Читать книгу The King is Dead - Jim Lewis - Страница 27

Walks in the evening, beneath a dark, humid sky that reflected backward on the day. They would stroll along the riverfront, stopping here and there to peer into the water; or park at the edge of the wealthy streets east, and wander up the roads, looking through fences at gardens. One evening they had dinner and then dropped by the zoo an hour before closing time to watch the elephants get ready for bed. He kissed her, and all his ideas went dead by the contact, like lights burned out by a short circuit, leaving only one thought dangling down in the darkness: Farther.

He reached for her, but she stood back with a slight smile on her lips. I think I should go home now, she said.

He nodded, straightened up, and smoothed down his jacket. Yes. All right.

He took her home, kissed her once more at the door, and let her go. She stood inside the threshold and licked her lips. Walter was gentle, polite, considerate. He was stable, he was staying. He was a man, then, worldly and resourceful. So he was staying. So good, she was glad. The next time they went out, he kissed her again at the hard dark end of the night, and she pressed forward into him, where it was closer still to midnight, venturing in, with her kiss returned, toward everything he knew. That night she took him home; and the nights afterward she did or didn’t, depending on how she felt: whether it would be too much to be with him, or too much to be alone.