Drink the Sky

by Lesley Krueger

  “Holly, we must talk soon,” she said, striding off toward some arriving guests, trailing Arianna behind her like a scarf.

  “So our husband is in the doghouse, is he?” Larkin asked.

  “In the Amazon,” Holly murmured. She turned and found Larkin looking suspicious and wry. It was hard not to feel a little sorry for him.

  “In the Amazonian doghouse,” he persisted. Holly could only shrug. This was up to him now. Would he take offence and leave? She wasn’t sure she cared.

  Finally Larkin dropped his eyes, half smiling to himself and shrugging as she had done. Over his falling shoulder, Holly glimpsed Tânia’s latest find on the margins of the party. Larkin had probably been like that once, scornful and intense and untarnished. He had made so many compromises in the meantime, another wasn’t going to hurt, was it? Yet the idea of Larkin young and vulnerable touched Holly’s heart.

  No, she thought, and stopped a waiter for another drink.

  Two, three hours later. For the first time in years, Holly was drunk. Deliberately drunk and enjoying it. It felt so good to laugh, to flirt. There was something else. What else was it? An unusual feeling that took her a while to place.

  She was having fun. Not something she was used to, was it? Such a serious girl. So thoughtful and pragmatic. Where had that got her? Had it made her a revered artist? A respected wife? The ideal mother? No, it had not. Clearly it was an unsuccessful strategy. Time to abandon. Cut loose, try something else. Drift through the party, perhaps, with a successful artiste.

  Larkin was in his element here, liquid and masterful, as he’d been up the morro. Holly introduced him to people she didn’t remember meeting and played along when they supposed him to be her ecological husband. Larkin used the occasion to lament the extinction of a species of lactating newt that could have given the world a natural alternative to collagen injections. His audience murmured in sympathy, and only seemed surprised at Larkin’s inability to speak Portuguese. Holly wondered why he hadn’t bothered to learn even a few phrases when he’d been here — how long? She couldn’t remember, and drifted away to find a clock, although she was quickly sidetracked into a discussion of aerobic exercise. Larkin eventually found her in a bedroom with two women who were comparing liposuction scars, and pulled up his shirt to show them where the doctor had remodelled his abdomen. The women marvelled at his invisible incisions as Holly stared at the line of neatly crossed hairs running from his navel into his slightly-open fly.

  .“You’re cruel,” she told him as they left the room, then leaned in to whisper the most salacious, intriguing, compromising gossip about whose nose had been shortened, whose breasts augmented, whose sex change was hermaphroditically incomplete. Hadn’t someone said once that gossip was beneath her? It wasn’t beneath her. It was inside her, and bottled up.

  That round-cheeked, rosy-cheeked, downy-cheeked boy? The one with the moist red lips? she asked. Couldn’t you see the ghost of a paunch, the paunch he’d develop in the future? There were truly ghosts from the future, she said, not just from the past. And he, Antônio, the medical resident, was Tânia’s latest lover. Imagine! When Tânia first met him, he’d had a beard. She’d thought he was probably about 30, which already made him younger than her son from her first marriage. Then Antônio arrived for a date clean-shaven, with years taken off his face. She’d panicked and insisted on seeing his I. D. Imagine! He was all of 27!

  A scandal.

  A triumph.

  An indulgence.

  Then there was the sister-in-law. The prune-faced woman in badly-cut silk? She was actually the sister of Tânia’s first husband, but she still came around, being related in some other way and poor besides. “Poor” in the context of this apartment. It left the woman disapproving. That was her role, to disapprove. She’d told Tânia that Antônio more properly belonged to one of Tânia’s daughters, meaning one of her own. Afterwards, the woman’s oldest, gorgeous, sardonic girl had sat on Antônio’s lap and called him Uncle. Moving her butt salaciously, playing with his blonde-red curls. This was the Jeni that Arianna had mentioned, the one who rinsed her hair in frigid water. Antônio was 27; she’d got her response. Jumped up to show it. Red-cheeked, downy-cheeked, genial Antônio.

  “Every action has its equal and opposite reaction,” he said. “If you lower yourself sufficiently, something else will rise.”

