"How did you like it?" Ira drew a long breath as he met Arianne at the VIP bleachers. It was the day of the match and Portland Over-25s were the first to field. The 20 overs match was a treat to watch for David on the front row, a passion to play for Ira on the field but was boring for Arianne from the VIPs.
Though, she chose to sit beside Jess and they spent half of the time talking about Ira's childhood. The advantage of sitting at the VIPs: nobody gets disturbed. The older woman told her how crazy her son was as a child. "He never seemed to study," she said in a way of complaining, "how he topped only God knows! Always cricket...always cricket! He was always out of home for practise. And, when he used to be home, he was always looking for food. 'What do we have for dinner?', 'Don't we have sweets?', 'Mom, I told you lasagna.', 'Where are my noodles?' all the time."
"What does he love to eat the most?"
"Sweets. You make a chocolate cake for him, or maybe a doughnut or pie, he'll melt for you."
When the first half of the game was over, Ira came up to the VIP seats to meet her. Jess Armstrong had gone to buy soft drinks. "I don't know nothing about cricket," she laughed out, "you should ask David." As he continued breathing hard, throwing his head back, she frowned at him.
"What's happening to you?" she asked, worried. He stooped down and opening his bag, took an inhaler out and started pumping it into his mouth. When he got his breath back, she was still frowning. "Asthma," he said, putting the inhaler back into his gym-bag.
"You have asthma? And, you smoke?" she almost screamed out. "Hush," he scolded her, "don't tell my mother." "I think I should," she said, threatening him. "You won't," he said confidently, taking her hand in his and squeezing it. "That doesn't persuade me, you know that." "I don't need to persuade you," he said, toying with her fingers. She rolled her eyes at him and he laughed out. "You should take care of yourself," she said, "who else would?"
After the match that Ira's team won, Dawson called in all the team members, David and Arianne for a treat at a nearby pub. "I don't wanna go," Arianne told Ira, tugging at his hand. "Why?" he asked.
She hesitated and seeing her do so, he put his hand around her and said, "don't worry. I'll be there with you."
Arianne knew all her fears would stir up cumulatively, yet she had no way other than going with Ira. Because she wanted to. She wanted to be with Ira and the way he convinced her, promising to be with her, she had no escape plan from his calaboose.
The dark, loud and congested room forced the two of them to stick together, holding hands as they moved to the bar for Dawson's treat. Ira knew about her insecurities, why she did not like parties or pubs and the more he saw her getting scared, the more he wanted to protect her. He wanted her to be at the bar with him, he wanted her to see that with him, she had nothing to fear of. He'd shield her from everything.
"You should try this," Dawson screamed at Arianne, trying to throw his voice over the crowd and the music, passing a small glass of vodka, "this is the best we get here and in Portland." She looked back at Ira and he shrugged, affirming his best friend. She took it, gulped the drink down and immediately sprang up on her feet. "This is gross," she screamed and started laughing out.
"Where's Dav?" Arianne asked Ira after a while as they stood at a corner, aloof from the rest of the gang and tried hard to make conversation. "I saw him with a girl a few while ago," he said in her ear. "Can we go outside?" she screamed back, "I can barely hear you."
He took her hand and they made their way back to the front door, through the same place kept for the dancing crowd.
Outside was cold; it seemed to have rained while they were inside. With such an amazing evening around them, it was quite hard for them to just walk by each other, without holding hands. Initially, Arianne tried keeping her arms crossed on her chest, but soon her hand dropped beside her and his was already waiting.
"Why are you so reserved?" he asked, as he gripped her soft hands in an iron vice. "What?" she asked.
"Why are you so reserved? Why don't you tell your secrets?"
"I don't have secrets." She smiled, taking his strong arm in a romantic hold.
"Why are you so silent then?"
"Because I don't think I've words to say in such a beautiful evening. The weather is perfect, the company I have is amazing. What else could I want? Why would I want to destroy such a great time by speaking mere words? I think such nights hold things more special to do."
