Though I really wanted him to leave at that moment. I wondered if I made the slightest suggestive move, would I open the floodgates to having sex with him? Actually, more than sex itself, I just wanted to be rid of him. I said that I needed for him to leave, that it was time for me to go to sleep. It was only nine o’clock. ¶ 8:30 AM
