Gerard and she were sitting in the restaurant garden when Gerd, Carla and Enrique arrived. While they exchanged the customary kisses, she breathed him in. A scent of sun and ocean. She had sensed it that day, on the buggy, clinging to his back. She woke up at night and tried to recall it, to find it in the memory of her sense of smell, preserve it like something innocently taken away from him. A small theft, in which there was nothing criminal, nothing stolen…

Gerard, as usual, gave an initial push to the conversation – from Freiburg and Germany through Brussels, Fuerteventura and surf, to their acquaintance. She left him the initiative with relief. It was one of the first things that attracted her to him in the early days of their relationship – his ability to master the situation in a calm non-imposing way,  but setting the direction. Later, when they began to live together, this allowed her to inhabit that world, located in the time-space of the past, but experienced by her as present in an intensive and focused way. Gerard, being the present, without realising this, had become the best guardian of her past. With his natural sociability, he guaranteed the unobtrusiveness of her silence and the inviolability of the world hidden behind it.

Tonight, she followed the conversation. Not so much the words as the facial expressions and the eyes, the reactions, the movements of hands. Meanwhile, the Writer had arrived with a half-hour delay. She apologised, saying she had to finish writing something. She sat next to her at the place where previously Enrique sat, but who had gallantly given it up for her. She ordered a glass of white wine and a salad and joined the conversation with ease. They were sitting in the following order: at one end – Gerard, on his left – Marina, on his right – Gerd, next to Marina – the Writer, next to Gerd and opposite the Writer – Carla, at the other end of the table, between Carla and the Writer – Enrique. The conversation moved like a ball that the three men and Carla skillfully threw among themselves. The Writer also managed to catch the ball, rotate it thoughtfully in her hands and toss it suddenly in an unexpected direction. Marina felt like a silent referee in this game. A referee who only observes and registers but does not interfere. Gerard was in his element – the young company definitely pleased him, and the idea of being accepted by them and of making them feel good, obviously stimulated him. Gerd seemed confident, his voice was vibrant, he was smiling. Every time their eyes met, it surged heat in Marina, and she wondered if the sweetness she saw in his eyes was only for her or was inherent. Carla participated convincingly, shared viewpoints, but looked thoughtful even when smiling. Her eyes sought an answer to unspoken questions. At times Marina felt them on her face like caterpillars – crawling, probing, studying. She met them briefly or ignored them. Enrique was relaxed, smiling, jocular. His tone became noticeably more alive with the arrival of the Writer. His dark eyes darted to her and stayed a little longer than normal. She showed interest in everyone, listening and responding with a friendly restraint.

Gradually, the group split into two. Gerard, the Writer and Carla on one side and Enrique and Gerd on the other. Marina remained in the middle and could hear phrases of both, depending on the direction of her attention. On the left, Gerard’s voice dominated, on the right – Enrique’s. She noted that if she repetitively shifted her attention from one group to the other, a new conversation was constructed, accessible only to her. 

… German submariners went to Handia to relax… We can go to this beach tomorrow … Gustav Winter, haven’t you heard?.. Should I buy this board, what do you say?… Dubious history and unclear … Even so, I think it’s worth it… But still it isn’t coincidental that the old capital is called Betancouria… Endless summer, I loved it, imagine one day we do this, chasing the summer on our boards, how does that sound?… He met his second wife here, much younger than him and built the castle in Handia… Do we need to go so far, when here we have everything we need, an endless surf season…

She apologised, got up and walked to the hotel. On the way out of the toilet, she looked at herself in the mirror. She wore the yellow dress, which accentuated her complexion. Gerard said that her skin had a honey colour. She stared at her face, not at its features but at its expression. She found something new. Or maybe old but long forgotten? A shadow of dreaminess. A shadow of hope. For three years she had inhabited only the space of the past, while the space of dreams is always the future. Looking forward had become unusual for her and therefore exciting and a little scary. She felt pregnant again – in her womb, like a child, the feeling associated with the boy had taken hold. Gerd. She sighed, came out of the toilet and faced him. He stood in the hallway and looked at her. She walked straight to him – silently, innocently, and when she almost reached him, ready to say something polite and insignificant, he raised his hand and stroked her. She looked at him, frozen. Everything stopped. There was only this moment when his hand slid down her neck, shoulders, chest, gently and tenderly followed her contours, wrapped her waist and pulled her close. Her body flared under the movement of his hand. She felt his lips, their butterfly touch. They stood motionless, with rapid breathing, a small eternity. Suddenly they heard footsteps, he stepped back and ducked into the men’s toilet. She leaned against the wall to overcome the excitement, to assemble herself, to return. The Writer appeared.

By Irina Papancheva