Heart of Summer

Jose Iñigo Homer Lacambra Ayala III

Early one summer evening with no birds flying in a red sunset sky, he saw her
crossing the street. From the bridge, he saw her crossing below on cobbled stones.
Stepping lightly. Sharp heels clicking. Gently swaying to warm winds.
Hey, he said. You there below.
She topped. Looked around, ready to fly.
She titled her face to the wind. Her flowing hair swished about her shoulders.
Pursued on her red lips he could see the word outlined: f-r-e-s-h. Then the angry tossing
of her head in a few minutes she disappeared.
He took the cigarette from the mouth and slowly began to knock the ashes into
the purpling river below. There was a Sunday-emptiness in the streets. He passed by the
stores feeling the eager gnawing, sharp lights on his eyes. Pale mannequins in silk
negligees beckoned and called. Bright silver voices tinkled behind inch-thick glass.
You there, he whispered. Beautiful, beautiful.
A night watchman stared at him through iron grills and tapped his nightstick to the
pavement.
He moved on. Turned his head to look back at the glass panes that shrouded
warm, flesh-pink hands. At the corner of an intersection he was sucked within the hot
trembling of the city night air, listening to the faint calls of children playing hide-and-seek.
Under the pretext of pushing back the hours, caught in great whorls of colored
life, he went to a movie house.
He stood before the ticket window fumbling for loose change. He cleared his
throat. One down, please.
The cold air inside dark arena made his throat dry. Cigarette smoke hung like veils
in the air. He stood behind, letting the firefly screen glimmer slowly into focus.
An usher signaled him with a flashlight to an empty leather-cushioned chair.
Deaf to the voices that crowded around him, elbowing and pushing, he found
himself pressed to rose granite walls beside her, she of the white hands and the cups shell
face with elfin eyes.
Excuse me he said in a whisper.
Her light-brown eyes framed curved wings of lashes shut him out of her glance as
she edged hurriedly away.
 He felt like the hunter stalking old men. The hunter whose veins pulsed and
throbbed as he stamped clawed hands on the roof. Softly hissing, his breath sang between
his teeth as he drew near her once more.
Please, he said. So many years have gone and always silence between us.
She turns her back of green silk flowers to him, not saying anything.
His stomach rolled with spasms. He crossed the aisle of seats. He lumbered about trying
to get lost in a crowd of sharp eyes. Maneuvering himself between a block-frocked
grandmother and her little monster with silver pistols, he managed at last to preach the
cushioned door and the dark night beyond chandeliered lights. Moaning inside with
unbearable cries he grouped his way blindly through the narrow streets of the city. He
stumbled with stone steps past the rumbling wheels of cars, the beckoning ladies behind
barred glass the arching bridge over purple waters, the lavender lights of drink-dine-
dance to the sagging door of his room.
He flaked off his clothes. Lacquered with sweat he stood in the middle of the
scratched floor, fear and desire still fused into one big heavy rock in his chest. Etched
behind his closed eyelids, he stills saw her, the inaccessible vision. The smell of roses, the
fire, the pain of being alone.
He threw himself on the bed, sobbed, was possessed by black clouds. He was
unable to quiet the hurried pace of tomorrow’s endless search for another she and
another her in twenty and fifty ways, he saw himself crawling in the city mud looking for
the lost image. As always the prey eluded him. The warm voice of summer kept
whispering in his ear. The hateful clock kept ticking. The very room seemed bathed in a
yellow mist of sweat as he turned this way. Tireless nerves drawn taut twitched. One half
of his face sagged as the other half leered.
Dreaming he saw the yellow brown house where she lived. Lace curtain were
ruffled by a sudden cool breeze. Her green diary of poems. The amber drink with cold
sweat around its glassy throat. The upright piano with chandeliered lights. Picture frames
of smiling her and pensive she. The diploma with medals. A wooden backed sofa.
