Read Online The Nicholas Linnear Novels by Eric Van Lustbader - Free Book Online
Authors: Eric Van Lustbader
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ball.
“Gelda.” Her voice had captured an odd quality that he could not place. “My older sister.” She sucked in some air. “You’re lucky to be alone; some things shouldn’t be shared; some things are better left where they are.”
Buried in the sand of the sea floor? he wondered. It seemed irrational to blame her for failing to take him into her confidence yet he found himself annoyed by her obdurate reticence. Abruptly, he felt a tearing need to share her secrets: her humiliations, her childish maunderings, her hate and love and fear; her shame; the core that made this bolt of silk what it was, as different and fascinatingly imperfect as some strange glowing gem. Her mystery pulled him onward and, like a marathon swimmer who has reached his limit and, passing it, finds himself about to go under with the realization that he has attempted to discover and defeat something far too powerful for him, he knew that this same realization was the key to his reaching down to find the unplumbed reserves which would carry him onward to reach the far shore.
But for Nicholas it was somewhat different, for part of him, at least, was well aware of those things which lay hidden there within that interminable beach, and he shuddered to face them again, to gaze upon their hideous countenances. For once before he had come upon them and had almost been destroyed.
They went out of the house in the summer night. The clouds had delivered themselves westward and the sky was at last clear. The stars shone, winking, like ornaments on velvet, making them feel as if the world had wrapped them in a shawl manufactured especially for that occasion.
They strolled along the beach at the waterline, far out, for it was low tide. Their feet picked up the damp sea grapes and their soles felt the brief pain of the fiddler crab shells.
The surf tumbled in low, faintly phosphorescent hillocks that seemed like another world viewed from the wrong end of a telescope. Near to hand, they were alone on the beach; a point of orange, a smokily glowing coal, bespoke a late barbecue in the lee of a dune far down the night.
“Are you afraid of me?” His voice was as light as mist.
“No,” she said. “I’m not.” She stuffed her hands in the front pockets of her jeans. “I’m just afraid. It’s been with me for more than a year and a half, this fear like a diamond shadow-image I can’t manage to shake.”
“We’re all afraid—of something or other.”
“Jesus, Nick, don’t patronize me. You’ve never been afraid like this.”
“Because I’m a man?”
“Because you’re you.” She stared fixedly away from him, his muscularity. She rubbed her palms along her bare arms; he thought she shivered. “Oh, Christ.”
He bent down, scooped up a sand-encrusted stone. He wiped it off, feeling its ineffable smoothness against his skin. Time “had taken away all the edges; time had dictated its shape. Yet the essence of the stone—its mottled color, striations, imperfections of structure, density and hardness—remained. Indomitable.
She took the stone from him and hurled it far out into the water. It struck the surface of the sea without a splash and sank from sight as if it had never existed, but Nicholas could still feel the weight of it where it had rested in the palm of his hand.
“It would be so simple,” he said, “if we could approach people we cared for without any past so we could see them without any coloration.”
She stood silently regarding him and only a slight tremor along her neck told him that she had heard.
“But we can’t,” he continued. “Human memory is long; it’s after all what brings us together, what causes that peculiar tingling, sometimes, when we first meet, like a faint but unmistakable brush of recognition—of what? A kindred spirit, perhaps. An aura. It has many names. It exists, invisible but unallayed for all that.” He paused. “Did you feel it when we met?”
“I felt—something. Yes.” Her
“Gelda.” Her voice had captured an odd quality that he could not place. “My older sister.” She sucked in some air. “You’re lucky to be alone; some things shouldn’t be shared; some things are better left where they are.”
Buried in the sand of the sea floor? he wondered. It seemed irrational to blame her for failing to take him into her confidence yet he found himself annoyed by her obdurate reticence. Abruptly, he felt a tearing need to share her secrets: her humiliations, her childish maunderings, her hate and love and fear; her shame; the core that made this bolt of silk what it was, as different and fascinatingly imperfect as some strange glowing gem. Her mystery pulled him onward and, like a marathon swimmer who has reached his limit and, passing it, finds himself about to go under with the realization that he has attempted to discover and defeat something far too powerful for him, he knew that this same realization was the key to his reaching down to find the unplumbed reserves which would carry him onward to reach the far shore.
But for Nicholas it was somewhat different, for part of him, at least, was well aware of those things which lay hidden there within that interminable beach, and he shuddered to face them again, to gaze upon their hideous countenances. For once before he had come upon them and had almost been destroyed.
They went out of the house in the summer night. The clouds had delivered themselves westward and the sky was at last clear. The stars shone, winking, like ornaments on velvet, making them feel as if the world had wrapped them in a shawl manufactured especially for that occasion.
They strolled along the beach at the waterline, far out, for it was low tide. Their feet picked up the damp sea grapes and their soles felt the brief pain of the fiddler crab shells.
The surf tumbled in low, faintly phosphorescent hillocks that seemed like another world viewed from the wrong end of a telescope. Near to hand, they were alone on the beach; a point of orange, a smokily glowing coal, bespoke a late barbecue in the lee of a dune far down the night.
“Are you afraid of me?” His voice was as light as mist.
“No,” she said. “I’m not.” She stuffed her hands in the front pockets of her jeans. “I’m just afraid. It’s been with me for more than a year and a half, this fear like a diamond shadow-image I can’t manage to shake.”
“We’re all afraid—of something or other.”
“Jesus, Nick, don’t patronize me. You’ve never been afraid like this.”
“Because I’m a man?”
“Because you’re you.” She stared fixedly away from him, his muscularity. She rubbed her palms along her bare arms; he thought she shivered. “Oh, Christ.”
He bent down, scooped up a sand-encrusted stone. He wiped it off, feeling its ineffable smoothness against his skin. Time “had taken away all the edges; time had dictated its shape. Yet the essence of the stone—its mottled color, striations, imperfections of structure, density and hardness—remained. Indomitable.
She took the stone from him and hurled it far out into the water. It struck the surface of the sea without a splash and sank from sight as if it had never existed, but Nicholas could still feel the weight of it where it had rested in the palm of his hand.
“It would be so simple,” he said, “if we could approach people we cared for without any past so we could see them without any coloration.”
She stood silently regarding him and only a slight tremor along her neck told him that she had heard.
“But we can’t,” he continued. “Human memory is long; it’s after all what brings us together, what causes that peculiar tingling, sometimes, when we first meet, like a faint but unmistakable brush of recognition—of what? A kindred spirit, perhaps. An aura. It has many names. It exists, invisible but unallayed for all that.” He paused. “Did you feel it when we met?”
“I felt—something. Yes.” Her
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