The Atlas

LOOK AT ME

Bleeding brackish droplets which his skin had borrowed from the artificial lagoon, he parted from his wife, she bound for sun, he for shade. They had not seen the giant turtles. He was almost dry now. His towel was stretched out beside the farthest boat. Before lying down he made certain that his watch had not been stolen. He had never had anything stolen at the beach but he continually expected something bad to happen. Coddling his little unhatched egg of anxiety, he could not see or think of anything else until he had done this. His wife had once bought him a very expensive watch which had been stolen in a hotel. The watch he had now was not expensive, so his vigilance must be some irrelevant suffix of guilt. Anyhow it had not been stolen. He lay comfortably alone. Then he noticed that a Japanese girl had pitched her chair next to him. She too was a subject of the shade kingdom, it seemed. Her husband lay on his belly in the sunny sand, twenty feet away. The girl wore a black bathing suit. She had long slender pale arms, thighs as slender as bones.

He looked into the distance, where his wife basked almost at the water's edge, reading the self-help book that promised to save their marriage.

The Japanese girl sat watching her husband with the utmost attention. Whenever he turned or stretched, she padded down to his claim of sand and knelt beside him, gazing into his face. Then she'd return to her chair in the grass by the rental boats and sit again, watching him patiendy.

The long black locks of her hair twisted down her back and shoulders like beautiful roots. Later he would remember the sharp pelvic bone straining to break through her thigh-flesh, but for the moment he saw only her hair.

Her face was blurred as if in a dream. The way she sat, he could see only her profile, and the dark hair spun itself about her cheek like steam.

He waited for her to turn her head. He said to himself: If she turns her head, that means that she and I were born for each other. But if my wife turns her head, that means that my wife and I belong together.

He waited. Any moment now the girl would turn, and he'd see her face.

But without ever looking at him, she got up and went to her husband once more. Then she returned, slipped on her sundress and went away. Her husband lay still.

He looked at his wife, who at precisely that instant turned her head and smiled at him. He ached with dismay.

Fish-scales of light spread rapidly across the river. Trees shivered in their pots. The Japanese girl, shivering, tossed up her eyes in impatience, arms crossed as she stamped her feet. It was night at the lion-headed bench. Lanterns illuminated statues. Palm-fronds creaked like bedsprings. Glancing up at them, he forgot the girl at once, transfixed by the nodding of those sad and crazy shagheads, those spider-legs of darkness scutding limp and sick, impaled on their own swaying trunks, caressing themselves evilly while curtains licked each other from lighted balconies.

Are you finished staring or do I have to go inside by myself? the girl said.

He saw a big coconut like a skull. High on a palm-pole, fronds blew back from the skull's forehead like hair or warfeathers.

I'm going inside, the girl said. I'm going in to my husband.

His gaze wandered down.

I thought you wanted me, the girl said, swallowing her tears. You followed me; you sneaked off from your wife—

But I never expected this wind! he cried. This wind blows everything away—

She had taken off her wedding ring and was squeezing it in her hand. Suddenly it escaped to the tiles by her feet, meeting them with a musical sound. Startled, he looked into her face. At once her expression changed. She glowed with a greedy ecstasy.

So you love me, she whispered. Now I know you love me. Just keep looking at me. That's all I need.