Magazines on the rack. Waxen lilies on the vase. Her mother with hair done up in a bun
and a face of smiles.
She’ll be out in a minute. Where did you two meet?
In the garden. On the street. In a house. Which lie would he choose? So he said,
by the sea wall. During a storm. With summer lighting. Tangerine flowers. Green glove
lights.
Must have been fun. The mother answered.
I did not even get a chance to touch her fingers, he thought. He shook his head,
replied, yes we had a lot of fun. Watching the wind frown out the sea. Picking whispering
sea shells. Throwing bubbles of colored sound between us.
 I’m glad the mother said. I hope you continue to take her out. It does her a world
of good to be with you.
What did you say ma’am?
Writing letters to the horrid man. Can you imagine that? A man who confesses his
most secret sins to an innocent girl like mine? Yet he professes to love her.
Letters. Horrid man. Secret sins. What was this all about?
Yes, her mother continued. Her kind voice tore and twisted his dreams to shreds.
He even has the nerve to come here and face me. Telling me in the face that I have no
right to read my daughter’s letter.
Hello, she said, coming into the wounded room. What has my mother been staging
about?
The mother left the room.
The cool wind ruffles the face curtains. The framed picture and the gold medals
swing back into the place. The flying magazine settles down on the rock. The feather fans
the air. She sits down. Pink toes wink as she crosses her legs. Her voice, like remembered
laughter.
Inexplicably, he was wondering alone. Climbing long, narrow flights of stair lined
with street lamps. Opening and closing unending doors. Beating his fists against lead
walls, rose windows, seashells floors,
Then he was with her again in the small yellow brown house. They were eating
suffer. Was covered with torn design. From there proclaim beds, raw fish lets were
scooped out with spoon lights steeped in garlic vinegar. The meal is hurried pantomime
of swallowing and drinking. Their mouths open but tongues refuse to move. Summer
lighten thunder and splits the room.
After supper, you have to know, his mind whispers. You have to know, he edge his
hand to here. Briefly the tip of his forefinger kisses her numb. Her moonlight arms move
an inch away. Like crumpled paper his heart rustle, pale, and his monetary strays.
His eyes enter each room corner; linger in her rosebud lips and her cup shell face.
Don’t be afraid, his mind claims.
And so the three words tumbled in his lips, multiplied, reechoed by his veins.
I love you.
Smiling with clay-shuttered eyes, she answered, do you know? Have you
forgotten? You are my friend? My knight in shining armor. Come let us play hide-and-
seek.
The evening angel with dropping wings begs for the dying lamp. The fire is out.
Will not relight.
Not for many more summers yet, she declares.
 With chisel eyes, she carves him out of the heart and throws him into the summer
rain. Past nine in the evening he walks past midnight and still he walks his feet crumpling
leaves with sad little sounds. The black night whirls him drunk to his room and bangs the
door shut.
He was curled up at the foot of the bed, his head dipped in a pool of sunlight.
There was the papery feel of starched linen against his check. Low, drawn out groans
trickled out his mouth. Another nimble summer morning has swept the sun across the sky
calling him for the great delicious yellow hunt. There were stained glass flowers to be
picked before they melted with the heat. There were speckled word seeds to be sown
and reaped. Morning fire gardens and wine blue reeds to catch.
He swept the door behind him and crept down the street humming a gay madrigal.
I shall try the beach today, he announced to himself.
He thought of glistening sweat drops on opened pores. He smiled. Ringing the air
with a fat whistle he hailed a taxi.
To the sea, to sea, he shouted. A sunrise drives to the yellow beach ally. After an
hour’s ride, he reached the wrinkled water gleaming beneath the summer sky. The sound
of waves quivered in the air. He stood on a sand gulf his eyes widening into stare.
Nothing had changed. The coiling, froth water tendrils. The yellow tumid sand
purling in the wind. Meshes of legs and arms and heads hanging in the air to dry. He
walked about his mind lost in the season of white sunlight and vague figured clouds.