They walked in silence for a while. They had come further away from the noises of the pub, and where they walked seemed more like a huge housing complex, quiet with everyone in their own homes.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Ira said, putting his hand around her, seeing her shiver a bit for the cold, "we can go for the trip next weekend. Dawson said we can also visit his ranch, which is around Centralia, very near to where I was planning to go." "A ranch?" she asked, pulling herself closer to him.
"Yes," he said, "the Coleman family is far more money-freak than I am. Though, I'd say, the ranch is at a loss now. When Dawson's father was alive, it was at its finest time. Now, it's only the dairy that runs, that too on weekdays."
"Who stays there?"
"A caretaker. Though, he's almost always on leave."
"What else about the ranch?"
"It's got a beautiful house. Right at the centre, all wood and glass. Too big! There's a piano, a chandelier, three floors, too many bedrooms, a nice kitchen. We went there almost every summer and Dawson and I shared a room. And, even if we slept with our hands and legs stretched, half of the bed would still be left unoccupied. You should see the house, it's lovely."
Arianne smiled and laid her head on his strong arm, and imagined a house like that. A well spaced house, with a big family, kids sprinting all around the house, a caring and responsible man to help her keep the house. Though now an almost independent woman, she knew she would love to give herself off to a man who would claim her as his own and take care of her with all his might. And, with such a man, she'd love to be at a house like that.
"Penny for your thoughts?" he asked, looking at her obliquely. She nodded and they kept strolling. "Well, we'd have to go next week," she said, "I mean, if you don't want to postpone it till after summer." "Why after summer? If we can't go next week, can't we go there during summer?"
"Oh, I didn't tell you, did I?"
"Tell me what?"
"I'm going Miami this summer. In fact, we go there every summer, David and I."
"Oh, you are?" He grew silent after that, and as long as they took to get back to the pub, he didn't speak another word. "Penny for your thoughts?" she asked, parroting his tone. He shook his head and let her go inside to call David.
Arianne took to driving as David was stark drunk and as she was about to get in behind the wheel, Ira held her at her arms, and kissed the back of her head, and said, "I'll miss you." Taken aback by that sweet gesture, she got in and drove off, bidding him for the night.
The next week, they met a few times. And, having known his address from Theresa, Arianne paid Ira a short visit in the middle of the week.
"You here?" Ira asked, opening the door in his boxers, with a half-blown cigarette in between his fingers.
She looked at the cigarette once and without answering the question, snatched it away from him and rushed into the apartment. "Look at your home," she said, making her way through the messed living room towards what seemed to her to be his bedroom.
"Where are you going?" he followed her. She entered the bedroom and analyzing the room in a second, picked a pack of cigarettes from the bedpost and rushed into the balcony. "What are you doing?" he followed into the balcony and stood watching her as she picked each stick out and threw it over the balcony railings.
"Trying to save your life," she said, having done with what she wanted to do.
He looked away as she continued, "don't you remember what I told you about Dad? What happened to him. Don't you? And, if you don't, I'd like to remind you and also tell you about some of the patients of oral and throat cancers we went to visit from college. Do you want to know aout them?"
"C'mon, be realistic. What do you want Arianne?"
"Quit smoking. That's all I want. Ira, please, don't be mad at me." She said it with such a sweet tone, he couldn't help listening and he turned to her. From the short distance between their faces, he realized she looked beautiful. She was beautiful.
No matter how many women or girls he had slept with in the 29 years of his life, both in Seattle and Boston, Arianne was one whom he knew he craved. He definitely wanted to take her to bed, strip her clothes off her, and make love to her right then. He wanted to have her body and soul for himself and claim her as his own and show her off. But, he also knew she wasn't ready just yet. And, he respected that.
"Tell me. Will you not? For me, at least."
Ira didn't know what to say to that.
"I'll try," he finally said, smiling.
"No, not try. Don't say that. You said this even the last time. Tell me you will."
"Arianne!" he didn't kow what to say, "okay...I quit smoking. Today! Right now! And, remember, this is only because of you."
"Yeah!" she exclaimed, and hugged a half-naked him, "oh, Ira, get some clothes on."
