The Last Time They Met Part 10

He had sent four letters, none of which had been answered. And then it was fall, and he had enrolled at Harvard. She had chosen Middlebury. He'd made himself give it up then, accept her silence as his punishment.

A decade had changed her. She looked a woman now. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were loose inside her blouse, and he struggled not to look at them.

-We live in Karen, he said. he said.

She nodded slowly.

-It's west of here. He waved his hand in a direction that might be west. He waved his hand in a direction that might be west.

-I know the place.

-I never got the chance to tell you how sorry I was, he said. he said. I tried to write you. I tried to write you.

She looked away. Her chest was red in the deep V V of her blouse. of her blouse. - - For the accident, For the accident, he said. he said. It was inexcusable. If I hadn't been driving so fast. If I hadn't been drinking. It was inexcusable. If I hadn't been driving so fast. If I hadn't been drinking.

She glanced quickly back at him. I was there. I was as much a part of what happened as you. I was there. I was as much a part of what happened as you.

-No, you weren't. I was the one who was driving.

She put a hand out and touched his wrist. The touch so electric that he flinched. Thomas, let's not do this. That was years ago. Everything is different now. Thomas, let's not do this. That was years ago. Everything is different now.

Her kanga was only a single piece of cloth she had wrapped at her waist like the African women did. A slight tug, and it would slide to her sandals. He couldn't think about that now.

-I just want to know where they sent you, he said. he said. I've always wondered. I've always wondered.

She withdrew her hand. I went to stay with Eileen in New York. I went to stay with Eileen in New York.

He nodded slowly.

-Then I went to Middlebury.

He took a long breath.

-There's so much to catch up on, she said. As any woman might. Trying, he knew, to make it normal. she said. As any woman might. Trying, he knew, to make it normal.

-How's your aunt? he asked. For the moment, acquiescing. he asked. For the moment, acquiescing.

She pressed her lips together. She shrugged. Her relations.h.i.+p with her aunt would always be complex. The same, I guess. The same, I guess.

-Why didn't you answer my letters? he asked too quickly he asked too quickly - - unable, after all, to keep it normal. unable, after all, to keep it normal.

She put a hand to the side of her head and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. I didn't get any letters. I didn't get any letters.

-You didn't get my letters?

She shook her head.

His chest felt squeezed.

-So, she said. A small frown disappearing. she said. A small frown disappearing. You're shopping? You're shopping?

-Oh, he said. Confused. he said. Confused. I did the shopping. Well, my part. Although I should get some cashews. I did the shopping. Well, my part. Although I should get some cashews. Hoping she wouldn't notice the Tusker on his breath. It wasn't even noon. Hoping she wouldn't notice the Tusker on his breath. It wasn't even noon.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Regina approaching. Carrying a straw basket filled with food in her arms. Panic swelled inside of him. It seemed important that he speak to Linda before Regina got there.

-Linda, he said, but then he stopped. Words, heartless and fickle, failed him. he said, but then he stopped. Words, heartless and fickle, failed him.

Her eyes flicked up at his, and he held them.

Regina stood beside them, and there seemed a terrible pause. Linda smiled in Regina's direction. h.e.l.lo. I'm Linda Fallon. h.e.l.lo. I'm Linda Fallon.

Thomas struggled toward the surface. He glanced at Regina and wondered if Linda's name would register. He hoped it wouldn't. Linda, this is my wife, Regina. Linda, this is my wife, Regina.

Regina set down her straw basket and shook Linda's hand. Regina's pink sleeveless blouse stained beneath her arms, her hair wild and sticky about her face. She looked at Thomas, at his empty hands. She had worn shorts, and, disloyally, he felt embarra.s.sed for her.

-Didn't you get the fruit? Regina asked. Even now, a slight whine. Regina asked. Even now, a slight whine.

-It's in the car.

She studied him. You have a migraine? You have a migraine?

Linda looked away.

Thomas sought and failed to find a normal voice. Linda's an old friend. From Hull. Linda's an old friend. From Hull.

Regina turned to the stranger. Really? Are you on safari? Really? Are you on safari?

-No. I'm in the Peace Corps.

-In Nairobi?

-In Njia.

-Oh, really. What do you do?

-I teach.

-Oh, wow. The The wow wow automatic, without emotion. Behind Linda, the shopkeeper was packing up his leftover fruit. automatic, without emotion. Behind Linda, the shopkeeper was packing up his leftover fruit.

