Just a quick one inspired by Playa Samara, Costa Rica. This is my effort for the Earth Day contest, and as such I hope I haven't gone too flowery with the philosophical musings of the principal character herein; I was just trying to justify the link to Earth Day.
Anyway, as usual, there may be errors, if there are, forgive me. Send feedback if the mood takes; let me know what you like -- if anything -- or what you didn't like. If you do send/post feedback/comments please make 'em constructive.
I hope you enjoy it.
GA -- David, Panama. 27 March 2012
*
The Dutch boys' departure changed things. Their dusty backpacks were slung into the rear of the mini-van, the thin leather cords and gaily coloured wristbands flapped as they waved and smiled their white-toothed farewells, and with a cheery
so long
and
good luck
they were gone; on to the next party. That left the two of us, virtual strangers. But if we were strangers, why did I feel the way I did?
Unspeaking she picked up her plate and, with her fork, scooped the melon rind, watermelon pips and banana skin, the remnants from her breakfast, into the bio bin, an old plastic tub that had once contained rice. After rinsing the plate and coffee cup Ulla left them drying in the rack next to the sink. Moments later I heard the sound of water splashing as she showered in the cubicle at the end of the dorm. Slurping the rest of my coffee I then munched a slice of toast before I copied Ulla's earlier actions and washed my breakfast things at the sink in the open air kitchen -- cold water, there was no alternative, just as Ulla's shower would be cold. Not that it mattered much at a hostel on a beach in Costa Rica.
A drink of water would be a good idea, and I took a litre bottle from the fridge, a bottle with my initials etched into the cap. All the food and drink in the fridge was labelled, a customary necessity given the transient nature of the hostel's tenants. I'd seen bitter arguments leading to festering ill feeling erupt between travellers who'd spent months in erstwhile harmonious wanderings, spats about who ate the fucking pasta. I needed water to stave off the hangover that threatened behind my eyes, and took a few quick swallows to deflect the ache pulsing in my head, during which I mused upon the previous night, and the unsettling effect the woman had on me.
When I'd first seen her the previous day, upon my arrival, straight off the bus in my grubby tee-shirt, in need of a shower, cold water or no, and a change of clothes, Ulla had been aloof. There wasn't the usual cheery exchange of names and nationalities, but a rather more perfunctory nod and subdued, almost surly hello. German I guessed at her accent, assessing her age to be mid-thirties. A bird's nest of dark hair was piled carelessly atop her head, held in place with an improvised Alice band. Intelligent and interesting blue-grey eyes, a little shorter than me, slim -- in my head I heard a snatch of lyrics by Shawn Mullins:
but she'd be a whole lot prettier if smiled once in a while.
-- Then thoughts of Ulla were pushed rudely aside when the Dutch boys bounced into the courtyard like eager puppies. With their surfer blonde hair these unkempt beach bums, tanned, baggy shorts and no shirts, were a pair of tightly muscled, twenty-something good time boys perpetually on the look-out for the party.
"Good to meet you, man, pleased to see you," said one, I can't recall which since they looked so alike it was difficult to distinguish between them. "Party tonight, on the beach." He grinned after the touching of knuckles that passed for a handshake as was
de rigueur
, and mimed smoking and drinking. I noticed his eyes flick towards Ulla, after which the boy grinned and laid a lascivious eyelid against his cheek; a wink that spoke volumes man-to-man. "We gunna make the big fire wiss lugs." His fingers pantomimed leaping flames, which I interpreted as,
we're going to build a big fire with logs
. "Den we gots de meat to roast, de beer to trink ... Music ..." He danced and laughed, a joyous, infectious bubble, and I found myself agreeing to chip in ten thousand colones. I wondered if Ulla would be there too, although first impressions told me it probably wouldn't be her thing.
I dumped my backpack in the dorm, an arrangement of two-tier bunks, four in total, a skeleton of a wardrobe, and a languid ceiling fan. Three beds were already made-up, one neat and ordered, the remaining two in chaotic tangles. No prizes for guessing which bed belonged to whom. I took my shower and then decided to take a walk back along the beach into what was the commercial hub of the
pueblo
-- a dusty main street punctuated with hotels, apartments for rent,
apartmentos a alquila
, souvenir stalls and eateries; even a trio of horses trotted about the place unmolested. I needed some cash and a supermarket.
