Tomas
Page 17
There’s something satisfying about a seaside town winding down for the day. Loungers and all the beach paraphernalia are being cleaned and stacked away. Bars opening; sunbathers smelling of coconut oil returning to their hotels; waiters preparing for the evening service; that moment of calm between the day’s end and the night’s activities.
The sunset is a symphony of clouds and colours. Yellow turns to orange, then deep red, the sky shot through with a kaleidoscope of colours as the sun moves lower on the horizon. With every breeze, the painted clouds change shape and size like dancers at a phantasmic ball.
The invisible voice joins the party with his friend the invisible eye, who has a special perspective on the sunset. ‘What can you see?’ says the invisible voice. The invisible eye looks through the colours and clouds to the very innards of the sky. Sure enough he sees billions of echoes on the wind, but every so often a great man in history – Julius Caesar, the Emperor Charlemagne, Napoleon Bonaparte … Dancing among them, like a kite on the breeze, he glimpses a familiar, still living face.
Tomas looks across the terracotta roofs of the city to the back of the beachside hotels, the sea and the mountains beyond. The sea is a deepening blue against the mountains, which look like cardboard cut-outs against the sky as the light fades. The sun makes its final descent. For a moment, a giant red ball perches ethereally on the mountain top. Then it quickly slips below. A furnace ignites on the far mountainside, shooting red flames into the clouds, which continue their spectral dance.
Tomas takes in the scene in silence, holding Tereza’s hand on the sofa. He hopes that, at his end, should it come quickly, he’ll be given just a few minutes to remember the indescribable beauty of this moment.
This electronic edition published in 2011 by Bloomsbury Reader
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Copyright © James Palumbo 2009
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eISBN: 9781448205387
ISBN 978 0 7043 7158 3
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