Read Sleeping in Flame for Free Online Page A

why so many human fires go out. You have to work so hard at real love."
    My voice fell when I saw a big smile rise on her face. "I'm sounding like an evangelist on television."
    She shook her head and touched my hand. "No, like someone who believes what he's saying. But I'm smiling because I was just thinking of God. When I
    was a little girl I went through a long period when I _breathed_ God and religion. I could have posed for those religious postcards they sell in
    Catholic bookstores. But my favorite thing then was to write letters to God.
    I'd have long chats with Him on yellow paper. When I'd finished one, I'd go immediately out on the balcony of our apartment and burn the letter. I was sure it'd go right to heaven. I worked hard at loving Him, you know? Just like what you're describing. I'm glad you said that."
    We went on talking until each of us had so much information about the other that we tacitly agreed to stop for a while to let it all sink in.
    The day had started out overcast but decided on drizzle by the time we left the café. It was early afternoon and I was hungry, but since we'd just spent three hours sitting, it wasn't the right moment to suggest a bite in a cozy restaurant. We walked out toward the Ringstrasse.
    The air smelled of wet streets and car exhaust. Maris walked fast, taking great long strides as she moved. While trying to keep up with her, I
    looked down and noticed for the first time how large her feet were. Everything about the woman was full size, impressive.
    In contrast, my ex-wife Victoria was a small woman who prided herself on being able to buy shirts in the boys' department at Brooks Brothers. Her hands were slim and pretty; she liked to have her hair done once a week. She often wore dark fingernail polish to bed.
    Maris was by no means raw or unfeminine in the way she looked or carried herself, but seemed to know she was impressive "as is." She didn't need to have perfect skin or fresh eyeliner on to stop your heart.
    "You have wonderful feet."
    "Thank you. They're the same size as my father's."
    As soon as she said this, she saw something that suddenly made her break into a run.
    About half a block down the street, a woman was hitting her child. That was bad enough, but she kept slapping him so hard that the little boy would have fallen down if she weren't holding his arm.
    Maris sprinted toward them. People stopped to watch her zoom by. With no idea of what she was doing, I hesitated for a moment, then followed. When I got there, she had already grabbed the woman by the arm and was shaking her.
    "Are you _crazy_? You don't hit a child like that!"
    "Don't touch me! I'll call the police!"
    The woman was as tall as Maris but much broader. She had a face like a month-old melon, and bulged through every seam of her clothes. The child hung limp in her hand, but his face was all fear and flutter. Something in his expression said Mama had done this before.
    "Yes! Call the police! Do! I'll tell them what you're doing to that child!"
    A number of people had gathered to watch. The woman looked around for support. All she saw was indifference or hard faces.
    "Look at how frightened your son is! How can you _do_ that?"
    Page 17

    The boy started to cry. Without looking, the woman shook him and told him to shut up. Maris took a step toward her. A fistfight was one second away.
    Maris stuck a finger in the woman's thick cheek and said if she did that again, she was going to get hit.
    Now, _no one_ talked to this Mama that way. Looking Maris straight in the eye, she shook the child again. Maris slapped her face. The other's eyes flared, then narrowed. She kept looking at Maris while she shook the child again. Harder.
    Watching the two women, I didn't see the man until he'd stepped forward and grabbed Mama by the back of the neck. He was nondescript, middle sized, _bürgerlich_.
    He held the woman so tightly in one hand that she couldn't turn around to look at him when she tried. He ignored her,