This All Happened(17)

            We eat dessert. We plough into the sweet patient.

            The speaker system is accidentally attached to the downstairs intercom, so the curlers hear every word.

            Wilf says, The problem with the word erotic is that it has the word rot in the middle of it.

            15 There is no colour in the hills now. Whatever quality affords colour in colour film is no longer in those hills. Below the hills in dry dock is the trawler Wilfred Templeman. It looks like a part of the sentinel fishery. Hauled up alongside the Beothuk park, deep in the shipyard.

            You must listen to your heart of hearts. You must know there is a cable of love that connects, that carries an undertow, that tugs and anchors you during the white storm. When I look into Lydia’s blue eye I want to see that cable. The storm can shave away all bindings, but the silver cable persists.

            The roofs are white. But the roads have melted to black. All the windows are black or a very dark green. Windows allow light but offer darkness. If you are attracted to windows you probably like looking out through them. Otherwise, you like looking at yourself in them, as darkness allows a reflection.

            Iris says there’s a new prison in the mountains of Germany. Helmut was telling her. And the only windows are slits, like a glowing envelope on edge. And Helmut wonders if you can see an entire mountain through a slit. This is the project we all undertake, she says. Isnt it. To accept everything if you love a piece of everything.

            16 Lydia tries on clothes at the Value Village. A green wool suit made in Dublin. It fits her like stretched fabric over wood. Her thin chest and full thighs. She cocks her hips, pulls up a shoulder.

            What do you think?

            I think youve rescued it.

            Then it’s a wine V-neck sweater that hugs her little tits. I am in the change booth with her. I run a hand over her pubic hair. I can’t help it. What about this, she says. A black number with white stitching. I am learning to choose clothing for her. At first it seemed anything would look good on her. I was astonished at how small a top could be. The size of children’s clothing.

            She says, Youre some chummy with Alex.

            Me: Youre one to talk.

            17 Forty laps in a thirty-metre pool. I love swimming in winter. But I’m winded after ten laps. The water playing off plexiglass like starfish made from sunlight. Moving a plate of light around the room off your watch.

            Lane one, a man, about forty-two, with a bald spot and a small pot and tufts of hair at his nipples and belly button. A young guy with him learning to shallow dive, tattoos on his shoulders, something meek. I practise the crawl, blowing under water, sucking under my arm. I take it easy. Lane three, a sleek woman ploughing through lengths like she’s churning cream.

            Some people you care for, some you dont, just from their look.

            That man and the younger man could be lovers, except I see that it’s my neighbour, Boyd Coady.

            I drive home and there’s a message on the machine: Lydia’s out for a run and she’s going to come over. Then I see her walking down the path. She is carrying a bouquet of carnations.

            How did you run with flowers?

            I held them behind my back.

            When I hug her, her body is hot and steamy.

            18 Maisie Pye and I get drunk. We havent been drunk together in ages. It’s so good, she says, to get drunk with you.

            She pulls on a lock of her brown hair and nibbles it.

            She says she can be direct with me. She can utter anything and it won’t be misconstrued. She says, The fact that we’ve slept together avoids all that sexual tension bullshit.