Pelangi Haven

by Karen Van Der Zee

  again, staring into it without drinking. After a while he leaned back in

  his chair and looked at her.

  'Would you like to go to Penang for Christmas? Stay in one of the

  hotels, have a nice dinner? My treat.'

  She didn't know what to say. She looked at him and he slowly shook

  his head.

  'No strings attached.'

  It was wrong, and she knew it. She nodded. 'I'd like that.'

  For the next few days she worked on the painting and when it was

  finished and dry she hung it on one of the walls where the light was

  good.

  Mr Marinozzi's house was behind Justin's and she skipped up the

  stairs and stood in the open door. He was sitting at the table and

  looked up from a stack of computer printouts. He came to his feet

  immediately, smiling broadly.

  'Please come in, Miss Mitchell.' He put a heavy arm around her

  shoulders and his touch made her shiver with revulsion. He led her to

  a chair. 'Sit down, sit down.'

  She slipped away from under his arm and moved back to the door.

  She gestured at the table. 'You're working. I don't want to disturb

  you. I just came to tell you that the painting is finished and you can

  come by and see it.'

  'It's finished? Good, good! But do sit down and have a drink.' He

  chuckled. 'I should not be working at all, actually—doctor's orders,

  you see, but working to me is like eating and sleeping and eh, well,

  never mind.'

  'Thank you, but no, I must go.' It was an effort to stay civil. She

  didn't like this overgrown Don Juan. His smile was too oily for

  comfort and his hands too loose. He stood beside her near the door,

  much closer than necessary. Automatically she moved out on to the

  first step of the stairs, feeling at the same time his hand slide down

  her buttock. For a moment she was too outraged to react, then

  practically jumped down the stairs. Ignore it, don't say a thing, she

  told herself and forced herself to look up at him from the safety of the

  ground.

  'If you have time, come by about five. I'll be home then.' And she'd

  ask Justin to come for a cold drink, just in case. No sense in taking

  any risks. She laughed to herself as she walked back home. Talk

  about risk. Justin was probably just as likely to go for her as this

  aging Latin lover.

  But it all went as civilised as could be. He was truly enchanted by the

  painting, he said. A true piece of art, and that by someone so young

  and sweet. Behind his back Linden rolled her eyes at Justin, who sat

  back in his chair and winked at her.

  'A young, sweet professional, sir,' she said smiling at him innocently.

  'I hope too that you find the price sweet enough.' She mentioned an

  amount, twice as high as what she'd sold her last paintings for, and he

  did not blink an eye.

  'Would you like that in cash or a cheque?'

  'Cash, please, if you have it. It's easier here.'

  He pulled out a bulging, snake-skin wallet. 'Malaysian dollars? If you

  prefer American dollars I can get those for you in a couple of days.'

  'Malaysian dollars will be fine.' She couldn't believe what she was

  seeing. Who in this day and age went around with that kind of money

  in cash in his wallet? Hadn't the man heard of credit cards and

  travellers' cheques?

  He counted out the notes on the coffee table while Linden looked on

  in amazement. She glanced over at Justin, who watched the

  proceedings impassively.

  After Mr Marinozzi had left, the wrapped painting under his arm,

  Linden looked at Justin again and began to laugh softly. 'He had

  twice that much in his wallet.'

  'He would probably have given it all if you'd asked for it.'

  'That would be overdoing it a little.'

  He shrugged. 'Why? The price of art is very elusive, you should

  know that. If it was worth that to him, then it was worth that.'

  She looked at the pile of money on the table. 'I guess I'd better put

  that away in a sock. I don't have one. Do you have a sock?'

  'What colour?'

  She began to laugh again. 'Oh my, this is ridiculous.' She gathered up

  the money. 'Just a minute.' She put the bills in an old paint box and

  hid it in her clothes closet. Not a very good place, but in this little,

  house there wasn't anything better.

  'Well,' she said, coming back into the room, 'now I can pay my own

  way on Penang. We can really live it up now.'

  'Too late. You already agreed.'

  'Oh, for heaven's sake! I had no money, Justin! Now I do.'

  'Right. And you'd better hang on to it for a while. Being a sweet,

  young professional artist, I assume you—like the rest of your kind—

  have no financial sense.'

  'Do you have to be so insulting?'

  'Only to save you from yourself.' He leapt to his feet, took her in his

  arms and kissed her neck.

  'What I need is someone to save me from you,' she said, squirming in

  his embrace, feeling her strength failing as his lips moved slowly

  along her chin to her mouth.

  He hadn't kissed her since that first time. They hadn't mentioned it,

  but the sexual tension between them was hard to ignore. It made her

  angry. Why did it have to come to this? Why couldn't they just have a

  calm, friendly relationship? She wasn't ready for anything else.

  The change she'd noticed in him was becoming more pronounced all

  the time. He was smiling more, was less serious and she knew it had

  to do with her. The implications did nothing to set her mind at ease.

