Two goddesses meet on a beach.
I seem to have had my eyes shut for some time, now. I listen to the waves, quiet ripples about my ankles; heavy sucking roar further out. I breathe in time with the heavier sound – slow, deep. The salt kicks in at the back of my throat, replacing the thicker sharper taste that had been there moments before. There is the merest suggestion of another roar; somewhere in the back of my mind – lion or motor, or whatever it is – it fades. I clear the smoke from my lungs, the stench from my nostrils; the bile from my throat. Sun on my shoulders, zephyr against my face, neck, hands; almost stirring the hair slicked back against my skull. One more deep exhalation: Time to open my eyes.
‘Hello.’
She stands beside me, looking out to the clear horizon. She does not turn to look at me as she speaks. I did not hear her arrive. I check up the beach; there are no obvious footprints, no shoes kicked off next to the high leather boots I had been wearing moments before. A little shorter than I, she stands calf deep in the water, once white trousers rolled up almost far enough to not get wet; getting wet. Her arms are crossed beneath her breasts, not defensive, but relaxed, the sleeves of the faded orange kurta also rolled. Her hair is not quite blonde, and just long enough to catch up in a band at the nape of her neck; hardly worth the trouble. There is a lot about her that seems marginal; almost this, not quite that. Almost beautiful; she is not quite ugly. She turns her head, and her eyes are – almost – the colour of the sea. Not the sea where we are now; a colder, more northern sea, is reflected in her eyes...
I seem to have had my eyes shut for some time, now. I listen to the waves, quiet ripples about my ankles; heavy sucking roar further out. I breathe in time with the heavier sound – slow, deep. The salt kicks in at the back of my throat, replacing the thicker sharper taste that had been there moments before. There is the merest suggestion of another roar; somewhere in the back of my mind – lion or motor, or whatever it is – it fades. I clear the smoke from my lungs, the stench from my nostrils; the bile from my throat. Sun on my shoulders, zephyr against my face, neck, hands; almost stirring the hair slicked back against my skull. One more deep exhalation: Time to open my eyes.
‘Hello.’
She stands beside me, looking out to the clear horizon. She does not turn to look at me as she speaks. I did not hear her arrive. I check up the beach; there are no obvious footprints, no shoes kicked off next to the high leather boots I had been wearing moments before. A little shorter than I, she stands calf deep in the water, once white trousers rolled up almost far enough to not get wet; getting wet. Her arms are crossed beneath her breasts, not defensive, but relaxed, the sleeves of the faded orange kurta also rolled. Her hair is not quite blonde, and just long enough to catch up in a band at the nape of her neck; hardly worth the trouble. There is a lot about her that seems marginal; almost this, not quite that. Almost beautiful; she is not quite ugly. She turns her head, and her eyes are – almost – the colour of the sea. Not the sea where we are now; a colder, more northern sea, is reflected in her eyes...