  Larkin’s hand fluted to her elbow. He steadied Holly as she laughed, and stood a little closer. Four hours couldn’t possibly have passed. Holly looked around again to check, but apartments in Rio had no fireplace, no mantel, no brass clock ticking away, leaving her with the comforting sense of having fallen out of time.

  “The woman over there?” she asked. “The slightly aging beauty? I’m being so unkind that you can’t pick her out. I mean the blonde woman talking to the man who’s smiling and bowing. She started out as a beauty queen — well, some time ago. Then she married a playboy Tânia knew. But the playboy needed cash and threw her over for an heiress. It’s so nineteenth century. And now she’s a kept woman, a professional mistress. I suppose the word is courtesan. Tânia says some very famous men have picked up her bills.”

  “One after the other, or all at once?”

  Holly paused, remembering something about a mistress. Todd had mentioned a mistress. But she couldn’t remember what Todd had said, and shook her head at Larkin.

  “Tânia says she’s very expensive. But at the same time, she belongs to a terreira, a macumba temple out in the Zona Norte. She goes into a trance and gets ridden by a goddess. Puffing this huge cigar and grabbing men, when you can see she’s so lady-like normally.”

  Doutor Eduardo’s mistress, that was it. A mistress in Rio, who was the key. Tânia overlooked many social barriers, but Holly had an idea she wouldn’t invite her uncle’s mistress to her parties. Unrelated courtesans were pleasantly scandalous. Related ones were tawdry. And in any case, mistresses were locks, not keys.

  “Something’s funny?” Larkin asked.

  But Holly stumbled away from him, looking for the remains of the party. Everyone was leaving; she hadn’t noticed this before. It was curious. One minute, the room was full, and in the next the guests were dissolving like ghosts. When Holly finally found Tânia, she was accepting thanks from a chaise longue on the terrace. An architect bent over her, holding her hand. Osvaldo, the Argentine. He spoke Spanish while Tânia answered in Portuguese. As Holly approached, she understood him to be proposing that he and Tânia lead the dregs of the party to a gay sex show in Copacabana.

  “Oh, but I’ve always wanted to go to one of those,” Holly said.

  “No, my flower, this is not for you,” Tânia told her. She switched to English as Larkin appeared. “Nor for me, tonight, Osvaldo.”

  “But it’s closing so soon, María Tatiana. You have to picture the universal endowment. Boys pulled across the stage by their zeppelins. And tasteful, you understand. Sanitized into camp. Which is to say, no rutting. Instead, we have choreographed dances in which the only unusual feature is a series of leaping boners.”

  “Osvaldo dear, it can’t be nearly as entertaining as your description. So I think we’ll settle for that.”

  “A true Rio touristic experience. The boys end by composing a three-tiered pyramid, all gloriously muscled and oiled and jerking off while they sing the Botafogo football song.”

  For the first time, Tânia looked faintly interested. “And do they come in unison?”

  “I think it would depend on the night. There’s one, you know, who balances a scale on his member and weighs items offered by the audience. Some of them quite heavy. You’d enjoy it, Tânia. Think of the silly looks on the faces of your male guests.”

  Antônio, who was standing behind Tânia, had followed the discussion with his usual look of pleasant equanimity, although when Holly looked at Larkin, she found his smile was rather forced. She giggled, and felt panicked a
t the thought they would be leaving soon. The discussion brought the mechanics too close. She could picture the bellboy smirking in the lobby of Larkin’s hotel. Upstairs, they would fumble with zippers, condoms, excuses. You’d think I was still seventeen. Take it as a compliment. Lying there, disappointed, blaming herself. Women did that.

  “I think we should go with Osvaldo!” she cried.

  “I’ve been,” Larkin said. “And in this case the description really does transcend reality.” He bowed to the Argentine, who bowed back.

  “Of course it does,” Tânia said. “Holly, I promised you a little talk. Good night, Osvaldo. Good night, Mr. Larkin.”

  She accepted their kisses. As the men retreated, Holly felt enormous relief that Tânia had decided to interfere. She sat down gratefully on the chaise longue and clasped her hands like a schoolgirl.

