At one point, between smiles and drags on their cigarettes, Maria Lluïsa’s hand mussed Pat’s thick black hair. She shook his cranium and Pat’s cheek brushed against Maria Lluïsa’s neck. But it was nothing more than a moment she desired and engineered. Pat went on talking about movies and other affairs. He was only interested in talking about himself and his thoughts, with the unconscious selfishness of a child. Maria Lluïsa was there in front of him and he didn’t need to know anything about her. Pat didn’t believe in women’s sincerity. He had absorbed the somewhat brutal theory of athletic young men, who are used to feeling love in a purely physiological sense, through their constant dealings with vamps who, seeking a break from the abdomens and bronchitis of their official boyfriends, take up with the members of the Swimming Club. Pat was sweetly vulgar with the girls, and sometimes even inconsiderate. This was considered to be chic and tony among his friends, and this was the way many brilliant young men of the time interpreted romance.
But despite this muscular and mechanical way of behaving, Pat and other young men like him displayed the most baptismal innocence. Sometimes their callow ingenuousness turned them into characters right out of The Lady of the Camellias. Motor cars, whiskey, and the fatigued pubises of fashionable lovelies had not entirely broken the shell of their good-boy upbringings. Inside this shell made up of maternal cares, family comforts and even fatherly talkings-to, the ladyfingers boys like Pat dipped into their hot chocolate were crafted of the most conservative essences of the country. Maria Lluïsa saw Pat for the selfish, common and visceral child he was, but he was a child she found appealing, if only physically. Maria Lluïsa had not yet analyzed any aspect of what she felt for that young man. But the conversation, the aperitif and the tanned arms coming out of the white shirt matched the color of the boy’s soul. It was the first time in her life that she was freeing herself of something she couldn’t quite define. She found Pat to be good company. When the boy followed all four of them back to her cousins’ cream-colored chalet, a few steps from the bar, Maria Lluïsa restrained her heart as if it were a fluttering swallow. She laughed heartily at the table and ate with an optimistic appetite. She might even have eaten more than her cousins, who never said no, and weighed twice as much as she did.
After dinner, Maria Lluïsa and Dionísia chatted. Maria Lluïsa didn’t want to let on. As innocent as Pat, Dionísia was only interested in his ideas.
“He’s very cute, but I think he’s awfully rough around the edges. For a three-day fling, bueno,” she punctuated in Spanish. “But three days and no more. On the fourth day, I think he’d start to be a pain. If we only got together on the beach, okay, because he’s cute undressed. He has loads of sex appeal. But, as soon as he starts walking, he goes downhill, don’t you think? And I wonder if you noticed another thing: when he crosses his legs, he could drive you crazy, he’s always touching and jiggling his foot. As far as I’m concerned he’s not the slightest bit interesting. He’s not my type, and this morning I sort of let him know …”
“Well, I couldn’t agree less! I think he’s kind of cute precisely because he’s so rough and such a child …”
“But they’re all the same! Still, he does have a sort of flair for talking nonsense …, and he’s likable enough …”
“What more do you want? You say he’s funny, he’s cute, he’s likeable …”
“Yes, he’s plenty mono,” she said, now using the Spanish word for “cute.” “His eyes are very expressive and he has a nice body; but I swear he’s a dope …”
“All right, you win. But it seems to me you don’t need a philosopher to go to the beach. You deal with intelligent men all day long … How are things going with the sex appeal of the wise men at the Athenaeum of Madrid?”
“There are all kinds. And I don’t really care about their physique, you know. I like to talk with men who have interesting things to say, and this guy would get tiresome really quickly. The only thing he can talk about is cars. That’s fine for your cousins, who are wild about wheels, but I don’t know what you see in him …”
“I think you’re being very hard on my catch! And here I was so delighted …”
“Liar. You like Pat because, of all the swells here, he’s the only one worth the time of day. And you know what? He’s a cheeky devil. Do you know what he asked Suzanne and me? If he could come with us in the boat to do calisthenics! He says that at the inlet we go to he’ll have more freedom to show us how to perfect our crawl … I told him that we go to the inlet to practice nudism.”
