Via Dolorosa(35)

He walked down to the beach and sat crossed-legged on Emma’s towel. The women swam further out, both deep and wet now, their hair slicked back on their heads. They were both seal pups, he could see, bobbing and playing in the surf. The current strong, their dark little heads drifting gradually north and, after some time, he actually had to turn his head to continue watching them.

After a while, Isabella came out of the water. He watched her walk across the sand and began to think of ways to busy himself because he knew she was heading in his direction.

“Handsome Nicholas,” she said, standing above him and wringing out the wet length of her hair. She wore a two-piece bathing suit nearly the color of her flesh. The dual thrust of her nipples was proudly visible through the taut cups of fabric. There was nothing of imperfection about her body. He suddenly wanted to paint her. “Handsome, handsome Nicholas.”

“Hello.”

“You do not like the water?”

“Sometimes.”

“Not today?”

“Not today,” he said.

“You’re a brooder,” she told him.

“All right.”

“Brooder,” she said.

“How did your photo shoot go? Did you get all the pictures you wanted?”

“Oh, it went very nice. There were some very nice ruined houses.”

“Lovely.”

“You are sarcastic, yes?”

“Not me.”

“You are,” she said. “I can tell.”

“Just seems a morbid thing to take photos of, is all.”

“Why is that?”

He waved a hand at her. “Forget it.”

“You are an artist, just like me. You never paint morbid things?”

“I try not to.”

“Isn’t that a pity,” she said.

“Why’s that?”

“Because so many morbid things happen in real life, and you do not feel they are important enough to document.”

“That’s some way to look at things.”

“It is only my way.”

“That’s for sure.”

“Do you hate me for last night, Nicholas?”

“No.”

“I think maybe you do.”

“Well you think wrong. Why would I hate you for last night? Nothing happened.”

“I was thinking that was why you hated me.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“You were having a good time and enjoying yourself for most of the night.”

“Sure.”

“You got funny near the end, though,” she informed him.

“Yeah, well, it happens,” he said. In truth, he didn’t know what the hell had happened to him last night. Something in his head, in his brain, had shifted. Briefly, he had forgotten where he was…who he was…

For lack of a more manly gesture, he retrieved a cigarette from the breast pocket of his shirt. Lit it. Smoked.

Isabella knelt down on the edge of the towel, just two feet from him. He could see the heels of her feet breaded with sand. Her demitasse toes dug pits in the sand. Winding her hair behind her head, she shifted her eyes to where Emma still swam in the surf. “Your wife,” she said, “she is a timid swimmer.”

“She’s afraid to go too far out.”

“What’s to be afraid of?”

Tendrils of smoke drifted before his face from the tip of his cigarette. He said, “What the hell do the two of you have in common, anyway? What are you trying to pull?”

Isabella laughed. “Pull.” The word was funny to her. “Pull-pull-pull.” Still laughing, she let her head come back slightly on her neck and ran a hand down her throat. Her skin was very brown, almost black, and still wet from the sea. When she laughed, her teeth were very white. In broad daylight, the unity of her features still managed to maintain a sense of the obscure, like hidden secrets suddenly shouted from a penthouse window in a desolate city.

“Forget it,” he muttered.

“Do you think I am a bad influence on your wife, Nicholas?”

“I don’t know what to think. You might just be a bad influence on me.”

“You are such a man,” she said.

“Yes,” he said, “here we go with that again.”

“Oh, don’t be so bitter!” She frowned, but playfully. “You’ve got something rotten and bitter deep within you. Soon, you will be like those ruined houses I saw today. All broken and caved in and looking like no god has ever loved them.”

“I’m like that.”

“And this could be true.”

“Sure it is,” he said. “Sure it is.”

“It seems you ask me the same question I can ask you.”

“What’s that?”

“What do you and your wife have in common, Nicholas? Seems a very bitter honeymoon to me.”

“You’re just trying to provoke me.”

“Am I? Because you seem offended. There must be something there, all right, if it is in danger of being provoked. Yes?”

“Yes. No. Whatever.”

“Boo,” she said. Then, “We talked about the Chinese divers, Emma and I.”

“How exciting.”