There Are Doors

1 Lara "Do you believe in love?" he asked her. "Yes," Lara replied. "And I hate it." He did not know what to say. It all stuck in his throat, everything he had planned that afternoon walking home from the store. "We use it, you see," she told him. "My women and I. We must." He nodded. "Women do use love, of course. But so do men, and men usually use it worse. Don't you think that only proves it's real? If it wasn't, nobody could use it." The brandy had gone to his head; by the time he had finished speaking, he was no longer quite sure what they had been talking about. "It's real, all right," Lara told him. "But I am not a woman." "A girl" He was groping. So was she, a hand in his pajamas. "A lady." His glass was at his lips. He took it from her hand and drank. "...and then the men die. Always. She holds his sperm, saves it, and bears his children, one after another for the rest of her life. Perhaps three children. Perhaps three dozen." "I love you," he said thickly. "I'd die for you, Lara." "But this is betteryour way is so much better. Now I'll go back. Listen. There are doors" She did not go back at once. They embraced again, on the floor in front of the gas log. For the second time that evening he poured himself into her. And afterward he held her to him, tightly, oh, so tightly, feeling as though the two of them were in a boat upon the sea, a little boat that rocked and spun with every billow; that only his body against hers, her body against his could save them both from freezing in the freezing spume. "You must be careful," she said when he was almost asleep. "Because we've been so close." * * * He woke up with a throbbing headache. Sunlight was pouring through the window; from its angle he knew that he had missed work that day. He got up and made himself drink three glasses of water. Lara was gone, but that was to be expected; it was nearly eleven. She had probably gone out to look for a job, or to get some clothes, maybe even to get some lunch. He called the store. "Flucame on last night. Sorry, so sorry I didn't call in sooner." I sound like a Jap, he thought. Too long selling Sonys. Ella in Personnel said, "I'll mark you down. Don't feel badit's your first sick day this year." Aspirin, he thought. You're supposed to take aspirin. He swallowed three. There was a note on the coffee table, a note in Lara's angular writing. Darling, I tried to say good-bye last night, but you wouldn't listen. I'm not a coward, really I'm not. If it weren't for the doors I wouldn't tell you a thingthat would be the best way. You may see one, perhaps more than one, at least for a little while. It will be closed all around. (They must be closed on all sides.) It may be a real door, or just something like a guy-wire supporting a phone pole, or an arch in a garden. Whatever it is, it will looksignificant. Please read carefully. Please remember everything I'm saying.You must not go through. If you go through before you realize it, don't turn around.If you do it will be gone. Walk backward at once. Lara PS: You always put these on, don't you? At the end. At the end, I loved you. I really did. (Do.) He read it three timesWolfe, Gene is the author of 'There Are Doors', published 2001 under ISBN 9780312872304 and ISBN 0312872305.