by R. L. Fox
Because it hurts so much, I can hardly bear to think about Daniel, but I’ve forced myself to talk to him in my heart, and I’ll continue to speak to him until he comes back for me or I find him. I’ve been writing in my diary a lot, too, noting all my thoughts and feelings and everything I can think of and remember, about Daniel. I know by heart the words I’d written, in my old diary, after Daniel had taken me home the night we first met:
Dear Daniel,
It’s been seven minutes since I was in heaven with you, and only the certain knowledge of our future together helps me through this lonely vigil.
Love, Sarah
That night I’d begun to keep the diary under my pillow.
There’s a part of Daniel I’ll probably never get to know. But from the beginning, when I’ve been able to, I’ve taken a small piece of Daniel’s sorrow and stored it for him in my heart.
As my favorite classical piece, “Musetta’s Waltz,” which I downloaded from the Internet for ninety-nine cents, plays on my iPod, I remember how I danced wistfully in Daniel’s arms at The Gables. I look out at the ocean, and for a moment I take in the view like a picture, watching the waves roll in, and listening, in a half-dream, to the melancholy music of the song.
I walk over to the dry sand near the cliff, spread my towel out and sit down. I pretend that Daniel is sitting at my feet with his head in my lap while I stroke his hair. Then I lie back and shut my eyes and dream of Daniel, of lying beneath him in the soft warm sand as he holds me close, kisses me sweetly, and gently enters me, everlastingly.
34
Daniel
Friday, early evening, August 22
La Jolla
The sun is setting as I make my way down the cliff leading to Shell Beach. I sit in the sand at waters edge and watch the reddish-orange sphere slip slowly into the colossal blue sea, beneath an opalescent sky laced with thin clouds.
I sit with outstretched legs. The beach is unoccupied, but for me. The south side beach is out of my view, but the tide is rising and it’s getting dark so I assume no one has ventured there.
I’d phoned Mr. Christie after cashing Mrs. Hartford’s check, and Mr. Christie suggested I hire a private detective to locate Sarah. Not a bad idea. The suggestion has provided me with some hope, temporary, because now all I can feel is shivery despair. I cannot shake my fear of never seeing Sarah again.
I’m not angry at life. I don’t have a death wish. I’m simply filled with a disquietude that casts a grim shadow on my heart. Since meeting Sarah, I’ve felt rooted in contentment, spending time with her, conversing with her on the phone, and then, as if by some contrivance of The Evil One, it was all yanked out from under me. It seems I’ve been put under a spell where the only effective charm is Sarah’s kiss upon my lips. Without her, my world is a wasteland in the aftermath of war: parched earth and twisted metal and blackened bones.
For a few minutes I become absorbed in the motions of the tidewaters. Its rhythms make me aware of my own solitude. I ask myself, If there’s a God, why did He take Sarah from me? I conclude that perhaps the Lord, ha-Shem, has nothing to do with it, perhaps He is like the sea itself, flowing eternally, awesome in His unlimited power, yet boundlessly indifferent.
How quiet it is; the whole world appears at rest. I gaze up at the beauty of the sky, contemplating God’s creation in rapt awe. There You are, I find myself thinking, I’ve been waiting for You all my life. Suddenly I feel a profound humility before the infinite vastness of the universe, all created by ha-Shem, and I realize how different God must be from me, yet I sense a certain closeness I haven’t felt before. I see myself connected somehow to all that exists, a solitary yet inseparable star wandering far out across the long night of eternity, where question and answer become one.
For what seems a long time I sit, watching the light fade against the sky. I wonder, If what I’ve done in my life is wrong, will God grant my redemption? I raise my eyes to the heavens questioningly, but there’s no answer, just the sound of a train whistle from afar. The long melodic cry somehow wrenches at my heart, beckoning me.
As I rise mechanically to my feet, my fears have subsided. There’s a strange and sudden silence, like with the cessation of a great symphonic piece. The sun has set, and everything is calm. My sense of loneliness, without Sarah, is more intense than ever, but I will never stop looking for the girl I love, and I know I will find her. I can feel it in my bones, as I breathe freely and walk back towards the cliff to leave the beach and get a motel room.
