The Covenant of Water

by Abraham Verghese

And if beauty is in the ephemeral, what about the beautiful things you can’t have? Perhaps that kind of beauty does last forever.

In a land where parrots with clipped wings predict the future from a deck of cards, where marriages are determined by horoscopes, Celeste’s foreknowledge of where this will lead—not just in the next few minutes, but in the days and weeks to come—makes her try to disengage her hand, but it is too late. He reels her in, draws her close, and with a sigh she lets herself fall into his body.

Can the body explain? Can the mind come up with reasons after the fact? She’s grateful to Digby for awakening the part of her that lay dormant, the truest part of her. He did it by adoring her in his portraits, by making her feel human again, by loving her. Does she need his validation, or the validation of anyone, for that matter, in order to exist? If she had to start all over again and if she were younger, Digby could well be the one she would seek. But now? Love? She pedals faster. Racing from, or racing to? When she reaches Digby’s quarters, perspiration soaks her blouse. Minutes later, sinking into his body, moving as one with him, she wonders how she survived so long in a marriage that only briefly knew this intimacy. Digby’s touch is a drug; his freshness, his eagerness make it all the more potent. Their escalating need for each other is a sand sculpture that they shape together.