desk and hires a car.
She asks the man for a map, pays by credit card, loads the bags in with no help from anyone, straps the rucksack into the seat next to Lucas. “You do
not
touch him, understand? You allow him air to breathe, but you do
not
touch him, OK?”
“I won’t hurt him—”
“Lucas. I’m warning you … what did the man do when you saw the baby turtle?”
“He guided him down the beach with his torch.”
“Exactly. We will do the same.”
“At Ras Al Jinz?” Lucas’s eyes are wide, excited.
“No. I don’t know,” she says. “We’ll ask Daddy.”
•
They stand at Ras Al Haad, watching the sea. Lucas’s shoulders still heave from the crying, and the singing of the muezzin is unexpected and disturbs them. The sun will come up soon. Lucas holds Mike’s hand, and Jenny stands apart from them. It will take time, she thinks.And later, months and years later, when Lucas and her daughters are willowy and stand tall next to her, she thinks of this moment, on this beach, as the moment of knowledge. The moment she covered what was exposed. The moment she opened what was shut away.
Sophocles’s Chorus
A t Cassie’s party, Preethi stood and watched Ollie, the beautiful boy-man, golden, crisp from their day in the sun—all of them ringed with blurred lines of sweaty light as day transformed to evening and then to night. His hair was short but out of shape, in need of a cut, its thick fronds jutting out from behind his ears. She had talked to him once before today, at the cast party for
Midsummer
, when Freddie and Preethi had been the glorious two, the ones to watch, comedic and loud-mouthed on stage, gangly and shy in a corner of the party where others kissed and drank and sang around them. Ollie had joined them, sat quietly with them, told Freddie how great he was, adding, “You, too,” to Preethi, with a simple twinkle.
Today they were aware of each other, as Freddie’s friends. They were aware of each other’s sexuality, too. It is the way it happens at their teenaged parties: eyes meet, few words, but mouths fall on each other after a preparatory glass of wine, and if the beanbag fondling goes well and you’re a softy and he’s a softy, you’ll be walking through Dulwich Village holding hands soon enough. If it goes even better, and a condom is found or you are one of those miraculous girls who has put herself on the pill for such an occasion, and penetration has been achieved on the bundle of coats in a bedroom, then you may be walking through the village clutching books to your chest as he walks withyou, smoking behind sunglasses. Definitely not soft; serious, to the point of a small death, serious. Preethi was aiming for the second status with Ollie. His beautiful face, his knowing eyes, his wiry arms too tight for his school uniform shirt, the way he smoked a fag that remained pinned to his lips as they played football in the field, his right eye strained closed at once to deflect the smoke and aim the ball to score yet another goal. He played barefoot. When they had a grass fight later, they both played dirty, rugby tackling, holding each other down, intimate, knowing; knowing nothing of each other.
They had played on the rugby field, opposite the boardinghouses just below the tollgate. Then Cassie said her parents were expecting them all at their house in the village. There had been some argument among the girls and some of the Hong Kong boarders, because Judi’s parents were also expecting them, and the large group divided into scientists and artists, the soon-to-be medics and engineers walking off toward Alleyn Road with Judi and the rest of them sauntering slowly, pushing their bikes with their sweaters slung over shoulders. One or two of the girls walked barefoot in the dusk, Ollie and Freddie and Preethi lagging behind, enjoying the peace of the huge buildings of the college. The first group up ahead went in through the gates of Blew House: J.D. needed to pick his
She asks the man for a map, pays by credit card, loads the bags in with no help from anyone, straps the rucksack into the seat next to Lucas. “You do
not
touch him, understand? You allow him air to breathe, but you do
not
touch him, OK?”
“I won’t hurt him—”
“Lucas. I’m warning you … what did the man do when you saw the baby turtle?”
“He guided him down the beach with his torch.”
“Exactly. We will do the same.”
“At Ras Al Jinz?” Lucas’s eyes are wide, excited.
“No. I don’t know,” she says. “We’ll ask Daddy.”
•
They stand at Ras Al Haad, watching the sea. Lucas’s shoulders still heave from the crying, and the singing of the muezzin is unexpected and disturbs them. The sun will come up soon. Lucas holds Mike’s hand, and Jenny stands apart from them. It will take time, she thinks.And later, months and years later, when Lucas and her daughters are willowy and stand tall next to her, she thinks of this moment, on this beach, as the moment of knowledge. The moment she covered what was exposed. The moment she opened what was shut away.
Sophocles’s Chorus
A t Cassie’s party, Preethi stood and watched Ollie, the beautiful boy-man, golden, crisp from their day in the sun—all of them ringed with blurred lines of sweaty light as day transformed to evening and then to night. His hair was short but out of shape, in need of a cut, its thick fronds jutting out from behind his ears. She had talked to him once before today, at the cast party for
Midsummer
, when Freddie and Preethi had been the glorious two, the ones to watch, comedic and loud-mouthed on stage, gangly and shy in a corner of the party where others kissed and drank and sang around them. Ollie had joined them, sat quietly with them, told Freddie how great he was, adding, “You, too,” to Preethi, with a simple twinkle.
Today they were aware of each other, as Freddie’s friends. They were aware of each other’s sexuality, too. It is the way it happens at their teenaged parties: eyes meet, few words, but mouths fall on each other after a preparatory glass of wine, and if the beanbag fondling goes well and you’re a softy and he’s a softy, you’ll be walking through Dulwich Village holding hands soon enough. If it goes even better, and a condom is found or you are one of those miraculous girls who has put herself on the pill for such an occasion, and penetration has been achieved on the bundle of coats in a bedroom, then you may be walking through the village clutching books to your chest as he walks withyou, smoking behind sunglasses. Definitely not soft; serious, to the point of a small death, serious. Preethi was aiming for the second status with Ollie. His beautiful face, his knowing eyes, his wiry arms too tight for his school uniform shirt, the way he smoked a fag that remained pinned to his lips as they played football in the field, his right eye strained closed at once to deflect the smoke and aim the ball to score yet another goal. He played barefoot. When they had a grass fight later, they both played dirty, rugby tackling, holding each other down, intimate, knowing; knowing nothing of each other.
They had played on the rugby field, opposite the boardinghouses just below the tollgate. Then Cassie said her parents were expecting them all at their house in the village. There had been some argument among the girls and some of the Hong Kong boarders, because Judi’s parents were also expecting them, and the large group divided into scientists and artists, the soon-to-be medics and engineers walking off toward Alleyn Road with Judi and the rest of them sauntering slowly, pushing their bikes with their sweaters slung over shoulders. One or two of the girls walked barefoot in the dusk, Ollie and Freddie and Preethi lagging behind, enjoying the peace of the huge buildings of the college. The first group up ahead went in through the gates of Blew House: J.D. needed to pick his
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