The Watermark (Part 3 of 5)

The Watermark (Part 3 of 4)

When it all became too much, Thomas would walk down to the beach, or to the Rooftop, a bar, Carl had shown him, which was actually on a roof top, and was cooler, and you could listen to the Fado singers till the early morning. This was where many of the barworkers came after work –  another one of the places to be!

  The streets were crowded with tourists – so full you had to walk very slowly among them. Carl would sometimes suggest different places for Thomas to go – where he could eat at reasonable prices. Thomas would follow his instructions of how to get there, and he would end up in some god-awful, grubby, little place in the back streets, where no one spoke English, and he didn't feel safe. At which, Carl would laugh when he told him.

  So he had begun eating at the more expensive places in the square, or along the promenade. He had his redundancy money, and the money from the school, so felt he didn't have to economise. During the day, when he wasn't working, he would hang out in the cafés or go to the beach bars, or to Lost Nights to drink a beer and chat with whoever was working there.

  Evenings, Carl would often turn up at The Rooftop with a woman, or a group of friends, whom Thomas had never seen before. Carl would introduce him to them, as his friend from England. Most of them would ask him if he was on holiday. He would make a point of saying he worked here – it sounded good not to be a tourist. These people were always arty types, who Thomas found hard to talk to. He felt something was being measured in him, or against Carl. He wasn't sure if he was up to that...

  Time seemed to be going fast. And he was spending most of it alone. He began to feel he didn't fit in! Felt excluded from everyone, and Carl just didn't seem to be Carl! He had become an unknown element. Whenever he met people, who Carl had introduced him to, they would always finish up talking about Carl! And the things they said about him never sounded like the Carl he knew. It was as if they were talking about a total stranger!

                                  *****

 

The thing to do and place to go on Sunday afternoons was down to the beach-bar; the scene switching from the cafés of the square in the morning. Those who arrived first always got the shady places to sit under the awning or the outer standing large umbrellas, which had waiter service, and was where the in-scene always sat.

  Thomas, so far, had always come too late, to get any table, and had to sit frying in the hot sun on his towel on the sand wait hope to get a place in the shade, and feeling out of. It wouldn't be long before he'd take-off back over the dunes to the shade in town. Thomas had decided he wasn't really a beach person.

  But this particular Sunday, Thomas set off early, determined to get one of those comfortable places. He was so early, there was only a couple of tourists sipping long cold drinks. He ordered a cheese toasty and a beer, and sat under one of the umbrellas closest to the awning, so as to be near to where the in-scene would sit.

  Half an hour later, as he sat reading a book, Amanda appeared. They said hello, and she sat under the awning quite close to him. She was wearing a bright red warp over her blue bikini. They had hardly spoken more than a few words since he'd arrived in Lagos. Now she asked him about the book he was reading. He passed her the paperback.

  'Eyeless in Gaza, I never read that one.... is it any good? She was reading the summary on the back page. 'Is this one also brave and new?'

  Thomas smiled and said 'I don't know, I haven't read enough to decide....  it jumps about a bit. Carl gave me it -- he thinks its good!'

  'Oh! Well,' she smiled, 'then it must be good – he's read almost everything!' she said, with mock conclusion in her voice. Yes,Thomas thought, he had noticed Carl's shelves of books in his room. 'And you, too, I expect,' she added? 'Carl told me you were a bookworm.'

  Thomas didn't deny it, even though he hadn't read so much in the last years, much less after he'd married Julie! She wasn't a reader, and had begrudged the time he'd spent reading – she thought it was boring! She liked her TV.

  'Do you read much?' he asked.

  'Not as much as I would like.... more when it gets slow on the square, then, I can get through two or three a week. But not so many in the Winter, cause I'm mostly painting for the Summer.'

  'I like your paintings!'

  'Do you? I don't!'

  'You don't?' He said surprised.

  'No, it's really not my thing, but it pays the rent!'

  'Do they sell well?'

  'Reasonably. You know... if they can hold it up in front of them, and compare it to the harbour to their left, then they might buy it. So, essentially, I paint the same picture over and over! Always sunrise, sunset – my only fun is moving the boats about. All I'm really doing is selling plastic dreams from a stall. It can get really, really boring! You know, you can just look straight through those pictures.... The stuff is so accessible that if you did actually hang it on a wall, in a couple of weeks they would look so dead and finished.... just like looking at dirty wallpaper!'

