The Beach House Read online

  The Beach House

  Alec Silva

  Translated by Denia McGrew

  “The Beach House”

  Written By Alec Silva

  Copyright © 2018 Alec Silva

  All rights reserved

  Distributed by Babelcube, Inc.

  www.babelcube.com

  Translated by Denia McGrew

  Cover Design © 2018 Samuel Cardeal

  “Babelcube Books” and “Babelcube” are trademarks of Babelcube Inc.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  The Beach House

  1.

  2.

  3.

  Your Review and Word-of-Mouth Recommendations Will Make a Difference

  Are You Looking For Other Great Reads? | Your Books, Your Language

  Why do we meet? Because luck want it that way? It is because through distance, no doubt, like two rivers that flow to reunite, our particular inclinations impulse us to each other.

  Gustave Flaubert

  1.

  She pulled me urgently to accompany her through the passage made of timbers lined up one after another on the ground, separating the vegetation from the only path that gave access to the house she intended to show me. I jumped a little, for I lost sight of the horizon, forcing myself to overcome the strange sensation I felt in my stomach and my eyes. I shifted quickly, letting my friend lead away from my thoughts any traces that might disturb our ride.

  I was disposed, walking in a hurry, while I still crawled from the slight tremor in my legs. If it were not for the cold weather that my body was reluctant to get used to, I would have recovered quickly from the vertigo and achieved a better performance to keep up with her rhythm. In addition, the noise was not favorable to me, causing my imagination to create scenes of waves crashing violently on the rocks and thrown bodies over these, to be swallowed by the rough seas. Even so, my guide was determined to lead me through the climb of creaking timbers.

  I liked seeing her like that, excited about something. I knew there were things that clouded her mood, hovering over her head, like the gray clouds that morning, and it hurt me that I couldn’t help spreading all that. Then, when a ray of light appeared in her brown eyes, when a tiny smile was brewing, I struggled to keep it, although sometimes I had not achieved the desired success. That is why I didn’t care if my legs hurt, if my morbid fear could make me faint, if the strong wind made me tremble. All that was enough for me to see the one for whom I had great affection in a state of joy.

  After a few seconds, I was finally able to walk by her side, even though the dizziness and pain made me uncomfortable. I sketched a sincere smile when she asked me if I was tired of a short walk; I answered that I was not used to going to places as steeps as this one. She laughed almost in a burlesque way, but I didn’t feel ashamed of that.

  We walked for a time that I cannot specify, but that was pleasant in its own way. Each feet advanced, each opportunity emerged, and she indicated something, some point and spoke a little bit about it. Even without glasses and straining my eyes, I glimpsed at Snake Island, one of the most dangerous places in the world due to the quantity of poisonous snakes; the vastness of the sea, however, was as attractive as that distant point.

  Since we got there, not one time, my feet had touched the sand of the beach, and it seemed that my partner was considering that that wouldn’t happen yet, as if wanting to prolong the expectation to intensify the feeling that for so long had been only in my confused and dreamy imagination. I watched the length of land parallel to the salty water, between flooded stones, and longed for that dreamed contact, although I dared not go very far for not knowing how to swim and for having an aversion to that.

  The wind was so strong that, on several occasions, I believed that the white hat that my adventure companion wore was going to be flown away; bot the hat and her blond hair were flowing, forcing her between maintain the position of the first and removing the hair that insisted on covering her eyes. In my case, in addition to the resistance required to stay firm on the course, only my shirt fluttered.

  Perhaps to provoke me, from time to time my guide made mention of the height we were or indicated some movement below; and I watched and felt everything spinning, holding on tightly to her, whom laughed with grace, leaving me without a problem for being so fearful. It was not that high, but my acrophobia was severe.

  The house was old. It was the first impression I had when I could observe it better, even at a distance. Almost all of timber, with some concrete walls and painted white, was located near the beach, separated only by a height of a bit over six feet. It could very well be confused with a place haunted with ghosts by the aura of abandonment, and still be compared with a place of comfort and rest.

  I realized that this place meant something to my friend, because tears welled up in her eyes; they were so brief and tiny that I didn’t find it appropriate to ask the reason for them, in the end she might say that it was only the hair still covering her face.

  Her hand released mine and I saw her take longer steps than mine, but then she stopped, while her fingers still covered part of her face. I hurried to approach, still confused about what to do, and she hugged me tightly.

  “Oh, boy”, she whispered, visibly moved.

  I embraced her to my thin body, unable to formulate any words at that time, without knowing what reasons caused that sudden change of mood, without understanding the reason for being there. I stroked her back, while she leaned her head on my shoulder; my gaze was lost in that deserted house, barely two stories high.

  Her weeping didn’t last more than a minute, and then she moved away, her eyes leaving mine, as if I should not have seen that demonstration of fragility. I controlled the urge to ask or do anything that might offend her unintentionally, as I have done so many times. I just waited for her to dry her tears as best she could, to recompose herself and act as if nothing had happened.

