Diasporic Literature Spot

Posted By Gabrielle on August 20, 2009

It was Sunday.  People stood outside the church doors, passively chatting, smiling and generally exuding their clean, well-groomed ordered appearance; too well clothed, for the day shone hot, laying bare the cream brick building and the strip of green grass.

Dominique and Lisbeth searched the faces in the crowd of church goers.  Jim was not among them.  Lisbeth had hoped she might see him there.  It was hard for her to accept that he had said they must part. She wanted to speak to him again.

They drove away from the church, passing gardens with sprinklers sparkling on fresh smelling lawns and lazy people, listless in the sun with no motive for movement.

They stopped the car outside Jim’s house.  He had been there, now a stillness remained like a life lived and finished. Yet, the eye perceived serene order and new life pulsed slowly on, unrelenting in the sureness of itself.  Jim had been all to Lisbeth, now he had left her and she couldn’t resist the impulse to be close to where she had known him.

To distract her, Dominique suggested they should drive on down to the sea. They arrived at the car park conscious of the heat, cars, and people with bare bodies walking in the sand, all stunned with the same purpose, to descend the cliff to the sea.

There were too many cars, then someone calling. Dominique turned to see a man gesticulating to her to take the car space next to his.  She parked where he indicated.  He came over to them, words tumbling out from a pure tongue and flawless body, light brown and fair under the crowning sun; light laughter in his voice and a plea too much to ignore.  He needed them; as though they were part of the structure of the day itself; an element of nature which could no more be ignored than the sting of heat on the tan arm.

Dominique and Lisbeth left him and walked to the beach feeling their clothes hot on their bodies.  They were grateful to change and feel the freedom of their swimsuits as they lay on their towels in the sand.

“Hullo, can I sit with you?”  It was the young man from the car park.

“Yes, please do, join us.”  Dominique accepted his presence as though it had been predestined from the moment she first saw him.

“My name is George,” he offered.

“I’m Dominique and my friend here is Lisbeth.”

Lisbeth smiled briefly and retreated into her book.  Jim had given it to her.  It was the nearest thing to bring her to a presence of her lost love.  Even though he had left her he was still deeply entrenched in her soul.  She escaped to him in her thoughts.

Dominique concentrated her attention on George.  He was young and beautiful in his perfection.  He seemed happy just to be with her.  He lay on his stomach with his head buried in his arms, looking up occasionally to smile and make sure that sudden comfort he had found was still there, solid and real, not a dream to disappear from his consciousness to leave him more sorely without.  Then he would sink back happily assured.

After a time he ran into the sea with Dominique, not touching her, but staying near, always turning back to see if she was there.  Then he dived his head under water and come up with his face gleaming, the sun shining on his wet skin.  He looked at her like a child who wanted approval of his deed.  She met his spirit and loved him as a beauteous pure thing, as with the sea and sky around him.

Later, they lay on the sand to dry, the sun soaking into their bodies while they sang to the radio music beside them.

Then he told Dominique that he was originally born in Egypt and that his mother was French and his father Greek..  He said he spoke five languages and had left Greece to come to Australia accompanied by his childhood girlfriend and her parents.  He loved that girl, she had been happiness to him.  Every moment he had lived for her, she was his very breath of life; every street he walked was for her and his laughter came through her.  He had been going to marry her; now she was gone.  As surely as she had been there breathing and loving him, she had left him.

He related his story to Dominique with passion, the words wrung from his heart.  Then he buried his head in his arms.  She didn’t speak.  In the moment, she felt his burden heavily upon her.  She stared at his fair hair and wanted to comfort him and share his agony, yet she had only just met him; did she have the right?

He stayed still for what seemed to her an age.  Then as naturally as the flow of the tide she reached out and stroked his head.

“Yes, join us.”  Dominique accepted his presence as though it had been predestined from the moment she first saw him.

“My name is George,”  he offered.

“I’m Dominique and my friend here is Lisbeth.”  Lisbeth smiled and retreated into her book.  Jim had given it to her.  It was the nearest thing to bring her to a presence of her lost love.  He had left her, yet he was deeply entrenched in her soul.  In her thoughts she escaped to him.

Dominique concentrated her attention on George.  He was young and beautiful in his perfection.  He was happy just to be with her.  He lay on his stomach with his head  buried in his arms, looking up occasionally to smile and make sure that sudden comfort he had found was still there, solid and real, not a dream to disappear from his consciousness to leave him more sorely without.  He would sink back happily assured.

Then he ran into the sea with Dominique, not touching her, but staying near, always turning back to see she was there.  He would dive his head under water and come up with his face gleaming, the sun shining on his wet skin, and  he would look at her like a child who wanted approval of his deed.  She met his spirit and loved him as a beauteous pure thing, as with the sea and sky around him.

They lay on the sand to dry, the sun soaking into their bodies, and they sang to the radio music beside them.

They talked a little.  He was from Egypt.  His mother was French, his father Greek, and he spoke five languages.  It was three years since he left Greece accompanied by his childhood girlfriend and her parents.   He told Dominique, he loved that girl, she had been happiness to him.  Every moment he lived for her, she was his very breath of life;  every street he walked was for her and his laughter came through her.  He was going to marry her;  now she was gone.  Surely, as she had been there breathing and loving  him, she had left him.

He related his story to Dominique with passion;  the words wrung from his heart, then he buried his head in his arms.  She didn’t speak.  In the moment, she felt his burden heavily upon her.  She stared at his fair hair and wanted to comfort him and share his agony, yet she had only just met him.   Did she have the right?

He stayed still for what seemed to her an age.   She reached out and stroked his head as she watched the steady flow of the tide.

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