The Comfort of Strangers by Ian McEwan Page A

prone below the waist, above it twisted a little awkwardly towards her. His arms were crossed foetally over his chest and his slender, hairless legs were set a little apart, the feet, abnormally small like a child’s, pointing inwards. The fine bones of his spine ran into a deep groove in the small of his back, and along this line, picked out by the low light from theshutters, grew a fine down. Around Colin’s narrow waist were little indentations, like teeth marks, in the smooth white skin, caused by the elastic in his pants. His buttocks were small and firm, like a child’s. Mary leaned forwards to stroke him, and changed her mind. Instead she set her water down on the table and moved closer to examine his face, as one might a statue’s.
    It was exquisitely made, with an ingenious disregard for the usual proportions. The ear – only one was visible – was large and protruded slightly; the skin was so pale and fine it was almost translucent, and in its interior folded many more times than was common into impossible whorls; the ear lobes too were long, swelling and tapering like tear drops. Colin’s eyebrows were thick pencil lines, drooping to the bridge of his nose and almost touching to a point. His eyes, set deep, were dark when open, and now were closed by grey, spiky lashes. In sleep the puzzled frown that rucked his brow, even through laughter, had receded, leaving a barely visible watermark. The nose, like the ears, was long, but in profile it did not protrude; instead it lay flat, along the face, and carved into its base, like commas, were extraordinarily small nostrils. Colin’s mouth was straight and firm parted by just a hint of tooth. His hair was unnaturally fine, like a baby’s, and black, and fell in curls on to his slender, womanly neck.
    Mary crossed to the window and opened the shutters wide. The room faced directly into the setting sun and appeared to be four or five storeys up, higher than most of the surrounding buildings. With such strong light directly into her eyes, it was difficult to discern the pattern of streets below, and to gauge their position relative to the hotel. The mixed sounds of footsteps, television music, the rattle of cutlery and dishes, dogs and innumerable voices rose from the streets as though from a gigantic orchestra and choir. She closed the shutters quietly, restoring the bars to the wall. Attracted by the generous size of the room, the shining, uncluttered marble floor, Mary set about her yoga exercises. Gasping at the coldness of the floor against her buttocks, she sat with her legs stretched out in front of her and her back straight. She leaned forwards slowly, with a long exhalation, reaching forand grasping the soles of her feet in both hands, and lay her trunk along her legs till her head rested on her shins. She remained in this position for several minutes, eyes closed, breathing regularly. When she straightened, Colin was sitting up.
    Still dazed, he looked from her empty bed to the pattern on the wall, to Mary on the floor. ‘Where are we then?’
    Mary lay on her back. ‘I’m not sure exactly.’
    ‘Where’s Robert?’
    ‘I don’t know.’ She lifted her legs over her head till they rested on the floor behind her.
    Colin stood up, and sat down almost immediately. ‘Well, what time is it?’
    Mary’s voice was muffled. ‘Evening.’
    ‘How are your bites?’
    ‘Gone, thanks.’
    Colin stood up again, this time carefully, and looked around. He folded his arms. ‘What’s happened to our clothes?’
    Mary said, ‘I don’t know,’ and raised her legs above her head into a shoulder stand.
    Colin walked unsteadily to the bathroom door and poked his head in. ‘They’re not in here.’ He picked up the vase of honesty and lifted the lid of the chest. ‘Or here.’
    ‘No,’ Mary said.
    He sat down on his bed and watched her. ‘Don’t you think we ought to find them? Aren’t you worried?’
    ‘I feel good,’ Mary said.
    Colin sighed. ‘Well