“You’re kidding! Don’t you think that’s a bit extreme?”
“Of course. And he got even more persistent about coming with us. I told him we’d think about it, that all four of us had to agree to it …”
“Dionísia!”
“Well, I don’t mind a bit if he comes with us. We’d make him sit with his back to us, staring at the rocks, and he would enjoy a wonderful view, because I think he’s pretty tame and not some kind of satyr. We spent a little time on the paddleboat today, and that’s the conclusion I came to … If I didn’t think the Colls and the Banúses and the Jiménez girls would skin me alive, I would send for him tomorrow morning and take him off in the boat. No, really, would you mind if he came with us?”
“If he came with us, not at all, on the contrary. But you do see that then it would be an entirely different plan,” and she used a word in Spanish for the first time. “We would all be much less lively and spontaneous in our exercises. Besides, it would get boring with him alone. What do you want with just one guy?”
“If the plan were just to be buddies and get in shape? It doesn’t matter to me at all, not one bit. I don’t know why we’re supposed to do anything different, just for a boy … He’ll be, I don’t know, just like one of us …”
“With one small difference …”
“Pretty small.”
“Don’t be fresh now.”
“I said the plan was just to go as buddies …”
“You tell him that, and let’s see what he thinks, especially the part about what you said about the small difference …”
“I think he knows how to behave …”
“Listen, are you just talking to get me to talk, or have you gone mad?”
“I’ve told you many times that I have my own ideas about the question of sex. In Paris, two friends of mine, two very good friends, eh?, belong to a nudist club and on Sunday boys and girls get together and … it’s all just fine.”
“But have you ever gone with these friends, have you ever tested it for yourself?”
“No, but I’ve been tempted. I swear, it wouldn’t matter to me at all.”
“Sure, but the fact is, you’ve never done it …”
“Maybe I just wasn’t in the mood. They get up too early in the morning and they’re full of nonsense. Most of them are vegetarians.”
“They must be utterly charming.”
“Enough! You’re way behind the times. Let’s just let it go. So you don’t want Pat to come with us, then.”
“Of course I don’t. And what’s more, what would our aunt say … if she found out?”
“She’ll never know. And neither will mamà. And, look, it would be something new and different. We spend our days here like shrinking violets. Most of the boys are dimwits, and when one comes along with a bit of spark, we should take advantage … Unless what you want is to have him all to yourself …”
“Come on, Dionísia! What’s got into you …?”
“No, sweetie. Don’t get mad, I just said it as a joke. I know Pat is just another boy to you. I don’t wish him on you for a minute. He’s a garden variety bore. I swear, not one of the guys here has made the slightest impression on me. And I imagine you feel the same way, and your little conquest of Pat is just … But, you know, that’s not what he thinks …”
“What do you mean? What does he think?”
“He thinks you’re sweet on him. Not that he’s said as much, poor thing. But since y
ou …”
“Since I what? I don’t follow you.”
“Yes you do. You and he, over the aperitifs, were having a real tête-à-tête. And it looked like you were really involved, and that’s just natural, because he’s so cute …”, and here, again, she said mono. “And he knows it, and he takes every advantage … You didn’t notice it, but he was looking at you like a real playboy who already …”
“Oh, Dionísia, you’re always …”
“Wait, just a second.”
“What?”
“Today, after lunch, I was reading for a while in the garden and he passed by and saw the book I’m just about to finish, and he asked me to lend it to him when I was done, and I’m not sure what to do …”
“Why not? What were you reading?”
“That book by Lawrence. What would you do? Would you lend it to him?”
“He’s a big boy. Too bad for him if he finds it shocking.”
“I’m not concerned about him. I’m asking for me, because just imagine …”
“For you? You mean so he won’t get the wrong idea …? Oh, Dionísia, you see? I would never even have thought about it. Maybe I am more innocent than you, but if he had asked me to lend him that book I would have done it without thinking twice, like the most natural thing in the world. Really.”