The rest of the evening, Arianne stayed in the apartment, and helped him mend his rooms and clear off the mess. She even enjoyed a cup of coffee made by him as she found three of his diaries and found out his amazing talent in writing and drawing. He recited a few poems for her and she listened to him intently. He promised her he'd draw a portrait of her and she laughed out at his innocence.
When Saturday finally came, she grew over-excited. Both for her trip with Ira and her home-going flight. When Ira arrived around 10 o' clock, she ran out of the college with a picnic basket in her hand, her long wet hair set beautifully on her dress sleeves.
"What's in that?" he asked, starting the car.
"Just some cookies and pie I made at the shop last night. I had a tough time convincing Mrs. Fitzgerald for the pie. I even had to leave some for her."
"You didn't need to do that. We're going to visit the ranch, right? There will be ample food."
"Nobody lives there. How will there be ample food?"
"The caretaker made food before he went on a leave. Plus, Dawson is there to welcome you, you see."
She made a face. "Well, they didn't need to do all that."
When the car rode on to I-5, Arianne drew the glass down to let the air come in to dry her hair.
"Don't put your head outside," he advised, trying hard not to take his eyes off the road and stare at her.
"Okay," she listened to him and just placed her chin on the window, letting her hair flow back inside the car and soon, did kiddish things which she couldn't remember doing even when she was a child. "I'm putting my head out," she said, "only for a while," and she put her head out and opened her mouth, trying to grasp air in her buccal cavity.
These were the times she wasn't trying to impress anyone, wasn't being a lady, wasn't being the proper girl, the kind who would probably cover her laugh or only smile. She was being the free-of-constraints kind of girl, enjoying herself, the company of the person she was with. And, for a second or two, Ira wondered if driving the car while actually concentrating on her instead of the road could be perilous.
But, there was that little voice in his head, telling him, that it would be over tomorrow. The next day, when she'd go away for four months, everything would be so dead. No more person to go back to the past with, no more person to enjoy the present with, noone to recite his poems to, noone to just stare at when she was looking away, noone to make him wonder if anyone else could be any more beautiful.
"When's your flight tomorrow?" he asked, with a startling undercurrent of sadness in his voice. "12 noon," she replied, and looked back at him, wondering what made him sad and she asked, "what's wrong?" touching his palm on the wheel. He shook his head.
She refrained herself from asking anymore and looked out again. And, all she saw beside the highway road they were on was far stretches of fields. The seamless landscape, the companionlessness, the responsibility of keeping at least a few acres on Earth green.
Far away, she could see the Earth meeting the sky. Far away. How far? Were they meeting at all? The sky and the Earth. Close they seemed, but never close enough they were.
Ira halted the car after they had come almost halfway from Seattle towards Portland, and turned the wheels to get on to the fields. In this particular area, long grasses adorned the sides of the small passage created for a car entry and Arianne knew where that passage led to.
When Ira finally halted, she had to strain her head to look through the windshield at the manor-like ranch house. "Wow," she said, looking out at Dawson who had come to welcome his guest. "Welcome," Dawson held the door open for her. "This is one hell of a place," she smiled, "really nice."
"Come, let's go inside," he took her picnic basket and led her and Ira towards the house. She saw, the large entrance door was of mahogany wood and glasses with calligraphic writing of the word 'welcome' in different languages. She identified English, French and Spanish and Hindi easily and as she entered the house, ran her fingers over the beautiful painted glass.
Inside, the large hall took her breath away. Opposite to the door was the staircase leading to the first floor, and just beside it, the thing that grasped all her attention in one tight grip was the shiny black lid of a handsome piano. "You play?" she asked, staring at the piano, her fingers aching to sit on the keys. "My father used to," he informed and she refrained to looking around again.
The first floor was a cluster of rooms and every room had the same kind of huge bed that Ira had talked about. In between each pair of rooms, there were stands with beautiful pieces of antiquity set on them. A view from the top floor showed how beautiful the house actually was. And with the huge glass chandelier adorning the ceiling, it looked even more baronial.