  “Let’s go to the terrace; okay?”, she suggested, finally, still not looking at me. “I think it won’t be long before it rains.”

  I nodded, even though the gesture meant nothing to those who cannot see it, and I accompanied her.

  The wooden floor creaked when our feet pressed it; it was a pleasant sound, as a long time ago I did not hear. I had a bit of nostalgia there, a mixture of childhood and dreams, poetry and memories. Maybe it was the reason why my friend wanted to be there, of wanting me to be there.

  Looking there on the terrace, like a dreamlike and perfect image, the sea was great and alive, with small waves, and seagulls flying over it, some flying low and others doing brief dives, fishing unsuspecting fish. It was possible to see some black spots, the islands to which my companion said some things with a curious tone, as a tourist guide would say. However, it was the blue, the green, the turquoise, that cute and mysterious thing that fascinated me the most, attracted me like the song of a nymph. I walked close to the railings of the terrace, indifferent to the fear, breathing that salty air, allowing the breeze to touch my skin, the sound of the sea to reveal secrets.

  I don’t know how long I was in that state, but I only came back to me when I felt the hand of the only human presence there resting, caressing and pressing it on mine against the railing’s horizontal wood. I looked at her and witnessed a soft smile, half-melancholic and half-grateful.

  “Magnificent, isn’t it?”, she commented, with her voice calm and charged with that accent that captivated me.

  “That’s right”, I agreed, looking back at the half-green and half-indigo horizon. “I always thought it was like that.”

  “Beautiful?”

  “Yes. Better than being able to see it live, is having you by my side.”

 
She made a low sound, seeming paralyzed by what I said.

  It started to rain. First there were thin and weak drops, but then intensified to the point of making noises on the wooden roof. I remembered immediately that night in which we slept together, crossing a threshold too subtle for my understanding; my friend hated the sound of thunder. I mentally asked that the rain be calm, without any noise capable of provoking the irritation I witnessed a few days before.

  “It seems good to me to go inside”, she said, going to the door.

  I accompanied her with my eyes, seeing a key in her hand. I never knew how she got it, and I did not question it either. I saw her turn the lock and enter, calling me with a simple hand gesture. I attended, with a strange sensation crossing my heart, however I was against an invisible barrier located in the threshold; I almost screamed, but my walking companion noticed what had happened.

  “I cannot get in”, I pointed, touching the hurting nose.

  She felt the limit of the external and internal sides, but didn’t identify any obstacle that blocked my passage; I, however, felt something cold and transparent like glass, as solid as a mirror, although it did not reflect light or any image, nor in the least possible degree.

  “I don’t understand”, she was surprised, going outside as if nothing were there.

  “It seems that entering is not for me”, I commented, even without knowing how to define that curious event.

  “But what a chagrin! You need to enter! We're going to spend a few days here, don’t we?”

  She took my hand and returned inside, staying with the hand that held me out, trapped in that barrier that separated us. I asked her to release me and she was able to enter the house completely.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s okay, nymph”, I said, sighing. “It's not that cold.”

  I watched the rainfall and felt a slight melancholy. I sat down, putting the knapsack on my back beside me, and leaned over the threshold. My eyes filled with tears, but I did not cry; I just felt a strange and familiar void at the same time. For a brief moment, I ignored the presence of my friend, who also sat on the floor, between the balcony and the room, very close to me.

  “Why can’t you come inside?”, she asked, after a few minutes in silence.

  “I don’t know”, I answered with sad voice. “Maybe I shouldn’t.”

  “But it's a house! It was made to shelter whoever needs it.”

  In that I agree, however, it did not seem to me to be a common house, like so many others. There was something there out of the ordinary, and a magical and dreamlike aura was present. It was a restricted space, which I still should not know.

  “If I can’t come inside, I will sleep right here on the terrace”, I said, with a slight smile.

  “What if you catch a cold or...?”

  “Nothing's going to happen to me, I'm sure.”

  We stayed contemplating the rain for a long time. I was thankful that there was no thunder, only that way my companion was not disturbed. There are some memories that insisted on not leaving me alone. I did not try to suppress them, in the end, the more we repress what we want to forget so much, the more we remember.

  I have always liked the pleasant sound of water falling in puddles and roofs, draining and dripping, and the smell of wet earth. Beside there, close to the sea, it was as if everything intensified in a natural orchestra in praise of life and nature, always wise and serene. The memories of when I rode a bicycle in the hard rain, opening my arms and screaming, or when I was holding a former girlfriend in a small space, both protecting us from a light rain, were still recent.

  Many times, I imagined myself in the middle of the rain, hugging someone, kissing her no matter what. It was something that now seemed silly and made me laugh.

  She laid her head on my shoulder, yawning a little.

  “Sleepy?”, I asked, giving a brief smile.

  “A little bit”, she replied, returning the laugh.

