wrote that about Cabo da Roca, at thewesternmost point in all of Europe. It’s just a little ways to the north. Look.” He put his hands on my shoulders, pointing me in the direction of some murky cliffs. “Can you see it?”
“I don’t know. But I’ll tell people that I did.”
“Yes. Let’s tell people that we did.”
He did not move his hands.
“Pete—”
“What?”
“May I say something?”
“Of course.”
“I have never in my life been so happy as I am at this moment.” His voice was so solemn I nearly laughed.
“Do you think I’m mad or evil to say that?” he went on. “I mean, here we are in Portugal—Portugal, for God’s sake—and all around us, all you can see is suffering and fear, suffering and panic. And then when you consider that the people here, they’re the lucky ones, just because they managed to get this far … What right do I have to be happy? Yet I am. I’m not ashamed of it, either.”
“Maybe it’s because you’re safe.”
“Yes. There’s a sense of relief you can’t help but feel—at knowing you’ve been thrown clear of danger. And yet the panic and fear of others, the panic and suffering of others … It’s still there … And we’re feeding on it, aren’t we? We might as well admit we’re feeding on it. It should really only belong to them, this weird vitality, this sense that you can do things you wouldn’t normally let yourself do … We have no right to it, yet we’re sharing in it … And that’s not the only reason I’m happy. That’s not even the principal reason I’m happy. It’s because of you.”
“Me?”
“Isn’t that obvious?”
“But why? I’m so ordinary. And you’ve done so much in your life, gone to Harvard and Cambridge, known so many interesting people—”
He covered my mouth with his hand. “Quiet. You don’t know anything about me. You don’t know—anything.”
He was now standing so close that I wondered if he was going to kiss me. Instead he took off his jacket. With one swift motion he yanked his shirt and tie over his head.
“Let’s swim,” he said.
“Swim?”
“Come on!” Already he had his trousers and shorts off. White buttocks blazing, he ran into the water, where he got on his knees as if in prayer. A wave crested over him. It withdrew and he was gone.
“Edward!” I called.
A few seconds later, another wave hurled him back onto the sand. “That was glorious!” he said, pushing his hair back. “Come on!”
I didn’t hesitate. I pulled off my clothes as he had, without ceremony. I took off my glasses. The patch of darkness toward which I swam might have been a rock or a sea monster. All I had to navigate by was Edward’s voice. “Warmer,” he said. “Colder … Warmer …”
Suddenly we collided. The hair on his chest was slick as seaweed. I could feel the contours of his pectoral muscles. I could feel his erection.
Behind us a wave was building. I tried to draw away, but Edward wouldn’t let me go. “The thing to do is to go under it,” he said. “Hold on to me.”
Then he pulled me down until we were sitting on the sandy bottom. The wave broke over us. I felt it as the faintest trembling.
We rose again. I was laughing. He took my head in his hands, and now he did kiss me. Another wave broke, pulling us apart from each other, sending us tumbling.
“Edward!” I called, but he didn’t answer. I turned and saw a bigger wave approaching and, remembering what he had said, I dove down, cleaving myself to the ocean floor.
This time I felt the wave as a rumbling—what I imagined an earthquake would feel like.
“Pete!” I heard him calling as I broke the surface.
“I’m here!” I answered.
Separately we stumbled out of the water. The tide had carried us thirty feet or so up the shoreline. To reach our clothes we had to backtrack. “A pity we didn’t bring towels,” he said, drying his face with his shirt.
I put on my glasses. The salt water had marked them. As in a
“I don’t know. But I’ll tell people that I did.”
“Yes. Let’s tell people that we did.”
He did not move his hands.
“Pete—”
“What?”
“May I say something?”
“Of course.”
“I have never in my life been so happy as I am at this moment.” His voice was so solemn I nearly laughed.
“Do you think I’m mad or evil to say that?” he went on. “I mean, here we are in Portugal—Portugal, for God’s sake—and all around us, all you can see is suffering and fear, suffering and panic. And then when you consider that the people here, they’re the lucky ones, just because they managed to get this far … What right do I have to be happy? Yet I am. I’m not ashamed of it, either.”
“Maybe it’s because you’re safe.”
“Yes. There’s a sense of relief you can’t help but feel—at knowing you’ve been thrown clear of danger. And yet the panic and fear of others, the panic and suffering of others … It’s still there … And we’re feeding on it, aren’t we? We might as well admit we’re feeding on it. It should really only belong to them, this weird vitality, this sense that you can do things you wouldn’t normally let yourself do … We have no right to it, yet we’re sharing in it … And that’s not the only reason I’m happy. That’s not even the principal reason I’m happy. It’s because of you.”
“Me?”
“Isn’t that obvious?”
“But why? I’m so ordinary. And you’ve done so much in your life, gone to Harvard and Cambridge, known so many interesting people—”
He covered my mouth with his hand. “Quiet. You don’t know anything about me. You don’t know—anything.”
He was now standing so close that I wondered if he was going to kiss me. Instead he took off his jacket. With one swift motion he yanked his shirt and tie over his head.
“Let’s swim,” he said.
“Swim?”
“Come on!” Already he had his trousers and shorts off. White buttocks blazing, he ran into the water, where he got on his knees as if in prayer. A wave crested over him. It withdrew and he was gone.
“Edward!” I called.
A few seconds later, another wave hurled him back onto the sand. “That was glorious!” he said, pushing his hair back. “Come on!”
I didn’t hesitate. I pulled off my clothes as he had, without ceremony. I took off my glasses. The patch of darkness toward which I swam might have been a rock or a sea monster. All I had to navigate by was Edward’s voice. “Warmer,” he said. “Colder … Warmer …”
Suddenly we collided. The hair on his chest was slick as seaweed. I could feel the contours of his pectoral muscles. I could feel his erection.
Behind us a wave was building. I tried to draw away, but Edward wouldn’t let me go. “The thing to do is to go under it,” he said. “Hold on to me.”
Then he pulled me down until we were sitting on the sandy bottom. The wave broke over us. I felt it as the faintest trembling.
We rose again. I was laughing. He took my head in his hands, and now he did kiss me. Another wave broke, pulling us apart from each other, sending us tumbling.
“Edward!” I called, but he didn’t answer. I turned and saw a bigger wave approaching and, remembering what he had said, I dove down, cleaving myself to the ocean floor.
This time I felt the wave as a rumbling—what I imagined an earthquake would feel like.
“Pete!” I heard him calling as I broke the surface.
“I’m here!” I answered.
Separately we stumbled out of the water. The tide had carried us thirty feet or so up the shoreline. To reach our clothes we had to backtrack. “A pity we didn’t bring towels,” he said, drying his face with his shirt.
I put on my glasses. The salt water had marked them. As in a
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