“Well, it’s just a little too dirty. I really like dirty books … but there are a few details … that I find … well, I don’t know, Lawrence could just have kept them to himself … There’s no need to spell everything out like that … with a bit of imagination …”
“Yes, it’s pretty smutty. Still, I found it very interesting. But it is possible that Pat would only be interested in the dirty parts. These athletic types are like that. But, sure, lend it to him … Maybe …”
“You mean maybe he’ll wise up a bit when he reads it?”
“Don’t go thinking he’ll turn into a satyr! There’s no danger of that, Dionísia. I don’t believe that reading is a stimulus. Those are just things that happen in school … The sea is much more exciting than any book … And I don’t know, every day I’m more and more afraid that I am a cold fish …, a little too cerebral, you know?”
“You may be cold, or you may imagine you are, though I think you’re just dreaming. But you can’t assume the same of Pat, or even guess at the impression books may make on him. Since I have the impression he reads very little, for that very reason reading must make a bigger impression on him than it does on you or me, who devour novels all day long … Two days after I read a book I don’t remember a thing about the plot. I’m just ready to start a new one.”
“You know what I think?”
“What?’
“I think we’ve been talking about Pat for half an hour.”
“Hey, we were talking about books!”
“Yes, now try and deny it … I just think we could talk about something more interesting …”
“Does it bother you to talk about him?”
“No, but we’re spending too much time on him.”
That night, Maria Lluïsa began to have feelings that were quite new to her. Dionísia just infuriated her. What did Dionísia have in mind? What did he think of her friend Dionísia? Maria Lluïsa would have liked for Dionísia to have a flaw in her skin that made her repulsive, or for her voice to be extremely disagreeable, or for her body to have unimaginable deformities. Was Dionísia was in love with Pat? Did she just want to toy with him and take him away from her? Was she telling the truth? No. Maria Lluïsa was sure it was just the opposite. She thought her friend had been covering up even more than she had. But what did Dionísia have to offer? What did Pat see in her? Maria Lluïsa started comparing, she analyzed her figure in the mirror. She was secure about her beauty and her grace, and she knew she was chic. Dionísia was a lesser beauty, her face was less refined, her skin was less exciting. It was impossible for Pat to prefer Dionísia to her. But Maria Lluïsa was frightened, she was full of fear. Why? Hadn’t she been convinced just a few hours ago that Pat was a selfish, common creature, a boy like any other? What had happened that morning was an incident of no importance. Their conversation over the aperitif had been completely banal, but even so, now, in bed, Maria Lluïsa ran her hand over those corners of her body that had been visited by the audacity of the swimmer. She realized then that the morning scene had not been an act of generosity on her part. In the warmth between her sheets, her skin pearled with sweat, she realized that the one who had been magnanimous was he. He had favored her with the contact of his hand, his slightly rough hand, on the sleeping irrelevance of her eighteen year-old belly. Pat had done her the favor of awakening her to the flush of a world she hadn’t suspected. Maria Lluïsa stroked her own skin with her hand and thought that Pat could never find that feverish and welcoming tremble in Dionísia’s flesh. Her hatred for Dionísia became more and more intense. Lying in bed, her pajamas open, her entire body saturated with darkness and silence, with the unconscious breathing of her cousins two steps away, Maria Lluïsa was horrified at herself. How could she be having such feelings? She had known so very many boys just like that aquatic seducer, and none of them had had any effect on her. And he, more common, more childish, more insignificant than many of her friends, had swept her off her feet in less than twenty-four hours. In truth, what was there between them? Very little. She couldn’t rely on a single feeling that boy might have. She realized that her heart was beating at an absurd rate. But Maria Lluïsa insisted that it was not precisely her heart, that she wasn’t the slightest bit enamored. Maria Lluïsa wanted to convince herself that all that was not love. She wanted to believe it had all started with the conversation with Dionísia. The false nonchalance with which her friend had spoken of him had awakened her fear that Dionísia might interest Pat more than she did. She feared that in those four days there had been some real contact between Dionísia and him, and that she, in her innocence, had not realized it. Dionísia was capable of having robbed her of that iodized physique in the most underhanded way. Because when Maria Lluïsa thought of her swimmer, she could only see his belly, his torso, his arms, his naked smile, and his coal-black gaze. She lingered over his skin, over the sensual irradiation of the charm of his words …
Maria Lluïsa was astonished that she could think all those thoughts, with no shame, with all that animal desire, with such a lack of concern for her friend that she would have wished her dead. And all for what? For a boy to whom, as Dionísia said, they were paying more attention than he deserved.