"Arianne," Dawson called as he and his best friend watched her tread the stairs down, "I need to leave." "Now?" she asked. "Yup. Actually, my mom's a bit unhealthy. I need to go to Portland to check on her. I'm sure Ira will show you the ranch. He knows every corner." "Okay," she said before Ira and she went till the door to bid him.
Ira showed Arianne around. First the poultry, the dairy, the cows, the rabbits. "The whole land belongs to Dawson's family?" she asked as they stood at one edge of the mammoth agricultural land and Ira pointed out to where the land ended. "Yes, all of this," he said, taking the picnic basket from her hand, "till that small kiosk."
They walked towards the kiosk, hand in hand through the fields. All that seemed to have been put to produce crops once upon a time, was now covered with grass and weeds and small wild flowers, looking more like a huge unattended, unowned meadow.
"What's in there?" she asked, pointing at the kiosk as a strong characteristic smell hit her nostrils from even a bit far away from the shed. He just smiled and kept walking. "Tell me," she shook his hand. "You'll love them," he said and kept walking on.
"Horses!" she jumped up in excitement as Ira led her into the stable to see two beautiful horses standing in their own chambers. One gorgeously black with a white scar on its side while the other was a white horse - just like the ones in fantasical movies. "Yes, horses," he said, "this is Blackjack and this is White House."
"Oh," she smiled, "I think I like Blackjack," and ran her hand over the black coat and the handsome Equine features. "But," he started again, "unlike what the names actually mean, Blackjack is the more quiet and decent kinda horse, whereas White House can take you haywire." She smiled still and still didn't let go of the horse.
"We can take them to..." he said, "you know...where we're going." "Okay," she said, feeding White House with an apple.
They took the horses out of their chambers, Ira taking charge of White House and Arianne of Blackjack. They walked side by side, talking as the horses followed their motion. So engrossed in talking, Arianne hadn't realized how much she had walked from the stable until she heard the melodious sound of floating water coming from a distance.
"Is there a stream nearby?" she asked, excited again.
"Yes."
"And, are we going there?"
"Yes, we are."
A few more steps and a turn showed Arianne the beauty of what Ira called his favorite place. The highway was distant and the trees were rare and huge. And yonder was the flowing stream. A not so narrow yet not too broad portion of land, banks parallel to each other, as if was cut out and thrown away to make way for the water.
"Wow," Arianne commented as Ira led her and the horses to under a nearby tree.
"I know," he murmured and they left the horses underneath the tree to sit by the stream. Leaving the picnic basket on the grass, Ira stooped low to fold the ends of his jeans up. "Come," he said once done and they left their shoes and sat at the bank and slowly dipped their feet into the water.
"It's cold," she brought her feet up in reflex and clutched at the grass beside her. "Don't worry," he said and threw his arm around her, "it'll be fine. It's just water." "You're right," she said and put her legs down again.
They sat there for a long while. Sometimes speaking, sometimes letting silence speak. He kept his arm around her while she spoke.
Today, she spoke of the future. She spoke of her dreams of going to European countries and the splendid things she had heard about France, Spain, Italy, UK. She even told him about what kind of a house she wanted to have after marriage and that even though she thought she wouldn't be able to be in a joint family, she'd love to have a huge family. "You know," she said, holding his hand that surrounded her, "I'd do everything for my family and my children that I always wanted done for me."
"I think you're gonna be a great mother."
"Really? You think so?"
"Yes, I do."
She smiled as they sat listening to the faraway seldom neigh of the horses, the mellifluous sound of the flowing water as the current kept making her feet hit his. It was a place of absolute serenity, calmness, eternal peace and...love. She left the hand she was holding and her hand went to his other one in reflex. She didn't want to let go of him anyway. At least, not after they had come so far...so close.
"What are your dreams?" she asked, "tell me."
He sighed. "I don't know. I don't have such dreams."
"How can a person not have dreams? Of course you have dreams."
"Well..." He dragged on without knowing what to say.
"Tell me."
"I just want a happy life. I want everyone in it, and I want everyone to be happy with me. That's all."
