Into the Light

11. Seaside Rendezvous

There's an absolutely wonderful breeze from the sea today. Without it, the sun would probably be intolerably hot, but now the weather in fact feels rather refreshing. Treacherous, as Rashim pointed out to me - it's just too easy to burn one's skin good and proper on a day like this. The air is moving briskly and cooling your skin, and you never realize how the sun is blazing down all the time, before it's too late.

That's why I have a wide-rimmed hat pulled deep over my eyes. And I'm glaring at Rashim from underneath it. Right now I'd really like to know what fucking magic the guy wields. He has to use some, I can think of no other explanation for how I've been reduced to this position. There's no way I can possibly escape with my dignity intact.

I might almost suspect that he's done it on purpose, but one look into those green eyes makes such thoughts fly away with the breeze. Rashim, like the sensible Dirnai that he is, is wearing a hat as well, and under it his hair is loose. Strands of it fly all around, getting into his eyes and mouth. But he just laughs and shakes his head, wipes them off with his free hand and looks at me patiently. His other hand is holding a small bag where he's shoved his shoes, and now he's standing barefoot on the sand, a couple of yards away. I glance around and try to understand how the hell I got here in the first place.

We're standing on the edge of the beach, the broad sandy stripe that separates the waterline from the Beach Boulevard. Not far from us is a stone wall that rises up to form one side of the pavement where people are strolling with their parasols and paramours, enjoying the afternoon sun and wind and scenery. That's where we, too, should really be. Not down here.

During high tide the waves sometimes lap against the lower tiers of stone, but right now the water is low and people have taken over the sand. There are people splashing at the water's edge, sitting or lying on straw mats underneath shades propped against the ground, playing ball games, snacking. They're in varying states of undress.

I'm standing on the sand, too far away from the flight of stone stairs that we descended to get here from the Boulevard, and too far away from the next one; I can see it ahead. My shoes contain a far larger quantity of sand than feet, and it feels fucking uncomfortable. I've already emptied them a couple of times, but after a few steps the sand has invaded them again and is about to replace my feet completely. Got to face the facts: I can't walk.

And I really, really ought to be furious with Rashim, because this is all his fault. But oddly enough, I can't. His good mood is contagious, and I simply can't sulk at him.

I'd understand if he were looking tired, after all he's been training early in the morning and then gone straight to work, only to come and meet me after that. But no, his step is springy and his smile makes the corners of my mouth turn irresistibly upwards, even though I try to fight it.

Frankly, Rashim, sometimes you truly get on my nerves, because I can't even be mad at you when I want to.

"Toni, be sensible!" he says, tries to look pleading despite the frivolously flying hair and the laughter dancing in his eyes. I'd like to ravish him on the spot, if only - ah well. Right. If only I could take one step forward and topple him, for one thing. But no, I only have my mouth with which I can defend myself now.

"Sensible? You're telling me to walk about carrying my shoes, and you call that sensible?"

"Oh, just put them here!" He holds the bag in front of me. "I'm barefoot too."

"Yes, but you're..." I fumble for words. You're so you, Rashim, but damned if I can find the way to explain.

Then I frown, because his eyes have narrowed a little, his lips press together and he turns away.

"Sorry," he says airily, "you're right, I'm being stupid. Let's turn back, those stairs aren't far."

"Hey." I grab his wrist as he steps past me. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." His voice is even airier. "Here, lean against me so you can shake the sand off."

Oh no, babe, not too quickly. You sound unlike yourself. I haven't heard that tone before, but it makes me think that you're hurt. And if that's so, I'd like to know why, and what the hell just happened.

"Rashim..." I pull him close. No resistance, no participation. Not good. Hugging publicly hasn't phased him before, so that cannot be it. "What is it?"

"Nothing, I told you!" His eyes aren't smiling. I'm not too dense to notice. "I was stupid, okay? Sorry."

"Rashim!" I take a good hold of his waist - damn these hats, the rims hit together as I try to rub noses with him. "What did I do? Please tell me!"

