The Beach House Read online

  “I wanted this trip to be different”, she confessed, finally, showing fatigue and frustration.

  “And it is”, I replied, with a mocking child’s smile. “Maybe not as you imagined... or me... but it is.”

  “But I wanted you to be in here with me!”

  I look away.

  So do I.

  “It's almost noon, right?”, I commented, abruptly changing the subject.

  “Must be. I don’t know.”

  “Well, I think we should eat something and then think better about the problem and its solution, which is almost certain that it will be that you sleep in there and I out here, besides hoping it won’t rain so much to spoil our trip, huh?”

  I realized that she still doesn’t settle for that. I have tried not to think about the matter anymore; I took and look inside the knapsack like a curious child, removing a package still closed of bread, a liter bottle full of water and a few cartons of juice. I placed it aside and showed my friend our lunch, managing to pass them through the invisible barrier.

  While she prepared the juice, I admired for the thousandth time her beauty that so captivated me. A little older than me, the São Paulo chick with a northeastern soul had completely conquered me, leaving me at the mercy of her whims and wills, despite almost never abusing such triumph over me.

  We ate almost without exchanging words, after all, no one there was understanding the invisible barrier imposed on me. My friend seemed to feel a bit of guilt, although for me she wasn’t the reason why I couldn’t go inside the house and take refuge from that cold and rainy afternoon.

  As the objects could be moved anywhere, I asked for a chair and sat near the door of the room, half shrunk and enduring a headache, which I insisted on not taking care of, because the remedies did not have much effect. On the other hand, I shuddered when a stronger current of air passed through the balcony.

  I left the cell phone playing soft and old songs, as a background, and talked for hours with my companion, who told me a little more about her life always so briefly that she made me ask questions or figure out the gaps. Her accent was charming, and she controlled me so as not to prolong me much when I question her just to be able to delight me more with her voice.

  The afternoon passed faster than I realized, and it took almost five hours when she got up and went to turn on the switch. A dim light illuminated the room.

  “Candle!”, she complained, making me laugh.

  Her brown eyes looked at me, intimidating me.

  “I saw some lamps and lanterns around here”, she added, after a brief smile of who liked to leave me without humor. “I hope they still have fuel.”

  In a few minutes, in addition to the dim electric light, we had the reinforcement of a lamp activated by a small cylinder of gas, which was more on my side than on hers.

  Our talk extended for another hour until the first problem of the night came: the bathroom. For my friend it was simple, in the end there was a bath and shower with warm water inside, but for me it represented a greater task.

  Taking advantage of the fact that the persistent rain was weaker, I covered the whole area of ​​the house, getting wet a little. I found a small and remote place, with an old door and a broken lock; using the light of the lamp, I identified it as a reserve bathroom, probably for tourists who didn’t have the key; dirty and smelling nothing nice. Nevertheless, it would help me. I tried the tap and the shower, both working normally, releasing water that chilled the bones.

  I went back to the terrace, telling my discovery and taking a towel, soap and clothes. She was uncomfortable with the fact that I would take such a cold bath in such a climate; I laughed and joked, claiming that I was already used to baths with cold water. A bit confused, I leave again, running to the adjacent bathroom.

  Not putting correctly my head under the liquid born in a glacier, I closed my eyes, screaming in pain and staggering out. I leaned against the wall, holding my hands to my head, temples throbbing. I breathe with difficulty, making a face that would scare the Boogeyman. I grabbed courage, touching with my fingers the drops that fell, getting used to them little by little. It was a quick bath, which I appreciate having finished while drying myself in a hurry.

  I dressed immediately, feeling everything spin with each sudden movement. I rolled the used clothes into a strange bundle and left the bathroom with calm and light footsteps, but in no way relieved the stitches over the eyes.

  I should have brought an umbrella.

  I could not wait to roll up in blankets and blouse for the cold, to stand still in a corner and turn around in the freezing night. I entered the terrace, with footsteps still soft, placing the lamp on the floor, feet before the window of the room where my companion was sleeping. I wanted to keep my clothes in a bag, taking care later to eliminate the mold that they surely take; I walked a few steps, because one scene froze my body more than the wind, warming up my heart.

  It was a crack equivalent to three or four of my fingers together; and my curious look went to meet the girl wrapped in a white towel. It was a second just to look, giving me chills and a strange feeling in my stomach. I could have go on and ignored, because I was invading someone's privacy, and that was wrong; but my desire was to observe more, to know what was going to happen. I stood there, holding my breath.

  She was dressing, and at that moment preparing to put on the bra. Discarding the towel gracefully, she revealed her naked body so that I drew a slight sigh; if it weren’t for the white panty, with edges in black lace that covered a small part of the thighs, it would be the same way that was for me that night. With her back to the outside, I contemplated her back and buttocks, while her arms moved to cover her breasts.

  Like a naughty boy, I got a little closer, neglecting the danger of spying on a woman getting dressed. I crouched down enough to watch her walk around the room, barely in bra and panties, so seductive and charming that she did justice to the affectionate nickname I gave her. My senses were excited.

