Marija gets up so early the next morning that the stars are still in the sky. The first thing she thinks of is Ari and the night before, and the next thing she thinks of is that he's gone—her bed is empty. The guilt she was prepared to feel is replaced by shame and anger as she remembers her wanton behavior of last night and wonders whether she's scared him off. Even in this place she embarrasses herself. She feels like she can do nothing right.
She steps out on the balcony. It's very early but already the thick clouds are gathering, blown in from the north and tinted red and purple in the east by the rising sun. This may be a cheery place in the summer, but in this season it is gray and foreboding. She hears the dawn call of the peacocks in the garden followed by a woman's distant laughter. It only makes her feel more lonely. She comes inside and goes back to bed.
He comes for her at ten, startling her from a dream of Andre, which left her with a feeling of nagging unease, as if she's greatly disappointed someone. She transfers this feeling to Ari when he enters and tries to beg off their appointment, claiming she's unwell.
"I have things to show you today," he says, unbearably cheerful. "Things most people here never see—the insider's tour. I've arranged for a boat, so dress casual."
He's brought tea and croissants on a cart, but Marija has no appetite. It occurs to her that maybe it would have been better if she had scared him off after last night. She can't bear anyone's company in the morning, and sightseeing is the last thing she wants to do today.
She's better after she's had her coffee and showered. The shower itself is a miracle, hot, over-engineered, and lavish with water. She goes through her clothes, wincing at all the romantic dresses and gowns she's brought, as if she'd intended to spend all her time at a ball. She puts on a pair of jeans and a sweater, a pair of athletic shoes. It's hardly what she thought she'd be wearing when she packed for the Hotel Pavane.
The island upon which the Hotel sits is still known as Palace Island and has always been dramatically landscaped and laced with canals, moats, and pools for boating, except at the northern end, where the island rises into sheer cliffs, densely wooded and intentionally left wild. The waters are still and mirror the trees and gardens that line the shore. Swans, black and white, glide upon the surface like clouds. The waterways are especially lovely at night, when little boats, decorated with candles and lanterns, drift about in the darkness like fireflies.
It's to a misty dock on one of these pools that Ari brings Marija in the early afternoon of this gray and forlorn day. He installs her in the prow of a small boat, part canoe, part gondola—short and wide with high and decorated stem and sternposts—and settles himself in with blankets and a paddle. He pushes off and they head for the waters of Lake Pavane that surround the island.
The air is still and a thick mist rises from the water obscuring the towers of the hotel and the tops of the trees—sometimes even the banks themselves—so that they seem to float in a dream world, accompanied only by their own wake on the mirror-like water. The rose gardens and chrysanthemums they pass are mere smudges of color in this foggy world of gray and green.
"It's so still," she says. There are no other boats. The water is the color of a black mirror. "Is it always so still?"
"You've come during the misty season, and while the mists rise, yes, it is still. It's relaxing though, in its way."
"I don't think I've ever been in such a quiet landscape."
"Good. Then this will be a perfect place to talk."
"Talk about what?"
Ariel pulls in his paddle and lays it across the thwarts. "You. I want to know."
Marija knows he's talking about what he said last night, about healing her. "Oh Ari, that was sweet, but you weren't serious? You're going to be my sex therapist?"
"No," he says. "Don't call it that. A sex therapist works on a particular sexual problem. Sex is just the means to the end."
"What's the end?"
"To get you away from him and give you back to yourself. Don't you think that's a worthy goal?"
Marija looks at him as his eyes scan the shore. Last night he'd seen her in all her naked vulnerability. He'd taken her not against her will, but forcibly, taking what he wanted without asking, and it had been the best thing he could have done. His selfish desire had aroused her more than any gentle consideration would have and had thrilled her, so much so that she was surprised at the lack of shame and remorse she felt today. She'd not only enjoyed last night, but she'd had a most intense orgasm, unusual for her, and quite inexplicable.
The boat barely seems to move. It's a strange shape, unusually wide for a craft so short. The generous beam makes it very stable.
She sighs, trailing her fingers in the water. "So what did you want to know?"
"About this man, the one who broke your heart. What was his name?"
Marija brings her hand into the boat and rolls over on her back. The prow of the little boat is an elaborate chair with pillows and cushions. Because of the stillness of the lake, they never become wet.
"Andre," She says. "But really, just when I was feeling better too. Do we have to, Ariel?"
"He left you?"
She sighs. "Yes. He just walked out one night, angry. He came back two days later while I was at work and got his things. It didn't matter. I couldn't afford the place without him anyhow. I had to leave."
"And why did he leave?"
She shrugs, loathe to talk about it. "We were always fighting."
"Of course. But what about?"
Marija drops her fingers in the still waters again. The smooth movement of the boat leaves barely a ripple.
