“Rhoda,” I said, “let’s get this straight, okay?”
“Okay,” she said.
“You’re a swell person,” I said, “and I really like you.”
“Thank you.”
“And most of the time, I enjoy being with you. That day in the forest, for example, when we were talking, I felt... Rhoda, I felt almost happier than I’ve ever felt in my life. I hope you believe me, Rhoda.”
“I believe you, Peter.”
“And I find you very attractive, too, and sexy, well, I really shouldn’t talk this way.”
“I don’t mind, Peter.”
“But Rhoda, when you start analyzing everything...”
“I’m sorry, Peter.”
“It’s just that you make me feel awful.”
“I’m sorry. Really I am.”
“You see, Rhoda...”
“Yes, Peter?”
“We didn’t mean any harm last night.”
She stared at me silently for a long while. Her eyes were wide and serious, challenging the sun’s glare, challenging my face, challenging my words. She suddenly looked old. I had once seen a photograph of an Oklahoma sharecropper, a woman with suffering silence in her eyes, pain drawing her mouth tight, weariness etched into every line of her face. Rhoda looked just that way now.
“Didn’t you?” she said at last. “Didn’t you mean any harm?”
“We were only trying to have a little fun,” I said.
“A little fun,” she repeated blankly.
“We didn’t know the night was going to turn out the way it did. Rhoda, we couldn’t have known.”
“No, you couldn’t have known,” she said.
“Rhoda, for Christ’s sake, don’t start in again. You make me feel...”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yes, you’re sorry, but you keep doing it all the time. Why can’t you just...?”
“Just what, Peter?”
“Just... just shut up every now and then?”
“Not speak?” she said. “Not think?” she said.
“Oh, Jesus,” I said.
“I didn’t want to come here today,” she said, “I knew I shouldn’t have come.”
“Then why the hell did you?”
“Because Sandy was so sweet on the phone, and I thought...”
“Sandy doesn’t bear grudges,” I said.
“Must you always side with her?”
“You shouldn’t have bit her.”
“She shouldn’t have sent Annabelle to fight those...”
“Are we back to that again?”
“Yes, we’ll always be back to that again!”
“Rhoda,” I said, “you’re beginning to give me a fat pain in the ass.” I rose suddenly, brushed sand from my thighs, and said, “I’m going in.”
“Peter...”
“Yes?” I had my hands on my hips, and I was looking down at her.
“Nothing,” she said.
“I thought maybe you wanted to come in,” I said, and grinned.
“No. I’m afraid.”
“You’re afraid of too many things,” I said. “That’s your trouble.” I looked down at her a moment longer, and then turned and walked to the water’s edge and plunged through the crashing surf. The ocean was cold and dark. I swam underwater for perhaps fifteen feet with my eyes wide open, but I couldn’t see a thing. When I surfaced, I opened my mouth to gulp in some air, and a high choppy wave hit me full in the face. Coughing, I treaded water, and looked around for David and Sandy, spotting them farther out. I swam over to them.
“Hi,” Sandy said.
“Hi, beautiful.”
“Nice lovely calm day, isn’t it?” David said.
“Oh, delightful,” I said.
“I’m bare-assed,” Sandy said.
“Really?”
“Look,” she said, and held up her bikini pants.
“What’s the difference between America and France?” David asked.
“I don’t know,” I said, the perfect straight man. “What’s the difference between America and France?”
“In America,” David said, “your goose is cooked, but in France,” he said, “your cook is goosed,” and suddenly Sandy let out a surprised yell and leaped about three feet out of the water. I couldn’t imagine what it was at first; the only thing I could think of was a shark. And then I realized that David had goosed her, and I burst out laughing.
“You sneaky bastard,” Sandy said, laughing, and swam over to him with her sopping wet pants in one hand, and then hit him on the head with them, and tried to duck him. I went to his rescue and the three of us wrestled around out there for maybe five minutes, laughing and yelling, and then Sandy put on her pants, and we floated on our backs for I guess another fifteen minutes or so.
By two o’clock the heat was intolerable.
“You’re going to die, Rhoda,” Sandy said, “unless you get in the water.”
“I’m afraid of it today,” Rhoda said.
“If you want to go in...”
“No.”
“... we’ll stay with you. We won’t let her drown, will we?”
“Certainly not,” David said.
“I’m all right,” Rhoda said. “I don’t mind the heat.”
“You’re sweating like a pig,” David said.
“Ladies don’t sweat, they glow,” Sandy said.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It’s a line from a play we did last term.”
“It sounds like a great play.”
“It was a very good play, as a matter of fact.”
“Did anybody bring sandwiches?”
“Rhoda, where are those sandwiches you made?”
“I’m not hungry yet,” I said.
“It’s too hot to eat, anyway,” Rhoda said.
“Why don’t we get off the beach?” Sandy suggested. “Go have a picnic lunch someplace.”
“Where?” David asked.
“The forest,” Sandy answered.
“What forest?” Rhoda said.
“Where the fire was.”
There was very little motion on the beach. The sun had robbed everyone of the will to move, the sun had fused bodies to blankets. Conversation had stopped, there was scarcely any laughter. An unfamiliar silence shimmered on the air like heat itself, broken only by the incessant rumble of the surf and the droning of the sand flies. The flies were everywhere. They circled the head and landed on the neck and shoulders. They crawled over bellies and legs, stinging, elusively taking wing whenever you slapped at them.
“This is impossible,” Sandy said. “What do you say?”
“Where’s the forest?” Rhoda asked.
“The center of the island.”
“Is it nice?”
“It’s horrible,” I said.
“It’ll be cooler than here,” David said.
“It’ll be private,” Sandy said.
“Rhoda?”
“No,” she said, “I don’t think so.”
“Well, it’s no damn good here,” Sandy said. “Come on, Rhoda.”
“I don’t mind the heat.”
“Look at the sweat pouring off you.”
“In China...” Rhoda started.
“If you won’t go in the water...”
“... they drink hot tea in order to sweat, and then they sit in the shade of a tree, and the sweat evaporates, and they feel cool all over.”
“This isn’t China,” David said, “and there aren’t any trees on the beach.”
“And I’m sweating enough without any tea,” Sandy said.
“Come on, Rhoda.”
“No,” Rhoda said, “I like it here.”
“Rhoda, you can be pretty goddamn obstinate, you know that?” Sandy said.
“I’m sorry.”
“I can stop off for some beer,” David said, and shrugged.
“Come on, Rhoda.”
“No.”
“Okay, we’ll go without you.” Sandy got off the blanket. Her pants were still damp and sand was clinging to them. She brushed the sand off with swift flat palm strokes. Then she adjusted her top, and said, “Are you coming, Peter?”