  “I promised you a talk, Holly,” Tânia repeated, once Larkin was out of earshot. “Whatever decided your husband to take you to my uncle’s camp?”

  The terrace seemed to shift. Holly didn’t understand what Tânia wanted, and found it almost impossible to answer. “Because he wanted to talk?” she asked.

  “Which means Eduardo would get to talk to him, as well. Not necessarily a good idea, Holly. Did they meet?”

  Holly rubbed one hand across her eyes. “Doutor Eduardo was up there. Todd knew he had been spending a lot of time at the camp. And he took us there anyway.” As she forced herself to remember what had happened, Holly’s surprise gave way to a renewed sense of grievance. “You’re saying he shouldn’t have done that?”

  Tânia paused. “He’s my uncle, yes. My father was the older brother, but he died. Both my parents died when I was fourteen, Holly. My mother had cancer, my father was in an accident not long afterwards.” Tânia waved her hand. “It was not unconnected; he’d retreated into drink. I was the first and only child. My mother had been ill for so many years. And naturally, Eduardo was the guardian.”

  Tânia paused, looking thoughtful. “I’m embarrassed to tell you how long it was before I started paying attention to the financial picture. Actually, I now find I’m rather good at business. Artists really ought to be. You already know this, but it took me a little longer to understand. Well, that’s how it was, and no use crying over spilt milk. But it’s important now to get everything cleared up. Really, Eric shouldn’t worry; I can handle it. And it’s for him I’m doing this, and the girls.”

  Tânia paused again. “But it’s true my uncle dislikes giving up control, my dear.”

  Erik was Tânia’s son. He must have been almost Holly’s age, but he seemed younger, feckless, altogether too fond of parties, drugs, and in constant danger of ending up like his grandfather. If Tânia was trying to get him more of the family money, Holly could understand why Doutor Eduardo might object. And if Doutor Eduardo objected, she could see how difficult Tânia’s project might prove.

  “When we were at the camp,” she said, “I remember saying to myself, Why does Todd think he can make Doutor Eduardo do anything he doesn’t want to do? What tools does he have?”

  “This is something I’ve found, Holly. You see, the only tools that work are feminine. Cleverness and indirection and attention to the details. You’ve noticed, for example, I never say anything that can’t be passed on.”

  Holly considered this. “Yes, I see,” she said, and smiled. Tânia took her hand.

  “My dear, you won’t be angry with me? I heard Eduardo mention Todd’s name months ago, not long after you’d arrived. This Todd Austen. I’m actually rather good at names. Like the author, I told myself. So when another Austen showed up in my class, I began to wonder if there was any connection. And you see, I was right.”

  Holly removed her hand from Tânia’s grasp to rake through her hair. “I didn’t think you were really very interested in my work,” she said.

  “My dear!”

  “I wouldn’t have thought much of you if you had been. I was horrible there. That’s really why I left.” She looked at her hand. “This isn’t what I thought we were going to talk about.”

  Tânia thought for a minute, then shrugged.

  “The musician? Or composer, whatever he says. I call that type a shallow pond to paddle in, Holly. You’re going to get tired of him quite quickly, but I think you know that. I also suspect you want to, don’t you, dear?”

  Holly was hurt to find Tânia didn’t care what she did. It wasn’t important, not the sort of thing that cost her a moment’s thought. No, what was important was Todd’s business with Doutor Eduardo. Holly was only Todd’s wife; the second, the secondary Austen.

  “I’m worth a little more than that, Tânia,” she told her, and walked inside.

  Tânia was left to address the empty terrace. “Then prove it, my dear.”

  Holly found Larkin sprawling on a sofa, frowning at his watch.

  “This isn’t too flattering, is it?” she asked him. “Though of course I have no idea how much people usually flatter you.”

  As Larkin levered himself up, Holly shivered and crossed her arms.

  “How big a celebrity are you, anyway?” she asked. “Do you mind my asking? I mean, you probably have to suspect people flatter you to get something, don’t they? Or do they? Do you ever get anything out of it? I’ve been wanting to ask.”

  Larkin stood up and looked down at her quietly.

