The More I Owe You

by Michael Sledge

  She walked away. In the kitchen she washed the dishes from breakfast, trying not to bang them around too much. A good houseguest would not break Rosinha’s plates out of ill humor. The gray sky seemed to be opening up; she noticed one or two blue streaks. Lota came close and stood nearby without speaking. Elizabeth felt the physicality of her so keenly, she ached for Lota to put her arms around her.

  “Would you like to walk with me to town, my dove?” Lota asked.

  “Yes, I would. I would love that.”

  At the market, right where the fishing boats came in, Lota finally came around. They filled their woven sisal shopping bag with fruit and vegetables and beer and an octopus from a fisherman with enormous beautiful dark eyes and whose eyelashes were, Lota agreed, to kill for. The sky was clear blue by the time they returned to the house. They packed their beach gear and went down to the dunes. How Cabo Frio managed to escape the mad crush of humanity that had engulfed the rest of the world continued to be a wonderful mystery. On the beach there was never another soul in sight. All the cacti were covered with magenta and yellow flowers, with butterflies in frantic ecstasies around them. A turtle was swimming in the water and raised his head to watch them spread their towels on the sand, as if he did not know enough of humankind to be afraid.

  Without a word, Elizabeth took Lota’s hand and drew her into the warm water. The surf had calmed since the morning, and now it undulated in rolling blue swells. Lota resisted at first, but Elizabeth coaxed her in. In these moments, when she was so terribly tender, you had to treat her almost like a newborn child, she had absolutely no defenses. They slipped on their masks and submerged beneath the crystalline surface. Elizabeth loved the stark contrast, the motionless desert landscape above and then, below water, the wild effusions and vibrancies of life. Thousands of living creatures, swimming, darting, swaying every which way. Immediately Lota dove deep, pulling Elizabeth down. She was so graceful in the water, like a marine animal. She could hold her breath for the longest time to look at everything that caught her attention: fish, corals, fanworms. Elizabeth bobbed right back to the surface like a cork. She saw, drifting close by, a nearly invisible mass suspended in the water, quivering with subtle hues and light. It was a school of squid, twenty or so, each about six inches long. The entire group was continuously shifting color, first completely clear, hardly distinguishable from the water, then in an instant turning dark, then blue, then mottled like rocks, all in unison, as if trying out anything to please her. She wanted to show Lota, but Lota had drifted away in the current. She was head down in the water, kicking her legs to remain in place while she gazed beneath a boulder.

  The squid jetted off. Elizabeth continued to float while Lota explored. She noticed that a man had appeared on the beach and was sitting on some driftwood near their towels. Another human being on the shore was momentarily so surprising she did not at first become suspicious. He was already moving on as Elizabeth swam in and discovered that Lota’s sandals had disappeared. A wave had washed over their things. She wanted to believe that the surf had stolen Lota’s shoes, but that was too great a stretch.

  Elizabeth lay on the towel, drying beneath the hot sun. Lota surfaced so rarely for breath that she began to worry. She stood and searched the water until she saw Lota again. Was loving another human being with all you possessed to live in a state of grace or a state of masochism? Truly, it was hard sometimes to know the difference.

  A school of fish was moving swiftly along the shore, breaking the surface with silver flashes and a hundred little sprays and splashes. A school of something much larger was in pursuit. Dolphins! Their curved backs bowed out of the water, agile and powerful. Infant dolphins swam among the adults, leaping entirely clear of the water. She saw that Lota lay directly in their path, treading water and watching the dolphins approach, her dark head above the water’s surface as they engulfed her.

  When they’d passed on, Lota returned to the beach. “Did you see that?” she said, exhilarated. “One actually let me touch him!”

  “It was marvelous. Were you frightened?”

  Lota shook her head. “I’m starving. Let’s go in for lunch. Where are my sandals?”

  Elizabeth feared spoiling her mood. “I think a wave absconded with them.”

  “No matter.” Lota grinned. “They were a piece of merde anyway.”

