Capri in Infinity

I wake to the sound of running water. Jamie—showering. The bathroom door is open just a crack. Although I’m in the bedroom and not with him in the bathroom, I can imagine the eucalyptus scent of soap, warm, thick steam fogging up the mirror, the pebbled floor of the shower under Jamie’s feet. I turn over in bed to face the windows. The hair on the back of my neck prickles as the sheer white curtains flap and ruffle in the breeze. I feel as though we’ve been here forever, yet it’s only day two of our honeymoon. My toe suddenly stings under the velvety-soft sheets. I tenderly lift the covers and peek at my foot. I remember something falling on my foot, but I can’t recall the object. Was it a suitcase from the plane? Or did I stub it on one of the jagged rocks while wading into the water? My toe is wrapped thickly in a cotton bandage like a mummy. I have half a mind to unwind the whole thing, look at what’s causing me pain, but Jamie steps out of the shower and I am distracted. He has a white towel wrapped around his lower half and all is lost when he looks at me and grins with a slanted smile.

‘Ah, there you are,’ he says. ‘Morning, sleepy head.’

‘Morning, husband,’ I reply, beaming. 

He smiles even bigger now, his happiness like a runny egg leaking all over his face. 

‘Did you go for a run this morning?’

‘I did, yeah. The weather’s great.’

And just as he finishes saying it, a crack of thunder booms, and a stripe of lightning flashes across the sky. We look at each other and laugh.

‘You’re making me look bad.’

‘How do you mean?’ he says, wagging his head back and forth, water spraying the bed.

‘You, getting up to run on our honeymoon. We should be relaxing.’

‘We have our whole lives to relax.’

‘And to run.’

‘Please don’t let me make you feel bad.’

‘I said look bad. Look.’

He raises his eyebrows up at me and tucks his lower lip under his upper in a sheepish glance. Then he dives onto the bed and wraps me in his clammy arms. He rolls us back and forth, me, like a burrito in a swathe of sheets. He accidentally kicks my injured foot. I shriek, automatically bringing my hurt toe closer to me, hugging my knee into my chest.

‘Ah!’

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’

I ask, through gritted teeth, ‘What happened? I can’t seem to remember.’

‘Your cousin stepped on it at the wedding. You really don’t remember?’

‘No, I haven’t the faintest clue. Honestly, it’s so strange. In fact, I feel like we’ve been here for weeks.’

‘Huh,’ he says, standing from the bed. ‘Lisa stepped on it with her high heel.’

‘Oh no.’

‘We had to all but airlift you off the dance floor.’

He disappears back into the bathroom. I can hear running water again. He re-emerges from the bathroom while brushing his teeth. 

‘Are you alright? You look a little pale,’ he asks me.

‘Fine, I guess. I just can’t seem to remember.’

‘Too much sun, then. Maybe we should spend the day inside. Looks dreadful out, anyway.’

‘I don’t want to miss a second of the beach while we’re here.’

‘Fine, fine. Why don’t we get lunch at one of the restaurants on the beach then?’ 

I nod and he kisses my temple. I hobble from bed to balcony and stand with my hands on the iron railing. Down below a couple walks; she grabs onto her blowing hat and he swings a straw tote bag back and forth. They look up to find me staring at them and wave. Another crash of thunder sends them running and me, back into the shelter of our hotel room. I dress for the day and tie my hair up, but I have the oddest sensation as though I were just looking into a mirror. The couple looked just like Jamie and me, except perhaps, a smidge better looking. Watching them was like looking at a blurry reflection of my new husband and me. 

I wait for Jamie on one of the chairs in the adjacent suite. There is a wooden table in the center of the room with a bowl of fruit sitting on it. I languidly reach for a bright red apple. I take a crispy first bite, and roll the fruit around in my hand until I discover the side of it is bruised and rotting. I press a finger into the mushy part and gasp when my finger nearly goes through the center, and a small white worm crawls out of it. I drop it on the floor and shriek. Jamie comes running out of the bedroom.

‘What is it? What is it?’

‘A worm, in the apple. Jamie, why would the fruit be rotting already? We only just got here.’

‘I don’t know. I watched them bring in a fresh bowl this morning. Must have just been a bad apple.’

‘I guess.’ 

I shiver; I can’t help it. Jamie wraps an arm around my shoulders and ushers me out the door, locking it behind us. We wander down the path toward the beach; the rain falls in thick splats, so distinct and large they look like diamonds, or crystals. Jamie leads me by hand to the restaurant he had in mind for lunch. My temples throb as though I am hungover. We don’t have any medicine on us, so I ask the couple if they have any at the table next to us. 

‘Sure, hon’,’ the woman says. 

‘Oh, it’s you,’ I say.

‘Who me?’ Her accent is thick.

‘You’re American?’

‘Certainly are,’ the man with her says.

‘I saw you earlier, from the balcony of our hotel,’ I say.

‘Oh yeah?’ she says. She leans in closer when she asks, ‘Did you like what you saw?’