-They're closing up, Thomas said. Racked between wanting the two women to separate as soon as possible and wis.h.i.+ng to make his conversation with Linda last forever. He had so many questions he wanted to ask her, questions he'd been asking her for years. Thomas said. Racked between wanting the two women to separate as soon as possible and wis.h.i.+ng to make his conversation with Linda last forever. He had so many questions he wanted to ask her, questions he'd been asking her for years.

Linda let them see that she was checking her watch. I've got to run. Peter's waiting for me to go to lunch. I've got to run. Peter's waiting for me to go to lunch.

The name a slug to the center of his chest. That there was a Peter might have been expected, but the name shocked him even so.

Linda turned to Regina. It was so nice to meet you. It was so nice to meet you. She glanced at Thomas. There was nothing she could say. She smiled instead. She glanced at Thomas. There was nothing she could say. She smiled instead.

Thomas watched her walk away, all the blood in his veins following her.

He bent to pick up Regina's basket. Giving himself something to do to cover the hole inside him. Regina was silent as they made their way through the stalls and into the noonday sun.

-Roland and Elaine want us for dinner, she said. she said.

Roland, Regina's supervisor, was an a.s.shole, but Thomas was relieved there would be a party. He didn't think he could bear a long night in the cottage with Regina. Not this night.

-Wasn't that the gal you used to go out with in high school?

Willing himself to sound casual, even bored. For a couple of months. For a couple of months.

-And didn't you have some sort of car accident with her?

-She was in the car.

Regina nodding. I remember now. You told me that. I remember now. You told me that.

Thomas put the basket in the trunk. He opened the driver's-side door and slipped inside, the seat so hot it burned his thighs. The parking boy was watching him, waiting for a tip. Thomas rolled down his window, and the boy was on him in a flash.

Regina settled in beside him. Blondes shouldn't let themselves get that much sun, Blondes shouldn't let themselves get that much sun, she said. she said. Did you notice how she's ruining her skin? Did you notice how she's ruining her skin?

He stood on Roland's verandah, a Pimm's in his hand, his chest suffused with a sensation he thought, from no recent recognizable experience, must be joy. A feeling that went all the way to his thighs. At the start of the evening, arriving amid a welter of cool but paradoxically welcoming asides - - Roland, aren't Americans funny the way they walk to everything? Now this dress I like - Roland, aren't Americans funny the way they walk to everything? Now this dress I like - he'd felt his attention sparingly lent, plucked from him unwillingly. And so had sought refuge on the verandah, where no one else had yet gone. he'd felt his attention sparingly lent, plucked from him unwillingly. And so had sought refuge on the verandah, where no one else had yet gone.

And knew himself to be in love. If, indeed, he'd ever not been. Not since a day in 1966 when a girl in a gray skirt and a white blouse had crossed the threshold of a schoolroom. It was as if he'd merely been distracted all these years, or had grown weary of loving only memories. And had, against all the odds, been returned to a rightful state. Not reminded, but restored. As a sightless man who once had sight will learn to live with his condition, adjust to his darkened universe, and then, years later, when astonis.h.i.+ngly he can see again, will know how glorious his world once was. And all this on nothing but an unlikely meeting and the exchange of a dozen sentences - - small miracles in themselves. small miracles in themselves.

The verandah overlooked a garden of hibiscus and moonflowers, the latter giving off a spectral glow from the lit lanterns hanging in the trees. On the equator, the sun set at six every night of the year, a light that extinguished itself without apology or dimming, a fact Thomas found disconcerting. He missed the slow leaching of summer evenings, and even the dawns he had hardly ever seen. He also, to his vast surprise, missed snow, and occasionally he had snow dreams in the night. Eye-level now with an avocado tree ponderous with fruit - - so close he could have leaned over and picked one of the scaly green pears so close he could have leaned over and picked one of the scaly green pears - - he remembered he'd never eaten one until he'd gone to college, the fruit far too exotic for his mother's Calvinist table. he remembered he'd never eaten one until he'd gone to college, the fruit far too exotic for his mother's Calvinist table.

Roland had insisted he have a Pimm's, a sweetish gin drink, though Thomas had wanted a simple beer. Roland was as executive at home as he was on the job, a man who made insistent p.r.o.nouncements with a cert.i.tude that was baffling. Mark his words, there would be tribal anarchy when Kenyatta died. He'd tell you right now, if an African bought a European house it could be counted on to go to ruin. It was axiomatic that you could never trust an Asian. Thomas, having no opinions on these subjects, found the acknowledged - - no, no, brandished brandished racism racism - - appalling. In turn, Roland thought Thomas hopelessly naive and said so. Amusingly naive, actually. An earnest American was an entertainment. appalling. In turn, Roland thought Thomas hopelessly naive and said so. Amusingly naive, actually. An earnest American was an entertainment. You'll see, You'll see, Roland was fond of adding. Roland was fond of adding.

