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.