Wash Ashores

by Anne Fall

  "Yes, let's get away from this heat. It's unbearable." Catherine stood in the same manner as Vivian, slow and wholly weighed down in the heat. They collected themselves unhurriedly, reluctant to move.

  Adam drove them to the theater. Eric sat in the front next to him, and Sylvia watched his profile from the backseat. Sitting in the back between Catherine and Vivian, the scent of their cloying perfume was warmed to an overpowering height by the heat and humidity. The scented powder on their skin had moistened and disappeared, leaving only bare pink and faint chalky streaks. Rolling down the windows, they all collectively sighed in the relief brought by the rushing of the cool sea air.

  The scenery flashed around her, and Sylvia saw the lighthouses in the distance everywhere. How many of them could there be? It felt like they were as common as houses. The homes they passed looked so neat and tidy, trimmed with clean colors, and bordered by rose bushes and evergreens. It must have taken a huge amount of toil to maintain the surface of this place, keep it green and earthy. The sea air hit her face and lashed her hair into disarray. The warmth of the bodies of the two women on either side of her made her squirm. The back of her thighs stuck to the leather seat.

  The movie theater was crowded when they parked the car. It seemed that everyone had flocked there to escape the unforgiving heat of a July afternoon. People stood in a long line, waiting for tickets to the five o'clock show. Their party stepped out into the merciless sunlight with a collective groan.

  "My God, this heat is too much! Eric, give me your arm. I don't know if I'll make it inside." Eric stepped back and took Catherine's arm in his, supporting her. Even in the intense July heat, he looked serene and temperate to Sylvia. Catherine, apparently feeling the same way, momentarily rested her flushed cheek against his. "Touch me." Eric's face warmed with a smile and he touched her cheeks and her neck with his hands.

  "Better?" His voice was light when he asked it, and Sylvia watched.

  "Mmm, yes. Much better."

  The interior of the movie theater was darkened against the impassioned evening sun. Contemporarily done in red velvets and velour, the theater had an air of sophistication. The awaiting crowd was well-dressed, watching each other carefully. Inside, the sunlight disappeared as if it never was. The five of them luxuriated in its absence, soothed and cooled.

  "Oh, how nice. How very nice." It was Vivian who spoke for them all. No one in the group except Catherine and Eric touched. It was as if the temperature they had all just escaped banished physical affection.

  "It is perfect." Catherine whispered in return.

  Adam, for his part, prowled the length of the foyer of the theater analysing his environment. He appeared to be deliberately searching for a flaw in the arrangements, because, when he returned, he had a list to present to them.

  "They should have benches along that wall for the waiting children and women to sit on, and they need more cashiers at the front. It's peak season, for God's sake."

  "I'm sure they're doing the best they can, Adam." Vivian still had a lingering air of exasperation about her.

  "It's not their fault. It's the management of this place. They need better management." His voice affirmed his opinion without concern for who might disagree. No one else had the energy to respond to him.

  When they reached the counter, Adam ordered tickets. "Roman Holiday, five tickets, please." He pronounced his needs without looking at the almost frantic cashier. Further down the line, he requested popcorn and sodas for them all. Sylvia immediately took a sip of her soda. It was dark and cool, iced and sweet. It rushed to her head instantly and made her feel dizzy.

  "Now, if only we had a little bourbon." Catherine laughed merrily.

  "Shh, lower your voice." Vivian eyed her with censure.

  "Who would hear me? You know, I think you could use a little bourbon." The remark infuriated Vivian.

  "I would never drink bourbon this time of day, Catherine." Singed with dislike, the deliberate insult silenced Catherine. Suddenly, Vivian displayed a superiority that Sylvia had not seen before.

  "But crème de menthe is just fine, am I right, Vivian? I forget, bourbon is not your vice." Catherine's eyes sparked their mahogany brown at Vivian's green.

  "I don't know what you mean." Vivian, rather than appearing angry, was deflated by the jibe.

  "What was that, Catherine?" Adam returned to the conversation with his eyes curiously lit up.

  "Oh, nothing, Adam, I was remarking on our lack of bourbon for these lovely sodas." A note of false gaiety returned to Catherine's tone.

