The Surrendered

All this was true, all this was true.

And yet Sylvie Ta

But for June it had not been exactly so; her secret feeling was that the opposite was true. Even before they had all perished, or vanished, she had had a heart that craved more readily than it accepted, she could look upon the face of a beloved with no ill reason or malice and in an instant cleave herself from the bond. It was an effortlessly monstrous ability, as if she could simply pluck from her heel a spur called love, her own cool blood the quickest antidote.

And yet with certain unknown others, she had given herself over too deeply, perhaps a half-dozen times, with both men and women. This in the years between Nicholas’s leaving and before meeting David, when her solitude was almost too perfect and she craved to be touched. It was never more than the act, though there would always be some prelude. It was this way with a woman named Stephanie, whom she knew for the length of a weekend antiques conference and would never see again. She had had no intent to meet anyone, but at a booth she met this beautiful, striking woman of Spanish descent with pale skin and a full, swollen-looking mouth, and somehow the reedy timbre of the woman’s voice and her lithe, narrow-shouldered physique rendered June blind with purpose.

For two days she went about seducing the woman not with her body or character or any of the usual wiles but a furious and open desire. She kept touching her arm, brushing against her when they sat together, telling her how lovely she was, applying a constant, pressuring want that had the effect of cutting off all other avenues, all other possibilities; she would force her to relent. In the end, as if by her design, the poor riled woman finally led them from the exhibition hall past fire doors into the back concrete stairwell of the hotel, where they roughly kissed and groped each other before going up to the hotel room, their grunts echoing downward and upward in the dimly lighted well as though they were toiling in a catacomb.

IT HAD BEEN LIKE THAT at the orphanage. After the Ta

She sometimes wondered, naturally enough, if Sylvie could ever have a similar feeling for her. It was pure i

“Would you have played with me when you were a girl?”

“Of course! We always do things together, don’t we?”

“But would you have liked me, if you were just one of us?”

“Don’t be silly.”

“But would you?”

“Yes.”

“Say it again.”

“Yes! Yes!”

June never fully believed her, though it hardly mattered. That she and Sylvie were together each day, that she could work in their house from after studies until bedtime, that she could always be within arm’s reach, this was the world for her, her only extravagance and riches. And it was reciprocated; even in the face of Reverend Ta

And although it was true that Sylvie was no longer mentioning adopting her and taking her to America, June was sure that it was Sylvie’s way of respectfully allowing her husband to sit with the prospect, that he needed more time with the idea of having a child who wasn’t his own. She knew about their fertility troubles, if only from having stolen peeks at Sylvie’s leather-bound diaries, a collection of which she kept in a trunk beneath her bed. They were dated from the early 1930s and came all the way up to their arrival here, recounting her travels with her missionary parents and her adolescent and university days in Seattle and then her marriage to Ames Ta

So she resolved herself to be disciplined and not bring up anymore the question of her adoption. She would patiently wait. Her bond with Sylvie was not just of a mother and daughter but that of comrades who by the curse of war had been sentenced to be alone.

The one omission in the diaries, she noticed, was any mention of Sylvie’s parents’ deaths. Sylvie had already told her they had died in Manchuria, where they were missionaries in a place much like New Hope, and June imagined Sylvie to have been orphaned like herself, cast out on a solitary road, compelled to make her way back to life by the force of her own tireless will. There were many years separating them, of course, this again would be a question of waiting out time, and she saw herself in their resumed lives as Sylvie’s secretary and housekeeper, her girl-in-waiting, her handmaiden, someone she could use and count on at any moment of the day or night. She would be indispensable to her, and in return Sylvie would envelop her with her passion and grace, guide her through her education to her own womanhood, when June would not marry unless she had Sylvie’s blessing, indeed perhaps never abide anyone else as closely, as purely.

June knew the depth of her own feelings, for it didn’t please her at all to see how deadened the Ta