  She did not stay long with the little suit; she dressed in gray jeans and a black cold blouse with a white patterned design. It was a signal for me to carefully retreat before I get busted there; and I did it with extreme caution, even though the wood creaked like an accuser. I did not look back as I walked away, pretending I had not seen anything, but with my mind distant and lost in erotic images that only made me want to be with that beautiful woman.

  2.

  Our dinner was almost similar to lunch; the cold forced us to stay rolled up in the blankets and a little cramped, despite me being the one most affected by the icy winds. Now, I looked at her and remembered the scene that I testified minutes before, distracting me so much that she needed to increase her tone of voice a bit so that I would return to the present.

  “Is something bothering you, lad?”, she asked when she caught my attention for the third time.

  She surprised me with that question; I felt like a naughty child busted after a prank.

  “Well, I... I... was thinking... about something...”, I was stuck more than I should with words, almost stammering.

  “What thing?”

  I swallowed dry; showing all my tactlessness to talk about what was torturing me for days. I looked away, looking for some way not to have to talk about the matter, however her hand touched my face, making me contemplate the serious brown eyes.

  “It's about that night, is it not?”, she asked only to blush me and disarm me as much as the truth does with the lie.

  “It is”, I confirmed without trouble.

  I looked like an idiot kid, and I wished I had not left my feelings transparent in that confused and childish way. I was never very good at controlling them, nor did I disguise them when a stronger emotion dominated me, either sadness or joy; I just let things happen spontaneously and impulsively, often causing great damage.

  “Why exactly does it bother you?, she continued, ready to pull out a confession.

  “It's not that it bothers me, but... but... w
ell...”

  My body trembled.

  “Do you regret it?”

  Each new question served only to cause more shudders and confusion in me.

  “I... I liked it, of course, but...”

  “But?”

  “Gee!”, I let myself escape, unable to contain the tears.

  A lump in my throat made me uncomfortable.

  “I'm a fool...”, I freed myself. “I am here with you, a wonderful person... and all I do is to think about the past, to torture myself with things that... that hurt my heart...”

  “What things, lad?”

  I breathed deeply.

  My hands trembled, and for a few seconds it was as if my blood pressure fell drastically; breathless, releasing the tears that both wanted to leave and roll down my face. I inhaled through my nose, mentally claiming to be a moron in front of her.

  “I just wanted a hug”, I confessed, raising my sad and tearful gaze.

  She hesitated, probably confused to see me in that status.

  Moreover, I was not willing to explain my traumas; I did not have to list my shortcomings, my desires, my fears and that which insisted on always being by my side. Everything was summed up in the lack of a hug, in the will to be sheltered by female arms and lay my head on someone's chest and cry until there were no more tears, until the pain was drowned and the scars stopped aching. Then I would explain it, I would tell what my friend would like to know. However, at that moment, like an orphan child, without maternal affection, I just wanted to feel that I was not completely alone.

  With her face still lost in surprise and strangeness, she hugged me tightly, adjusting herself better in the chair, almost hanging to the side. It was good to feel her close to me, ignoring the cold and the rain. I close my eyes, apologizing for something I did not even know what it was; I was tired, very tired. It seemed that the ghosts and the demons left behind found me and charged the price for having forgotten them. Moreover, they were angry!

  “I am here, lad”, she whispered, and it was like the necessary balm to heal my wounds or part of them.

  “Thank you”, I replied, with the voice so full of sadness that the gratitude came out as a request for forgiveness.

  The wind blew strong, emitting curious sounds in that beach house, and the waves that went against the stones not very far from there, combined with the water falling in that orchestra of nature, in a melancholic and intimate melody. There was certain magic in this place, some energy capable of awakening both, my trip companion and myself, our most intimate secrets and intensify them.

  I must have fallen asleep, because I came back when she called me, shaking me with a little force.

  “We need to go to bed”, she said, while I was still returning to the conscious world, between the state of drowsiness and depression and the one of serenity and fascination.

  I rolled still confused, watching her get up and enter the house. She returned soon, bringing some folded tarps.

  “I found them near the kitchen”, she said. “They should help.”

  “Help?!”

  “Yes, or do you prefer to sleep like this, in the cold and with the rain wetting everything?”

  We took some time making a wall with the whole tarp, because the wind was blowing hard. We tied it with ropes found there and here, we amended loose parts... it was not a very good job, but satisfactory in its result. When we finished, we fixed an improvised bed with what was left of the tarps; luckily and for her health, there was no dust accumulated in anything that came from inside the house. Some thick blankets would do too.

  “Ready”, I said, sitting on the mattress made of tarps, cardboard and sheets, something not so comfortable nor so unpleasant.

  The rain had passed for now. No sign that it would return so soon. The sound of water dripping in scattered puddles or trickling down winding roads caused a state of immense peace.

  “I still want to understand the challenge that you cannot get inside”, she said, showing disappointment.

  “Me too, but it's better not to think about that now, okay? Let’s just get some rest and leave it to consideration for the morning.”

