A Separation(8)

I’m fine, I said. Thank you again. He opened the door, he stepped aside and let her enter first. The waiter’s silhouette blocked out the sun. There is nothing else I can get for you? he said, almost wistfully. Inside the room it was cool, the windows had been left open and the door to the balcony was ajar, she tensed—suppose one of the maids was in the room, it was unlikely at this hour but possible—he dropped the room key onto the table, he checked his phone for messages, he was relaxed in a way that seemed miraculous to her, she could not imagine being so at ease in this luxurious room.

No, thank you, really I am fine. At last he moved away. She thought he would offer her a drink—wasn’t that what was supposed to happen? She didn’t know, she had never been in this situation before, he could have called for room service, a bottle of champagne like the ones she had seen sent up to so many rooms, so many couples—but he put down his phone and then he turned and seized her by the shoulder without preamble, so that she was at once affronted and excited. Had it been this way? Almost certainly. I closed my eyes. It was a long time ago but I remembered it well enough, it would not have been very different, with this woman or another.

And then the rest, the same as well. She would have been pleased by the end of it, almost certainly, and there might have been as long as ten minutes or even half an hour before the doubt began. What happened now? He was not asleep (he never fell asleep in that moment, but she would not know that), he was not looking at her, he was simply staring at the ceiling. She hesitated, she had drifted off—for how long? She could hardly ask him—tentatively, she placed her hand on his arm. Hardly a touch at all, but he turned, smiled, covered her hand with his.

I had dinner early. Once again, the terrace was deserted. The restaurant had been set for the dinner service, there were now white tablecloths on every table, flowers and even candles. There was a German family with two young children, who ate quickly and left shortly after I arrived. The children were very solemn, very well behaved. They sat mostly in silence, the mother occasionally leaning forward to cut the boy’s food. I recognized the waiters from breakfast, once the family departed they quickly cleared the table and set it afresh, as if the restaurant were fully booked for the evening, and then they were idle again.

As I was ordering my coffee, the honeymoon couple arrived. That was how I had come to think of them, although Kostas had said they had come to Gerolimenas to celebrate their anniversary, they behaved in every way like newlyweds. They were still drunk, or had become even more drunk, since their arrival that afternoon. Upon entering the restaurant they began exclaiming enthusiastically at the view, the woman clutching at the man’s elbow, it was true that the vista was spectacular, the sun was setting and the sky was a vivid smear of color.

They sat down to their dinner. The man immediately ordered champagne. They were celebrating, why not? Everything why not, they repeated the phrase again and again, tossing it back and forth as if it were a ball. They ordered lobster, why not, caviar, why not, they spoke in English to the waiter, gesticulating wildly, at one point the woman actually waved her menu through the air. The waiter brought their champagne, a basket of bread, glasses of ice water.

I asked for the bill and signed it to the room. It was early and I did not want to spend the rest of the evening in my room, so I walked along the stone jetty that ran from the terrace out into the water. It was a solid and impressive construction, perhaps ten feet wide and stretching out some hundred feet into the sea, far enough for the water to feel enveloping. Soon the persistent clatter of the restaurant, even the noise of the honeymoon couple, had been absorbed by the darkness.

And then nothing but the sound of the water. I reached the end of the jetty and sat down on its edge. In another life, Christopher and I might have been like the quiet family, or even the honeymoon couple, they were possibilities that had never come to fruition, and only because of that been rendered absurd. I heard footsteps behind me. The waiter appeared, bearing a glass of wine, compliments of the hotel, he said. Perhaps I looked as if I needed it. I asked if the tide was rising and he said yes, at high tide the water nearly reached the top of the jetty. I asked him if people ever drowned in the water.

Yes, sometimes. But the water is safe. There are no whirlpools. No sharks.

I looked up to see if he was smiling but his expression wasn’t visible in the dark.

Most of the people who drowned were suicides.

The statement had the air of a joke.

Were there so many?

He shook his head, he was backing away, he seemed almost affronted.

Hardly any.

He retreated and I called out after him, I said I would be along in a moment, in the event that he was worried. He nodded and then went back inside. I rose several moments later, as I stood in the darkness, the glass door on a small balcony on the third floor of the hotel opened. The honeymoon couple emerged. They were embracing passionately and did not stop to look out at the water, or lean on the edge of the rail and light a cigarette, any of the things one usually steps out onto a balcony to do. The man was running his hand up and down the woman’s back and she was gripping his jaw with one hand as she slipped the other down the back of his trousers.

I was embarrassed—it was unpleasant to be standing in the dark like a Peeping Tom, I didn’t know where to look, almost everything around me was dark, while up above the embracing couple was brilliantly illuminated, as if they were standing on a stage. There was nothing elegant or even erotic in the sight of them, their passion was grotesque. They continued grinding up against each other with animal passion, it was clear that however much of a performance they made of their desire for each other, it was nonetheless the real thing.