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He drew her down on to the bed. As he kissed her he let his hands wander freely over her body once again, and this time he began to slip off items of her clothing - she moved around as he did-so to make the task easier. Soon his head was buried in her naked breasts, she was moaning gently and pulling-up the back of his shirt, and all thoughts of guilt or betrayal or double-dealing had been chased from his mind. This, he though to himself, must be just about as close to Heaven as a living human being is allowed to get.
O
Total sexual exhaustion had sent Smith into a beautiful deep dreamless sleep from which he now emerged very slowly and quite unwillingly, not really caring about anything, unaware of where he was or how much time had elapsed since he had kissed her good night, and felt the gentle pressure of her head in the curve of his neck as she lay still and content against the length of his outstretched body.
Smith had just experienced one of the most beautiful evenings of his entire life. He was drunk with the wonder of it all. Besotted with her loveliness. Yet there seemed to be something nibbling away at the back of his mind, like some kind of nasty little maggot that hadn't been dealt-with.
He very slowly opened his eyes. The room was in almost total darkness, but from somewhere between the head of the bed and the heavily curtained window an eerie green glow partially lighted the room. He reached out with his arm. As he had expected, Soavarose was not there. He said her name, quietly the first time, then more loudly, but he knew that there would be no reply.
He hadn't been unrealistic about this. Hadn't deceived himself about it. At the back of his mind, where the little maggot lived, he had always known that she wouldn't be there. He had chosen to live-out a fantasy, freely chosen it, and now it was time to return to reality.
As he sat up in bed he felt cold. Strangely cold. It was a coldness that had nothing to do with temperature. It was a coldness of loss.
He pulled open the curtains and looked down on the street below, the teeming hordes of people, even here, where it was not a main road, even now, far after midnight, no part of this city ever rested, not for a single moment. He watched the headlights of the vehicles, the gaudy dancing patterns of the neon lights, the little food-stalls on the pavements, the lights of the shops and apartment blocks in the roads beyond. Far beyond that he could make out the dim outline of the harbor with its little bright daisy-chain of marker buoys, and on the other side of the harbor, more lights, more apartment blocks, more streets melting into a field of twinkling multi-colored points of brightness that became lost among the stars without any clear horizon.
Somewhere out there he thought to himself, was his own star, his own little Suavarose, lost in all that vastness, and he would never see her again. Of that there could be little doubt.
He was pleased that at least he had found the courage to say what he had when they first got into the rickshaw: that no matter what happened afterwards he would never forget having been with her for that one precious evening. If only he had said more - now there would never be the chance. He wondered how she would remember him. A mug? Someone she had easily duped, flattered, manipulated? Would there be just a little affection, he wondered? Would she even give him another thought?
Out of interest, he went over to the closet and checked that the sweet-box had gone from his hold-all. It had of course, and the bag had been replaced carefully so that he would not know. Nothing else, as far as he could tell, had been touched. As he had expected, the girl's clothes and all of her things were no longer there.
He pulled the curtains back across the window, and this made him aware once again of the odd green glow. Now he realized that it was coming from his lap-top computer, which was open on the bedside table. A word-processing package had been called-up and there was a message neatly typed on the screen. That was clever of her, he thought. She probably couldn't write without switching on the light but she could use the computer key-board.
He picked up the device and read what it said on the screen.
I want you to know that I have never been happier than I was with you tonight, and as long as I may live I will never forget you. I will think of you every night before I go to bed, and every morning when I waken up. And every time that I climb into a rickshaw. And probably other times as well.
You did not see me as I really am. You were honest with me, but I was not honest with you. I am sorry for my dishonesty. I ask you to forgive me. I do not deserve a good, kind, honest man like you. You deserve a girl as sweet and kind and honest as you are yourself. I pray that you may find her. Whoever she is, I am jealous of her, even now.
Goodbye Leonard.
Think of me now and again.
Suavarose.
He stood transfixed by the screen for a long time. He lowered himself down and sat on the edge of the bed. Still he stared at the screen. Still he didn't move.
After a long time he opened-up one of the little menus to check if she had edited the message. She had. He pressed the option labeled "edit undo". The words "I love you" appeared between the two final lines. He saved the file and turned-off the computer. Then he opened the curtains again, and sat there, looking out at the lights, until dawn.
AN END
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