Above them on the ceiling an angel composed of creamy light was about to catch a man falling back with outflung arms from a high scaffold, swooping to scoop him up with such grace and lack of haste, and a long loving look – as if through this act every catastrophe could be held off, everything could be saved.
In the narrow lanes in the rain they hurried home among the tourists in their dripping plastic ponchos: as before he steered her from behind with his hand on her waist or her hip – left here, right there, only each time he touched her now she felt the jolt of their contact, a surge in her veins. They drank something standing up in a bar, for courage, because Christine was afraid their lust would dissipate before they got back, they’d be returned inside their daily selves, too embarrassed to act. But this didn’t happen. As soon as they closed the heavy street door behind them, shutting themselves up in the dank dusk-light and earth-smells of the piano terreno – along with a disintegrating old gondola and a few unclaimed tenants’ letters, brown with damp on a stone shelf – they seized on each other for the first time in twenty years. And they were still good together. She melted against him.
For luck, then, on their way up the stone staircase to their apartment, they both touched in passing the marble lion finial on the bottom step, his head worn blunt and smooth and dog-like from centuries of touching. Inside the apartment Zachary spread out one of the big bath towels on Nathan’s bed – by mutual unspoken consent they agreed they couldn’t be on either set of marital twins. How easy it somehow was for Christine to undress in front of Zachary, show herself to him: because he’d seen her before, when she was young. They seemed to remember everything, forgave each other everything, it didn’t matter if they were hasty or clumsy. When their lovemaking was over and they lay close together on Nathan’s narrow bed, the eccentric light-fitting on his ceiling was a revelation: they hadn’t noticed it till now. Staring up, they discussed in affectionate detail the twisting metal leaves and rosebuds painted pink and green, the cream glass lampshades shaped like lilies. They swore they would never forget it afterwards, ever. And later, before the others got back, they put the towel in the washing machine along with a few more items waiting to be washed, turned on the machine.