A Brit. His compatriot lent him a hand this morning.'
'Really? I wouldn't have thought you were still up to it at your age, George.'
'Oh you'd be surprised what I can still get up to, my dear,' said George, with a sly nod of his head and a smile at Jan. 'Or at least,' he went on, 'where there's life there's hope.' And the three of them laughed while Jan finished the bottle of wine between their glasses.
'Let's drink to that,' he said.
George finished his glass in one draught. 'A siesta, the lad said. I think I'll nip back to the room for forty winks. Enjoy yourselves, you two.'
The drugs that he was taking for the cancer made it almost impossible for Jan to drink. The combination dealt instant nausea. He had stopped taking them that morning. It was a waste of time. He would take the morphine when he needed it but from now on he would drink. The desire for alcohol had wrapped itself around the ancient feelings that he'd suppressed during the illness—love and hope and stupidity. He was going to be silly, he had made his decision. He was sick of being ill, it had been a dead-end profession. It was not too late to be an idiot. George was a fine companion for that.
The wine was burning a hole in his sadness like the sun on his back.
'You are going to burn if you don't put your shirt back on,' said Annemieke, recognizing with slight jealousy that his upper body was beautiful in a way, lean and supple still. She had been surprised to see him sitting there like a manual worker with his shirt off, his shoulders rounded for once, a drunken smile on his face.
'Are you having a nice time?' Jan asked his wife, putting his hand around her waist, nodding at the waiter and pointing at the wine list.
Annemieke readjusted her sarong and gave her bikini top a tweak behind her neck. Her breasts were the soft dropping consistency of batter. She gave him one of her bright and anonymous smiles.
'Well, as you like to say, yes and no.'
'This is your version of paradise, though.'
'What do you mean by that?'
'You like this sort of thing. Elegant society.'
'If you think it's much fun for me to come away for the last time, again, then you're mistaken. It was the boys' idea, not mine.'
'You sound bitter. But it's me who has to do the dying.'
She pushed her wineglass away from her.
'Don't I know that!'
He looked down at his body. It was very bad form to die slowly, he had learned.
'I am sorry.'
'Oh, don't say things like that, Jan. It makes it worse.'
He meant it though. He swallowed and looked hard at the barman, signalling for a whisky to go with the wine, then changing his mind and ordering two. She did not disagree.
'We need to talk,' he explained as the drinks were served. He was waiting for the right moment. He would take her hands in his and he would say, let's go all the way back to the beginning, let's be two people without this past we have made, let us be friends. Let us do something silly together, now while there is time.
But the barman was taking a long time and his wife was looking at the other people around them, so he started to speak, quickly.
'Do you know, I haven't been so drunk in a long time.'
'No, that's true.'
'I owe you an apology. As you know, I didn't choose for this to happen to me, but I should not have let it win so completely.'
She took a breath and reached for her drink.
'You did not choose it. Neither did I, nor the children. But it was given to us and we have had to deal with it.'
'I am ashamed, Annemieke,' now he took her hands in his, 'I wish I were a better, stronger man. Dying does not make you good. Nothing makes you good, not even the life we want can do that, not even success.' He looked over at the Americans. A man was checking his watch against the time on the bar clock, his wife was running her fingertip around the inside of the rim of her eye. He looked beyond them, saw the flowers nodding, the shapes blurring and blending in his confused distant vision.
'Will you sit down?' he
'Really? I wouldn't have thought you were still up to it at your age, George.'
'Oh you'd be surprised what I can still get up to, my dear,' said George, with a sly nod of his head and a smile at Jan. 'Or at least,' he went on, 'where there's life there's hope.' And the three of them laughed while Jan finished the bottle of wine between their glasses.
'Let's drink to that,' he said.
George finished his glass in one draught. 'A siesta, the lad said. I think I'll nip back to the room for forty winks. Enjoy yourselves, you two.'
The drugs that he was taking for the cancer made it almost impossible for Jan to drink. The combination dealt instant nausea. He had stopped taking them that morning. It was a waste of time. He would take the morphine when he needed it but from now on he would drink. The desire for alcohol had wrapped itself around the ancient feelings that he'd suppressed during the illness—love and hope and stupidity. He was going to be silly, he had made his decision. He was sick of being ill, it had been a dead-end profession. It was not too late to be an idiot. George was a fine companion for that.
The wine was burning a hole in his sadness like the sun on his back.
'You are going to burn if you don't put your shirt back on,' said Annemieke, recognizing with slight jealousy that his upper body was beautiful in a way, lean and supple still. She had been surprised to see him sitting there like a manual worker with his shirt off, his shoulders rounded for once, a drunken smile on his face.
'Are you having a nice time?' Jan asked his wife, putting his hand around her waist, nodding at the waiter and pointing at the wine list.
Annemieke readjusted her sarong and gave her bikini top a tweak behind her neck. Her breasts were the soft dropping consistency of batter. She gave him one of her bright and anonymous smiles.
'Well, as you like to say, yes and no.'
'This is your version of paradise, though.'
'What do you mean by that?'
'You like this sort of thing. Elegant society.'
'If you think it's much fun for me to come away for the last time, again, then you're mistaken. It was the boys' idea, not mine.'
'You sound bitter. But it's me who has to do the dying.'
She pushed her wineglass away from her.
'Don't I know that!'
He looked down at his body. It was very bad form to die slowly, he had learned.
'I am sorry.'
'Oh, don't say things like that, Jan. It makes it worse.'
He meant it though. He swallowed and looked hard at the barman, signalling for a whisky to go with the wine, then changing his mind and ordering two. She did not disagree.
'We need to talk,' he explained as the drinks were served. He was waiting for the right moment. He would take her hands in his and he would say, let's go all the way back to the beginning, let's be two people without this past we have made, let us be friends. Let us do something silly together, now while there is time.
But the barman was taking a long time and his wife was looking at the other people around them, so he started to speak, quickly.
'Do you know, I haven't been so drunk in a long time.'
'No, that's true.'
'I owe you an apology. As you know, I didn't choose for this to happen to me, but I should not have let it win so completely.'
She took a breath and reached for her drink.
'You did not choose it. Neither did I, nor the children. But it was given to us and we have had to deal with it.'
'I am ashamed, Annemieke,' now he took her hands in his, 'I wish I were a better, stronger man. Dying does not make you good. Nothing makes you good, not even the life we want can do that, not even success.' He looked over at the Americans. A man was checking his watch against the time on the bar clock, his wife was running her fingertip around the inside of the rim of her eye. He looked beyond them, saw the flowers nodding, the shapes blurring and blending in his confused distant vision.
'Will you sit down?' he
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