Claudio's deafness. Irlin was clearly embarrassed. He broke into wisecracks which slumped leadenly dead.
They had a lot to drink with lunch, frothy aperitifs and several long glasses of spirits with the meal.
Magdala uninterestedly swallowed these liquids, for the drink could not work upon her new system, only on her palate; she was incapable of intoxication. Then, quite suddenly, she was floating.
The disoriented buoyancy horrified her. She had never been drunk in her life, her actual life. She had believed she could not now become drunk. It did not make sense-She looked at Claudio.
"Mm," he said, through the music playing in his head, "my sister is thawing under the influence of lunch. Take her fishing."
Magdala's fear was trying to secure her attention, but the euphoric separation the alcohol had produced shut off her fear from her. She groped after the acrid savor of it.
Irlin grinned foolishly.
"Fishing?"
"I can't hear you/' said Claudio.
"Would you like to go fishing?" Irlin asked Magdala. Her voice would not come. She nodded, frowning.
57
She did not understand. She did not care that she did not understand.
Irlin took her arm, and they left the table and walked back along the pier. Near the shore, a concrete apron extended westward. Here men and women sat with steel rods and treated gut lines, enjoying a barbaric pastime, the sun on their backs. There was rarely a catch. The eternal motion and noise on the three piers warned off the fish, along with the shadows thrown ink-blue into the water.
Magdala leaned on the rail above the apron. Her hair fanned and pleated in the warm wind. She could feel her own beauty, her slenderness, her own curves pressed into the rail. She closed her eyes, stunned by what she behel d in her mind of her manifested.
"Magda," said Irlin huskily. He fondled her shoulder; his hand pleased her, stroking her moodily,
symmetrically, in tune with the peculiar tides that were running through her. "I wish I was rich. Again, I wish I was rich. Are you a beautiful snob, Magda?" She could hear, dimly, that he was a little drunk too. "Butterfly," he said, 'Tight on me, butterfly. Beautiful, freckled butterfly."
There was a scuffle, a cry. Magdala raised her lids.
"Someone's got a fish," Irlin said distractedly.
It was a fact. Reeling in frantically, two men jerked up the gut from the ocean, and the fish was dragged after to land violently on the apron. It was a double-tailed cody, the edible variety. Sea-bright, blue-silver, it flung itself along the concrete. White blood splattered from its mouth around the hook. The crowd on the apron laughed and shouted as they waited for it to die.
Magdala turned quickly away, her back now to the rail.
Across the width of the pier, twelve meters from her, a man had halted, looking at her.
She identified him. The red-black hair, the tanned skin. The holostetic man Claudio had tricked her with.
But it could not be a holostet. Not here. Instinctively, her eyes sought for a shadow at his feet, and found
it. He wore a
58
white zip top and fawn trousers. A thick silver wristlet on his left arm snagged the sun into her eyes. He
was real.
He came toward her and stopped half a meter away. "What are you doing here?" he said flatly. Magdala said nothing.
Irlin stirred at her side.
"Who's this, Magda?"
The man showed his flawless teeth.
"Oh, Magda, is it? Well, Magda, you know who it is, don't you?" "No," she said.
"Don't you, Magda? But I saw you recognize me," the man said innocently. It was nightmarishly apt. "Anyway, can I assume it was you sent me the stelex to meet you here?"
She gazed at him, and the pier seemed sliding from beneath her. She was drunk, and the man before her was the figment of some hallucination, except that Irlin saw him too.
"Take a walk on the water," Irlin now said. "The lady doesn't know you." The man reached out and patted Magdala's cheek.
"You're cut, aren't you?" said the man. 'We'll settle it
They had a lot to drink with lunch, frothy aperitifs and several long glasses of spirits with the meal.
Magdala uninterestedly swallowed these liquids, for the drink could not work upon her new system, only on her palate; she was incapable of intoxication. Then, quite suddenly, she was floating.
The disoriented buoyancy horrified her. She had never been drunk in her life, her actual life. She had believed she could not now become drunk. It did not make sense-She looked at Claudio.
"Mm," he said, through the music playing in his head, "my sister is thawing under the influence of lunch. Take her fishing."
Magdala's fear was trying to secure her attention, but the euphoric separation the alcohol had produced shut off her fear from her. She groped after the acrid savor of it.
Irlin grinned foolishly.
"Fishing?"
"I can't hear you/' said Claudio.
"Would you like to go fishing?" Irlin asked Magdala. Her voice would not come. She nodded, frowning.
57
She did not understand. She did not care that she did not understand.
Irlin took her arm, and they left the table and walked back along the pier. Near the shore, a concrete apron extended westward. Here men and women sat with steel rods and treated gut lines, enjoying a barbaric pastime, the sun on their backs. There was rarely a catch. The eternal motion and noise on the three piers warned off the fish, along with the shadows thrown ink-blue into the water.
Magdala leaned on the rail above the apron. Her hair fanned and pleated in the warm wind. She could feel her own beauty, her slenderness, her own curves pressed into the rail. She closed her eyes, stunned by what she behel d in her mind of her manifested.
"Magda," said Irlin huskily. He fondled her shoulder; his hand pleased her, stroking her moodily,
symmetrically, in tune with the peculiar tides that were running through her. "I wish I was rich. Again, I wish I was rich. Are you a beautiful snob, Magda?" She could hear, dimly, that he was a little drunk too. "Butterfly," he said, 'Tight on me, butterfly. Beautiful, freckled butterfly."
There was a scuffle, a cry. Magdala raised her lids.
"Someone's got a fish," Irlin said distractedly.
It was a fact. Reeling in frantically, two men jerked up the gut from the ocean, and the fish was dragged after to land violently on the apron. It was a double-tailed cody, the edible variety. Sea-bright, blue-silver, it flung itself along the concrete. White blood splattered from its mouth around the hook. The crowd on the apron laughed and shouted as they waited for it to die.
Magdala turned quickly away, her back now to the rail.
Across the width of the pier, twelve meters from her, a man had halted, looking at her.
She identified him. The red-black hair, the tanned skin. The holostetic man Claudio had tricked her with.
But it could not be a holostet. Not here. Instinctively, her eyes sought for a shadow at his feet, and found
it. He wore a
58
white zip top and fawn trousers. A thick silver wristlet on his left arm snagged the sun into her eyes. He
was real.
He came toward her and stopped half a meter away. "What are you doing here?" he said flatly. Magdala said nothing.
Irlin stirred at her side.
"Who's this, Magda?"
The man showed his flawless teeth.
"Oh, Magda, is it? Well, Magda, you know who it is, don't you?" "No," she said.
"Don't you, Magda? But I saw you recognize me," the man said innocently. It was nightmarishly apt. "Anyway, can I assume it was you sent me the stelex to meet you here?"
She gazed at him, and the pier seemed sliding from beneath her. She was drunk, and the man before her was the figment of some hallucination, except that Irlin saw him too.
"Take a walk on the water," Irlin now said. "The lady doesn't know you." The man reached out and patted Magdala's cheek.
"You're cut, aren't you?" said the man. 'We'll settle it
Similar Books
