‘You got a late start, huh?’
‘Oh, I’ve had my share of experiences, but they were unpleasant. Most of them, anyway. I quit having sex when I moved out here. Then about a year ago I took a lover, but we didn’t communicate well in bed. We had chemistry, but it never came to much.’ She did a finger-walk across my stomach, coming to rest on my hip. ‘But you and I communicated very well. We understood each other’s signals.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Your time with the mommies must have taught you to be aware of a woman’s desires, because you knew what I wanted and when I wanted it. And I’m certain I knew what you wanted . . . which is unusual. I’ve never been adept at reading men.’
‘Give me an example.’
‘You remember what happened.’
‘Refresh my memory.’
‘You just want to hear me talk dirty.’
I smiled. ‘If you don’t mind.’
‘All right. At the end, when you were battering away at me, I knew you were close and I wanted you to finish in my mouth. And you did, without my having to tell you.’
‘It seemed like the thing to do.’
She peered at me. ‘Am I embarrassing you?’
‘No.’
‘I am, aren’t I? You’re embarrassed!’
‘No, really. I’m not. I just think it’s weird, talking like this.’
‘Why is it weird?’
‘People tend to be gentle with each other after they hook up. They whisper sweet nothings. They say stuff like, “When did you know?” and “The first time I saw you I was rocked.” Or they tease one another, they’re playful. They don’t start breaking shit down.’
‘That kind of talk is generally insincere on some level.’
‘Not always.’
‘No, not always.’
The wind had grown stronger. Wheezy flutings came with increasing frequency over the bone channels of the skull, like an old calliope giving up the ghost.
‘It’s good to get all this out in the open,’ Yara said. ‘It’ll rid us of unnecessary baggage.’
‘You think? It’s making me more self-conscious.’
‘Probably that’s how it’ll be at first, it’ll help in the long run.’
The notion that we might have a long run started me thinking about Ex. I saw her in the entryway of our house, taking off the old army coat she wore in winter, smiling at me over her shoulder, her glossy hair braided into a thick rope.
‘You know, until recently I’ve been living with someone,’ I said.
‘What of it?’
‘We’ve been together on and off for almost four years. I’m not sure it’s over.’
‘She won’t have anything to do with how things work out for us.’
‘That’s an arrogant thing to say.’
‘It’s not arrogance if you’re certain about something, and I’m certain about this.’
Yara dozed awhile, lying on her stomach, but I lay awake, highlights from the previous hour or so flaring up in my head. Bored, I propped myself on an elbow and kissed her shoulder, ran a hand along the slope of her back, and studied her tattoo. She stirred and made a pleased noise. I touched the middle scale of the diamond pattern and was astonished to find that it was hard and had a distinct convexity. Before I could examine it further, she swatted my hand away and sat up.
‘Don’t!’ she said angrily.
‘What is that? Some kind of implant?’
‘Yes, an implant. Leave it alone.’
‘How did they do it? I didn’t think it was possible to do something like this.’
I stretched out a hand and again she knocked it away from the tattoo, saying, ‘I don’t want you to touch me there!’
I laughed.
‘It’s not funny!’ She swung her legs off the bed, as if preparing to bolt. ‘I mean it!’
‘I’ve heard women say that before, but they were referring to another part of their bodies.’
She picked up a flimsy robe from the floor and put it on. I asked what she was doing and she said she was going to eat.
‘It’ll be cold,’ I said.
‘It’s good cold.’
She sat at the table and dug in, forking up a bite, chewing, swallowing, forking up another bite, making of the meal an act of mechanical ferocity.
After a minute I stood and stepped into my boxers. Yara continued chowing down, not sparing me a glance. Despite the breeze I felt hot, my thoughts stale and repetitious. The unbroken eggshell-smooth surfaces of the chamber oppressed me.
‘This place could stand a window or two,’ I said.
I sleep too deeply and wake too abruptly to remember my dreams, but during the week that followed, though I retained nothing of their substance, I woke with a sense that my dreams had been disturbing, and not in the customary sense, not due to anxiety or stress. I had the feeling that something had been picking at the shell of my consciousness, trying to insinuate itself into a crack, to find a way in. When this feeling persisted I mentioned it to Yara. She said it was a common reaction.
‘Reaction to what?’ I asked.
‘To being here,’ she said, and headed off to the tiny chamber set forward of the brain box, where she commonly passed an hour or two each morning.