35
Sarah
Friday, early evening, August 22
La Jolla
I lie supinely on my towel at the base of the cliff on the south side of Shell Beach, eyes closed, still dreaming tearfully of Daniel, dozing, thinking ...
The sun has set so I’ll have to go soon.
What if Daniel has actually left me? When someone has been in a place for a long time, I reflect, and no one sees him off, it’s like he’s never been there, like he never knew me. I begin to cry again, but then I stop.
I decide to say a prayer. “Please God,” I whisper, still lying on my back, “bring Daniel to me. I don’t care if that makes my mother a liar. One can believe in things that seem impossible. And God, please give us a sign that we aren’t brother and sister. Amen.”
But it isn’t really a prayer at all, there’s no understanding that it’s reached God, only the sense of my words falling away on the air like dissolving mist.
I just want to wish away even the slightest possibility of being Daniel’s sister, and I want somehow to change my mother’s unreasonable attitude about my future with Daniel. When people tell lies, it’s because they fail to understand themselves. My mother has failed miserably when it comes to understanding herself, and when it comes to understanding me, too.
Where Daniel is concerned, my mother hasn’t taken into consideration my feelings at all. After all, I’m not just a child, trivial and unimportant, driven by the ebb and flow of adult lives.
Whenever something seems bad or evil, it’s because we have only a partial understanding of things. I read that in a philosophical treatise of the seventeenth century, for English class.
Yet I cannot help thinking that if Daniel has truly gone away, he’s taken a part of me with him, and now I’ll slowly bleed to death without him. I will die at heart from the withdrawal of his love.
I’ve gotten so emotional that my breathing becomes really shallow, like I’m panting or something, and my heartbeat is unusually rapid. Suddenly I feel oh so tired. I begin to doze off again, fall into a deep sleep, and then just moments later, I think, I wake with a start, sit up quickly and cry out, woefully, “Daniel, my Daniel!”
36
Daniel
Friday, early evening, August 22
La Jolla
Halfway up the cliff, on the footpath leading away from the beach, I stop in mid-step. In the corner of my consciousness it seems I’ve heard my name called, from afar, a lament befitting the final act of a classical tragedy. Am I hearing things? The sound was like talk buried deep in dreams, dim and fleeting, and had apparently carried up to me on the wind from the beach below. It was Sarah’s voice; I know it in every fiber of my being. But that’s impossible.
It must be, I think, that I was just imagining it, like before, when the unreal voice of my mother would steal in upon my consciousness, often, after her death. What the hell, more than once I’d even glimpsed the ghostly essence of my mother, or so I had thought. I’m probably imagining things now, but I want to be sure.
I look down at the beach and see no one. My heart beats violently. I climb back down the cliff and look around. Nothing. I’ve simply been hearing voices again. I turn back towards the cliff. I had considered checking the south side beach, but now the foamy tidewaters extend landward well beyond the end of the promontory, making it extremely unlikely that anyone is there, so I decide not to bother.
Yet there’s something pulling at me. Changing my min
d, I stop and remove my moccasins and roll the legs of my jeans up to my knees. Carrying my shoes, I wade through the ankle-deep water and peer around the end of the natural barrier. I freeze. On the tiny beach near the base of the cliff lies a lone female wearing a pale blue dress. It’s Sarah! But wait. I must be either hallucinating or seeing a ghost lying on the beach. This is too good to be true! Miracles don’t really happen, do they?
I experience a sense of well-being that overwhelms me in the way certain songs heard at just the right moment can do. It’s as though I’ve discovered my own immortal soul.
A receding wave erodes the sand beneath my feet, tickling my toes. My mouth hangs open, like the mouth of a child staring at his gifts from Santa on Christmas morning.
Sarah is lying on her stomach, her face smothered in her hands and her shoulders heaving. I walk over to her very quietly and kneel by her side. I want to touch her, but only with my fingertips, for fear that she really is a ghost and might vanish.