I laugh. The edges of everything suddenly look smeared, as though the patrons and waitstaff, the tables and paintings hanging on the walls are dripping like melting popsicles. I harshly swallow two Advil down.

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I thought, well, oh never mind.’

‘What is it?’ she says, reaching over from her table to grip my arm. 

I’m caught off guard from the touch, but her hand is cool on my wrist. She moves her fingers around as though checking for my pulse.

‘I thought you both sort of resemble us, my husband and I, that is.’

‘We do have a slight resemblance, don’t we?’ the man says. ‘I’m Ron, and this is Delilah.’

‘Lila for short,’ she adds, ‘Lil for even shorter.’

She winks. I smile. I imagine twisting her torso to reveal smaller and smaller versions of her—Delilah, Lila, Lil.

‘I’m Renee, and this is my husband, Jamie. My new husband. We’re on our honeymoon.’

‘So are we!’ Delilah squeals.

‘Well that about does it. Why don’t you two come have a drink up at our hotel tonight?’

I look over at Jamie who’s smiling serenely. I know he usually likes us to keep to ourselves, especially on vacations, especially on our honeymoon. But he surprises me by agreeing.

‘Sure, why not. Renee?’

‘We’d love to,’ I say.

‘Great. We’ll see you up there at, say, seven?’

‘We’re stayin’ in one of the villas. The yellow one? You’ll know it by the big swirly gate and the lemon trees. They’re bee-yoo-tee-ful. I’ve been pickin’ some everyday,’ Delilah chirps.

Ron slaps some bills on the table. I watch him and Delilah leave. She teeters in high heels and holds onto the edge of her hat as they make their way out into the brewing storm.

‘Who wears high heels around here?’ I ask, incredulous.

Jamie laughs. I dip a bread crust into the shallow puddle of olive oil and swimming vinegar. The floor suddenly shakes. The table nearly imperceptibly skitters; glasses and dishes slide. I grip the edges of my seat.

‘What is that? What’s going on?’

I feel as though we’re small figures in a snow globe someone’s just lifted and shook.

‘I think it’s an earthquake,’ Jamie says, stabbing another piece of tortellini and bringing it to his mouth, entirely unbothered.

‘An earthquake? They have those here?’

‘They have those here?’ he repeats, mocking me. When he sees the serious expression on my face, he follows up with, “Yes, Renee. We’re not in New York anymore.’

‘Obviously.’ 

I choke on the strong vinegar. He holds my hand from across the table. His hand is warm, unlike Delilah’s which was cool as pebbles.

‘See? Already over, nothing to fear.’

He’s right; the room has stopped jostling. I don’t tell him about the softening forms, the thawing colors. I can already intuit his response—an eyebrow raise, a cocked head, a doubtful question like, ‘Really? Why do you think that is?’ I feel hot; a ripple of heat courses through my limbs. I fan myself with the cloth napkin and lean back in the chair. 

Jamie asks, ‘Are you going to finish that?’ gesturing toward my mostly uneaten bowl of risotto. I shake my head and he pulls the bowl toward him. 

After lunch, we return to the hotel to rest. It’s still raining, but there’s a strange bright light over everything. It casts a glow on the floating mist, the ocean that breathes in and out. While lying in bed, I overhear Jamie on the phone in the other room. He sounds far, far away. I wonder who he is speaking to, but my mouth feels heavy and has a bad taste as though it is stuffed with corks, dry as sand. I want to lift my head, to call out to him, but I can’t. I feel immensely tired. I close my eyes and try to make out what he is saying.

‘She’s resting now. Still resting, yeah. No other changes. I’ll be sure to phone. Of course. Of course, you’ll be the first to know. Okay, take care now.’ But the sounds are as blurry as the restaurant looked earlier; the conversation is mostly muffled. I don’t remember making our way back to the hotel. I can still feel Delilah’s fingers on my skin. They were so, so cool. I manage to turn my lolled head toward Jamie when he enters the room again.

‘Think you’ll be up for the visit tonight? I don’t want you overextending yourself. You seem tired.’

‘I’m fine,’ I say, but it’s coming from somewhere else, not me. 

I want to ask what is happening to me. I’m dizzy when I close my eyes from the earthquake tremors earlier. Every time I touch my skin it’s as though I am experiencing the physical sensation seconds later. I press my hands into the mattress against the sheets. My skin feels hot, so hot. I manage to push off the covers. My toe is throbbing. Somehow I know that if I let myself fall asleep, something terrible will happen. I think of the apple rolling on the carpet, the translucent, gluey skin of the worm peeling out of it.

– – 

It’s still drizzling as we walk up to Ron and Delilah’s hotel; I try to cover my head with my purse to no avail. The sky is pitch black with no moon, but lamp posts light the way, catching the glint of a shiny ceramic piece of the mosaic path every so often and causing a bright dash of light for Jamie and I to step through. The bright yellow hotel is at the very top of a hill secluded in a lush overgrowth of bushes and lemon trees, just like Delilah said. There are large, open iron gates leading to a sprawling courtyard with a gigantic porcelain fountain of angels spitting water.

