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Show And pointed, then waved through the mud-splattered window, at Nick who was making his way in a swagger up the other side of the street. Steven fell back in his chair, falls back in his chair now, as the unspoken words die at his lips. Nick saw Sara's wave; made his way slowly and heavily to the cafe, loaded down as he was with news. "Well, it's paid off. Enrique and I are going into business together. Cockfights. The tourists next summer will love it, let's have a drink." Steven stares at his empty glass. Sara and Nick are in the next room and Steven, at the table, is aware that he is drunk-on the cheap bodega wine that Nick drags home daily from Enrique's, drunk on the uncertain sounds of the cold wet night, intoxicated by the sad private movie he is watching. He thinks of Ifach. Sees it from a distance, from a boat, a plane, sees it over his shoulder as he climbs by bus into the even colder mountains. The small warmth of the space heater will soon be gone. Into his glass he pours the last measure of wine. He is listening. "Why not, you jerk? Tell me just why the hell not," he hears Sara yell, heard her scream, this morning. It had awakened him, |
