Then it would probably be better not to go into the water, she replied.
He thought so too, Döhring said politely. It wouldn’t be very smart.
They spoke in slightly raised voices; they had to overcome the distance between them and the riotous noises being made by the two men.
He should be careful, shouted the athlete, the water is not so clean at the end of the summer. A wound like that could easily become infected. Maybe he wasn’t aware of it, but these small lakes did not have proper runoff.
No, he had no intention of going into the water.
Well, that’s what she meant, that’s why she asked him about his injury, shouted the woman quickly and mysteriously.
But pardon me, replied Döhring, what exactly was she objecting to.
If you’ve no intention of going into the water, shouted back the woman cheerfully, what are you planning to do here, that’s what she was asking, nothing else. She would not want to express her personal opinion more directly than that.
Suddenly the splashing, plashing, flapping, shouting, and laughing came to a halt, and although in the ensuing silence Döhring heard well what the sportswoman was saying to him and in what tones, he felt drawn more to the water. Farther out, where the water was too deep for feet to touch bottom, two heads facing each other were floating on the surface. Moving neither toward nor away from each other, only their shoulders rising a little from time to time. They were treading water and holding each other with clasped arms.
Slowly, the water around them became smooth as a mirror. The cool water makes skin contract on the bones.
Their faces grew somber; they paid attention to nothing but each other.
They concentrated on keeping themselves afloat by treading evenly and looking for a chance to push the other under the water.
They both waited patiently, undisturbed, motionless, for the right moment.
Or perhaps this too was nothing more than that eternal pretending. And he still did not understand exactly what this athlete woman wanted from him. Yet he became frightened more by what he sensed and felt at the sight of the heads on the water’s surface; if this is what people do in public, maybe he would not want friends like this.
Above the floating heads, the sky was a saturated blue.
At this moment, Döhring indeed sensed his situation more correctly than he could think about it. He had to escape.
And while time was ticking by, because he could not tear himself away from them and he did not respond to the woman, the two heads moved closer together. With imperceptible slowness, they were approaching along each other’s arms. The two bare bodies would soon touch under the water. They kept treading steadily and evenly, but while earlier they had clasped only wrists, now they were grasping arms, making gradual progress to each other’s body, grabbing elbows and then the muscles of the upper arms, and the closer they moved to each other the harder they had to tread water. Then the dark man grasped the giant’s shoulder, while the giant caught his friend by the waist underwater; they both kept treading.
The giant said something, just a few words, and his friend answered him probably with the same words.
Döhring could delay no longer. He had to turn back because the woman was talking to him, somehow pronouncing the words young man very disparagingly.
The young man probably does not know, she shouted, that whether he goes into the water or not, here he shouldn’t be sitting around all dressed up.
That’s the kind of place this is. Besides, it’s posted too.
From the water, evenly receding strokes were heard because the friends must have begun to swim toward the other shore.
No, he really hadn’t seen the sign, answered Döhring, who made no move either to leave or to undress. He begged her pardon, he said; he was speaking to her but his features remained impassive.
No problem, the athlete shouted back; she said, as if rushing to his help with placating excuses, how could he have, when he had taken such a fall with his bicycle. It’s a good thing his injury wasn’t serious. But now it’s time to decide whether to stay or go, because he probably wouldn’t want to expose himself to the unpleasantness of being considered an intruding Peeping Tom.
While the two of them were shouting to each other, the Ethiopian girl awoke with a start.
If he were accused of something like that, Döhring called back to the woman, almost cheerfully, he would most vigorously protest.
They were so steeped in their altercation, each of them enjoying the dual militancy, that Döhring could not move from his spot and could not resist stealing stealthy glances at the awakening girl. As if to prove that though he knew he should be leaving, he was handing the sportswoman a touchy defeat. At first it seemed that an electric shock, a current, was coursing through the brown body; the sharp elbows trembled, as did the closed knees pulled up to the breasts, and small spasms traveled along each thin limb.
She sincerely hoped, shouted the sportswoman, they would not have to go that far.
From the water, even strokes could be heard; the two friends were swimming side by side in all likelihood.
He hoped so too, Döhring shouted back, grinning.
As if he were shouting, I’m through looking at your ugly red cunt, and now one last time, shamelessly, indecently, despite all your warnings, I shall take a good look at this girl’s, I don’t even know what, her everything, so that I won’t ever forget it.
And this was very important, because he was fond of images. Images followed him or, more correctly, he followed and cherished images within himself. His memory had a large secret archive in which he indiscriminately stored everything that touched him. The waking of the Ethiopian girclass="underline" no matter how much he would have liked to conjure up this image, however hard he insisted it reappear, within a few hours the image faded so much that regardless of where he might begin or on what he might concentrate, neither from her thin limbs nor from her sharp features could he make the total image come together again. Even though he could have described her every move individually and in detail. The way she withdrew her clasped hands from under her head, or slowly raised her eyes to take in the world, spread her arms and straightened her long legs, yawned so contentedly that for long seconds her limbs froze into motionlessness within the movement. Like a swelling coxcomb, the pitch-black, curly pubic hair slowly became erect. Her body was like an overstretched shiny bow. Even a natural shout issued from her yawn.
To which the athlete responded by turning lazily to her side, getting up on her knees, and greeting the girl with a smile. In the sudden movement her breasts collided; she remained in that pose, eyes spellbound, as the awakening body before her trembled with a series of tremors. Following one tremor, the girl raised her arms above her head and, stretching even further, rolled onto her back and then relaxed completely. The athlete woman leaned closer, bent down and covered her, as if to whisper something in her ear, her two pendulous breasts swinging forward and touching the girl’s coffee-brown skin.
Döhring even thought of quickly undressing.
She may have actually whispered something, but she definitely planted a kiss right on the girl’s ear which made the long, thin, bony body grow taut. That very evening, Döhring was already unable to conjure up these images. He heard the girl’s yawning shout, but no matter how he tortured his memory, he could not see her. He would have liked to see the girl, the coxcomb-like hair on her mound of Venus; instead, he saw the other woman’s muscles, abused by much training, her squashed, swinging breasts and fire-red pubic hair.