The Obsidian Chamber

57

The electrum sun rose into the late-morning sky, illuminating the myriad mangrove islands that dotted the shallow turquoise water, ending in the blue sea of the Gulf. Diogenes felt the warmth of the sun on the side of his face as he stood at the stove, cooking a breakfast of omelets with enokitake mushrooms, prosciutto, Gruyère and Brie, and fresh-chopped basil. He picked up the pan and slid an omelet onto a plate, which he whisked over to Constance, seated in the breakfast nook.

This omelet was in addition to the thick slabs of buttered toast and marmalade, half a dozen rashers of bacon, and fried green tomatoes he had already served. She was famished — and no wonder, when he thought back to the long, and wakeful, night they had spent together. My God, she was strong — and so daring, self-assured, and fearless! She had exhausted him many times over. He was spent; utterly spent.

Her face was unnaturally bright as she ate. Finally, omelet finished, she laid down her fork. “That will do, thank you very much.”

“My dear, I’ve rarely seen such an appetite.”

“I’d hardly eaten in days. And, of course, we burned a lot of calories.”

“Yes, yes.” Diogenes was curiously reluctant to discuss these sorts of things; it was his strict Catholic upbringing. He was glad Constance didn’t do what some women did and go over such details in retrospect, discussing it as if it were as commonplace as driving a car or going sailing. But she did not; she was apparently as reticent as he to sully their shared experience with conversational vapidities. And yet he couldn’t help recalling, with a frisson of electricity, the way her delicate fingers had traced the lines of his private scars…

She rose abruptly, pushing the plate aside. That same bright look was on her face — too bright, perhaps, but he supposed that’s the way certain women were…

“Let us go for a swim,” she said.

“Of course. But perhaps we should digest our meal, first?”

“That’s an old wives’ tale. Come.”

He thought of querying her about bathing suits but realized that was not the point. He rose, kicking off his slippers, and they walked arm in arm across the veranda, through the buttonwood, to the pier. She headed down it at a quick walk and he followed; even before she reached the end she was shedding her bathrobe and, nude, dove into the water. He followed.

She swam straight out, at a fast crawl, while he came on behind. After several minutes, he stopped. “Constance? Don’t go out too far!”

But she was still swimming intently, heading straight out into the channel. “Constance!”

She could not hear, it seemed, and kept on, heading toward one of the deeper channels. What was she doing?

“Constance!”

But now she was so far out all he could see was the little fluttering of white water as she swam. He felt a sudden grip of panic. Was she crazy? Was she going to kill herself? Such thoughts seemed absurd. Yet now he could barely see her — and even as he squinted, treading water, he realized he could no longer see her at all.

He turned and swam back, as fast as he could, for the dock. The Chris Craft was still cleated and he quickly pulled on his morning robe, untied the boat, jumped in, and started the engine. In a moment he was winging his way across the water, heading in the direction she had disappeared, his heart in his throat. The fast boat quickly closed the distance and soon he could see the splashing of her crawl. He throttled down, threw the engine into neutral, and drifted alongside her.

“Constance!”

She stopped swimming and looked over at him. “What is it?”

He tamped down his panic. He did not want her to think him worried. She had already expressed her irritation at his excessive hovering.

He gave her a forced smile and a wave. “Care for a ride back?”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

She kicked her way over to the side of the boat and hauled herself into the rear cockpit, her body covered with water droplets flashing in the sun. Diogenes reached under the console, found a towel, and handed it back.

“You are quite the seal,” he said.

“I didn’t learn to swim until I was an adult,” she said, breathing hard and drying herself off, without the slightest self-consciousness. “But I caught up.”

“Indeed you did.”

Diogenes brought the boat in a broad arc, heading back to the island but not too directly. It was a glorious morning on the water.

“I have a little gift for you,” he said. “Back in the library. Or rather, in an alcove off the library.”

“Really? I don’t recall any alcove.”

“You shall see. Shall we say ten minutes?”

“Shall we say three hours? I’m rather fatigued from my swim.”

“Three hours? What about lunch?”

“I’d just as soon skip lunch today, thank you — especially after that large breakfast.”

“Very well, my dear.”

He tied up at the dock and they went back to the house. Constance went immediately upstairs and so did Diogenes, each to their separate wings. Diogenes wondered how long these sleeping arrangements would last. Not much longer, he hoped.