  I took her hand and caressed it, thinking about what to do at that moment. Was it worth to risk a kiss? On the other hand, would it be better to do nothing?

  “You're right”, she agreed, resting her head on my shoulder. “And I think I'm going to sleep here with you.”

  “Sleep with me?!”

  “Yes. It's too cold a night to sleep alone, don’t you think?”

  “I think... I think so.”

  She kissed my cheek, making me blush a little, awkwardly.

  “I’m going inside to find my blankets and I'll be back”, she said, getting up, with a funny smile.

  While waiting for her to return, I lost myself in vague ramblings, in moments that mixed poetry and sensuality, beauty and simplicity; I sighed, laughing softly, in an almost childish delight.

  “And that little smile?”, she asked, bringing me back to the present in which we were. “What is the reason?”

  I was embarrassed enough, fearing that my response would be misinterpreted. Maybe I should just make up any excuse.

  “Nothing I need to say now”, I answered.

  She did not insist, but I think she has not believed my answer.

  We settled ourselves with one another, wrapped in blankets and sheets; we were looking at each other for a while, but not much. Of us both, my nymph was the one who was more tired, as I perceived after two yawns and a dozen blinks; I smile, thinking it funny.

  “You can get closer, if you want”, I said when she wasn’t able to stay awake anymore. “And sleep without worry.”

  “Hummum.”

  With her body close to mine, separated only by the thick fabrics that warmed us, she kissed me on the lips.

  “Good night, lad.”

  “Sweet dreams, nymph”, I replied, still stunned because of the sublime demonstration of affection.

  I lingered in sleep, lost in innumerable thoughts and memories, daydreaming. I saw when some stars appeared beyond the sea, shy spots in a blue-black mantle. I stroked the hair and the face of the São Paulo chick that had kept me company for a few days, looking again at her calm expressions. I began to deduce the enigmatic reasons of not being able to enter the house.

  I yawned, feeling sleep come.

  I had a strange dream.

  An immense garden, with flowers of various species and colors, some originating from plants that resembled low bushes, others very similar to vines, twisting themselves into fabrics of wood appropriate for that purpose; immense trees that made shade, sheltering birds that sang the magic of spring.

  I walked for a long time, looking for someone, although at that moment I did not know for sure whom; I only wanted to find her as soon as possible and comfort myself in her arms, rest my head in her lap and there find the peace that my spirit longed for. Only someone who already dreamed of something similar would understand more or less how I felt in that dream.

  I was suddenly frightened, even without having found who I was looking for. I looked around, caught by the fright and by that dream search, finding my friend sleeping deeply. I calmed down a bit, sighing.

  It would be a long night.

  Sleep left me, as I already knew it would happen. Then, moving away from the mattress cautiously, rolling up on the blankets, I went to a place where I could sit down and scribble a little. I took a hardcover notebook and a black pen from the knapsack; I sometimes contemplated the beautiful woman who was asleep a few feet away from me, in a deep sleep, moving repeatedly. I smiled, excited. A silly and sincere emotion, a sigh of a poet in love.

  A few days before, I was an almost lost boy in a big city. And she found me in the middle of books and people. It was fantastic. I never believed in love at first sight, but here I am, loving someone who barely knew about the past. An absurdity extracted from pages of improbable stories.

  I scribbled some verses and
phrases, waiting for the sleep that I didn’t want to return. I looked at the door that would not let me into the house, into a warmer and more welcoming corner. There really were more things between heaven and earth that the imagination was capable of reasoning.

  After our stay in that house, I knew, each one would follow their course, their life; she would return to her city in the interior and I to mine. Different worlds, after all.

  The cold made me shrink a little, stopping the scribble.

  I went to bed again. Sleepless.

  The soft perfume of my friend and her passion invited me to embrace her. I was afraid, though, that it would wake her up; then, I just sighed and waited for my eyes to be close by Morpheus.

  3.

  I slept little. No more than two or three hours.

  I woke up with the birds singing near me; I opened my eyes.

  I sat down and stretched.

  I heard the sounds of plates, cutlery and glasses coming from inside the house. My friend was preparing breakfast, which gave me time to do morning hygiene. I hurried to fold as I could the covers and sheets, putting everything piled up next to the door; I took the knapsack and went to the external bathroom, happy that it wasn’t raining anymore and have a beautiful morning.

  That place, as I already suspected, was extracted from some poetic dream and soft tones, as subtle as a smile in love. Maybe that morning she and I were going to walk around and know a little more about the mysteries behind the house; it would be interesting for me, that I had never been to a place so close to the sea, and helpful to her, that she had a nice memory about the region.

  Staying as long as possible next to that beautiful woman seemed to me the most important thing in my life, even if it was something ephemeral. In fact, the idea that we would go to our little world soon scared me, and I fought at all times not to despair.

  When I returned to the house, I stopped walking and contemplated the sea that stretched for miles and miles on the horizon. It was quiet, the waters in a shade neither green nor blue, reflecting a soft and welcoming sun. I close my eyes, feeling the sea breeze, hearing some waves crashing against the rocks, the birds singing...