I place my hand gently on her shoulder. Surprised by my touch, she turns over quickly and looks up at me, her flushed face blazing with the ardent emotion of instant recognition, her lips wet, her eyes bright with what I can only call true love, our love, pure and magnetic.
Sarah has summoned my entire being. I want to hold her and lie with her forever, let her bring back the part of me that’s been missing so I might become real again.
She wraps her thin arms around my neck, pulling me close, and she whispers in my ear, “Make love to me, Daniel, now, please ...”
37
Sarah
Friday evening, August 22
La Jolla
Daniel and I keep silent, drinking in breathlessly the huge event that has just taken place.
With the increasing darkness comes a quarter moon rising over the quiet ocean, a few faint stars, Venus shining brightly through the soft haze, high in the sky.
I’m lying on my back, my face wet with kissing. I feel the warmth of Daniel’s body beside me as his hand moves beneath my dress. I am breathing open-mouthed in a kind of shuddery way, fearful and delighted at the same time.
He pulls away and I want to scream, “No!” But then I realize he’s only taking off his jeans. His body is beautiful, spare and muscular. There’s no way this godlike creature can be meant for me. I’ve never seen an actual penis before, a membrum, just a drawing of one in sex education class. I’m pretty sure Daniel’s is gorgeous, thick and heavy in its state of excitement, protruding from a nest of dark frizzy hair.
I sit up and peel off my dress, remove my bra and panties. I feel a little bewitched, possessed. When I lie back, Daniel gets on top of me and he’s kissing me again, on the lips and on my neck. He massages my thighs delicately and I begin to tremble. I grope for him, sort of like the way a baby’s hand goes out to clutch an outstretched finger.
He eases himself down upon me and enters me, slowly, gently, and I melt into his flesh. He moves his hips, going deeper and deeper. It hurts a little, but I don’t want him to stop. I want to have his baby.
Soon the pain subsides, and Daniel begins to move faster. It sends chills all through me. His body shakes with giving, and my body shakes its acceptance. I lace the fingers of both my hands with his, above my head, and I squeeze and do not relax, for we might be pulled apart again—our bond must not be severed.
He seems to brood above me, his eyes closed, his expression beautiful. I feel the pressure of his hips, the movement of his tongue and all it offers; I’ve never experienced anything so lovely. As I struggle wildly to receive him, there’s an uncanny sense of melted time, where I find myself under a strange spell, ahead of where I actually am.
Then I make an inadvertent whimpering sound and Daniel quickens the pace, bringing our lovemaking to a majestic end, as he plants his seed within me. The timing is perfect because I’m ovulating.
There’s a vast nocturnal silence, as if we’re alone in the world. Daniel kisses me passionately and then shifts his weight and lies in the sand beside me. The bright fierce moon pours metallic brilliance onto the sea and animates the black walls of the cliffs behind us.
I glance secretly at the young man I love. My arms and legs are held out happily in all directions, just like a starfish. Half child, half woman, I’m a little overwhelmed by the complexities of my changing body. There’s a sense of sadness about losing my virginity, too, but that’s kind of canceled out by the joy of losing it to the guy I care so much about. As I snuggle into the crook of his neck, Daniel makes me feel warm and safe. It’s as if I’ve known him all my life.
We watch the smooth foamless sea rise and fall in the moonlight. The world now has an odd look to it. I laugh, and my body seems to be moving of its own accord as I jump up and run naked into the surf, whooping merrily, flailing my arms in the wind along the way.
I look back, as if studying the girl on the beach I’ve just stepped away from. The Sarah part of me, by far the biggest part, recognizes herself, as she beckons Daniel to join her in the knee-deep shallows, to participate in her newfound sense of freedom, of independence. The Alice part of me, which seems quite small, is still trying to discern the figure of that girl on the beach, who now stands in the constantly changing waters of the ocean, waiting for her lover.
I ask myself, But if I’m not the same as before, who am I, then?
I’m Sarah. And I like being Sarah, just her.