  Thomas laughed.

  'Carl told me you were also a writer.... are you any good?' Amanda tested.

  'I don't know! What did Carl say?'

  Amanda laughed, although Thomas hadn't meant it as a joke. But he quickly smiled to take advantage of the serendipity.

  Smiling, Amanda said, 'Well actually he doesn't really know; he said he hasn't seen your stuff for years. He's been waiting for you to show him something...

  'Well, he didn't ask! Thomas heard the snap in his own voice.

  'Well, that just isn't the way... Carl's under the impression that you will show him something when you are ready!'

  'Did he say that?'

  'In so many words.'

  Thomas was silent as he thought over what she'd said.

  'Well, Thomas, you should give him something if you're ready.'

  'Sure,' he said, I have a few chapters I'd like him to see.'

  He asked about Carl's writing. What had she read?

  'Most of the short stories – and a lot of the book.'

  Short stories! Book! Thomas was surprised. Carl had said nothing, he hadn't asked him to read anything – he felt totally let down... He thought about his own writing, The truth was, he hadn't touched his book for a couple of years – he could still hear Julie taunting him 'You and your “Fantasy book!”' – a left jab to his chin!

  The mood at the bar changed as people started arriving; bar people with a few hours, or the whole day, off; the crew from the Hot Rats, including Greg and Kent, who came and sat under the awning. One group had began punching a ball to and fro over the net on the make-shift volleyball court.

  As the terrace became quite crowded, Amanda moved over to Thomas' table. Someone passed her a joint, which she pulled on a couple of times and passed to Thomas. Who surprised himself by accepting it! But, after pulling on it self-consciously a few times, he'd passed it on, he felt nothing..., and concluded the stuff was overrated!

  Amanda said, she wanted to swim, and asked Thomas to look after her bag. As she headed for the sea she pulled off her warp. Thomas, entranced, scanned her small brown twitching buttocks, her swaying hips, and her long slim bare back all the way down to the water, until she dived, and disappeared into an almost flat blue sea.

  'DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA-DA- DA  –  watch out guys Norman's lining up his next victim!' Greg joked.

  Kent and one or two others laughed, but most of them didn't seem to get it. Thomas couldn't help laughing! Well, it was funny! He felt quite relaxed. His eyes and thoughts went back to Amanda bathing.

  As Amanda returned, She picked up her bag and told Thomas, she was going to take a walk along the beach. To his surprise, he heard himself asking if he could join her.

  Sure, she said casually lifting her shoulders. As they were leaving, Greg and Kent were nudging each other, and giving Thomas undisguised winks, which he hoped Amanda hadn't seen.

  They walked slowly, close to the slow lapping water. Thomas felt an urge to hold her hand, but in the end didn't. She asked him about himself. He told her about his life with Julie. Had he been happy, and why was he divorced? Thomas avoided most of the gory details of his break-up, and said, they had simply grown apart. She asked about his friendship with Carl: when and how had he and Carl met? What was he like at school? Was he always a good writer?

  'Well,' said Thomas, 'neither of us ever really wrote very much: a few short stories and poems, and such – it was more just kids dreaming – we didn't have much to write about!'

  After ten minutes or so, she stopped walking, and asked if he'd like to sit awhile. They spread their towels next to each other and sat watching the sea. She made a joint of pure grass, and passed it to him. He took it, but coughed each time he inhaled it. But nonetheless, suddenly he could feel its pleasant effect, very calming!

  He asked her about her life, and listened without questions, while she spoke in a matter-of -fact way about herself.

  'The Black Sheep Story,' she called it! Middle class; well, lower middle class, from Middle England; daughter of an engineer. She had studied art in Liverpool, then moved to London to 'live in poverty' – the starving artist bit; off-galleries, communes, jolts around Europe, then married – her biggest mistake! – never again – a disaster movie! A junkie, who wanted to possess her and bring her down to his level. But she had been saved – she looked thoughtfully out to sea for a moment before she carried on – 'he over dosed!'

