that I could scarcely walk, after a moment, I moved slowly after her, and none too soon as the last quick look I sent into the living room showed me that Annie and Father were beginning to move.
Silently on the thick carpet, I crept to the stair and ascended to my room.
Chapter Three
I went up to my room excited and disturbed by all I had heard and seen. Although the hall was brilliantly lit by a great glass chandelier, my room was dark and, without turning on the light, I closed the door and lay down. For some time I stared up at the immense blackness trying to take in all that had happened. Gradually I became aware of a diffused light in the room. Stirring up a little and looking around, I discovered that it came from the crack beneath a door which apparently led to another room. I quickly moved close to the door. Then hesitated; fearing to open it, but ashamed of the idea of peeking through the keyhole. However, this last compunction was soon overwhelmed by my curiosity and, kneeling down, I placed my eye to the opening.
At first I could see nothing. Then as my eyes adjusted to the brightness, I discovered I was peering into the most marvelous room I had ever seen. Everything was silk and satin, and lace and silk, and velvet and silk. Immediately before me was a screen, and over it was whiteness hanging, and silk. Silk stockings were lying on the deep white rug. Strange, delicate garments were scattered on the white furniture. There was a giant bed and over it hung a canopy of white silk. Even the bedspread was silk. And everywhere was whiteness. Hardly had I taken this in when a. woman came into my range of vision. The kimono she wore was silk. It was also white. The woman was Mother.
She moved in her bare feet to a dressing table which stood to the right of the screen and began to brush her hair, watching herself in the mirror. As she ran the brush through it in a long steady stroke, her chin tilted up slightly showing her face in clear profile to me. Nothing can describe that beauty! The white, white skin, and the clean line of nose and cheek and throat. I stared in complete awe and reverence.
The brush almost sang through her hair making it flash gold and red and amber in the light. But fascinating as it was to watch this constant transformation of light and beauty, my eyes crept to her body which was swaying gracefully with the motion of her arm. I noticed how with each stroke the silk of the kimono clung, slid along, and then fell away from the litheness of her. I stared. When the robe was against her it spoke of her body. When it fell away, the light caught in it and I could almost see through. I became obsessed with the need to know if there was anything underneath… if she was naked underneath! But I couldn’t be sure. Everything was motion and the robe never was still enough for me to define what I saw. She turned slightly, so that her reflection was full for me. I discovered that the robe was fastened at her throat, but open from there down. So that every time she moved, the gown opened a little. But always it closed before I could see more than an indistinct glory of whiteness and flesh. But I could tell at least that there was nothing under the robe. Nothing! The robe parted and closed. Almost with the same motion. Parted and shut. My eyes strained to catch a detail. I remembered how they once told me how lightning was a crack in the floor of heaven, and that if you looked quickly enough you could see into paradise. I had tried and tried. I tried and tried now. With the same results. Finally I shifted my attention. First to her beautiful shining arms where the full sleeves had fallen back, giving me the plump, rounded, firm arms. Then I noticed how the body was silhouetted. I fixed on the curves of her. On how the torso flowed down and in to the amazingly small waist, and then out to full rounded hips. And down. I could see her legs. She was standing with them apart, so the long, limber perfection of them was clear. But mostly I feasted on her breasts. They were obviously unfettered under the thin silk. As her arm brushed and brushed, they came alive. The great lush weight of them swayed, leaped, swung, pranced, jiggled, shook, quivered, undulated, pulsed, wiggled, and tossed. The breasts were high and firm despite the fullness, and the ends had small points that traced messages on the robe that I struggled to read.
Mother meanwhile was constantly looking at herself in the mirror with a languorous intensity. Her strokes lengthened as she drew the brush through that long cascade of loveliness, and a flush came to her cheek as her motion quickened and the hair picked up more and more fire from the light. Her eyes seemed to caress her body in the mirror even as mine were doing. The realization of one to me was as startling as the other. A liquid feeling of weakness filled me and a tingling ran over my thighs. Could this be the result of love for her? Holy love? Something in me doubted it profoundly and I was more and more disturbed.
Then she put the brush on the dressing table and, reaching her hands to her neck, she undid the clasp of the robe. She stood admiring herself appreciatively. I could see nothing, yet at the very suggestion of her taking off the gown I was quivering with what seemed more than filial anticipation. I stood transfixed. Mother kept gazing at herself, moving her body slightly all the time. Then she ran her hands up under the robe as though to take it off.
I was paralyzed by anticipation and shock. But this was followed instantly by a convulsion of shame and embarrassment. Somehow I tore my eyes away from the keyhole and stumbled to my feet forcing myself to return to bed.
I was so ashamed. I lay on the bed goading myself with the vileness I had in me. My mind lashed itself for the foulness of peeking through keyholes at a woman. At a lady, who was my mother! I had lusted after her nakedness. In another second I would have looked on my mother’s nakedness. I would have seen all her intimacy of flesh.
At this thought, a wild sword of loss stabbed through me. I leaped from the bed and raced to the keyhole while a voice cried “Too late. Too late. Missed it.” As I fell to my knees by the door, a spasm of hunger seized me like a cramp. I couldn’t even see I was so frantic to look.
Finally I calmed at least enough to see a little.
Mother was still wearing the robe. This was all I could take at first. There was disappointment, but then a hope began hammering in me. I might still see. Then I realized that something strange was happening. Mother was watching herself as before in the mirror. Her hands were inside the robe, and were slowly stroking her breasts. I strained to see but the angle was wrong. She kept gently stroking and caressing inside the robe as though she were doing what I had seen Annie do for Father. Her head fell back now and her lips parted slightly as her eyes closed. Slowly a flush came into her face and a look of mounting joy. Her breathing quickened and her hands moved faster.
I was seized with a fine trembling all over, something was going to happen, the nature of which was beyond me. Her caresses became more insistent, as her breathing quickened still more. Then she slid one hand down over her stomach and began moving back and forth at the point where her legs joined, while the other remained at her breast. Suddenly she began to shake as a low moaning came from her parted lips. She raised her shoulders and her body writhed as she started to shake off the robe. I was going to see! There was a flash of white shoulder, a blur of side, legs. But at that second, the hall door beside me opened and I was blinded by sudden brilliant light.
For an instant I was helpless, petrified. Caught. Completely exposed kneeling there peeking into Mother’s keyhole. I jumped up in terror and ran to the bed sure of my ruin. I threw myself face down in the pillow sobbing with self-incrimination for having destroyed all that life had been about to offer me. The door closed and there was darkness again. A long time went by. I lay there with my heart pounding! I could tell someone was in the room, but I couldn’t tell who. I could hear them breathing it was so quiet. Was it Father? I was sick with fear and shame and loss. Then out of the dark, a voice. Gunilla’s voice:
“What are we going to do with you? I mean really! Four hours in the house and already you’ve managed to look everybody over. First me, looking down my dress while I poured the coffee. Then spying on Annie and Father… now Mother! Shameful! What will you do after you’ve had time to establish yourself? A woman won’t be able to relax for a minute for fear you’ll be looking up her dress, or down it, or peeking through the keyhole, or boring holes in the walls, or setting up periscopes, or… well, I can’t even imagine! But there’s no telling what a boy like you will do. What are we to do with you around? We’ll have to start locking ourselves in closets if we want to undress!”
I stared into the darkness towards her and began to cry.
“Oh, please, Gunilla, I’ll change-I’ll change,” I pleaded. “Please don’t tell-I promise I’ll change. I’ll…”
A low, throaty laugh came from the dark. Her voice began again, softer and husky. “Please don’t, Lars. Please don’t change. Can you realize what it is to a house full of women without men to have you around all at once?
