Free The Forgiven by Lawrence Osborne Page B

who was hidden somewhere. But she came down anyway among the trees, and for a few moments, the dream and the insect pressed against the glass in real life merged confusingly. In the dream the sun was hot as it slanted through the poplars and she came to the edge of the well and peered in. Just as the dream was breaking apart, she knew that she had been running through it all night. She peered down and saw the flash of ablack reflection, a point of darkness, and the motion of a bucket slapping against the walls of the well. The rope attached to it hung wet by her ear and it was moving. She reached out and stilled it. She pulled and the bucket moved upward, swaying and slopping. Far down in that claustrophobic darkness she could sense something coiled inside the cup of animal skin, a small animal of some kind, a piglet or a young goat, and as she pulled the rope, the liquid black of its eyes suddenly appeared, staring up at her, and there was someone behind her in the poplar shadows, and she knew he carried an ax.
    She lay for some time collecting her thoughts, with the blueness of the sky reflected all over the room, slowly realizing that she was alone in the chalet. David had gone out. Then element by element, she went over the previous night so that she knew it was real. A lizard on the white wall stared down at her, swiveling its head at an impossible angle. The eyes had pieces of dark orange rind in them, concentrated within a knowing brilliance. So it was all true. She hadn’t dreamt it.
    Her long, athletic limbs filled the bed, which was sprinkled with sand. It was nearly midday. Light, percussive laughter floated over from the main house. She turned on her back and filled her lungs to bursting. The black despair of the night was not as strong as she had feared it would be. For one thing, she was no longer physically exhausted, and for another, she was thinking about it alone without David’s constant harassment.
    She showered lazily. The water from the roof was scalding. Her introspection was perfect. If only she could be alone for the next twenty-four hours. If only David wouldn’t come back and the guests would ride off into the desert never to return. It was disarming the way Richard and Dally had Fortnum & Mason toiletries in all the rooms. She washed her hair, turned off the air-conditioning, and put on her bathrobe.
    Outside, the air was bright but savagely hot. The paths were piled with sand, and the mountains beyond the walls had the color of cool ash. Azna was of the same color, like something that has burnedovernight and settled into a pile. She winced in the heat. As if summoned purely by her thoughts, a boy was walking toward her, his white robe billowing around him and his babouches slapping the path.
    “Café?”
    “You’re a godsend! Can I have some hot milk?”
    She took it on the porch in her sunglasses with some toast and strawberry jam. Crickets ricocheted around her, and a gay splashing echoed from the pool area, where the girls laughed as if they were alone in the world. In the shadow of the house a few tables were set up with napkins. The wind had died down completely and palms stood motionless against a blank sky. She folded the toast slices and stuffed them into her mouth. Idly, she thought about her books. She hadn’t written one in eight years, but stories and ideas were constantly suggesting themselves. She stretched her shins into the sun and let them burn a little. “Punishment,” she thought. The boy returned with oranges that had obviously been stored in a fridge, a small silver knife laid next to them. He had forgotten the honey.
    “Where is my husband?” she asked.
    He shrugged. “I didn’t see him.”
    The boy was haratin , with black features. He nodded and looked away. She had a sudden desire to engage him, to ask him all kinds of insolent questions. There was just a chance that he would tell the truth. Am I beautiful? Is my husband mad? Am I mad? But he responded