  I straightened, offering to rest her head on my lap, which she accepted without blinking. I have not offered or found that kind of affection for years. I caressed her blond hair delicately, the same as her face, looking at her and thinking how nice it was to have her there with me. She fell asleep in a few minutes, leaving me awake, watching over her sleep. It was curious how a few moments ago there was an enviable enthusiasm in her, then an unknown sadness and now there was only calm.

  I touched her lips softly, reminding me of a night not too far away. She shuddered, while a pleasant chill ran through my body. As that woman was special to me with so few days of coexistence.

  I concentrated on watching the light rain, listening to the sea, the waves beating down there, on some rocks parallel to the beach, not so far away. I sighed, closing my eyes and letting all the images emerge from my subconscious, taking my mind and showing me things that I wanted to forget.

  My companion moved a little, making me open my eyes and see her shiver because of the cold wind. I thought of waking her up to go inside, but it seemed better not to disturb her. Very cautiously, I opened my knapsack and pulled out a purple blouse for the cold that seemed convenient to keep close; I covered her as best I could, always looking at her serene and sleepy face.

  I took the headphones out of a smaller compartment, assembling the connection into the cellphone's audio output; I searched patiently for a song to hear while I was awake, watching over my nymph. Years and years of depressive crisis had allowed me to develop a varied taste of music, although the most agitated or melodic sounds captivated me more. The three memory cards I had were full of genres, bands and singers, which I had selected for the vacation days; and at that time, the one I had in use was the one with most entertaining songs, mostly romantic, ballads and duets, some already considered classical. I chose Unchained Melody, in the U2 version.

  I got lost in memories and distant moments.

  “What have they done to you?”, I whispered, tears streaming down my cheeks.

  The song was half way through; my thoughts wondering how my life was confused after so many events. I felt the need to relief, to be able to find that flame that I lost at some point, between problems and disappointments.

  My friend moved a little more, babbling something that I was not able to understand. I looked at her with teary eyes; she seemed to dream. I dried my tears, while another song started. I breathed deeply, moving away from me that cloud of thoughts and memories that kept me from moving forward.

  I dedicated myself to contemplate her. I felt special the friendship we had, after having been so close; she never commented on the matter, and I did not question her either; we only kept things in their proper place, without causing bonuses or charges. However, in my mind, those sensations were still intense, that unique moment; it was still the part that remained of a poet, which plunged me in excessive passions and deep sorrows.

  She took my hand close to her face, scaring me a little, and squeezed it as if seeking my presence. She mumbled something meaningless to me, in a desperate tone; it lasted no more than four seconds, and then she opened her eyes, half stunned, waking from a bad dream; when she sensed that I was there from the beginning, she sighed softly, looking embarrassed and scared at the same time.

  “Everything okay?”, I asked, worried.

  She took a while without answering me. Releasing my hand, she sat inward, breathing fast, at a pace I did not like; she looked around, in a gesture that made me imagine that she was looking for the thing that shook her dream, an involuntary act, nevertheless necessary to calm down. Only after that, under my anguished gaze, the heart contracted by impotence and tense body, she turned to me, showing hesitation in every movement.

  “Oh!”, she sighed, as confused as when oneself wakes up after a nightmare in front of someone.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Not much”, she answered, turning her eyes in a sign of fear and shyness.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Well, n
ot now...”

  That invisible barrier that separated the outer side of the inner was the same that separated me from my friend; I could not hold her, as was my will, without her being outside, and that left me with a terrible restlessness.

  “We need to solve the problem that you cannot come inside”, she said, realizing that I was still on the terrace, shaking a little.

  Giving me back my blouse for the cold and asking to put it on or I’ll end up with a cold, she got up and walked to one of the two windows in the living room, and opened it with a roar, making the wood creak. She called me to see if it was possible to get through, but the same effect as before happened; we still tried two other windows, in the kitchen and in one of the bedrooms, without any success.

  “And now?”, she asked, discouraged.

  “I think I'll have to sleep here, right?”, I pointed, already settling for the unusual situation.

  “But, no... it wouldn’t be fair. It's raining, it's cold, and you're going to catch a cold.”

  I smiled.

  “I'll be fine. I just need a blanket and a mattress.”

  Actually, my bones hurt; my body was not accustomed to a different climate from the one where I lived. In the first days on São Paulo grounds, I had a cold and had a bad time, almost spoiling all the vacation plans, if not for the teas and remedies that I was forced to take. I did not want to spoil my friend's trip for so little, even more after seeing so much enthusiasm on her part when talking about that house, about how beautiful everything was there.

  “We can go back”, she suggested.

  “No!”, I exclaimed, enlarging my eyes. “We stay. It is important to you, and it is important to me. I will be fine, I promise.”

  A slight headache was beginning to bother me, but I kept as firm as I could. I was good at cheating, and lying on one occasion or another guaranteed me to protect people from some of my unpleasant facets.

  She sat on the bed, thoughtful, looking at me and at the magical obstacle that separated us in an inexplicable way. I was leaning against the wall, resting one of my elbows on the wood of the windowsill.