Slowly the rhythm of the hunt flowed through his veins without a break, gathering
cadence as his body hurried onward to the chase.
Where are you, he whispered.
He heard the sound of stifled laughter from afar.
Near the lifeguard tower he saw her. She of the gossamer flesh and silver eyes.
Hey, he shouted.
He ran toward cup-shell face and the elfin eyes.
Wait!
His feet fell unyielding to yellow sand as he stumbled on a stone.
Wait! He shouted again. He pounded the erring stone with his fist.
Slavering froth blossomed on his mouth as he gasped and rolled over the yellow
beach, trying to stand up.
Then, he heard pebble words cutting through the air farming a wall.
He is mad. Don’t touch him. Be careful.
Purple splotched in the face, he pawed and scooped the yielding earth, like a
martyred beetle.
The lifeguard finally came. The man propped him against arvined seawall draped
with limp seaweeds.
 He flung the outstretched hand. Go! Leave me! The air heavy pointed heat, flared
before his eyes like glowing flower swords. Where is she? She asked.
His flesh cried out, renew the hunt. Look for the glass stained flower.
Below the turquoise sky the sea beckoned with fretted fingers. He saw her
suddenly wading in the pool of blues and greens.
This time you shan’t escape me, chuckled his brain. The glow of pleasure wove its
silken mesh about his shaken limbs and drew him on.
Slowly he picked his way through the maze of heads until he reached the edge of
lopping waters. He moved toward the light. His shoes of watered sand slowly ebbed with
the morning tide.
He was near, quite near, when she heard the beating sound of waves against his
outstretched hands.
She winked her pearl-creamed nose. Who are you? What do you want? Why are
you here?
I have lost my way, he said, smiling with tenderness.
Pah, she said and scooped the water into his face.
Don’t you remember? Are you not….
No, I’m not, she said. Beside you’re much too old to be wading about. She moved
on to deeper water.
Please don’t, he said. You know I can’t swim.
You have nothing to fear. Often I have followed you in the night. Did you know
that?
Look, she said. I’m married woman with kids. So why bother me huh?
The other night I saw you at the movie house with him. He wagged his finger? You
were very naughty, he said. But I don’t really mind. I see you everywhere. Behind class,
beneath floors in the sky, whispering always whispering.
You’re crazy! Get away from me! I’ll call for help.
Aah, my pretty little faun, it will not be easy as that. You shan’t get away this time.
He held out his arms and lurched toward her. He crashed against a wad of
seawater. She was gliding a meter away phosphorescent white.
Wait, he said. There’s really no place for you to go. See… he pointed to the distant
shore. They are too far away to hear you shout.
You are old and you are ugly. You should be out away. You filthy maniac! She
began to cry.
There are no ugly in this world, he shouted in anger. All things are bright and
beautiful. I know because it is the truth like you her so bright and beautiful. I won’t hurt
you. Just let me hold your hands, the way you used to once a long time ago. Crossing
streets on the beach, the summer rain, sand burials in the movies… Look at your shadow
in the shy he painted to the sun.
She turned her pale, trembling gaze upwards.
He reached out and grasped her by the foot.
Come here, he gasped. Let me tell you of the long nights and the empty streets
without love.
With the other foot she managed to kick him in the chest. Breaking free of his
claw-like hold she arched her silver body through the sea flashing away on the water
wings.
No! Come back here!
He heaved his body through the waves, flapped his arms, sprinkled ivory spume
into the rain.
Comeback…the words were cut from his throat as the bottom fell from beneath
his feet. He sank beneath the waves. A wild kicking brought him up the sunlit air. Gurgling
and spitting bitter salted water, he called out and sank beneath once more.
He closed his eyes. The water began to sting his eyes like bees. A last strong beat
in his veins sent his limbs into frenzied motion. Like a picture book whale he swished up
for the last time. The ever faithful eye swept the pale blue sky for the heart of summer.