  She had then begun to focus afresh on her painting -- a kind of meditation. 'Art as religion!' Really! She loved her own real painting! She said it was maybe time to return to London to concentrate again on her own work. She thought most people didn't understand art. 'Who was it said, ''The philistines be upon thee?''' Thomas wished he knew. 'Being cultured,' she thought,'was something like coming to terms with oneself – you had to have asked certain questions of yourself, looked at yourself in a certain serious, objective way... and maybe we artists are the ones who ask, and try to answer all those hard kinds of questions with our expressions...' For her it was how she escapes the mundane, and stops her thinking about all the silly conventions.

  He found her talk intoxicating – he was impressed. She spoke knowingly and richly, she quoted people: Wilde, Nietzsche, Camus, Proust. He had never met this kind of woman; this was the stuff of novels.

  Although he had the ambition to be a writer, and had worked with books for the last fifteen years, he wasn't, in fact, so well informed. When he thought about those last fifteen years: well, he didn't know what to think about those years... At first, working at the library had been like a child in a sweet shop: reading everything, but spoilt for choice. But then he had just slowed down. The true readers were the regulars in the library; it was they who had prompt his choice of books with their endless enthusiasm, and inquiries and searches!

  Amanda talked about her love for the sea – the beach. But how she loathed the swarming tourists in the summer. And how every Thursday she takes the day off, lets a friend takeover her painting-stand in the square, and heads up the coast to the nudist beach. She told him how this beach, though not very far away , was in fact, away from everything; the tourists never find it! She packs lunch and a bottle of wine, and spends the whole day just soaking up the sun. And if it gets too hot, there is plenty of shade from the dramatic cliffs. 'You should come along,' she said, 'a bit of chill-out-time would do you good!' He said he would love to join her. Thomas' imagination zoomed off the edge of reality! He saw himself making love to her – both naked in one of these shady places!

  He lay next to her on his stomach, she on her back, her bevelled brown body exaggerated by the shadows cast by the strong sunshine. She suddenly sat up, and said, she was going to give him a massage. Thomas was overwhelmed, He enthusiastically turned on his stomach, and she straddled his back with her long brown legs, and began gently kneading his flesh. Her hands seemed to melt into him. A current –like a wave of electrons smoothed him out and put his stoned mind into the alpha state – a singing moment.

  He lay there his mind buzzing, dreaming of making love to her on the nudist beach, and telling himself that when she was through with the massage he would take her in his arms and kiss her. But in fact, when she did stop he felt so stoned and unsure of himself, he didn't have the courage to take the situation to its natural conclusion. There was a moment when she looked at him in silence – her eyes so penetrating – eyes that seemed to be full of that same fluent energy that now sought his inner self. But Thomas looked away.

  That had been the moment to act; he felt it had been an invitation, which he had let pass. Later he cursed himself for not following his inclination. He was baffled and maddened at himself. 'Why was he always so timid?'

  As they walked back to the beach-bar he became very  aware of his body; it seemed he somehow moved more smoothly and nebulously over the sand back to the bar.

  There was a volleyball game in full swing. Carl was now  among the group sitting under the awning. Thomas and Amanda took their chairs, which Greg had saved for them, and soon they became absorbed into the stream of repartee, laughter, dope and beer with the others. Thomas sat with Amanda by his side feeling more relaxed than he had felt since his arrival in Portugal. He sometimes had to struggle to keep his thoughts off her and on the banter. Then he gave up! He couldn't take his eyes from her long, brown, shapely legs. He was sure she knew he was watching her. He thought her the loveliest creature he'd ever met! His stay in Lagos finally seemed to be turning into the adventure he had hoped it would be. And he also thought the smoke was interesting – it wasn't as he'd imagined it! – not like alcohol – hard to describe... But it certainly lightened everything up! The world seemed to be expanding in front of him, and his soul seemed to stretch in response!

  Later, leaving, Amanda, Carl, and he were a part of a group walking back to the town over the sand dunes, Carl and Amanda dropped behind and were lost in talk. Thomas feeling happy hummed to himself; now Thomas never hummed...!

  That evening, he took the manuscript of his book to Carl's room – who looked surprised. Thomas didn't say anything about his talk with Amanda.

  'Just tell me what you think – don't pull any punches. I can take it!' Thomas said.'

  Carl didn't say much, only, 'Yeah, yeah, sure Thomas. And I've something for you.' And he pulled a manuscript out of a draw by his bed. Thomas read the title. It was a collection of short stories – 'Stories Lost and Found.'