Mmmh... did I just resort to pleading? Well, at least he meets my gaze now, even though his eyes are inscrutable, hooded.

"Should've realized that it's just too much below you to do something as stupid as this. Sorry for dragging you down here." Rashim, you're still sounding too glib. "I mean, a gentleman from Uman, and all that... Of course it's all right for someone like me to traipse here, but -"

What the fuck? "Below me - now where did you get that from?"

"Wasn't that what you were going to say?"

I don't like that thin smile... and then I go all cold. Of course. I've been such an idiot to blithely think that coming here would somehow turn me into someone new. That simply by leaving Uman behind I would stop being a filthy rich good-for-nothing who drinks too much, smokes too much, pops the wrong pills and fucks too much. That I'd stop being someone whom even his best friend wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole. Such a fool I've been not to realize that of course all that will crawl after me to bite me in the ass, just when thing are looking a little bit up. My body goes all numb.

"Come on, Toni, just tell me!" Rashim looks at me challengingly. I shake my head, and then his earlier words fully penetrate at last. Below me? Below me?

"No, that wasn't at all what I meant," I manage. Now I really had better find the words, before those green eyes stop smiling altogether. I'm not at all sure of what exactly he's thinking, but I think I have enough of an inkling. "Not at all, Rashim. What I meant is that you're so - so -" Goddamn it! "So you. So natural and straightforward and... shit, I don't even have the words to tell you!"

Oh gods, at least he's still looking at me, tilting his head. His expression is expectant, not mad.

"You're so different from anybody I've known before. That's what I meant, Rashim. With you, I'm doing things I've never even thought of, and... and..."

Wow - and I have sometimes considered myself a pretty good talker, haven't I? Perhaps it's time to revise these lofty ideas... that must've been just about the worst performance ever. Especially considering that it's absolutely vital that Rashim understands.

"Silly." The corners of his eyes crease a little. "Do you mean to say that you will do it, or that you won't?"

I stare at him, dumbfounded. Shit, that's something he's inordinately good at, these days: rendering me speechless.

Rashim sighs theatrically, rolls his eyes. "Toni. Take off those goddamn shoes before I leave you here to figure out by yourself how you'll get back to the stairs. Because I'm definitely not going to carry you!"

The sand is rough, uneven, prickly, and incredibly hot under my bare feet. Heroically I refuse to even glance at the first flight of stairs that would lead us back to the solid comfort of the pavement, and also the next, but then Rashim decides to have mercy on me. We sit down on the lower steps to put our shoes on, linger there some more because Rashim simply looks too kissable to resist, and finally emerge again among all the other pedestrians. I feel strange, but obviously my most recent experiment with extreme sports hasn't left any too visible scars. At least I don't notice more people than usual staring at us.

Rashim isn't bearing a grudge, he's walking on with his hip brushing against mine, arm thrown around my shoulders, chatting. He's not very talkative, just comfortably so. I can't describe even to myself how relieved I feel. Rashim isn't hurt any more.

... or is he? It's getting late, we're walking slowly towards his street, only a couple of blocks left, and still he hasn't said a word about when we'll meet next. I'm growing anxious. Is he still angry with me? What if he doesn't want to see me any more?

We're at the door. I'll be going in a moment. I can't wait any longer.

"Rashim," I whisper after the first goodnight kiss, "when can we meet again?"

He sighs and presses closer. My heart skips a beat, then -

"Tomorrow? I have rehearsals in the morning, but I finish work at six."

"Suits me fine." I sigh too, out of sheer relief. "The usual place?"

"Yeah." Rashim's smile deepens a bit. "How about going somewhere to dance? I could change at work before leaving."

I kiss him again. Damn, he's some kisser... then he slips reluctantly loose and goes in, waves a hand. I look regretfully after him, then turn to walk back to the hotel. I feel pleasantly confused.

New experiences or what, I don't know, but by the time I get to my room I'm tired enough to just drop.