Blood-drenched Beard

He sees Jasmim at dusk the next day after work. She is closing up the agency and treats him with the exact dose of friendliness to insinuate that he is somehow being inconvenient. Her thick, beautiful hair frames her face. When he kisses her cheek in greeting, her dry curls brush against his face, and he smells her sweat and feels a desire to pull her to him then and there. All he can say are banal things about the weather and work. He wishes he had all the time in the world to rediscover her face, but he needs to do it as quickly as possible, preferably without being noticed, or she’ll wonder why he’s staring at her like a moron. She has old acne marks on her cheeks and an oval scar at the top of her collarbone, near where her trapezoid muscle starts. As she gets her helmet from inside the office and locks the glass door, she answers his questions without enthusiasm. Things are very quiet on weekdays — she spends the whole time answering e-mails sent to the agency’s site and scheduling the few customers that show up before Friday afternoon, when business begins to pick up. She climbs onto her motorbike with her pink helmet hanging from her arm and starts to maneuver it. It is a worn-out Honda CG 125cc and must have been bought used. She is wearing canvas shorts, black stockings, and brown boots. Woman and motorbike roll from the pavement onto the cobbled street swaying like a gangly animal. He manages to ask if she’d like to go out sometime. Have a beer now, perhaps? She says she doesn’t drink and drive and steps down on the pedal, but the motorbike doesn’t start. She is about to try again but puts her foot back down on the ground. She takes her cell phone out of her shorts and asks what his number is. I have a mission tonight, she says. I’m going to babysit a friend’s kids ’cause she’s going to the Jack Johnson concert in Florianópolis. But I’ll call you when I can, and we can have a beer, okay? He thinks it’s great. Have fun with the kids. They’re gorgeous, she says, but I hope they go to sleep quickly. I’m taking a book and three DVDs. And I’m going to pick up a bucket of ice cream at Gelomel on the way there. Sounds like a good night, Jasmim. She kick-starts the pedal again, and the motorbike starts. ’Bye then. She puts on the helmet, accelerates slowly, and disappears to the left on the first street after the bridge.

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