Into the Light

8. Into the Groove

The rays of the sun already come down so slanted that they filter through the foliage into a blinding filigree of light and shadow. I squint, try to adjust my hat but give up - I don't want to pull it completely over my eyes, and anything less is useless. Just go on squinting then.

"Let's walk through here." Chaim points towards a small park and we change course.

It's funny how he and Kim don't walk nearly as close to each other as they used to, until my outburst a few days ago. I think it's a display of temper from Kim; he hasn't fully forgiven me that morning. Not that I would care, of course.

After the first shock at seeing just how openly gay people behave here, Kim has been delighted to hold hands and share kisses in public, even walk with his arm wrapped around Chaim's waist, Chaim's arm around his shoulders. And I've been wryly amused to notice that young Mister Prim-and-Proper isn't above showing off his dashing lover. But now, no such thing. No hugging, no walking practically glued to Chaim's side. He's sulking at me; well, let him.

Besides, why would I waste time paying attention to Kim? When there's such a veritable feast for the eye wherever I look? People are walking here and there, some obviously going somewhere with a definite purpose to their steps, others just strolling on, alone or with friends. Chatting, laughing. Tourists, such as ourselves, are easy enough to spot... and some of us even easier than others.

Such as the two tall, strongly-built men whose jet-black heads rise easily above the rest. No problem spotting them even from a distance - Revnashi, no mistaking about that. Thoroughbred Revnashi, carried here by those gorgeously stylish ships that sail over from Bellar every week and bring goods and travelers from abroad. We've seen one of them depart, a few days back, went to the Beach Boulevard specifically to watch it. A magnificent sight it was, first gliding slowly out of the dock area and then beginning to put up more sails, coming to life, swaying in the wind that gripped the canvas...

The Revnashi men laugh at something as we walk closer. Their voices are deep, their language harsh but resonant and rolling. Next to them even Chaim looks somehow smaller, or actually younger. He's about their height, but where Chaim is lanky and elegant, these men are simply powerful. Broad shoulders, visible muscle all over, strong legs... what a sight from behind. I sneak a glance and almost shudder at the thought that flashes in my mind. Somehow, with a guy like that, I don't think I'd have much say as to who'd do the fucking -

And this is something I don't want to think about. I turn quickly away, face forward once again, and notice that Kim has spotted something.

"Let's go sit there!" He points towards a small pavilion where people are gathering. Obviously something's up, maybe one of those outdoor concerts that, we've observed, are really popular here.

True enough, a group of young musicians are busily arranging themselves on the small stage. Definitely locals, judging by their tanned faces and arms and the hair that is sun-bleached on top. We take seats and watch them prepare, the people around us humming in anticipation. There are a lot of smiles, the kids dig up their instruments and it's soon clear that we're going to hear some horns.

The musicians seat themselves in a semi-circle, two of them remain standing. Band leaders, I assume, but both of them look young even in this group. Especially the freckled boy holding a silver-colored trumpet is a real babyface; sixteen if he's a day. And then the two trumpet boys nod to each other, count the beats, and they begin to play.

Within minutes my foot is tapping and I barely manage to not snap my fingers. Chaim is smiling, eyes alert and delighted, Kim is sitting bolt upright and almost forgets to breathe. The music is loud and fast, it's fresh, it's bold, and I don't have words for how it's making me feel. All I know is that I like it a lot.

They're playing the third piece when I notice that a group of youngsters are dancing on the grass just outside the pavilion. I try to split my attention between the dancers and the musicians who sure are having fun together. The two trumpet boys have a steady communication going on even though their lips are otherwise occupied, the tiniest glance and twitch of an eyebrow tell stories that they both understand perfectly. It's damn fascinating to watch, and so are the dancing boys and girls just outside the pavilion. Oh, I'm torn.

The band plays for almost three quarters of an hour, and when we finally stop applauding and trickle out of the pavilion and back into the park with the rest of the crowd that's steadily increased in size during the concert, we all are grinning broadly. Kim is humming something under his breath and his hand creeps to clutch Chaim's. Their fingers interlace but I don't care, I feel good again and more: I feel strangely alive. My whole body is tingling, and the rapidly darkening night around us makes my breath quicken.

Oh, this must be what the ancient cat of my late mother's used to feel like in the black, moist evenings. It already was an old and lazy thing by the time when she finally overdosed on her favorite nerve-calming tonic and never woke up any more, and for years after that it could still be seen imitating a plush pillow on one of the sofas. But sometimes, I guess when the night smelled just right, it woke up and became once more something of the fearless king of the night it had once been. Its ears stood up again and it slipped out, silent as a shadow, to check those old haunts once more...

Except, of course, that I am not old, withered, rheumatic or half blind. But still, I think I can understand how the old tabby bugger might've felt on those nights. Right now I have a feeling that I'm seeing things much more clearly, and my nostrils must be flaring as I smell the night around me.

It's funny how the smell of blossoming bushes seems to intensify as night falls. It mixes with the sea breeze - the tide is coming in - and the smell of food from the numerous little eateries we pass by as we walk towards our hotel. Groups of people, in party clothes of varying styles, hurry forward. A cloud of fruity perfume washes over us as four girls, maybe Kim's age, scurry past us giggling loudly at some insider joke.

I notice yet another little restaurant, its entrance so typically a few steps below street level, so that the warm light glowing from the windows seems to come from somewhere underground. It pulls me. I stop.

"Let's have dinner here," I say pointing towards the door.

Chaim nods with a little grin, and of course Kim goes along although he does look pretty astonished. Well, right you are baby, I'm astonished at myself, but now is not the time to backpedal. I want to do something unusual tonight. Might start with something as innocuous as eating in a nondescript small place, since I know I can't shake the two of you anyway.

The place is small, about ten little tables, and the smell almost makes me swallow my tongue right away. Gods, I'm starving. After a look at the menu we decide upon a large seafood and cheese pie - naturally with cider, that inevitable craze of the Dirnai. Actually it tastes wonderful, freezing cold and slightly sparkly, and it's the perfect companion to the pie that soon arrives, sizzling hot, in a sturdy iron pan. How quaint.

We finish off every last piece of it, all the time protesting to each other that we're simply too full to eat another bite, and ordering more cider to wash the delicious thing down. Never realizing how treacherously strong the stuff is, until we're all definitely tipsy and Kim a bit more so.

We find our way back to the hotel with exaggerated precision, make a tolerably civilized entrance, and then promptly ruin the whole thing by getting involved in a serious discussion in the flight of stairs between the second and third floors. The discussion deals with the theoretical question of whether I can claim to be king of the night since my ancestors hail from a ducal family, or whether that title should be reserved solely to Chaim whose family, after all, used to be royal. For some reason known only to himself, Kim finds this all hilarious and laughs so hard that he nearly knocks over one of the room service people.

But by then I don't really care any more, because I've already seen the door to my suite and decide that I'll be the duke of some other night in Dirna.