“As You Like It. What a nice idea.”
“Yeah. This time it was a life of leisure—no farming. They had vineyards and orange groves and flower gardens, and a big shady lawn, and a pond out front with swans in it. During the days they rode horses around their land, and in the evenings Helen gave readings from her various roles.”
“Very idyllic.”
“True. It seems unreal, now. Although it’s funny, up here I can imagine it happening. There’s this feeling of being completely cut off from the world.”
“I know. That’s one of the things I like best about living up here.”
“I believe it. It’s amazing you can get that feeling anywhere in OC.”
“Yeah, well, you should see Santiago Freeway at rush hour. Bumper to bumper.”
“Of course. But here, and now…”
She nods, touches his upper arm. “Here, follow this trail. This little side canyon is pretty long and deep, and there’s a way up to a lookout point over Riverside.”
They hike through trees, up a steep-sided narrow canyon, one without a road at its bottom. Hana leads the way. Jim can hardly believe it; they’re out in the bush! No condos! Can it be real?
The canyon’s sandstone walls steepen until they’re in a sort of roofless hallway, moving single file up a steep trail through the brush and trees. There’s a stale, damp smell in the air, as if the sun seldom reaches the canyon’s bottom. Then the walls lay back, and the canyon opens up into a small amphitheater filled with live oak. They turn back and up, and climb the walls they had previously been under, until they’re on a ridge; there’s a view back down to the scattered lights in Modjeska Canyon. And off to the east, as Hana said, there is a long fuzzy band of light, just visible: the Highway 15 corridor, in Riverside County.
“Whoah. You can really see a long way. Do you come up here often?”
He thinks he sees a small smile, but in the dark he can’t be sure. “No. Not often. Look here.” She walks to a big oak. “This tree’s called the Swing Tree. Someone’s tied a rope on that big upper branch, out away from the trunk. You take it”—she grabs the thick rope with both hands, just above a knot at the end of it—“and walk back uphill with it—and then—”
She runs down the hill, swings off into the space above the canyon, makes a slow turn, flies back in and runs to a halt.
“Whoah! Let me try that!”
“Sure. There are two ways to go—you can run straight out and come straight back in, or you can take off angling out away from the tree, and that’ll put you in a circle and land you on the other side of the trunk. You have to be sure to go hard that way, though, to get around the trunk all the way.”
“I see. Believe I’ll go straight out, this time.”
“Good idea.”
He seizes the rope, runs outward, flies off into space. It’s slow, dark. Air hoots in his ears. He feels a little point of something like weightlessness, or weight coming back, at the outer limit of his ride—hung out there for a moment—then it’s around and back in, whoah, got to run quick on touchdown. “Great! Fantastic! I want to do it again.”
“Well then we’ll just have to take turns. My turn now.” She takes off with a quick sprint. Dark shape floating out there, hair flying wild against the stars—creak of rope against branch, up above—flying woman coming in from deep space, right at him—“Whoah!” He catches her up and they collide into a hug.
“Oops. Sorry. Took off at an angle, I guess.”
He flies again. It’s funny how simple all the real pleasures are (did he think that?). It’s a long rope, the flights last a long time. Don’t try to figure out how long, Jim thinks. It doesn’t matter. Avoid timing, distance records, etcetera.…
After a few straight in-and-out runs, Hana takes the rope and runs out to the left, swings free of the ground, curves out, then left to right across the sky, spinning slowly, until she comes back in to the right side of the trunk. Round the horn. It looks lovely. “Let me try that!”
“Okay. Take off hard.”
He does, but leaves the ground before he gets that last push-off step in. Oh well. Flying, here, spinning in a great circle, long seconds of a deep dream-flying calm. Coming back in he turns to face landward and notes that the tree trunk is going to—oops—
He just manages to turn sideways as he crashes into the tree. He tumbles to the ground, stunned.
He’s lying in leaves. Hana has rushed over and is crouched over him. “Jim! Are you okay?”
He pulls her down and kisses her, surprising them both.
“Well, I guess you are.”
“Not sure, though. Here—” He kisses her again. Actually, about half his body is sore indeed. Right ear, shoulder, ribs, butt, thigh, all of them are pounding. He ignores them all, pulls Hana onto him. The kiss extends off into a long sequence. Her hands are running over him very gently, making sure he’s still all there. He reciprocates, and their kisses get a lot more passionate. Time out to breathe.
They’re in a great drift of leaves, between two big roots that run over the hard ground. Leaves, whatnot—it’s probably better not to investigate too closely. The leaves are dusty, dry, crunchy under them. They’re lying side by side now, and clothes are giving way. In the dark Jim can just barely see her face against his, nothing more. The lack of visual stimulation, of the image, is disorienting. But that look on her face—all shyness gone, that small inward smile… his heart thumps, his skin is flushed or somehow made more sensitive, he can feel better, the rough uneven ground under his good side, his bad side throbbing in the cool air, crackling leaves, her hands on him, their mouths, whoah—when has a mere kiss ever felt like this? And it’s Hana Steentoft, his friend, here; the distance gone, the inwardness turned out onto him, the friendship suddenly blooming like a Japanese paper flower hitting a bowl of water. It’s exciting! They make love, and that’s more exciting yet. Jim’s body goes into a kind of shell-shocked mode: such a sequence of intense sensation! He mentions it to her at a certain still interval and she laughs. “Better watch it, you’re going to be wanting to crash every time before you make it.”
“Kinky indeed. Can you imagine it? Getting intimate—oh, excuse me—”
“Stand up and run straight into the wall—”
“There, okay, I’m ready now.…”
When their giggling subsides, Jim says, “I’ll only do it with you. You’ll understand.”
“You’ll only do it with me?” Quick grin, mischievous movement against him—“Yes”—and they are back in the world of sex, a duet collaborating in the most fascinating variations on a theme: the kinetic melody with its intense blisses, accompanied by crackling leaves and the odd squeak, hum, moan, grunt, whoah, exhalation, endearment, giggle, and a whole lot of heavy breathing. It’s incredible fun.
55
They sleep together cuddled like spoons. In the morning Jim wakes to find Hana already at work, painting at a table in the main room. She’s put on a bulky sweater and army fatigues. He watches her, noticing the brusque concentration, the tangled hair, the tree-trunk legs. The indirection that is not really shyness, but some unnamed cousin to shyness. She gets up and walks into the kitchen, passes a mirror without even noticing it. He gets up to run give her a hug. She laughs at him.