The times he had actually seen Amarelle naked were few and far between. Some
sort of homegrown modesty, nurtured by her Catholic faith or her mother's upbringing,
made it almost sinful to expose too much of her body. In the evenings after work she
contrived to be covered, with a shiny dressing gown over her nighties. She'd put them
on and take them off wordlessly, earnestly, as if her nakedness were changing the
guard.
This morning she was sitting on the side of the bed wrestling with stockings. Radix
noticed for the first time the spread of her bottom on the bed. It seemed her waist-
line was expanding. If she wasn't careful, he thought, Amarelle might end up like her
sister, with the kind of smooth plumpness that crept up on single women from the
islands in their thirties over many indolent winters.
Where was she off to this Saturday morning?
He reached out idly and touched her right buttock. She mistook his intentions and
said curtly, "We don't have any time. I have to work this morning." Then she added,
"…unless you want to drive me to work."
Radix wasn't sure whether her "unless" meant she was yielding, or was just a gesture
of empty compromise. He didn't fancy quick intercourse, then getting dressed to drive
Amarelle to work. Besides, she hadn't stopped dressing; hangers clattered on the floor
as she searched the closet. In full flow like this, getting ready to step out, any detour
for sex seemed out of the question.
"They asked me come in this morning," she told him, her tone suggesting "they",
her employers or supervisor, could not be turned down; nor would they accept excuses
if she showed up late.
He lay on his back, one leg drawn up meditatively, the world a blur through his
myopic eyes; he watched and listened to the rest of her preparation: the head tilted
as she fixed earrings, the body lotion routine, the carefully chosen shoes; to the bath-
room where she gargled (there was really no need to gargle so strenuously every
morning, but Amarelle gargled); and her teeth.
Amarelle had fine sparkling teeth. Her daddy's close friend back on the island was
a dentist. Thanks to their friendship and scheduled visits (expensive for most islanders)
Amarelle's glistening teeth became a symbol of island privelege.
Radix listened to her furious brushing and spitting.
How she must look forward to every morning's preparation, gauging the temperature
outside, wriggling and wrestling with what to wear, presiding over exciting choices of
lotions, creams, layers. How much more pleasurable all this must be than sex on
unwashed Saturday mornings.
He followed her footsteps to the kitchen – couldn't leave without something hot in
her stomach – then to the door; he heard the key turn in the double locks; he heard her
pulling shut the outer door.
(from Ah, Mikhail, O Fidel! a novel by N.D.Williams, 2001)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 