  There was little she wanted less now than the amorous attentions of

  another man.

  'Please Justin, don't,' she said forcefully. 'I mean it!' She pushed

  against him and eventually he released her. He shoved his hands into

  his pockets as if he were afraid he wouldn't be able to keep them off

  her. He looked at her for a long time without speaking. They stood

  facing each other in the small room, the air heavy with their feelings.

  His eyes were very dark. His hair had fallen forward over his

  forehead and his mouth looked grim.

  'Do you still love him?'

  'I don't know,' she said tonelessly.

  'The bastard hit you, and you don't know?'

  She closed her eyes briefly. 'Please, Justin . ..'

  His anger palpitated in the air. 'What did you feel when he hit you?

  What did you say?'

  'I didn't say anything. He was gone before I realised what had

  happened.'

  'How did you feel?'

  She looked away. 'I felt degraded, enraged.'

  'But you don't know that you don't love him anymore,' he said

  sarcastically.

  She stiffened in anger. 'It's not that easy, Justin! Feelings aren't a

  maths problem! Add x and yes you love somebody or subtracts and

  you don't!' Her knees were shaking and she anchored her feet to the

  floor to steady herself.

  'You've been here almost two months,' he said quietly. 'Why don't

  you relax and see what happens between us?'

  'Justin, I know what will happen between us. I'm not stupid. Neither

  am I immune to your charms, but I don't think it's what I need right

  now
.'

  'You're fighting emotions with rational thought.'

  'Yes, dammit! If I didn't do that, I'd have left weeks ago! I'd be back

  in Pennsylvania, thinking I should try again, because . . . because he

  needs me . ..' Her voice shook. 'You know how I feel? You want to

  know? I feel like I ... I abandoned him! He was in trouble and I left

  him. If I loved him I should have stood by him no matter what.'

  'There are limits to what any person can and should take, Linden,

  even in love. Getting beaten is not within those limits.'

  'I know that, rationally. That's why I left.' Her legs had not stopped

  shaking and she stepped back and dropped into a chair. Leaning her

  head back she closed her eyes. 'When I think about it rationally I

  know there's nothing I can do for him any more. I tried everything.

  He wouldn't listen to me. He was too proud to admit he had a

  problem, too proud to find help. If I would have stayed with him he

  might have hurt me worse another time. If he hit me once he's likely

  to do it again. I keep saying that to myself over and over again. I

  keep telling myself I don't owe him anything. That I have too much

  self respect to ever accept that kind of treatment, that I think too

  much of myself to take the risk of his abuse again. Oh, God .. .' she

  moaned, hunching forward and pressing her fists against her eyes.

  She felt his hands on her head and she didn't move. Then he took her

  wrists and pulled her fists away from her eyes.

  He sat on his haunches in front of her, but his face was a blur as tears

  misted her eyes. She tried to smile, but her lips trembled. 'Oh, dear,'

  she said shakily, 'here I go again.' And she could feel the tears spill

  over and run down her cheeks.

  'Come here,' he said softly, and pulled her gently out of the chair and

  on to his knees. They sat on the floor, she on his knees, curled

  together like lovers. And with her face pressed against his shoulder

  she cried for a long time and he never said a word.

  They walked along the beach as the light was fading. The sun was

  low at the horizon and the shadows were long and distorted. Palms

  were dark silhouettes against the pearly colours of the sky.

  She felt foolish, having given in to her misery with so much abandon,

  soaking his shirt with her tears. She took deep breaths of the clean

  salty air, swinging her arms to rid her body of tension.

  'Let's go to the pier and watch the boats come in.' She looked at her

  watch. 'I guess they're in already, but we can watch them unload. I

  used to do that all the time when I came here as a girl. I'd bring my

  sketchbook and draw the boats and the fishermen hauling away the

  fish in the baskets on their shoulders.'

  She'd tried twice again, bringing her easel and paints and positioning

  herself so she could see all that was going on. Twice she'd made a

  painting, with curious village children standing in a semi circle

  behind her, watching her paint. Both pictures had been gloomy and

  depressing. The sea had looked greyer than in reality, the men more

  tired, the boats more worn. It had not shown the laughter or the

  sunshine that was just as much a part of the scene. The piece of sandy

  beach had shown more garbage than there had been—more banana

  peels and coconut husks and broken beer bottles. These paintings

  were two of the ones hidden in the spare bedroom.

  The pier jutted far out into the water, long and narrow and rickety,

  five planks wide attached to long vertical bamboo poles.

  Four young fishermen in jeans and windbreakers sat on their

  haunches sorting out the pile of fish in their boat tied to the pier.

  They were talking and laughing as they worked, stopping for a

  moment to throw a curious look at Linden and Justin.

