Sarila

          This morning I awoke early and went downstairs to check the internet and look for something to do. In truth I suppose I hoped to see the girl. She wasn’t about, but I did discover an interesting day out in the vicinity: Heaven and Hell. They are two giant holes in the ground and at the bottom of each runs a river. When Ed finally rose we agreed to visit them.

            First we descended into Heaven. It was several hundred feet deep and at the bottom we entered a dusky glade, a holy netherworld. Dark damp trees grew in cracks between rocks brightened by nothing but a single shard of light, visible in of itself by its illumination of the many particles hanging in the motionless air. Down amongst these murky impressions had been constructed a church. It must have been many hundreds of years old, but it was well preserved. The stone used to build it was thick and the outside was painted in shades of green: life growing from water. It was beautiful.

            Eventually we ascended from Heaven into the bright midmorning sunshine. Reality returned and the magic of half light receded. We decided immediately to descend back into Hell. Hell was smaller than Heaven and darker yet. Little grew in those depths. There was nonetheless a river at the bottom and Ed noted that it must be the river Styx. I was inclined to agree and to wonder if this might not be the very source of the legend. Ed joked of immortality but I felt it as I touched my fingers to the surface of the invisible darkened waters, briefly exposed to light before returning to the depths.

 

*

 

            This evening we waited, at Ed’s request, for the company of the Americans. Sure enough they came down into the lobby in the early evening and invited us to dinner at the hotel restaurant. I was glad to remain here.

            The five of us sat to eat and talked about all sorts. Ed used his blunt and sardonic style to great effect on the American’s wife, who laughed raucously at everything he said. I spoke more quietly and straightforwardly with the man himself. I watched the body language of those at the table and realised within no time at all that Ed had chosen Stephanie as his target. She was certainly the prettier of the two. She, however, was curiously disinterested in him and kept attempting to divert me from my conversation with her father. Meanwhile Bethany appeared to be attempting the execution of some footsy type game with Ed who barely noticed for his wine-fuelled gazing at Stephanie. Truly it was a mess.

            Late on I noticed that the dark eyed girl had returned to her spot in the corner. She saw me look at her and stood. With a glance over her shoulder, directly at me, she swayed out of the door into the hotel’s coast-side terraced garden. I watched her and then excused myself. The American nodded slightly, as though he understood my actions and somehow approved.

            As I walked to the door my heart was thumping, though I knew not why. I stepped out into the night air and breathed deeply, trying to control my emotions. Though it was only a couple of hours ago it already seems like a timeless dream. I turned to my right and saw her sitting patiently on a rock, her features outlined by the white light of the moon on one side and the warm yellow light of civilisation on the other. She smiled at me once again with her full, inviting lips.

            I tried to say hello to her again but my voice half failed me. She laughed lightly and patted her hand against her chest.

            “Sarila,” she said.

            “Tom,” I replied. We looked at one another for a moment, satisfied with our exchange of understanding. I felt intoxicated by the thought that our feelings could be the same and yet the words within our minds to explain them could be so different. What would ‘love’ sound like in her mind?

            “What does your name mean?” I asked, in English. I had no idea how to say it in Turkish. She looked confused. I thought for a moment and then knelt down in the sandy dust on the terracotta tiles. I traced my finger about and wrote ‘Sarila = ?’.

            She looked at it for a moment and then clapped her hands gently, looking at me with a sparkle in her eye. She spoke quickly with fluid foreign sounds and I felt fated to be right there, though I understood nothing. She signed to me, diving one hand over the other. I still could not understand. Suddenly she took my hand in hers and I nearly snatched it away from psychic static shock. She smiled at me reassuringly and held my hand firmer. She guided me to my feet and held me, at arms length, for just a moment, before turning and pulling me along, away from the hotel.

            We walked only a little way, still well within sight and sound of the hotel, but the resounding sound of running rushing water grew as we walked and suddenly we pushed through some willow trees and before us was a waterfall. It wasn’t very high and there was only so much water creating it, but it was perfectly proportioned and beautifully set like a jewel in amongst slender wavering trees. The light of the hotel was blocked now and I saw Sarila’s smooth skin by moonlight only. It was cold, away from the world, and she moved a little closer into me.

            She turned to face me and simply looked into my eyes for what seemed an eternity. Then she pointed across at the waterfall and said simply, “Sarila”. I smiled at her and she took my hand and brought it to her mouth. Without taking her eyes from me she touched her moist, soft lips to the back of my hand. I held my breath, as though to breathe could shatter the fragile beauty of the moment.

            Shattered and sundered it was, nonetheless. At that moment a powerful, deep, man’s voice called out her name from the direction of the hotel. Sarila glanced over her shoulder in its direction and looked back at me. There was no concern on her face, only delight within her eyes. I felt it belonged to me, somehow. Before I could react she kissed me glancingly on the cheek, touching me with the delicacy of a summer’s breeze on the petals of a flower, and then she was gone, vanished into the trees like the fading memory of a dream in the confused misty moments of early morning.