It began to rain while I was talking to my friend at the villa. He was pacing, and I encouraged him to sit, and he sat for a time, but then was up again, pacing. It was nighttime and we could not see the rain but we could hear the drops drumming on the poolside umbrellas.
"Are you sure you won't have another drink?" he said.
"No. No thanks. I wasn't even supposed to have one. Wouldn't you rather sit down?"
"One more drink," he said. He meant for himself. He busied himself in the kitchen, having found purpose, a use for his hands.
"I used to be a drunk, you know?" I said, raising my voice to be heard over the snare-like pattering. Thunder rattled somewhat surreptitiously in the distance. Still, it was clear that more would be coming. The air was tense, expectant, impatient. It wanted shattering.
"Sorry, what was that you said?" my friend asked.
"A drunk," I answered. Finally the lightning came. How many seconds had it been? "I was just saying that I used to be a drunk."
"Oh really? I didn't know. She never mentioned that."
"It was before her. It was a long time ago."
My friend had returned with his drink. "Would you like another?" he asked, without really asking. His eyes were on me but he wasn't really looking. His gaze shifted to his wristwatch.
"I don't think she's coming," he predicted. "I think she's definitely not coming tonight."
"Oh course she's coming. She lives here. And she knows I'm waiting, right? She hasn't talked to me since Tasmania."
"I'm waiting too," my friend said. "But what does that mean?" He laughed. More like a nod or a shrug than a laugh. The rain quickly washed the sound away, and then stopped as if it had accomplished the purpose for which it had come in the first place.
"Nope," he said.
"Nope what?"
"Just nope. My God. Nope, nope, nope."
Hundreds of frogs had begun a bassoon-like murmur in the garden and by the pool and beyond the gate and on the streets and in the fields and the wakeful crickets sang back, creating a sort of string and woodwind duet. It reminded me of something by Tchaikovsky, sad, inexorable, the whispered finale inevitable. I wondered whether he knew this deep down when he started or whether the ending had found its final word along the way.
"Are you sure you won't have another drink?" he said.
"No. No thanks. I wasn't even supposed to have one. Wouldn't you rather sit down?"
"One more drink," he said. He meant for himself. He busied himself in the kitchen, having found purpose, a use for his hands.
"I used to be a drunk, you know?" I said, raising my voice to be heard over the snare-like pattering. Thunder rattled somewhat surreptitiously in the distance. Still, it was clear that more would be coming. The air was tense, expectant, impatient. It wanted shattering.
"Sorry, what was that you said?" my friend asked.
"A drunk," I answered. Finally the lightning came. How many seconds had it been? "I was just saying that I used to be a drunk."
"Oh really? I didn't know. She never mentioned that."
"It was before her. It was a long time ago."
My friend had returned with his drink. "Would you like another?" he asked, without really asking. His eyes were on me but he wasn't really looking. His gaze shifted to his wristwatch.
"I don't think she's coming," he predicted. "I think she's definitely not coming tonight."
"Oh course she's coming. She lives here. And she knows I'm waiting, right? She hasn't talked to me since Tasmania."
"I'm waiting too," my friend said. "But what does that mean?" He laughed. More like a nod or a shrug than a laugh. The rain quickly washed the sound away, and then stopped as if it had accomplished the purpose for which it had come in the first place.
"Nope," he said.
"Nope what?"
"Just nope. My God. Nope, nope, nope."
Hundreds of frogs had begun a bassoon-like murmur in the garden and by the pool and beyond the gate and on the streets and in the fields and the wakeful crickets sang back, creating a sort of string and woodwind duet. It reminded me of something by Tchaikovsky, sad, inexorable, the whispered finale inevitable. I wondered whether he knew this deep down when he started or whether the ending had found its final word along the way.
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