38
Daniel
Friday evening, August 22
La Jolla
I watch as Sarah flies across the sand and into the sea, her arms like wings. When she’s standing knee-deep in the water, she looks back, as if beckoning me to join her. I rise and run to her. I splash seawater in her direction, as she plays modest Venus, one hand over her genitals, the other over her breasts.
When she splashes me in turn, relentlessly, I wrap my arms around her and place my mouth over her wet lips, kissing her passionately, cleaving spirit to spirit.
We stay in the water a joyous while, giggling against all restraint, clutching each other in helpless, delirious laughter, alternately splashing and embracing, without self-consciousness, but with something of the indifference of members of a nudist colony.
Whenever her eyes turn from me, I furtively stare at Sarah’s sublimely feminine figure, her long legs and small breasts. My hunger for her seems to keep me warm, but I desire her in the way I suppose she desires me: not so much for making love but for snuggling.
Soon we return to the cliff and get dressed—Sarah fixes her hair in a style that is both elegant and faintly disheveled. We gather our things and wade over to the main beach, before the tidewaters become too deep to traverse. As I take Sarah’s hand and lead her across to the other side, I sense that the ghost of my mother lies hidden within me now, perhaps permanently.
I reach a hand skyward, as if to push the thought away. Lately, nothing is merely itself any longer, and I’m constantly reminded of things gone. I remember how it was with Liz, and I smile. After all, it was only physical. With Sarah there’s real mystery.
We sit snugly together, backed against the base of the cliff on the main beach, looking out on the encroaching waters of the ocean. My legs are outstretched; Sarah sits with knees drawn up.
Save for the blazing stars and circle of white light from the moon, partially obscured by clouds, it’s enfoldingly dark. It’s quiet, too, except for the sound of the rushing surf that lands a delicate spray upon our faces every few minutes.
Sarah’s pale face is like a spot of light in the darkness. “My mother told me you’d gone to live with your grandma.”
I give a bubbly cough of laughter. “Your mother will say anything to keep us apart. It seems she’s known for some time that Frank ... my father ... had a vasectomy performed on him before he met your mother in 1998.”
“What’s a vasectomy?”
“It’s a medical procedure that precludes a man from getting a woman pregnant. Which means we are not brother and sister.”
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Sarah looks at me, grinning, pushes at my shoulder. “I knew that already, silly.” Then she adds in a clear soft voice, “Take me away, Daniel, please. Once again my mother has betrayed me, lied to me. I can’t live like this.”
“We sort of secretly consummated our marriage tonight.”
“Yes, like Romeo and Juliet.”
“Where should we go?”
Sarah breathes deeply, settles herself with her chin on my wet shoulder and closes her eyes. “I don’t much care where, as long as I’m with you. Let’s just go and keep on going until we get there.”
“Mexico?” I mouth the word almost soundlessly, like a thief. “Perhaps I should return the money your mother paid me to stay away from you.”
“My mother feels guilty, that’s why she gave you that money,” Sarah says. “Keep it. Totally.” Then she opens her eyes and gives a little jiggle of her eyebrows, Groucho Marx style. “Nos Vamos,” she says. “Let’s go. Take me to Mexico, where the magic of our love can ring true. And maybe someday we can visit East Africa, where the Maasai worship their god, Enkai, husband of the moon. They say that Enkai’s kingdom, the other side of the moon, is the most quiet place in the whole universe.”
With a gentle inviting rhythm, the waves seem to whisper in response, “Shhh, shhh, shhh.”
Epilogue
Sarah
Sunday morning, November 23
Mérida, Mexico
I open the sliding glass door and step outside, into our small back yard. I’m wearing my pale blue dress, which hardly fits now. It’s a luminous morning, and warm already. The birds are making music. I walk to the garden and kneel in the grass beside my blooming roses, irises and gerberas. I wonder about the loneliness of each flower. Do they know one another? Do they converse? Then I see the woolly bear caterpillar, about three inches long, just like the ones we studied in biology class last spring. Soon the little creature will metamorphose into a chrysalis, and then after that into a tiger moth.
