I went back to Marquez under the cool of the bamboo, and poured a glass of wine and set to laying out crackers on this old purple plate I love with cream cheese followed by plump bright orange popping salmon roe.
A christian existentially, a buddhist in practice, blatant hedonist in the moment.
Give me the pop of those delicious ripe eggs spurting their rich salty juice into my mouth.
Without any gawking I had watched them, here and there, dive into the water and then walk back up the beach. They were , and are, simply beautiful...gorgeous. And I wanted to meet them for holy and pure reasons. Kindred spirits...I could see that...would they though?
So I kept reading Marquez. I set out my plate of caviar and poured another glass of wine and drank it down like a fiend and walked out into the shallows and dived in.
He looked like a young Depardeau...thickly European but gorgeous in just that way, he was natural in his own skin...and after a long cold swim I once saw him roll in the hot sand and later just dry out in the air. It took no imagination to see why most any woman would be drawn to him.
With her I felt more self-conscious. Most men objectify women as objects for sex. I do not, or maybe in a rare hormonal moment...I just thought her beautiful and long and her straw hat made it more so...more whimsical. It made me happy to think of them making love, possibly still in love. I hoped this was so for someone, for them, laying next to each other naked in the hot sun.
We all come back so quickly, too quickly, to ourselves and ourselves alone. This may be the disease of this age, but I suspect it is truly the disease of the species.
It seems as constant as inevitable death.
Maybe the way out of both dilemmas is related. Either way, we need out.
Love and death...it comes to this.
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