Everything Beautiful Began After Part 10

"Henry tells me you are a gifted artist."

"But he's never seen my work."

"Yes, I have," Henry called up from his pit. "I glimpsed a few sketches on the living room floor this morning."

"But that was this morning," she said.

"I was right though, wasn't I?"

Rebecca followed the professor to a table covered by a sheet of plastic that was anch.o.r.ed by bricks. Then he pulled out a box of old British dental tools and explained what they were doing with them and where things went after being found, and which ones she might like to sketch.

A few sketches later, Rebecca dozed in the hammock beside the tent. She had fanned herself with a faded copy of The Economist until falling asleep.

Professor Peterson stepped to the edge of Henry's pit.

"You're awfully quiet today, Henry-all this marriage business with Rebecca no doubt."

"Marriage?"

"Steady on, Henry-anyway, where has that leg gone?"

"It ran away."

"Very good."

"It was picked up yesterday, so it should be at the lab."

"Righto."

Henry gazed up and smiled at his old friend. The sun was too bright to make out the expression on the old man's face.

"You're doing a fine job, as usual, my boy," he said.

Then Rebecca appeared. Her face glistened with perspiration.

"Was I asleep for long?"

"Not long," Henry said. "An hour, tops."

"Henry found a femur last week," the professor said.

"I think it belonged to a woman," added Henry.

"How can you tell?" Rebecca said.

"I get a sense of the shape, somehow."

"How does it feel holding the leg of someone who once lived?"

Henry thought for a moment, cleaning the blade of a small shovel on his ap.r.o.n.

"I wonder about their lives-not the main events, but small things, like drinking a gla.s.s of water, or folding clothes, or walking home."

The professor rolled his eyes. "Well, I'm going back to work."

Rebecca wobbled down the ladder into Henry's pit.

"Sometimes I find the bones of children," he said. "These bones are very different than the bones of their ancient parents-I mean they feel different. Even though the children would still be dead if they had lived long lives, it just amazes me somehow."

Rebecca picked up a rock.

"Is this anything?"

Henry leaned in and surveyed it.

"Do you think our lives stand for nothing and we are all destined to die and be forgotten?" she said.

"In some ways," Henry said. "I suppose you could say that we're already dead-already lost-in some ways."

"Well if that's true, Henry, then I'm going to lie down in your pit so that you can find me."

On the way back down the mountain, the world blew through their hair.

The skin on Henry's arms was a dark, deep brown, and warm to touch.

When they entered Athens, the air was still and heavy.

Henry raced through the city center, swerving around trucks destined for points far away. Restaurants were opening for dinner.

Rebecca held on under Henry's linen jacket. The rus.h.i.+ng coolness made her feel light, and for a few moments fearless. She would tell him soon about her childhood, for she could feel the love growing between them as a rare and unspoken trust that allowed her to reveal herself. If it continued, she felt sure that if it ever came time to fall, she would spread her arms and fly.

Chapter Seventeen.

As they neared his apartment in central Athens, Rebecca squeezed Henry to stop. He pulled to the side of the road, but didn't turn off the motor.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she shouted. "Can we stop here for a minute?"

"Okay," he said with slight reluctance. Rebecca climbed off and Henry pulled the scooter up on to the sidewalk. Rebecca took off her helmet and scarf. Her hair was wet.

"I need to go to a shop near here."

"Aren't the shops closing?"

Rebecca pointed to a row of buildings on the other side of the fountain.

"I think it's just over there somewhere," she said. "With all the foreign boutiques."

It was still hot and the air was dusty.

The normally packed shopping precinct had thinned to single people hurrying home with small packages of meat or fish.

"Let's go in here and get you something," she said as they reached a heavy brown door. "I found this in my dress." She held up a small orange envelope. "I want us to use it and get rid of it."

"I'm all dusty," Henry said.

Rebecca held the door.

"I really don't want anything," Henry insisted, "but we can look for you."

"No, I can't buy myself anything with this-let's just use it for you."

The shop had several display cabinets of scarves and a long table set out for a full dinner with plates, cutlery, and napkins.

In the middle of the shop were two saddles and a selection of equestrian accessories.

"This place is amazing," Henry said, picking up a riding crop.

"It's French," Rebecca said, "like me."

The saleswoman glided toward them. She was in her late fifties and had short hair. She smiled at Rebecca and said in a deep voice, "h.e.l.lo, mademoiselle."

Rebecca smiled. "I'm here to find something beautiful for this strange man."

"I really don't need anything," Henry said to the woman.

"We're not about need in here," the saleswoman laughed, "we're about want, and everybody wants something beautiful-if only to remind them of someone beautiful."

Henry shrugged. "That's the best sales pitch I've ever heard."

"How about a man's s.h.i.+rt?" Rebecca said.

The saleswoman led Henry and Rebecca to a wall of dress s.h.i.+rts.

"Pure mother-of-pearl b.u.t.tons, and barrel cuffs," she said, taking one down.

"Interesting," Henry said, taking it from her. "It's so simple."

"If you understand that," the saleswoman said, "then you understand the most important element of style-which would explain why this young lady has taken a keen interest in you."

"I'm not keen," Rebecca said. "But I'm certainly interested."

The saleswoman laughed and walked back to answer a ringing phone.

Henry chose a white, cotton poplin s.h.i.+rt with an Italian collar. The saleswoman shut the lid of the orange box and tied brown ribbon around it.

"Very pretty," Henry said.

"And practical," Rebecca added.

"Like the two of you," the saleswoman said, handing them the box. "Put it to good use, please."

Chapter Eighteen.

Henry decided to pick dinner up from the restaurant on the corner. He suggested eating on the balcony again.

Once in the street, he stopped and looked up at his own apartment. Rebecca was inside.

A couple of lights were on.

He wondered if he could ever confess how his brother had really died. It wasn't his fault. Everyone had said so. And when he woke up screaming, Dad always came in and held him.

Rebecca was upstairs. He wanted to love her, and almost could-but something restrained him. He'd felt it all his life, like arms holding him back from the happiness that would destroy him.

Soon, Henry thought, we'll be eating on that balcony. And even though they would spend the night in each other's arms, he would yearn for her.

Walking slowly back from the cafe, he recognized the moment he felt something other than l.u.s.t. It was in the museum, when she lingered over the remains of the child. He could see that it upset her, and it was when he felt closest to her-when he knew she was capable of understanding him. She had antic.i.p.ated the event that rooted him to loneliness. She could feel the winter that defined him.

Chapter Nineteen.

After Rebecca left the station, George sat back down and lit a cigarette. Then he sobbed a little more. The scent of her perfume lingered, deepening his sense of loss.

A train pulled in. George stood up and stepped forward.