Free Of Bees and Mist by Erick Setiawan Page B

He took her hand and leaned even closer. She heldher breath so he could not smell it, but he waited so patiently that in the end she had to gasp for air. Without a warning he plucked the anxiety from her lips. She began to tremble, still not wholly aware of what was happening. All that felt real was the taste of sand and sweat, passing from his mouth to hers like the breath of life.
    Neither of them could later recall how they tumbled to the sand or how long they kissed before their mouths ran dry. When they finally got up, their clothes were rumpled and the sun was down to its last shimmer. On the sand where they had grappled lay half-formed circles and triangles, each one left by the impassioned movements of their limbs. The evening wind rose and made Meridia shiver. Her pale yellow skirt was dripping seawater.
    “This is the real omen,” she said to herself. “Not the fawn, but this.”
    Daniel came up from behind and circled his arms around her. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”
    She tilted her neck and brushed her cheek against his smooth chin. “I said we should bury the fawn,” she said.
    They turned at the same time to the spot where they had left the chest. There was nothing there. Hurrying back, they could not locate a single mark or indentation in the sand. Dumbfounded, they searched up and down the beach until a sharp glimmer in the water caught Meridia’s eye. The chest was floating in the middle of the sea, drifting toward the sun with all the calm and contentment of dusk. They watched it without speaking, and after a time, the chest vanished in the rippling surface of the sea.

SEVEN
    T hree months from the day they met, Meridia walked the breadth of town, shining, and the dogs followed. Ten in all, they caught her shine from alleys and doorways and noiselessly marched single file behind her. Encased in a sleeveless blue dress with embroidered peonies and a high collar, Meridia noticed neither the dogs nor her shine, nor the mournful chime of the town bell that quarterly measured her progress. She walked with her chin high and her back straight, making no stop until she arrived at 27 Orchard Road. Even then, she paid no attention when a large mastiff from next door flew past her and attacked the shadowing dogs. Daniel was already approaching from the terrace.
    “Don’t be nervous,” he cautioned, oblivious of the brawling dogs himself. “Heaven help them if they think you’re not perfect.”
    “Heaven help me if they think I am,” she answered with a smile.
    The house was an unassuming two-story of wood and exposed brick. It sat—or rather squatted—on flat ground, and the first impression it gave was of immitigable disorder. Dry grass sprouted from the eaves, a bird’s nest roosted on the roof, and moss and lichen ruptured over the bricks like angry boils. A wilderness of red roses smotheredthe front lawn, filling it to the edges with barely space for a clump of marigolds to survive. And yet, though it had nothing to recommend it in the way of grace or beauty, the house pulsated with undeniable warmth. The windows were wide and inviting, caged birds sang merrily from the terrace, and below them two rocking chairs nodded to each other as if engaged in an animated argument. A closer inspection suggested that loving hands had nurtured the wilderness of the roses without leaving anything to chance.
    Entering the front door, Daniel led Meridia down a narrow hallway overlaid with faded carpeting. A haphazard arrangement of shoes lined one side, yellowing stacks of magazines the other. The walls were a dark shade of sage, bare save for an askew photograph of an imperial garden. Daniel paused and gave Meridia a kiss.
    “For good luck,” he said, “in case you need it.”
    Meridia smiled and realized it was he who was nervous.
    They entered the living room to the resounding sound of a slap. A little girl in a bottle green dress lifted a hand to her cheek and began to cry. Standing in front of