Buds of Heaven is complete!

When they left the café, Ari didn’t immediately ask the questions that hovered between them – why had she left this morning without a word, what would she do next? Instead he took Ellen’s arm in an old-fashioned way as they walked toward the centre of the city. The only thing he said was “Do me a favour and don’t go to that part of town again.”

The colonial streets had a human scale, with little squares that opened up unexpectedly, filled with trees to give relief from the sun. They found a restaurant Elvira had recommended and Ari ordered a whole bottle of wine. “For your birthday,” he said. “Ad meah v’esrim.” It meant something like “Long life.” They ate one small dish at a time, watching the tourists walking quickly, the local people strolling as the sun went down.

“Are you upset with me?” Ari asked her, when they’d both had enough wine that inhibitions started to break down. When he’d said he had to confirm his reservation home, he’d been holding her, naked after making love. No doubt he’d felt her body stiffen, noted the way she turned her face into the pillow. How many days had he been avoiding raising the subject? Perhaps he was no happier about it than she was.

“I won’t pretend I wasn’t. But I’m all right now.” There was a little silence in which they both looked at the table linens. “We knew it was coming. I just didn’t think it would be so soon.”

“Crept up on me too.” Ari put his hand over hers on the table. “I’m having too good a time. And well, I hate to plan more than a week ahead.”

“I was thinking about things today. I’ve decided to stay a bit longer.”

He gave a little puff of air. “Don’t think I haven’t thought about it. We could go back to Puerto Escondido. I’d work four hours a day giving tetanus shots to tourists who’ve stepped on a piece of glass. Spend the rest of the day at the beach.”

The little Mexican beach town of Puerto Escondido was their favourite place. They’d spent two and half weeks there, enjoying the slow pace of life. The casa where they’d stayed was in a thatch-roofed compound back from the beach, run by a friendly family. In the evenings, they’d sat under the papaya trees in the garden and watched the children play hide and seek. They had siesta at midday and emerged in late afternoon to watch the sun go down beyond the blue line of the sea. Ari had let go of whatever tension he was carrying and perhaps Ellen had, too. In the first week they’d been together, his face occasionally wore distant expression that told her he was travelling to avoid something that he had not explained to her. “Are you OK?” she’d asked and he’d snap out of it, make a joke. But here past and future did not exist for them. Ellen put from her head the fact that she had yet to set the course of her life and he was soon to be a doctor. Instead, she thought of them as a man and a woman looking for more of what life holds. When they returned to their room from the beach the first day, he’d pulled off her bikini bottom with his teeth and licked the salt of the ocean off her body.

She was putty in Ari’s hands, supine with desire. “And that,” he said, “is what I think of your swimsuit.” They rolled together on the bed, laughing. The sex was startling. The sea could be this blue, she thought, someone could love me this much.

“It’s a nice fantasy. But I think you want something more,” Ellen said. Underneath Ari’s easy nature was something intense, maybe ambition, maybe suppressed emotion.

“Yes. I always wanted to be a rock star, but I can’t sing.” They laughed, his humour sometimes a means of not answering the question. “So, what about you? What things did you think about?”

“How to change my life. I’m going to be volunteering in the soup kitchen at the Church of the Nazarene. I’ll go in early tomorrow.”

Ari sighed and leaned back in his chair, releasing her hand. “Now I feel like a shit.”

“Why? Why?” Ellen leaned toward him affectionately.

“Because you’re doing something worthwhile and I’m sitting wishing you would spend every hour in the next three days with me.”

How sad life was sometimes – holding yourself together while at the same time letting go. How would they think of each other in six months? As a streak of sex, as something good interrupted, or as nothing at all?