"That's all? And, no career dreams?"
"I already have a career."
"This is what you always dreamed of?"
"No...not really."
"Then? What did you dream to become?"
"I've always wanted to be a writer."
"A writer?"
"Yes. You know, write stories and have the world read and love them."
"But, you write poems."
"Yes, those too. Don't know if that will ever happen. And...I wanted a small simple job. Like...somewhere near the hills."
"A small job?"
"Yeah! A small job, maybe a florist shop, or a cake shop and a simple life. At least then the people who love me would love me because of myself, and not for my salary."
"Why do you think that people would love you now only because of your salary?"
"What else do I have for people to love?"
She turned and looked at him for a while. And her hand spontaneously clutched on to his. "I'll tell you some day," she whispered and placed her head on his shoulder.
They sat like that for a long time. Not speaking anymore, because they had already spoken what had to be spoken. They just held hands and the two clasped hands rested on her lap. Maybe the time was too good to be ruined by words, by actions, by gestures, by restlessness. The silence put everything the way it was fated to be. It brought them closer, made them know each other clearer, see each other more lucidly. It made them realize how much they needed that time to show the other how much they needed each other. It made them want each other.
They were so engrossed in thinking of each other and sharing and cherishing the silence, Arianne forgot to use up the food she had brought and Ira did not quite notice heavy grey clouds accumulate right above their heads.
"Now what?" she asked quietly, her desires making her decisions go awry. He kissed the top of her head, his desires symmetrical to hers and his hand that rested on her shoulder slithered down her back in a very arousing manner. He wondered whether he could do the same with the inside of her legs and her front.
"Can we go back to the house?" he asked, rubbing her arm with his huge palm, restricting himself from going further into touching parts of her that he died to touch. "Okay," she looked back.
As they went on their way back to the ranch, Ira, for the first time, noticed the low rumble the clouds above made. "Sweet Jesus!" he exclaimed, "it's gonna rain. We need to rush, Arianne."
No longer had he said that, and they had gone a few more steps, did it start to rain. Starting slowly, it made them rush towards the ranch with the horses. In haste, they ran out to the highway, avoiding the stable and the horses had to follow them. They soon got into the fields again as they reached nearer to the ranch house.
And, right then, the clouds broke out as if in deep excruciation, spurting heavenly water on to the young souls. They left the horses in the poultry shade and left.
"Goodness!" Ira shouted out at the sky as the shower drenched him completely. "C'mon in," he said as they reached the front yard of the house where the car waited.
"I'm not going inside," she said, with a hideous tone in her voice, "you go," and handed him the picnic basket. "You'll catch cold," he tried convincing her to follow him. "You go inside," she gestured with her hands, "I'm fine. I love rain."
The rain had seeped deep inside her clothes, rendering her summer dress clung tight to her body. She stood in the rain, brushing the hair off her face and waiting for him.
Her sight took his breath away. Her curves displayed in flamboyance as he watched her with greedy eyes. He so wanted her. He wanted to take her to a room upstairs and he wanted to show her how desperately he needed her. And all his senses and intelligence told him that that's what he should do.
When she looked up at him standing on the porch, watching her with those brown eyes that she had found herself recently falling for, she could not help calling him to her. She motioned him to come down to her and he did without delay.
"See," she said as they held each other for a while in the shower, "the rain isn't that bad."
He realized she was right. The hatred he had grown inside him for rain since the day in his childhood, when he was bounded by his parents to never get wet in rain again was subdued. He realized he actually loved the rain. That day, he had shouted out for his father in joy. This day, he wanted to scream out Arianne's name in joy.
As she looked up, she saw his eyes held utter urgency,desperation and expectation. It was hard to stare long into them and still practise celibacy. Under the shower, as he held her body to his, she closed her eyes, finally giving him the key to her heart without thinking anymore.
And, without thinking, he pressed his lips on to hers, intruding into her heart. And when he pushed his tongue into her mouth and she took his hand from behind herself to place it on her breast, he knew he had found the way to finally show her his desires.