The night air floated around Thomas's arms, bare to the elbows. In the distance, he could hear music and the fading away of a woman's laughter. Smoke rose from the cement garage where the servants lived, raising, as it always did, the question of degree: Was the confinement of servants in a cement garage any different from slavery? Beneath this thought, also wanting to know: Where was Linda right now? What was she doing this very minute? He imagined her in a hut in the bush - - why, he couldn't have said. It was the idea of the Peace Corps, he supposed, with its suggestion of good works and mild suffering. How easily they might have missed each other in the market, might never have known the other was even in the country. It made him weak in the knees just to think of it. He saw again the shallow curve of her waist and hips, the way her b.r.e.a.s.t.s swayed inside her blouse. A longing he hadn't felt since adolescence made his bones ache. why, he couldn't have said. It was the idea of the Peace Corps, he supposed, with its suggestion of good works and mild suffering. How easily they might have missed each other in the market, might never have known the other was even in the country. It made him weak in the knees just to think of it. He saw again the shallow curve of her waist and hips, the way her b.r.e.a.s.t.s swayed inside her blouse. A longing he hadn't felt since adolescence made his bones ache.

Her fingers had trembled when she'd brought them to her face; he was certain he had seen that. And yet she had seemed so calm, so preternaturally composed. Had the chance meeting meant something to her, or would she have regarded it merely as a wistful moment, something to be put aside so that one could get on with life? It seemed impossible that either should have forgotten the other. And yet he had married another woman, and she was with a man named Peter. He pictured an anemic academic for no more reason than he wished it so. He wondered if they lived together, guessed that they did. Didn't everyone these days, especially in this country of lawlessness and illicit love?

He turned slightly, leaned his hip against the railing, and looked through the set of cas.e.m.e.nt windows into a room that Elaine repeatedly referred to as the drawing room, another British export that seemed anachronistic in a country where nearly everyone lived in huts. Just at this party alone, he could count three affairs he knew about, and who could say how many others lay beneath this modest number? Roland, himself, was sleeping with Elaine's best friend, Jane, and the odd thing was, Regina had said, Elaine knew about it and didn't care. Which raised the question: with whom was Elaine sleeping? Regal Elaine, who would not have gone without. Lanky Elaine, with her hard, nut-brown face and her hair bleached nearly platinum by a lifetime on the equator. Imperious Elaine, who had been born in Kenya and had once told Thomas huffily that she was a Kenyan citizen (though it didn't seem to have made her like Africans any better, he had noticed). She kept horses and had the thighs of a rider. She had a unique sort of beauty, but her personality was as weather-beaten as her face. Worse than Roland at hiding her contempt for Americans. She glanced up at that moment and saw that Thomas was staring at her. He quickly slid his eyes away. She might misinterpret the examination, might even flirt with him later.

Jesus, he thought, turning back to the railing. That was all he needed.

He'd had the migraine for hours and had been glad for the darkened room. Regina had been puttering in the kitchen and then had been reading on the verandah. In the privacy of the bedroom, he'd felt the joy even then, even through the nauseating haze of the pain. And when the unbearable had subsided, he'd been nearly euphoric with happiness. He'd played the conversation he'd had with Linda in the market over and over, the repet.i.tion of the phrases like a poem he was trying to memorize.

Is it really you?

This is very strange.

Have you changed?

That was years ago. Everything is different now.

He heard the soft click of the door to the verandah behind him. He sent up a quick prayer that it wasn't Elaine.

-Our resident rhyming fool.

Roland, generous golden drink in hand, sidled up to Thomas and leaned his elbows on the wrought-iron railing, a position that looked, but couldn't be, at ease. His arms were swathed in some synthetic s.h.i.+rt material Roland let you know had specially been sent from London.

-I don't rhyme, Thomas said. Thomas said.

-Really not? I didn't realize.

Roland took a sip of his drink and brushed a greasy forelock from his forehead. His smell was rank with an overlay of cologne. Not to mention his lethal breath, evident at a yard. The British didn't bathe but once or twice a week; well, no one did out here.

-Where can one get your books, anyway?

-There aren't any books.

Thomas was certain they'd already had this conversation, months ago.

-Oh. How disappointing.

Roland's trousers, also of some synthetic material, were tight against his thighs and belled over his shoes. He wore a heavy silver watch with an expansion band too big for him.

-Broadsides? Pamphlets? Roland asked, with seeming insouciance. Roland asked, with seeming insouciance.