  The next boat was already unloaded and on the deck lay a tangle of

  green fishing net, rope and brightly coloured floaters. A man was

  stirring a big steaming cooking pot on a kerosene burner that stood

  against the cabin wall. On a small piece of line above it hung several

  pieces of clothing. Linden wondered why he was cooking on his boat

  instead of eating at home in the village. Maybe he was single and

  lived on his boat and did not have a house.

  At the far end of the pier they sat down, swinging their legs free over

  the water and looked out over the calm sea.

  'Do you still think about her often? About Kate, I mean.' She didn't

  know what had made her ask the question.

  'Now and then,' he said, not looking at her.

  'Do you wish you had married her?'

  He considered the question for a moment. 'There was a time that I

  did,' he said then. 'But not any more. I wasn't ready for marriage then,

  so it wouldn't have been right. But I do regret the way it ended. I

  regret having treated her the way I did—taking her for granted, not

  really listening to her. I was very selfish and inconsiderate.'

  'Have you seen her at all since she left you?'

  He shook his head. 'No. I did hear she married a year and a half later.'

  They were silent for a while. Finally he turned to her, giving a funny

  little smile.

  'It was all a long time ago.'

  'Yes.'

  There was another silence. She watched him as he gazed out over the

  ocean. He looked calm and relaxed. She liked his profile—a

  prominent nose, a strong chin. There was determination and strength

  in that face. He had spoken freely of his weaknesses, admitted them

  without making excuses. She liked that.

  Her thoughts began to drift. She thought about painting the sunset,

  deciding against it. It was tacky and unoriginal and had been done a

  thousand times too often. She thought about Marinozzi who'd bought

  her painting.

  . 'What do you know about this Marinozzi?' she asked. 'Is he Italian?'

  'With that name and that accent I suppose he is, but he lives in

  Australia. At least that's the address he gave me.'

  'I went to his house earlier today to tell him the painting was finished.

  He made a pass at me. Couldn't keep his hands to himself.'

  'Can't blame the man,' he said levelly. 'Nothing ventured, nothing

  gained.'

  'You're as disgusting as he is.'

  'No I'm not,' he said, unperturbed. 'It took me weeks before I even

  tried to kiss you.'

  'So what is wrong with you? Are you slow or something?'

  He laughed out loud. 'First you say I'm disgusting for going after you,

  then you accuse me of being slow about it. Is that lack of logic the

  artist or the woman in you?'

  'It must be my creative mind.'

  'I thought so.'

  Linden sighed. 'I'm hungry. I have this sudden mad craving for

  cheese. A piece of nice cheddar.'

  'I'm afraid you won't find that here.'

  'I know. Isn't it awful though that with all this delicious food here I

  still want something else?'

  'Human nature. We always want what we can't have. I used to long

  for strawberries and cream.'

  Linden looked pained. 'I don't want to hear about it.'

  'I think Christmas on Penang will do us good. The hotels serve a

  traditional dinn
er for the tourists— turkey, the works.'

  'I'm getting hungrier and hungrier.'

  'All right. Come home with me and let's see what Ramaya has

  concocted.' He paused significantly. 'Unless of course you don't want

  to take the risk of my losing control over my passions and going for

  your body.'

  'If you try, you'll be sorry,' she said, slicing the air with mock karate

  chops.

  He laughed as he jumped to his feet. He held out his hand to help her

  up and she took it, smiling back at him.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  LINDEN awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of wind and

  rain, and she knew it was more than just another tropical rain storm.

  The wind howled like a living creature, shaking the house on its stilts

  and penetrating the walls. The wood moaned and groaned under the

  onslaught and the window shutters rattled even though they were

  closed and locked. She lay in bed, listening, feeling a growing sense

  of alarm. This was bad, worse than she'd ever experienced.

  The air was filled with furious noise—the frantic swishing of the

  palms, the angry roaring of the ocean, the rain pounding on the

  ground and on the roof. The clamour was frightening and she had a

  sudden vision of the small island being torn loose by the force of the

  storm and floating and bobbing like a rudderless sampan on the

  seething ocean.

  She looked at her watch. It was just after two in the morning, hours

  still until the first light would colour the sky and chase the night. She

  groped for the candle and the matches next to her bed. It took a lot of

  fumbling in the dark before she managed to light the candle and she

  was ridiculously grateful for the light. She slid out of bed and went

  over to the window. Carefully she opened the shutter a crack and

  peered outside. Wind and rain forced their way in and water dripped

  off her face. All she saw was an ominous wet blackness—no light

  anywhere, no moon in sight. Shivering, she closed the shutter. She

  looked around the bare room. What now? Sleep was out of the

  question. Maybe a cup of tea would settle her down. It would at least

  give her something to do.

  Picking up the candle she made her way to the kitchen. Her foot hit

  something wet and she slipped. Crying out, she grabbed the counter

  to steady herself, scraping her leg on a drawer handle. The candle fell