The Principal Export of Switzerland Was War
Flicka von Hannover
Dieter told me a story
to help me sleep that night.
Flicka lay curled on her side of the bed, her knees almost touching her chest.
A dresser hunched by the far, dark wall, beyond where Dieter was lying on the other side of the bed. The dark waistband of his pajama pants traced a line between thewhite sheet that covered his legs and hips and the pale tee shirt that stretched over his broad chest.
The dim light from the open door to the bathroom reflected in Dieter’s gray eyes. His hand lay upturned on the sheet between them.
He said, “Come on.”
Flicka willed her arm to move. Her hand floated through the air and alighted on his palm.
“Good,” he said.
Flicka stared at her hand lyingon his. He didn’t grab her, didn’t trap her. She sucked a deep breath into her lungs, but her arm began to tremble. “How did Alina like the flight?”
“She rode on my lap and giggled the whole way, pointing at the flight tracker. At one point, she swam over the two very tolerant grandmothers sitting beside us to look out the window.” He smiled and adjusted his head on the pillow. “It didn’t seemto bother her.”
“That’s good,” Flicka said.
His fingers closed a little, but he didn’t grab her.
She said, “I’m sorry.”
“I can sleep on the couch if you’d prefer.”
Then she would be alone in the bed and cold. The whitewashed walls would crowd inward. “Please don’t.”
He nodded.
“I’ll get better,” she told him.
“I’m your bodyguard,” he said. “You ran to me because I could protect you, andyou were right to. Back in France, we just—” He drew a breath, obviously buying time. “We might have gotten carried away.”
“So you didn’t want that?”
His fingers curled around hers. “Of course, I did, but it’s all right if you don’t want to do anything more, either right now or later. I’m here to protect you. I’m neither your boyfriend nor your sex therapist.”
She smiled a little.
“But youshould talk to someone about this, a real therapist, the normal kind. Not the sex kind. They don’t really have those, right?”
“Just at those ranches advertised in that hotel magazine.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You should talk to a real therapist.”
“I can’t,” she said. “We don’t have health insurance here. Counseling is expensive, really expensive, and we don’t have the money. It’s ridiculous.First, someone committed a crime against me, and now I would have to go into debt because it’s driving me crazy.”
The hurt in his eyes saddened her, and he said, “I’ll get you back home as soon as it’s safe. I promise. Or I’ll get the money somehow so you can start here.”