  After lunch, they showered to rinse off the day’s salt and sun. It was after four o’clock, and the afternoon was still very hot. As Elizabeth combed her hair before the mirror, Lota shut the door to the room and approached in the dim light and embraced her, pressing her lips to Elizabeth’s neck. She couldn’t remember the last time Lota had done anything like that, it had been so long. She turned to receive Lota’s kiss. Lota led her to the bed, and they began to make love. The intensity of her own excitement took her by surprise. Elizabeth kept trying to rush, but Lota slowed her down. Near the end, the excitement faded, somehow she couldn’t maintain it. But it did not matter. It was so lovely to be intimate like this, touching one another, cherishing one another, she could have wept with relief. After, Lota stroked her face as they lay in silence.

  In the evening, they emerged to a sky and sea that were nearly purple, right before all the light went out of the world. Things were now easy and playful between them. Elizabeth sharpened a knife and Lota cut up the octopus and made a vegetable sauce while it boiled. They battled an invasion of wasps that flew out of the stove’s exhaust pipe, and then Elizabeth spoke with great feeling of trips she’d made as a child to cold seas, off the coasts of Canada and New England, the landscapes and seascapes so different from this. There were parts of her, she told Lota, that had never stopped longing for the north. Her inner compass still pointed there. She was scared to teach, of course, but she thought Seattle was going to be a wonderful adventure.

  The octopus finished cooking, and Lota tossed it into the sauce and said it wasn’t half bad.

  Then she put her hand to Elizabeth’s face.

  “It was a dream,” Lota said, “to think I could go with you to Seattle. I can’t go, Elizabeth. Governor Negrão has already made concessions to me. I have to see if I can work with him. Otherwise, there are so many who hate Carlos they would go to any lengths to undo all we have accomplished.”

  Elizabeth felt such little reaction, she actually smiled. “I suppose I never really believed you’d come.”

  “I meant to.”

  “Yes, I think you did.”

  “Would you like some octopus?”

  “No, thank you. I don’t have much appetite.”

  They continued to talk with ease and even laughter while Lota ate. It was around eleven by the time they cleaned up the kitchen. They went downstairs to read for an hour or so before they turned off the light.

  25

  THE HOTEL MEANY could not have been more appropriately named. Mean in dimension, mean in comfort, without a bit of light to brighten things up. All the overhead lamps were of such low wattage Elizabeth could not navigate her single room—so cramped it had no proper desk, so she’d begun typing her letters to Lota on the ironing board—without bumping her shins on the bed frame. Hardly any sunlight passed through the windows, as it had rained constantly since the moment she’d arrived, except for the few hours the rain had turned to snow. The view was of a city half-glimpsed through dark swirling clouds.

  That she could still cancel her contract and head home on the next flight remained a tantalizing option. What prevented her from doing so was the thought of Lota’s gloating expression when Elizabeth walked in the door. So you finally realized what I knew all along, she would most certainly say. You are not cut out to be a teacher, poor Cookie.

  Well, poor Cookie would prove her wrong.

  Elizabeth prepared herself for the plunge into dismal weather, with her new yellow slicker, galoshes, gloves, and umbrella. More than once in her life she’d arrived in an unfamiliar city, never doubting her capability to handle whatever challenging circumstance arose; for
far too long, the idea of herself as a competent world citizen had atrophied. Besides, how hard could it be to find a goddamn reading lamp to cheer up this dark hole of a hotel room? All those charming streets around the university were full of little shops selling lace and teapots. She needn’t go far.

  Outside, the rain was so fierce it appeared to be falling up. It got inside the sanctuary of her umbrella, and this was quite annoying. Just a block over, however, a window display of a desk with a stack of books and a standing lamp warmly illuminating the scene enticed her inside. Upwards of a hundred lamps hung from the ceiling, in every conceivable style: Tiffany glass, arts and crafts, stainless steel. However, not a single desk lamp was in evidence. The shop turned out to be a daunting labyrinth of extremely tall shelves full of boxes of doorknobs and hinges. Elizabeth went up and down the crowded aisles until she was thoroughly disoriented. Nothing was clearly explained. There was no one to assist her. She sat heavily in an armchair marked Half Price.

