The conversation broke into pieces. Fish and rooster wandered off on their own, towels in hand. Tom and Nadezhda talked about the Mars landing, about people they had known who had been involved in the effort, many years before—part of conversation strategy, after all. Coyote and tiger got out of the pool, sat facing each other, hands twined, chanting in time to the music: Hank small and compact, a bundle of thick wire muscles—Jody tall and curvey, big muscles, lush breasts and bottom. Kevin and Ramona watched them, knees touching.
The frog and the crow sat across from each other at the narrow end of the pool, occasionally batting the ball back and forth across the water, to keep it from floating down the exit stream and away. They didn’t have much to say. The crow, in fact, was covertly watching horse and eagle. And from across the pool, in the midst of her relaxed talk with Tom, Nadezhda watched them all.
“Look at my fingertips,” the horse said. “They’re really pruning up.”
“Mine too,” the eagle replied. “My whole skin is doing it, I think.” She sat on the concrete rim of the pool. She took off her mask, shook her head. Water sprayed out from her in a yellow corona. Hank had accomplished his reversal; it seemed to Kevin that this exposure of the face was infinitely more revealing and intimate than bare bodies could ever be.
She looked at him and he couldn’t breathe. “I’m overheating,” she said.
He nodded.
“Want to go for a walk?”
“Sure,” he replied, and the stallion inside reared for the sky. “Moon should be up soon. We could take the middle canyon up to the ridge, get a view.”
“Whatever.”
They got out of the pool, went to the cabin, dried and dressed. Returned to the pool. “We’re going for a walk,” Ramona said.
They took off up the poolside trail. Soon after they left, Doris sat up on the pool rim herself. Her rounded body looked small and plump after Ramona’s ranginess. “It is getting hot,” she said to no one in particular, in a strained voice. She stood with a neat motion. The frog watched her silently. She walked quickly to the cabin, started dressing.
The cat slid over to the frog. “Don’t you think you should join her?” she said quietly.
“Oh, no,” the frog said, looking down at the water. “I think if she wanted that she would have asked.”
“Not necessarily. If she asked you in front of us, and you said no…”
“But I don’t think so. She wants… well. I don’t know.” He turned to the rim, picked up a bottle, drained it empty. “Whew.” He surged out of the pool, causing a sudden little tsunami. He padded over to the picnic table, drank from another bottle. Turning, he saw that Doris was gone.
He took off his frog mask, dressed. The pool seemed to pulse with a light from its bottom that filtered up through a tapestry of reddish steam. The ripples on the surface were… something. But Doris was gone. Oscar felt his diaphragm contract a bit, and the corners of his mouth tighten. Perhaps she had wanted him to ask to join her. Never know, now. Unless—
The wind coursing over his wet head felt cool and dry. Despite the evaporative cooling he could tell it was a hot wind. It felt good to be out in it. All his body felt cool, warm, relaxed, melted. And perhaps. Well, if he could find her. Sooner the better, as far as that went. Brusquely he pulled on his shoes, walked to the pool, crouched beside Nadezhda. “I think I’ll go take a look for her,” he said softly.
The cat nodded. “She went up that same trail, by the pools. I think she’ll appreciate it.”
Oscar nodded, straightened. The sycamore overhead had a fractal pattern of such complexity that it made him dizzy. So many branches, all of them waving against the stars, not in concert but each in a rhythm of its own, depending on how far from the trunk it was… another drink of tequila, sure. Looking down he saw the trail as clear as the yellow brick road. He lumbered off along it, into the forest.
Tom and Nadezhda sat beside each other, masks off. The wind felt good on Tom’s face. Hank and Jody were still chanting, voices ordering the night’s sound, and feeling it fill him Tom joined in, Aum. Under his feet the sandstone was both slick and gritty at once. Between the leaves the sky to the east had a faint white aureole—desert dust in the wind, and the moon about to rise. Hank and Jody stood, short man, tall woman, and walked across the pavilion hand in hand, stopping only to pick up a towel.
“Well,” Tom said. “Here we are.” He laughed. On the screen the lander stood on the red rocky plain of Hellas. “Such an alien little car.”
“Is that what they’ll say when they step out?”
He shook his head. “That’s what I say here. And now.”
Nadezhda nodded gravely. “But they should say that. Why don’t you get us another bottle of the tequila. I’m developing a taste for it.”
“Uh oh.” He went and got a full bottle from the table. “I’m kind of drunk, myself.”
“Me too. If that’s what it is. You’re right, it feels a little different. But I like it.”
“You do now.”
“That’s what counts. You know, I’m getting colder rather than warmer. It’s like a bath you’ve been in too long.”
“We could move upstream to the next pool. It’s hotter.”
“Let’s do that.”
She stood and stepped into the stream bed, walked upstream with small, hesitant steps. Even in the dark her silvery white hair shone like a cap. Slender as she was, in the dark she almost looked like a young girl. Tom blinked, grasped the neck of the bottle more firmly, followed her.
Odd to have a stream’s water be the warmest part of the surroundings. Nadezhda was just a shape now between trees, her hair the most visible part of her. Something in the sight gave Tom a quiver: naked woman walking up a streambed in the dark, between trees. Wisps of steam were just visible. Ferns on the bank curled in black nautilus patterns, like fossils held up on stems for their viewing.
When he came to the next pool Nadezhda was standing on its concrete bench, knee deep in water, waist deep in steam. The moon was coming up over the east wall of the canyon, and to his dark-adjusted eyes it was as bright as any streetlight. He almost wished it weren’t there. But then his pupils shrank and again it seemed dim, dark even. Nadezhda watched him. “You’re right,” she said. “It is warmer.”
“Good.” They sat side by side on the edge of the pool, feet on the concrete bench below. They passed the slim bottle back and forth. The wind had almost dried their bodies, but after a bit it felt cool, and they lowered themselves into the water.
“I hope Oscar finds Doris.”
“I guess.”
“Well, he has to try.” She laughed. “Pretty bodies.”
“Yeah. Especially Ramona and Jody.”
She elbowed him. “And Kevin and Hank!”
“Yeah, okay.”
“And Gabby and Mike and Doris and Oscar!”
He laughed. “It’s true.”
She took a slug from the bottle, shifted closer to him. “Except, I don’t know, I am thinking they are a little unformed. Like porcelain, or infants. To be really beautiful a body has to have a bit more to it. Their skin is too smooth. Beautiful skin has to have some pattern to it.” She pinched together the skin of his upper arm. “Like that.”
He laughed. “Yeah, they need some wrinkles, show some character!” He laughed again. Here I am, he thought; here I am.
“I have a lot of character,” Nadezhda said, and giggled.
“Me too.”
“And, and their hair is always just one color. No mix.”