  "They are good, very nice. I will give them that." Adam nodded his head approvingly, not seeing Vivian. "Very good soda!" Adam called out boldly to the cashier who was now yards away from them. The young girl who was working the soda fountain blushed, embarrassed by his volume.

  "Thank you, sir. Enjoy your movie." Her voice barely reached them.

  They walked down the long cool corridor to their theater. The lights were still on inside, but people were as quiet as if the movie was already playing. Finding their seats, Sylvia sat on the far end next to Eric, while Catherine and Vivian sat in the middle, next to each other. The silence burned between the two women, and neither one of them wanted to speak to the other. All of them felt it, but the men were not sure what had happened.

  "I don't feel well." People turned to look. Vivian had spoken loudly. "Adam, I don't feel well. The heat. I don't know if I can stay."

  "Viv, I'm sorry. Should we go?" Adam was solicitous. "Catherine and Eric can bring Sylvia back in a cab. We don't want her to miss it."

  "Please, if you'll excuse me, I am not well." Vivian stood, and indeed, her face looked as pale as a newspaper, accented with shades of grey.

  "Of course." Smooth as milk, Catherine's voice was meeker. Adam leaned forward toward Eric with his wallet in his hands.

  "Here, there's money for the cab." He was aggressive, persistent in tone.

  "No, Adam. Thank you for the gesture though."

  Sylvia sat next to Eric listening to him breathe. There was a shade of volume to his inhalation, like he was drowsy, almost sleeping. The smoke from men and women enjoying cigarettes in front of her became highlighted by the projection of the film. The smoke rose up in spirals, like spirits leaving bodies. It was magic to Sylvia, the crackling of the screen as pictures and sound began to merge. The quality of the reverberation was different, and Eric whispered to both her and Catherine. "It's in stereophonic sound. You hear it, how natural that is? It's like we're there." Sylvia was enraptured. The mountain logo for Paramount Pictures stood in front of her eyes like a mirage. The clouds around it looked serene, picturesque. Then, the movie began.

  Audrey Hepburn stood with her comical elegance and doe-like eyes. The slenderness of her form entranced Sylvia, as did the lilting affectation of her voice. There was something in her humor that made her sorrow all that much more poignant, like sugar heightened with salt. Audrey wandered through the great city of Rome, her loveliness enhanced by the corresponding uniqueness of the architectural lines. The scenery made Sylvia hungry, and it looked as if it tasted like all the beautiful foods she had ever eaten in her life. She listened to the couple speak with a sadness that recognized what could never possibly be.

  "At midnight, I'll turn into a pumpkin and drive away in my glass slipper." The transparency of Audrey's voice and eyes startled Sylvia, the way she tilted her head so her face caught the light just the right way. How women could reveal themselves perfectly when they wanted to.

  "And that will be the end of the fairy tale." Peck's voice sounded deep, resigned and perfect. He knew his lines.

  The movie progressed to the predestined end with Sylvia's heart in her throat. She leaned forward, watching love revealed on the big screen. It was so effortless, how Hepburn made herself beautiful and lovable. By the time the lights came on in the theater, Sylvia was crying in gulps.

  "Sylvia, are you all right?" Catherine leaned across Eric to touch her, her arms in his
lap.

  "Yes, I'm fine. I just, I just liked the movie." Mortified, Sylvia felt herself unable or unwilling to explain why exactly the movie had moved her so much. The movie appeared sincere to her. There was a still beauty, even if contrived.

  "It moved me too." Catherine's eyes filled up with tears as well. Eric, sitting between the two of them, remained silent.

  While they walked out of the theater, Sylvia's legs shook. She had the sensation of having just sat in a car too long and was weakened and drained by it. Catherine and Eric walked ahead of her, arm in arm. From time to time, Eric turned his face to meet her eyes. She could not imagine how she looked and quickly averted her face every time he turned.

  There were cabs outside the theater. Eric hailed one and opened the back door for Sylvia and Catherine. He sat in the front, making small talk with the driver. The women disappeared into the hushed shadows of the backseat.

