But it was no use; in a moment a hand was on her. A surge of
adrenaline forced her to her feet, but the sand offered poor support
and she fell down again, spread-eagled. Only the outline of the figure
was visible, towering over her. She would not be able to fight. Past,
present and future came rushing together into an untenable
singularity. Her wailing sounded as if she was already torn apart.
“It’s okay! It’s okay. It’s only me.” The voice was familiar, higher
than expected. “It’s Leona,” she yelled above the din. Blood rushed
from Sprout’s head. The last thing she felt before blacking out were
Leona’s heavy arms carrying her off and away.
2. Salvo
Teakettle laments pulled Sprout back to the surface. She turned her
body over with some pain and found herself unclothed in a big
beautiful bed. She was in a fantastic apartment, nearly devoid of
furniture and opened out onto the sea, the kind of Spartan, blanched
place featured in perfume advertisements, with billowy white drapes,
white candles and graduated lighting. She wrapped a sheet around
herself and tried to walk, but her leg buckled underneath and she
toppled onto the soft pale carpet.
Leona came rushing in from the kitchen. Encircling the smaller
woman in her arms she carried her back to the bed, smoothing the
blanket over her shoulders as if she was a child. She left and returned
again with a tray of teas and shortbreads.
“I think you twisted your ankle when you fell down on the
beach,” Leona said, “It’s swollen. How do you feel?”
“Okay. Thanks,” she said.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” Leona said, “I was on my balcony and I
saw you out there. I just wanted to see if you were okay. It was no
time to be walking on the beach alone.”
“How long have I been asleep?” Sprout asked.
Leona looked at the clock. “About two hours.” It was the dead of
night and the slanted rain thrummed against the windows and
sliding glass doors.
Sprout sat up and sipped some tea, oddly bitter and sweet, with
a grassy aftertaste. Leona explained that it was made from maté, a
plant native to Argentina, drunk nearly without exception by all
Argentineans but largely unknown outside of their own country and
ABYSSINIA
174
 |
 |
 |
 |