  Perhaps Lota was right. If the most simple errand so easily defeated her, then she’d be hopeless in the classroom. In the weeks leading up to Elizabeth’s departure, Lota had been so sweet and funny; then right at the end she’d turned awful. She’d offered, free of charge, a number of brutal imitations of Elizabeth attempting to teach—arriving at class drunk, stumbling and dropping her valise so that papers and books went flying, slurring her words, unable to finish any idea or sentence. Really, just hilarious. The memory was so horrible it continued to have a glaze of unreality. Any feeling person might simply have said, I’m going to miss you too terribly, that’s how much I love you and need you. Instead, Lota had decided to be cruel.

  Then, the night before her flight, the desperate pleading. Don’t leave me, I can’t bear it if you leave me. Who will take care of me?

  “Can I help you in some way?”

  Elizabeth found a young woman standing over her. How she managed to look so pleasant and at ease while her customers were wandering lost around the store like Jews in the desert made Elizabeth extremely cross. “Yes, you can help me, thank you for asking. All I want is a simple reading lamp. I don’t understand why that’s so difficult.”

  “A bedside lamp, something to read by?”

  “Isn’t that what I just now said?”

  “Give me a moment. Wait right here, and I’ll see what I can find.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself,” Elizabeth grumbled as the young woman disappeared down a passageway. She returned in moments with three lamps in her arms, as if she’d plundered a secret stash not available to the public, and set them on the floor at Elizabeth’s feet. “Do you like any of these?” she asked. “This one’s practical. Look, it clamps to your desk.”

  “I don’t have a desk. I have an ironing board.”

  “All right, then, moving on. Number two has a bendable neck. Though it might become a breakable neck in the state of mind you’re in, so let’s put that aside. And here’s number three, my personal favorite.”

  “You can’t be serious. That color is hideous.”

  “Oh, but this color is one of my favorites.”

  “That shade of green is almost putrescent.”

  “You’re right, it is,” she said, lighting up. “I love putrescent green!”

  What a curious young woman! She knelt before Elizabeth with a brilliant smile, beams of vitality and youth shooting off her like solar flares. The young woman could hardly have been older than the students Elizabeth was presently to face. She was very pretty, with a high, intelligent forehead and a perfect small nose, and her long auburn hair spilled from a funny round rain cap sitting snug on her head and down past her shoulders. She wore a short dress that left her long legs bare. Rather informal for a salesgirl, Elizabeth thought, and besides, wasn’t she chilly in this climate?

  Yet Elizabeth’s spirits could not resist the girl’s buoyancy. “Why don’t you leave them all for a minute,” she said with a reluctant smile, “and I’ll decide which suits me best?”

  “Very well. Good luck. Oh, look, your galosh has slipped off.” The young woman pushed on the heel of Elizabeth’s overshoe, and then she stood. “What a funny word, galosh. One never seems to hear it in the singular. Bye now.”

  And then she was gone. Elizabeth had been away such a long time that American youth had become a complete mystery. If her students were half as charming as this young woman, however, teaching might be bearable. The entire lamp episode had cheered her up immensely. What the heck, she’d buy the putrescent one. It proved to be a wonderful choice. Back at the Meany, the lamp made her room almost inviting. That night she read without a bit of strain to the eyes.

  After Elizabeth switched off the light, she lay awake, continuing to be amused by the young woman. In Brazil, such behavior toward one’s elders would be insolent; here, it was something else altogether, a sort of vibrant expectation of nothing less than the happiest possible outcome. It was the first time since leaving Brazil, alone in a strange and uncomfortable Seattle bed, that Elizabeth did not feel absolutely sick at heart. Smiling to herself in the dark, she became aware of a low, sighing noise emanating from a corner of the room. It was regular, rhythmic, like breath. But it was louder than breath, rougher around the edges. It was snoring! Someone was snoring in the corner of her hotel room.

  Elizabeth had long ago ceased resisting the idea of spirits, portents, or premonitions; she’d been in Brazil too many years. But a snoring ghost!

  THE OPERATOR PUT the call through even after Elizabeth told her to cancel it. She’d wanted to wish Lota a happy new year, then realized in Rio it was already long past midnight. Lota was groggy from a sleeping pill she’d taken, and the connection was terrible. Still, there was no disguising the happiness in her voice.

