He was kissing my nose, my cheeks and shoulders, telling me how beautiful I was, how happy I made him. And then he whispered to me to say dirty words, words for a woman's body parts--not any woman's pars, a saltwater whore's, the kind who would give her body to foreign sailors. My ears hurt just to hear them. I pulled away.
"I cannot say those words," I finally told him.
"Why is this?" he asked me, and he looked gentle, very concerned.
"A woman cannot say these things," I said, searching for a reason. And then I laughed, just a little, to show him I was embarrassed even thinking about it.
Suddenly his smile went away, and he was a different person. He stood up quickly. His face was ugly, mad, and I became scared. I sat up too and stroked his shoulder, eager to win him back.
"Say them!" he shouted suddenly. He repeated the words, three or fourdirty words. "Say them!" he shouted again.
I shook my head and began to cry. And then he became tender again, wiping my eyes and saying how much he cared for me, rubbing my back and my neck, until I thought I would faint with relief and joy. He was only teasing, I thought happily. How stupid of me! And then he was helping me to stand up. He lifted my nightgown off, and when I was naked, he took my two hands and looked at me sincerely.
"Say them," he said in a quiet voice. And hearing this once again, I started to collapse to the floor. But before I could do so, he pulled me back up, dragged me toward the door like a bag of rice. He opened the door, then pushed me outside into the corridor of the monastery, where anyone passing by could have seen me, naked like that.
What could I do? I could not shout. Someone would awaken, look out, and see me. So I was whispering to him through the door, pleading, "Open the door! Open!" And he said nothing, did nothing, until several minutes had passed and I finally said, "I will say them."
After that, it was the same way every night. Here is where you should imagine more, here is where you should make it worse.
Sometimes he made me take off my clothes, get on my hands and knees, then act as if I were begging him for a good "stuck-together" time, so desperate I would do anything for this favor. And he would pretend to refuse, saying that he was tired, or that I was not pretty enough, or that I had been a bad wife that day. I had to beg and beg, my teeth chattering, until I truly was begging so I could get off the cold floor. Other nights he made me stand in the room naked, shivering in the night chill, and when he named a body part, I was supposed to say the same coarse word, then put my fingers there, touch myself--here, there, everywhere--while he watched and laughed.
