New World a-Coming, Ch. 23
Fire
I remember the sand in my slip-on shoes, and the sound of the surf and the night-birds. And the smell of the kelp. And of her: her hair, and her skin. And the scratchy roughness of one of Ed’s woven Indian blankets against my bare shoulders and back. And the feeling of her calloused palms on my body, and the warmth and wetness of her kisses, all over my body.
Later—I don’t know how much later—we lay gasping in the sand: I was on my back, and she was lying on her side, one hand splayed across my belly; I could feel the sweat on her breasts as they pressed against my shoulder, even in the damp chill of the landward breeze that came off the Bay.
Earlier, as we walked away from the light and noise of the lab, angling across the sandy beach with the distant lights of Pacific Grove to the north, she had shifted the quarts of beer to the crook of one elbow, and without asking, had taken my hand.
Now I want to say—again—that I was not a shrinking violet. I had slept with a number of men, and I knew I liked girls too, though once I got married to Bill, and had a baby, that part of me seemed to have receded. But I wasn’t shocked when she took my hand; I wanted her to do it, and I grasped it tightly, and walked closer, bumping my shoulder against hers when she or I stumbled, in the dark with the uneven footing.
But now, suddenly, half-naked in the sand, Rina caught her breath, and sat half upright; I saw her elfin profile against the lights of the piers just north of town. She dropped her chin, and turned her head: I could tell she was listening, but I didn’t hear anything other than the light shurrrsshh of the waves of the rising tide, and a little bit of offshore breeze. I sat up too, groping for my glasses, and the wind caught my bare torso; I shuddered a bit, and said “What? What do you hear?”
She didn’t answer. But suddenly she seized her shirt, and thrust mine at me, and jumped to her feet.
“What? What is it?”
She seized my hand, and pulled me up.
“Quick; quick. There’s something bad happening.”
And we began to run, slipping and sliding in the loose sand just above the tide line. The ecstasy of a few minutes past was entirely gone, and now I was gasping for breath, half-stumbling as she dragged me forward. My shirt was flapping open, and I tried to drag it together and button it one-handed as we continued to run, my other hand in her rough-palmed tight grasp as she surged ahead.
And then, over the sound of stumbling steps and gasping breath, I heard the crackling of flames. I looked ahead, but I was sweating so hard, even on this November night, that my glasses fogged and obscured my vision—so much that I didn’t realize Rina had stopped running, standing stock-still, and I cannoned into her. I almost fell, and had to grasp her strong biceps to stay upright. Leaning one arm around her shoulder, gasping, I took off my glasses and tried to wipe them, but they fogged right up again.
But I could hear the crackling of fire, and people shouting. “Rin? What is it?”
And I looked up into her face, and saw that there were tears in her eyes, shining orange and yellow with the reflected flames.
“It’s the Lab.”