-Literary magazines, Thomas said, immediately regretting the note of pride. Thomas said, immediately regretting the note of pride.

-I suppose there's a market for that sort of thing in the States?

Thomas wondered where Roland's lover was tonight. Jane, whose husband led safaris and was often conveniently away from home. Whose husband complained loudly at parties about not being allowed to shoot the game anymore.

-None.

-Oh, dear, Roland said with faint dismay. Roland said with faint dismay. Regina must do well? Regina must do well? He meant financially. He meant financially.

Thomas thought about, and then decided against, revealing that he was putting Regina through school.

-There's a Ugandan fellow here runs a magazine might be of use to you, Roland said, making a sour face and leaning conspiratorially toward Thomas. Roland said, making a sour face and leaning conspiratorially toward Thomas. Of course, it's a grotty little magazine, mind you, and the fellow is a bit of a slime, but, still, I suppose any publication is better than none? Of course, it's a grotty little magazine, mind you, and the fellow is a bit of a slime, but, still, I suppose any publication is better than none?

Roland put his back to the railing and surveyed his own party.

-And what were we being so reclusive about all alone on the verandah, if one may ask? Roland asked, giving himself permission. He smiled and took a sip of his drink. The man's condescension was insufferable. The Roland asked, giving himself permission. He smiled and took a sip of his drink. The man's condescension was insufferable. The we we put Thomas over the edge. put Thomas over the edge.

-Actually, I was thinking about Jane, Thomas said. Thomas said.

Arab furniture from the coast mixed with English antiques to produce a fussiness that needed editing; though there was a magnificent secretary Thomas had admired once before and did again tonight. He examined the books that lay behind the leaded gla.s.s cabinets. Nothing surprising, just the usual: d.i.c.kens and Hardy, T. E. Lawrence and Richard Burton. He might ask Roland tonight if he could borrow the Burton. An African in a white uniform took his gla.s.s and asked, in melodic Kikuyu accent, if he'd like another Pimm's. Thomas shook his head, the medication for the migraine mixing with the alcohol, making him both high and groggy. Desperate for sleep.

In the corner, Regina was talking to a boy. She had worn her hair in a twist, a style she knew Thomas liked. Her sleeveless red dress revealed arms tanned from long afternoons spent at outdoor clinics. Her neck was damp from the heat, tiny dots of moisture on her skin. Once he had craved to make love to his wife. When they'd met in a hardware store in Boston - - she wearing a yellow T-s.h.i.+rt and overalls, looking for a hoe; he standing at the checkout line with a plunger in his hand she wearing a yellow T-s.h.i.+rt and overalls, looking for a hoe; he standing at the checkout line with a plunger in his hand - - he'd noticed her porcelain-fine skin and her astonis.h.i.+ng b.r.e.a.s.t.s outlined beneath the bib of the overall and had felt compelled to capture her attention. He'd followed her to her car, feigning an interest in gardening that hadn't survived the evening. In bed that night at her apartment ( he'd noticed her porcelain-fine skin and her astonis.h.i.+ng b.r.e.a.s.t.s outlined beneath the bib of the overall and had felt compelled to capture her attention. He'd followed her to her car, feigning an interest in gardening that hadn't survived the evening. In bed that night at her apartment (wallowing in bed, he thought now), he'd confessed he'd known nothing about gardening, and she'd laughed and told him he'd been as transparent as gla.s.s. She'd been flattered, however, she added, which he hadn't understood until months later when he'd learned how much she hated her large body. And by then, it was too late. He thought the words, in bed, he thought now), he'd confessed he'd known nothing about gardening, and she'd laughed and told him he'd been as transparent as gla.s.s. She'd been flattered, however, she added, which he hadn't understood until months later when he'd learned how much she hated her large body. And by then, it was too late. He thought the words, too late. too late. A fatal construction he'd never really put together until now. Already the chance meeting with Linda was rearranging his thinking. A fatal construction he'd never really put together until now. Already the chance meeting with Linda was rearranging his thinking.

Regina bent to the boy, hair whipped blond by constant wind and sun, who had come out to say h.e.l.lo to the guests. Looking shy and miserable, though Regina was good at coaxing a smile and might manage one soon. He seemed a sweet kid, only ten years old. In another year, Roland would send him to England to boarding school. It struck Thomas as an extreme measure to take to give a child an education, Roland's culture sometimes as foreign to him as the African. Regina beckoned to Thomas to join them.

-You remember Richard, Regina said in a bright voice used by adults in the presence of children. Regina said in a bright voice used by adults in the presence of children.