  “I suppose I get something out of it,” he replied.

  “Well that’s all right then, isn’t it?” she said.

  “I suppose so,” he answered, taking her elbow to lead her downstairs.

  In his hotel room he instructed her. Come here. Can you take it off? That’s right. Undo that. Murmuring as his fingers ran over her. He was lean himself in the arms and ribs. He probably ran long-distance. There was something attenuated about him, something pared down, pared off. Remembering the scars, she laughed and drew his khakis down further.

  He was gentle, smooth, sweeter than she’d expected, reaching onto the table behind him. Take this, he said, giving her the packet. Bite it open. Put it on. He brought her on top of him and groaned. She arched up, cupping her hands on the wings of his clavicles, holding him under her, pushing him under her, pushing him under as she fell down herself, down down there.

  Afterwards, he felt close. Wanted to talk. Little things about the places he’d lived. As a child, he had a room beneath the eaves. She slipped into the rhythm of his stories, his murmurs, feeling open to the wash of words. He soothed her, made her laugh. A gentle man with long shanks laid vulnerably bare. Yes, he said, he ran every day.

  She liked that, liked him more than she ever could have anticipated, and surprised herself by wanting him again. Holly felt ready to take this as far as it would go. In moving here, she’d planned to change, fly, drink the sky.

  Finally she had.

  Part Three

  13

  Todd let the speed of the boat push him back as they roared into open water. He closed his eyes to take the full blast of air in his face. The rasp of wind on his sunburnt cheeks made him shiver, although it also revived him enough to hope he would get through another trip without collapsing. Over two days of travel, they’d dodged through a maze of water, roped themselves like horses to pull the boat through shallows, and just finished poling their way through a claustrophobic channel. It had been a challenge even for the younger men. They were sweating blood — and all in pursuit of a chimera.

  “We can’t be far below the rapids,” Ignacio said.

  Father Ignacio. Todd couldn’t use the Catholic title without remembering that he was old enough to be the young priest’s father: a reflection that was not helpful this far back in the bush, when he needed to convince himself he still possessed reserves of strength which had probably been exhausted years before.

  Todd looked out at the wild shores of the river.

  “Just
around a couple more bends, aren’t they?” he guessed.

  “Isn’t everything?” Ignacio replied.

  It was a relief to laugh. The priest was right. Life was complex here, and motives twisted back upon themselves like rivers. Todd’s chimera, for instance, was not Powell. Could chimeras have such red knees? Todd was a bit ashamed of himself over Powell. The first thing he’d heard after leaving Holly and the boys was the story of an American ornithologist having been winged by his assistant while they were collecting specimens. It was a good cover story with a suspiciously happy ending. The American had left only to get treatment, and promised to return.

  Then it turned out Ignacio had actually seen a bandaged foreigner get on board a small plane bound for Manaus. Ignacio had been picking up a package at the airport when one of his parishioners pointed out the so-called ornithologist walking across the tarmac. It had to be Powell: the injured left arm, the swollen face, the knee socks and the knees. Reaching the plane, the American seemed to give the ground crew orders about his bags, insisting on personally seeing them stowed. He wasn’t in any hurry, even though the pilot stood with his arms crossed outside the door to the plane. As he finally he got on board, the man gave the pilot an exaggerated smile which Ignacio remembered as conveying a funny sort of servile condescension. Powell, Todd thought.

  He tried to call Rio immediately, hoping to leave a message that would be waiting when Holly arrived home. Powell was alive and heading back to Manaus; she could rest easy. But he couldn’t get a line through — the operator claimed it would take hours — and now that he was days away from contact, he knew what Holly would say: that he should have kept trying to phone her; that he didn’t care about her feelings; that he’d manufactured his concern about Powell as an excuse to stay longer in the Amazon; that all he’d really wanted to do was join the priest on this latest trip in search of the uncontacted tribe. His chimera. El Dorado.

  Todd wished a man’s motives could be as clear to him as they were to his wife. Holly often got at the truth, although at the moment it was less her penetration he envied than her certainty; a wife’s sometimes withering assumption that her husband knew exactly what he was doing.