Read Online Tim by Colleen McCullough - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Colleen McCullough
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she suppressed a strong shudder of revulsion and dunked herself down to the neck with a gasp of shock at the coldness, and an involuntary laugh.
The laugh was all he was waiting to hear; he began to frolic around her like a porpoise, as at ease and at home in the water as any fish. Forcing herself to smile and slapping the palms of her hands on the surface of the water in what she hoped was a good imitation of someone thoroughly enjoying a dip, Mary blundered about after him.
The water was exquisitely clear and clean, her disarticulated feet wobbled like sickly white blancmange on the sandy bottom whenever she looked down, and the sun rested on the back of her neck like a warm and friendly hand. After a while she began to enjoy the feel of the mildly stinging saltiness; it stimulated and exhilarated, and to submerge to the shoulders in delicious, weightless coolness with the full strength of the sun rendered suddenly impotent was truly marvelous. The vulnerability of her lack of clothes faded, and she began to luxuriate in feeling her body so free of restriction.
She did not lose quite all her good sense, however, and after twenty minutes or so she called Tim to her side. "I must go out now, Tim, because I'm not used to the sun. See how white I am, and how brown you are? Well, one of these days I'll be as brown as you, but I have to do it very slowly, because the sun burns white skins like mine and it could make me very sick. Please don't think I'm not having fun, because I am, but I really must get into the shade now."
He accepted this calmly. "I know, because when I was a little boy I got so sunburned one day I had to go to the hospital. It hurt so much that I cried all day and all night and all day and all night. I don't want you to cry all day and all night, Mary."
"I tell you what I'll do, Tim, I'll sit under the shade of my umbrella and watch you. I promise I won't read, I'll just watch you. Is that all right?"
"All right, all right, all right!" he sang, playing at being a submarine but nobly refraining from torpedoing her.
Making sure she was entirely shielded by the umbrella, Mary spread her dripping body along the deck chair and mopped her face. The bun at the back of her neck was trickling water down her spine in a most annoying way, so she took the pins out and shook her hair over the back of the chair to dry. She had to admit that she felt wonderful, almost as if the salt water possessed medicinal value. Her skin tingled, her muscles were slack and her limbs heavy. . . .
. . . She was paying one of her infrequent visits to the beauty parlor, and the hairdresser was rhythmically brushing her hair, one-two-three, one-two-three, tugging at her scalp each time the brush engaged and drawing the tug out deliciously as the brush traveled down the length of her hair. Smiling with pleasure, she opened her eyes to find she was not in a beauty parlor at all, but lying in a deck chair on the beach, and that the sun was slipping down so low behind the trees that shadows had blanketed the sand completely.
Tim was standing behind her with his head bent over her face, playing with her hair. Panic overwhelmed her; she sprang away from his touch in inexplicable terror, snatching at her loose hair and scrabbling frantically in the pocket of the cutdown dress for the pins. A safe distance away and more fully awake, she turned to look at him, eyes dilated in fright and heart thumping.
He still stood in the same spot, gazing at her out of those incredible eyes with the peculiarly helpless, agonized expression she only saw when he knew he had done wrong but did not understand what it was he had done wrong. He wanted to atone, he wanted so badly to understand what sort of sin he had unknowingly committed; at such times he seemed to feel his exclusion most acutely, she thought, like the dog which does not know why its master kicked it. Utterly at a loss, he stood wringing his hands together, mouth slack.
Her arms went out to him
The laugh was all he was waiting to hear; he began to frolic around her like a porpoise, as at ease and at home in the water as any fish. Forcing herself to smile and slapping the palms of her hands on the surface of the water in what she hoped was a good imitation of someone thoroughly enjoying a dip, Mary blundered about after him.
The water was exquisitely clear and clean, her disarticulated feet wobbled like sickly white blancmange on the sandy bottom whenever she looked down, and the sun rested on the back of her neck like a warm and friendly hand. After a while she began to enjoy the feel of the mildly stinging saltiness; it stimulated and exhilarated, and to submerge to the shoulders in delicious, weightless coolness with the full strength of the sun rendered suddenly impotent was truly marvelous. The vulnerability of her lack of clothes faded, and she began to luxuriate in feeling her body so free of restriction.
She did not lose quite all her good sense, however, and after twenty minutes or so she called Tim to her side. "I must go out now, Tim, because I'm not used to the sun. See how white I am, and how brown you are? Well, one of these days I'll be as brown as you, but I have to do it very slowly, because the sun burns white skins like mine and it could make me very sick. Please don't think I'm not having fun, because I am, but I really must get into the shade now."
He accepted this calmly. "I know, because when I was a little boy I got so sunburned one day I had to go to the hospital. It hurt so much that I cried all day and all night and all day and all night. I don't want you to cry all day and all night, Mary."
"I tell you what I'll do, Tim, I'll sit under the shade of my umbrella and watch you. I promise I won't read, I'll just watch you. Is that all right?"
"All right, all right, all right!" he sang, playing at being a submarine but nobly refraining from torpedoing her.
Making sure she was entirely shielded by the umbrella, Mary spread her dripping body along the deck chair and mopped her face. The bun at the back of her neck was trickling water down her spine in a most annoying way, so she took the pins out and shook her hair over the back of the chair to dry. She had to admit that she felt wonderful, almost as if the salt water possessed medicinal value. Her skin tingled, her muscles were slack and her limbs heavy. . . .
. . . She was paying one of her infrequent visits to the beauty parlor, and the hairdresser was rhythmically brushing her hair, one-two-three, one-two-three, tugging at her scalp each time the brush engaged and drawing the tug out deliciously as the brush traveled down the length of her hair. Smiling with pleasure, she opened her eyes to find she was not in a beauty parlor at all, but lying in a deck chair on the beach, and that the sun was slipping down so low behind the trees that shadows had blanketed the sand completely.
Tim was standing behind her with his head bent over her face, playing with her hair. Panic overwhelmed her; she sprang away from his touch in inexplicable terror, snatching at her loose hair and scrabbling frantically in the pocket of the cutdown dress for the pins. A safe distance away and more fully awake, she turned to look at him, eyes dilated in fright and heart thumping.
He still stood in the same spot, gazing at her out of those incredible eyes with the peculiarly helpless, agonized expression she only saw when he knew he had done wrong but did not understand what it was he had done wrong. He wanted to atone, he wanted so badly to understand what sort of sin he had unknowingly committed; at such times he seemed to feel his exclusion most acutely, she thought, like the dog which does not know why its master kicked it. Utterly at a loss, he stood wringing his hands together, mouth slack.
Her arms went out to him
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