THE HOUSE was at the top of a hill on the edge of town, some wooded area, exclusive wherever it was and in any case. Whoever owned it had not been there for some time. Maybe it was a summer place? My car pulled into its gravel driveway and parked beside a wooden gate. I had driven it there, but I don’t remember why I decided to stop in that shady place.
Maybe I just needed a rest.
Outside, I could see two figures talking in the dust, a very elegant woman dressed all on black with sunglasses and her hair done up and a groundskeeper who was being given instructions as to what needed to be trimmed, moved, painted, refurbished, et cetera. He had on khaki and white and looked like he was about to go fishing. There he stood, holding a white bucket while she went on and on. When she was at last finished, the man disappeared behind a red barn.
That left the two of us. She didn’t see me, or I didn’t notice her seeing me. She had on those big sunglasses, the scarf around her neck. What a fashionable lady, and clearly very posh, to live in such a palace, even if it was in disrepair. She went inside the house to dust the old vases.
I began to wander the estate, past the hedges, under the arches. Where was this? England? Estonia? The Hamptons? There was an old swimming pool tucked into a courtyard, its green clear waters moving against a light breeze. In the shallower part of the pool, I could see there was a book. The book was open, about halfway through. If I focused my eyes, stared at the book long enough, I could read the words on the page through the water ripples on the pool’s surface. Blurry words. Then something unusual happened. I dove headfirst into the water.
The water was wet, fresh, almost sweet to the taste. And so clear, like it was fed from an underground stream or a Greek grotto. I came up again with the book in my hands, looked around. The interior of the courtyard was covered in green ivy, climbing up all walls. And from this darkness emerged the lady of the house, clutching imperiously at her shawl. I realized that I knew who she was as she removed her sunglasses. But wasn’t she 10 years older than me?
“I see that you like my underwater book,” she said. I did. I held it on the edge of the pool. I liked the text, it was set in Renner’s classic 1927 Futura. The pages were strange, they just slipped through my fingers, except they didn’t fall apart. They were soft to the touch, it was a kind of softness I had never felt. “Come up here,” she said. “Sit by me.” I sat on the edge of the pool with the book in my lap and the woman came over to me. Then she gently removed the book, set it down beside me, and sat in my lap facing me. Next, I was inducted into her. It went quick.
“There, there,” she said, with a hint of satisfaction and a very happy sigh. “That’s much better.”
north! 