Henriette heard Maria Lluïsa’s noticeable sighs. Perhaps she might have heard a sob, and she sprang from her bed to see what was wrong. Maria Lluïsa grabbed her by the hand; Henriette felt a feverish contact, but her cousin didn’t say a word, she just clung to her hand, she drew her closer, she put her arm around her waist and made her lie down with her. Maria Lluïsa needed company, she needed a warm skin next to her own, a generous flesh. Henriette didn’t know what was going on, and she kissed Maria Lluïsa. Under her kisses, Maria Lluïsa broke into abundant silent tears, hiding her head against Henriette’s hard, vibrant breasts. The wet warmth of Maria Lluïsa’s tears pervaded her cousin with a strange voluptuosity. When she had found some release through her tears, Maria Lluïsa felt as if a cord tying her lungs had been broken. Henriette got out of Maria Lluïsa’s bed and slipped back into her own sheets a bit amazed and a bit ashamed of what had happened.
FOUR MONTHS AFTER those scenes on the beach, Maria Lluïsa rested her head enveloped in her mane of tangled hair on Pat’s gray jacket. In her left hand she was holding a black velvet cap; with her right hand she was taking a cigarette stained with red from her lips. Maria Lluïsa half-closed her eyes lashed by a cold wind and ran the wet end of the cigarette over the tip of her nose. Maria Lluïsa’s smile was made of the same clean, cold gold as that December morning. His fingers on the steering wheel, Pat had one eye on the highway and one on Maria Lluïsa’s cheek. Maria Lluïsa’s head bobbled delightfully on Pat’s coll
arbone, following the rhythm of the suspension. Pat could sense her ideas, resting on the wool of his jacket, but he didn’t understand them. A special light flowed through Maria Lluïsa’s eyelashes, as if her thoughts were pearly fish wriggling among the mysterious flora of an aquarium, and a bit of the glint of their scales escaped through her pupils.
On one side of the highway, a red gas pump stood out against the dying silver of a hedge. Pat stopped to get ten litres. Maria Lluïsa used the time spent in this maneuver to fix her hair, her cheeks and her lips. When the motor started up again, a fragment of a melody of a java song no longer in fashion knocked Maria Lluïsa in the teeth. Most likely the blood red gash on the tip of her cigarette suggested the blood red color of the song. For Maria Lluïsa, java was an atmosphere: exposed nerve endings with a tremulous erotic voracity, cassis-tinted foulards, and a blade retreating like a squid through the smoke, slippery with the green moss of peppermint liqueur. For Maria Lluïsa, java music was a sort of protest against the bare landscape lacking in ambition on either side of the road, against Pat’s gray jacket, against the perfect symmetry of the steering wheel, and against the little mirror in which she could see Pat’s mouth, just as bare and lacking in ambition as the landscape. Maria Lluïsa turned off the song and rubbed her forehead on her friend’s lapel, just as one might wipe a tool or a drill bit off on a sheepskin rag before making an incision.
“Pat, you’ll never guess what I’m thinking.”
“What?”
“I’m tired of being a virgin.”
“Shocking …” Pat said this in English.
Since that dark night on which Maria Lluïsa would have liked to see Dionísia turn into a monster, Pat had eased up on his audacity. In the water, their contact had been so epidermal and so entwined with laughter that Maria Lluïsa started down a via crucis of disappointment. Pat, on the other hand, fell into a contemplative tenderness in the presence of her natural blessings. The young man’s behavior knew no middle ground between animalistic assault and delicately inane lyricism. But Maria Lluïsa liked him a lot, and she liked him even more when he tore himself away from them and struggled all by himself with his outboard motorboat, filling the blue waters with thunderous noise. Then the young man was someone, he represented a bountiful living element in a landscape of muscles and machines, without an ounce of brains or ill will. It broke Maria Lluïsa’s heart.
Private Life Page 32