  "I must say this to you, Sylvia." Fretfully kneading her hands, Sylvia was surprised by Catherine's nervousness and tone. "You should not be unhappy in life, dear. You are beautiful, unspeakably beautiful, and you will be happy some day. Happy in a way I can never be."

  "What do you mean, happy in a way you can never be?" Bewildered by the gravity of the conversation, Sylvia struggled to find her way through the confusion to the honesty Catherine was struggling to present her with.

  "You're still pure and innocent. You don't know it now, I see that you don't, but you're so innocent and filled with hope. No one has harmed you yet, have they? What a thing it must be, to be unharmed." Trailing away, Catherine's thoughts seemed vague and confused to Sylvia, and she did not speak. "You don't know yet what it is to be one of us. Don't you think we all see you, with those all-knowing eyes and pale face? How could we not see you? Wait and see who you will be at thirty-three, and then judge me." Taking on anger as her justification for her candor, Catherine looked luminous and fiery, like an opal.

  "I don't judge you, Catherine. I don't even know you." Sylvia was exhausted. She did not want this now.

  "I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound cruel, but I think you see things more clearly than you admit. Are you a little in love with Eric?" Catherine's voice whispered the question.

  "In love, with Eric? I don't even know what that means." Rising above the whisper they had been speaking in, Sylvia's voice threatened Catherine. Eric might hear them. "Don't you see how alone I am? God, none of you even see me. You think you do, but you don't. Am I even real if you don't see me? Do I exist?"

  "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Catherine's arm snaked around her shoulder, and Sylvia deliberately stopped herself from shaking it away. "I don't mean to hurt you. I know you must be hurt." Touching Sylvia's chin, Catherine turned her face toward her. "I don't expect you to be a woman yet, no one does. But, please, be careful." The greed that came into Catherine's voice felt too controlling to Sylvia.

  "Be careful with what? Please, you're hurting me." She pushed Catherine's hand away from her face.

  "Lonely girls are as common as clover. Men need a muse. Don't forget, if you are anything to them, it's just a muse, a muse to support their ideas of themselves." Catherine looked treacherous to her, like she would hurt her, as if she was required to hurt her.

  "How are you doing back there?" The pleasant tone of Eric's voice broke the conversation.

  "We're just fine. Just whispering our secrets to each other." Catherine watched Sylvia's face as she spoke, warning her.

  They passed the view of the ocean then, and all of them turned to look at it. Sylvia was aware of the cab driver's face, turning to look at the moon rising over the sea. He looked in the rearview mirror at her and held her gaze for a moment, and his eyes were sad.

  CHAPTER 12

  The next evening, Vivian and Catherine went into Boston together. It was as if the words of the afternoon before had never happened. Both were unusually affectionate with each other, touching and serving each other tea and coffee. Their small talk overrode any remembrance.

  "Don't wait up for us, darlings. Who knows what trouble we will find?"

  After they left, Adam disappeared and closed the massive doors to his library. Sylvia, in the front room, heard yelling from within, and it sounded like he was on the telephone for most of the afternoon. Within the hour after Catherine had left, Eric entered the front room with a sparkling sheen about his presence. He had a tall glass of something in his hands. He sat on the sofa next to Sylvia, drinking it slowly.

  "I've been worried about you since the movie."

  "You shouldn't worry about me." Sylvia turned her face away from him, Catherine's caution echoing in her mind.

  "I can't help it, worrying about you. I watch you, while they all talk. I see you. I wish I knew how to help you." Sylvia could smell the bourbon in his glass across the small distance between them. She saw a fleck of blue paint on his neck.

  "You have paint, right there, on your neck." Her hand reached out, and a fingernail scraped over the too soft skin of his neck. A pained expression came over his face.

  "Dinner will be served in a few minutes." Hanna stood in the doorway, watching the scene between them with something close to disbelief.

  "Thank you, Hanna." Eric barely moved. Hanna disappeared, but she left her knowledge of them behind her. It created another point of view for the two of them to look at, and Eric stood up quickly.

