The Changing Room 8

Garland had a sensuous mouth and skin the color of fine clay. He was sixteen, though he could have been twenty-five. It came from working in the vineyards, he told me as we sat making arrangements in the courtyard. Garland's eyes followed my every move, probing the contours of my blue silk drape.

"But your manners tell me that you are still a boy," I said as I stroked Ilona. The light went out of Garland's eyes. I did not tell him that his manners were fine, only he had not learned to control his gaze. "I knew when I saw you in the street," he said earnestly, "when we left three years ago. I wanted to be with you." "And these three years, have you thought about me?" I asked.

"Day and night! Dreamed of you, night and day! How could you ask?" "Mind my pet," I said. "I shall return." From behind the curtained window I watched while Garland watched the door. Soon he knelt and rubbed Ilona, glancing at her with affection. He got down to sit on the warm bricks and Ilona curled herself against him. So he lay back, pillowing his head on the cheetah, whose purring had put him into a trance. I knew then that our time would be short, and I envied Helen.

Until Michel came to me I had never known a blond-haired person, had rarely seen one in the marketplace. The lightness of Michel's hair and skin, and his blue eyes, contrasted with the ruggedness of his body. I felt I could never get used to it.

It was between summer and winter, the most beautiful time of year. Even so, I thought the sun shone more brightly than before, until I realized it was the sunlight in Michel's hair and the glimmer of his blue eyes. The delphinium, the yellow hibiscus, pink mandavilla, and the jasmine all seemed more alive.