“All right,” he said because he knew this was the start of the never telling that he had decided on.
“I’m so glad,” his father said. “It’s so much simpler and better.” Then they sat on old men’s stools under the shade of the great fig tree with the tusks against the wall of the hut and drank native beer from gourd cups that were brought by a young girl and her younger brother, no longer a detested nuisance but the servant of heroes, sitting in the dust by the heroic dog of a hero who held an old cockerel newly promoted to the standing of the heroes’ favorite rooster. They sat there and drank beer while the big drum started and the Ngoma began to build.
He came out of the working room and he was happy and empty and proud and Marita was waiting for him on the terrace sitting in the sun of the bright early fall morning that he had not known existed. It was a perfect morning, still and cool. The sea below was a flat calm and across the bay was the white curve of Cannes with the dark mountains behind it.
“I love you very much,” he said to the dark girl as she stood up. He put his arms around her and kissed her and she said, “You finished it.”
“Sure,” he said. “Why not?”
“I love you and I’m so proud,” she said. They walked out and looked at the sea with their arms around each other.
“How are you girl?”
“I’m very well and very happy,” Marita said. “Did you mean it about loving me or was it just the morning?”
“It was the morning,” David said and kissed her again.
“Can I read the story?”
“It’s too lovely a day.”
“Can’t I read it so I can feel like you do and not just happy because you’re happy like I was your dog?”
He gave her the key and when she brought the notebooks and read the story at the bar David read it sitting beside her. He knew it was ill mannered and stupid. He had never done this before with anyone and it was against everything he believed about writing but he did not think of that except at the moment when he put his arm around the girl and looked at the writing on the lined paper. He could not help wanting to read it with her and he could not help sharing what he had never shared and what he had believed could not and should not be shared.
When she finished reading Marita put her arms around David and kissed him so hard that she drew blood from his lip. He looked at her and tasted his blood absentmindedly and smiled.
“I’m sorry David,” she said. “Please forgive me. I’m so very happy and prouder than you are.
203
202
. THE GARDEN OI~ EDEN
“Is it all right?” he said. “Can you smell the shamba smell and the clean smell of hut inside and feel the smoothness of the old men chairs? It’s really clean in the hut and the earth floor is swept.”
“Of course it is. You had it in the other story. I can see the angle of the head of Kibo the heroic dog too. You were such a lovely hero. Did the blood make a stain in your pocket?”
“Yes. It softened when I sweated.”
“Let’s go to town and celebrate the day,” Marita said. “There’s a lot of things that we can do today.”
David stopped at the bar and poured Haig Pinch and then cold Perrier into a glass and brought it with him to the room where he drank half of it and took a cold shower. Then he pulled on slacks and a shirt and put on alpargatas to go into town. He felt the story was good and felt even better about Marita. Neither had been diminished by the sharpening of perception he had now, and clarity had come with no sadness.
Catherine was doing whatever she was doing and would do whatever she would do. He looked out and felt the old happy carelessness. It was a day for flying actually. He wished there was a field where he could rent a plane and take Marita up and show her what you could do with a day like this. She might like it. But there isn’t any field here. So forget that. It would be fun though. So would skiing. That’s only two months away if you want it. Christ, it was good to finish today and have her there. Marita there with no damned jealousy of the work and have her know what you were reaching for and how far you went. She really knows and it’s not faked. I do love her and you make a note of it, whiskey, and you witness it for me, Perrier old boy old Perrier, I have been faithful to you, Perrier, in my fucking fashion. It feels very good when you feel so good. It’s a stupid feeling but it fits on this day so put it on.