  Dinner passed in virtual silence. Adam attended the meal, but they had nothing to say to each other. Eric watched Sylvia along the length of the table. She found herself unable to eat, and rather she sipped her water, aware of his eyes on the movement of her throat. She asked Adam calmly about Catherine and Vivian's trip, how long it would take, how far they would go.

  After dinner, Sylvia went and sat in the cool breeze that fluttered around the front porch in continuous motions. The wind from the sea, with its tiny grains of sand, maybe that was what had worn her down in this place. Unsure whether she wanted to see Eric or not, she waited for him, and at length, he came.

  "Sometimes I wonder, why did they even bring you here? Why would they have done that, just sent you away?"

  "You think I wanted to be brought here? I want to go home, even now."

  "I know you didn't want to come here. Who would want to be shut up with all of us? Who could possibly want that?"

  "It has been a learning experience, I suppose."

  "I just bet it has, but what lessons have you learned?"

  "I don't think I'll know, not exactly, until later." She waved her hand at the distance. "When I'm away from it."

  "If you can get away from it, let me know how. This is supposed to be away, this little summer. It's a getaway. Getaways are always dangerous." Sylvia remained silent and moments passed. He seemed emptied. "I need to finish your painting."

  "Then finish it and be done with me." Sylvia spoke freely. She had been led here, and she did not understand why but there are things you cannot change.

  "Words to live by." He put his face briefly in his hands and wiped his fingers down before raising his glass to her. "To finish and be done with you."

  "Don't be cruel."

  "I am sorry. I didn't mean to be cruel, Sylvia. It comes naturally to artists. A certain selfishness. Would you like to see it? The painting?" She thought for a long moment. She should say ‘no’, but she wanted to see it, so she said ‘yes’.

  Sylvia sat for a moment before going inside as he went ahead. The porch was oddly still and vacant. It felt like a restaurant closed, emptied with tables uninhabited as houses.

  She walked into the too bright kitchen where Hanna was washing a cup and saucer. Hanna looked like bread to her, clean and wholesome.

  "Hanna, I'm going to bed. Thank you so much for dinner, it was delicious."

  "I see you didn't eat much of it." Hanna kept her eyes turned down, furiously debating whether to speak or not to Sylvia about what she had seen.

  "It's the heat. It's so hot." Indeed, it had been too hot to eat. The kitchen was eve
n hotter. The sweat on Hanna's face proved her remark to be true.

  "I know, it is hot. Be careful, in the heat. You don't want to make yourself sick." Hanna finally met her eyes with the same warning that Catherine had conveyed.

  "Goodnight, Hanna."

  "Goodnight, Sylvia, goodnight."

  Climbing the second storey staircase, Sylvia felt her emotions distantly. The hallways and stairwells were dim, and her vision limited. Pausing on the landing between the two floors, Sylvia breathed deeply. It was not too late—she could return to her bedroom and lock the door, but she did not. The heat of the third floor hit her like a wave.

  CHAPTER 13

  After a sleepless night, Sylvia went downstairs early. Hanna was up and bustling around. Her hair was pinned up under a hat with a little net veil over her face. She wore a black dress with white pearl buttons down the front. Her shoes were shiny, black coal.

  "Where are you going, Hanna?"

  "Oh, good morning, Sylvia! I am going to mass. Naturally, I am running late, but I had to set out some things for breakfast.”

  "Do you go to mass every Sunday?"

  "I try. Sometimes I can't, if there are guests. I go on Wednesday evenings if I can't go on Sunday. Have you ever been to mass?"

  "No, we go to a Methodist church at home."

  "So do Vivian and Adam, sometimes. I've never understood it, but they don't understand me, either." She smiled. "Would you like to come with me? We have enough time for you to run and change. I can leave a note for Vivian."

  "Go with you where, Hanna?" Catherine breezed into the kitchen, still in her long robe. Her eyes were sleepy.

  "Well, I was offering Sylvia to come to mass with me." Catherine yawned and raised her long, tanned arms above her head.

  "Mass. Oh, I haven't been to mass in years, though I was quite the devout little Catholic school girl. Those nuns. Lord, those nuns." She turned to Sylvia. "They were no-nonsense. Smacked my hands with rulers often. Little good it did me." Hanna eyed Catherine warily.