  “I miss you so much, Cookie.”

  “I miss you too.”

  Within moments, though, she was complaining about the park. The new governor was already trying to erode her authority. Could Elizabeth believe that? He said that Carlos had created the park foundation illegally.

  Elizabeth noticed that she did not react in her customary way, with the usual flash of frustration followed by mild, pervasive despair. Perhaps it was good, this separation. Maybe when she returned to Brazil, she wouldn’t so easily be sucked back into the morass.

  “Then quit and come here,” she said. “It’s as simple as that.”

  “No, Elizabeth, I can’t.”

  “The park is nearly finished, no one appreciates you, and they all make your life a constant hell. Don’t you wonder why you stay?”

  “If I leave, they will say it’s because I am a woman. That I am too weak to stand up to men. That’s how I will be remembered, as a weak woman who failed.”

  A noise like a rushing wave filled the line.

  “Are you still there?” Elizabeth said.

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe you don’t have to stand up to the men any longer, not because you’re too weak but because they’re all crooks and liars.”

  “How much are you drinking in Seattle?” Lota asked, after a pause. “It’s easier to drink, isn’t it, when you are away from me?”

  “I’m not drinking at all,” she said, by which she meant she was not drinking to excess. “Even though I’m living in terror of my first class.”

  “What did you say? I couldn’t hear.”

  “I’m not drinking,” Elizabeth shouted.

  Lota chuckled. “Oh, Cookie, you expect me to believe that?”

  IT WAS EITHER spend New Year’s Eve alone in the Hotel Meany, wearing a housecoat and slippers and coaching herself not to down an entire bottle of gin, or else attend the dinner party to which she was invited as the guest of honor. So here she was, not inelegant, if she did say so herself, if a little damp from the constant deluge, in her nicest black dress, hair freshly done at the beauty parlor, and a smile plastered to her mouth, while a number of extremely nice and terribly young Seattle-ites waited in line to offer their compliments on her poetry. It wa
s very tedious, but probably less tedious than lonesome inebriation.

  A tall and rather lovely young woman kept smiling at her from across the room. Her hair was piled on top of her head in an assemblage of loops, and she was wearing a dress encrusted with plastic gems and with an odd sheen—the fabric was turned inside out, Elizabeth realized; the girl must have sewn it herself. The dress was so exceedingly short it nearly revealed her altogether, though there was no denying the long bare legs were perfection. As the hostess called them to table, the young woman found her way to Elizabeth’s side. “Did you find the light?” she asked with a penetrating look.

  Elizabeth stared back into her eyes, glittering green and gold like the fake jewels on her dress. Hard to say which color was predominant. She’d heard that religious fanatics often prowled public spaces in search of lost souls to ensnare, but Elizabeth had hardly expected to encounter one at a dinner party.

  “No,” she said. “But it looks as though the light is trying to find me.”

  The young woman laughed and laid her fingers on Elizabeth’s arm. “I’m sorry, you don’t recognize me. I helped you with the lamps the other day.”

  “That was you? I thought you were an evangelist.” Elizabeth felt a rush of relief and bright spirits, just as she had felt when the young woman presented the three lamps at her feet. “Yes, I did find the light. I chose the putrescent one, and I adore it. You should recommend it to all your customers.”

  The eyes grew amused. “But I don’t work at that store,” she said.

  “You don’t?”

  “I saw you sitting there, looking so frustrated, and I’m something of a busybody, so I had to interfere.”

  “Oh, dear.” Elizabeth suddenly felt more moved than the situation merited; in fact, she found herself close to tears. “That was extremely kind of you.” She left the girl and took her place at the table.

  During the meal, Elizabeth sat next to a young painter whose vociferous passion for abstract expressionism allowed her to forgo her own performance as the prizewinning poet from the tropics. She was grateful, even if his soliloquy was a bit hard on the nerves. He required no more than the occasional hmm or oh yes, though she suspected even those interjections were unnecessary to keep the conversation rolling. For an hour, her greatest challenge was how she might most politely swallow her yawns. Several times Elizabeth glanced down the long table to find the young woman watching her with a worried, apologetic look.