On my way back along the half-mile of crescent beach, blue plastic bag containing the essentials -- water, beer and potato chips -- in hand, I saw, in the distance, silhouetted against the diamante sparkling of the Pacific as the sun slid into the blessed cool of late afternoon, a lone figure ankle deep in the water. As I passed by I had a feeling that it was Ulla standing there, a Lowry figure incongruously displaced to this beach paradise. I hooked left, away from the water's edge, moving inland a few yards towards the path back to the hostel. I couldn't be sure but it looked to me as though the woman was naked, and a ripple of desire shivered through me. I'd seen the distinctly feminine outline of Ulla's body and, despite her imposing demeanour, imagined what it would be like to lick the salt from between her breasts, to trace a path with my tongue past her navel to finally reach that place between her legs. I wondered: was she smooth or natural down there?
A shout from Peter, or maybe it was Dirk, I still couldn't tell them apart, interrupted my reverie and deflated the sudden erection in my shorts. "We gunna make the fire at sunset," the boy grinned. "See you on the beach." He indicated the spot with a finger. I nodded, paid him the twenty U.S. dollars I owed. When I glanced towards the ocean, after the boy had departed on his wood gathering errand, Ulla was in the water, swimming. Time for a cold beer I thought, leaving the woman to her bathing.
The barbecue was a success. The boys, their enthusiasm and lust for life ensured nothing less. Beer flowed like blood on a battlefield, and there were a few casualties as a result. I smelled the sweet scent of something other than tobacco, and being in ignorant middle-age myself, pretended not to notice. There was music, dancing and hilarity as the Earth, ancient and elemental spoke to me. The fire, a leaping war dance of flames, with the poetic murmuring cadence of the waves, a timeless, endless susurration, a lullaby beneath the cold panoply of moon and stars above, held my gaze until I looked up and fell in love.
I'd thought her nondescript, but I was a fool. She was beautiful. When I looked up from the fire she was laughing at some inanity from one of the Dutch boys. Her hair was loose now, a glorious mane of waves and ringlets -- in the light of day I'd see the colour of her hair, a rich, gypsy chestnut. Ulla's teeth flashed brilliant as she threw her head back and let loose a deep laugh. I saw her throat exposed and vulnerable, and longed, with vampiric desire, to kiss her there, on the tender part, where life pulsed.
It was so simple, so perfect, and I fell in love with her on that beach, with the sand between my toes while the tide whispered endearments.
Then came the crash, a flare in my guts like the suicidal shooting star etched in the sky overhead. Ulla took the boy's face in her palms, spoke to him seriously; I could see the gravitas in her expression before she kissed his mouth. The kiss lengthened and I saw their tongues entwined. The logical part of me understood the inevitability of their attraction to each other, and that I'd been an idiot to even consider that Ulla would be drawn to me. All the same a heavy plumb line, weighted with a brick of disappointment, sank to the pit of my stomach. I walked away from the scene.
"Great party, eh, man?" one of the boys, the one without his tongue in Ulla's mouth, said, his eyes glittering with the excitement. "Some pretty girls, eh?"
I nodded agreement in the direction of several figures dancing in front of the fire, bottles of beer or plastic beakers of rum in their hands. I drank steadily until, with middle-aged circumspection, I left the party to its inevitably chaotic climax.
Ulla returned to the dorm not long after me, with the boys crashing in just after daybreak. After packing their stuff and with zero sleep the energetic bastards breakfasted with Ulla and myself; both of us old people bleary-eyed and a little worse for wear.
The boys left and, dressed in shorts and tee-shirt, after needles of cold water woke me properly, I was disappointed when I ventured out into the courtyard and there was no sign of Ulla. At a loss for anything else to do I settled into a hammock with my book, only to stare at the pages, unable to concentrate.
After fifteen minutes of rereading the same page I heard a voice behind me. "Would you like to walk along the beach to the supermarket?" Ulla regarded me, her hair falling to her shoulders. It was then I noticed the deep colour of it for the first time. "I thought, since it's just me and you ..." She shrugged and pulled a face. "We could prepare our meal together this evening."
I couldn't see any reason why I should turn the suggestion down. OK, being close to the woman disturbed me on a level and to a depth I couldn't define. Why she had this effect, I hadn't a clue, but I wanted to be close to her, I knew that much. Physical intimacy wasn't on the cards I realised, not after her night with the Dutch kid, but just to be near her, to watch her face as she talked, to smell the scent of her, would be enough. Or so I kidded myself.