‘Huh,’ is all Jamie says, staring up at the enormous monstrosity. ‘Should I ring the bell or…’

But before he can lift a finger, Delilah appears in a bright blue dress yanking open the door. 

‘Come on in!’ she shrieks, ushering us into the foyer. 

Beyond the marble-decked lobby is an open-air courtyard with another massive fountain. We follow Delilah through the courtyard toward the second half of the hotel. At the back is a glass bar top bathed in a soft yellow light, illuminating the bottles of alcohol behind the bar. We sit on barstools, swiveling. The bartender, cleaning a glass, walks over and asks what we’d like to order. A martini suddenly materializes before Delilah. 

‘She knows just what I like,’ she says, referring to the bartender but winking at both Jamie and me.

I notice the locket on the bartender’s neck. It is silver and oval, and looks exactly like the one I brought here.

‘How funny. That looks just like a locket I have.’

Delilah looks over at me with scrunched eyebrows. She spits a perfectly knotted cherry stem onto the bar top and sighs.

‘It might be,’ the bartender says. ‘I found this on the beach the other day.’ 

She runs her finger over it.

‘Let me see it then,’ I say. 

The bartender pulls back.

‘I don’t think so. What’s that saying? Finders keepers?’

Delilah yawns next to me. 

‘At least let me see if it’s mine. My mother’s picture is in there. Please.’

‘No. I don’t want you to.’

‘But if it’s mine,’ I start, edging toward the front of my seat before lunging for the locket. When I grab hold of it, it is cold and smells metallic.

‘Renee!’ Jamie screeches, pulling me back. ‘I’m so sorry, she’s never like this. She’s never been violent or anything.’ 

His eyes reproach me.

‘Where’s Ron?’ Jamie asks, turning toward Delilah.

‘On a business call or something in the library. He’ll be down shortly, I’m sure.’

‘Mind if I go look for him myself?’

‘Sure. I want to show Renee our room anyway.’

I follow Delilah into the elevator that is paneled with mirrors. Looking at her face is looking into my own and seeing us both reflected a hundred times over in the confined square box. She presses three and the elevator slowly ascends. My head is blaring behind my eyes.

‘Here, this way,’ she says, leading me down the hall. Her hand is on my wrist again.

I run my other hand along the wallpaper. The hall light overhead flickers. I have the sense that I have been here before. Jamie’s morning shower, the rain, the melting, shaking restaurant, the rotting fruit, Delilah’s floppy hat, my toe injury, this wallpaper. It is light green with a black, lace-like border. Delilah is suddenly ahead of me, looking back at me, flicking her head to the right for me to continue following her. I am Sleeping Beauty being led to the spindle—completely entranced, not in capacity of my own body. We pass Ron in the hallway. Isn’t that Ron? —I want to say, but can’t get the words out. He passes by in a starched white coat without Delilah noticing, or commenting. Isn’t that strange, I think. Delilah clicks open the door and shows me straight to the bathroom. 

‘It’s a gorgeous bathroom, isn’t it? So spa-like. There’s even a sauna! You have to try it. Here, let me take your clothes.’

She begins to undress me. My arms feel syrupy, loose. The bathroom is completely white with a glass-cased shower and a rainwater showerhead. I step out of my dress. The sauna is a black box with wood seats and a pot of hissing black coals at the center. Delilah says she’ll go in with me. She takes my hand and leads us, both naked, into the booth. 

‘Ah,’ she says, leaning her head back.

My skin is dotting with beads of moisture. I wipe a strip of it off and lick it; I taste salty. I long for the breeze from our open window in the hotel. I dream of floating on my back in the salty ocean. I wish for a cone of gelato. I am on fire. When Delilah opens her eyes and looks back at me, she is smiling. 

‘Just close your eyes,’ she says. ‘Rest your head. Here, take a towel and lie down. You’ll feel better if you drift off, if you let yourself fall.’

The pot with the steaming coals is no longer there. Instead, there is a large black hole. It is as though I can feel each of my individual pores opening. Jamie, Jamie. Where is he? The hole is consuming the base of the sauna. I lift my legs, tucking them into my chest, scooting back further on the bench. 

‘Just drop. That’s what I do,’ Delilah says, stepping into the darkness. 

I peer down and down. I don’t want to go. I know it means slipping into some kind of unconscious state, a falling asleep of sorts, and I don’t know what any of this means yet. I don't know who I’m with or where I am. I reach down and start to unravel the bandage on my toe, unwinding strip after strip. Perhaps if I can uncover this one thing, if I can peel back just one layer.

‘No, no,’ Jamie says, his voice hovering from somewhere above. ‘Leave it be, Renee.’

There are hands fussing all over me. I am not in the black hole, but I am also no longer in the sauna. There is the sound of running water. Jamie—showering. The hair on the back of my neck prickles. I feel as though we’ve been here forever, yet it’s only day two of our honeymoon.