For Other Reasons
The Storm
Mandy and Tim were discussing The Project.
They were sitting on floor cushions in her hut, sipping coconut water, deep into debate, when thunder exploded.
Mandy hurried to close the old fashioned shutters joined by Tim. They had to move fast before the rain smashed in.
The hotel had a number of small cottages hidden in the fake foliage . A naturalist would vomit at the artificial environment, but Mandy wasn’t a naturalist.
As Time, she was part of a group of academics employed by a large American University which had received funds to do a seminal work on a particular island.
The sum was generous enough, the rate of exchange favorable enough, the airline package enticing enough, to send the group to clarify minor points about the lives of early settlers. These fact were destined to become footnotes in some ignored text.
The group had only been present on the island for three days. Each had their own little hut, each had their own intellectual pursuit.
This morning, tired of being indoors, had decided on a swim. She was just on her way back to her hut when she encountered Tim.
He was a member of the group who was also taking a break on the beach. They greeted, exchanged business related words, then moved to lunch on the terrace.
They spoke of the work, not personal situations.
Tim had recently ended a relationship with a woman he ought never have been involved with. Mandy would be thirty eight in October.
After lunch, they were deep in discussion as to the importance of flax as he walked her to her cottage. She had gleaned a great deal of information about the crop which Tim was avid to see.
Closing the windows
They were sitting in the hut discussing the topic. Mandy had handed Tim a sheaf of photocopied documents she'd gotten from the archives of the local newspaper,. While he read, she went to the tiny fridge which she had stocked with coconut water.
In a short time they were discussing the devastating effect synthetic fabrics had on the local economy when came the first explosion of thunder, the cascade of rain.
After they had latched the shutter Mandy realised they were now in a twilight world of greys, imprisoned by the angry rain.
She held, frozen for a few seconds, the intimacy of the moment was very much in
evidence. Slowly, she turned to look at Tim.
He faced her. His hand had been moving towards the oil lamp, now, held in midair.
Mandy stood as if balancing on a narrow bridge above a chasm.
Her eyes saw a not unattractive man about her age. Her body knew what would
happen if she took the few steps. The pounding of the rain on the zinc roof of the
hut was matched by her heart.
Her heart, which recognised the potential; but her brain did not dance in love or lust or anticipation; “I will be thirty eight years old in October.” it said.
And that is why she crossed the room.
How Would You Have It
Thirty eight years old. No boyfriend, no real past, just books, and study and going on various investigations, home to a tiny space of nothing.
A space with a bathroom, a kitchenette, a bed, and nothing.
Alone.
And here and now, in the tropical paradise, alone in a hut with a not unattractive man in her own field, it was time.
As she approached him she asked herself, 'how would you it, then?' and knew the answer as he reached for her.
