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Date Posted: 10:38:24 04/21/01 Sat
Author: Rafaél
Subject: A brush with silence

A brush with silence

Bethany smiled, as she remembered the hot humid days of last summer back home in the sunshine, almost tasting the salty air inside of her memories now displaced by the sound of an English climate and early summer rain.
Here on the outskirts of London, with all the stone clad buildings between parks pastel shades and sultry impressions blending almost like another world.
Reminiscing, the coastline of Barbados seemed so inviting, but then it could also be nice here, on warm wet drizzly afternoons.
Six months of solid work, then doing some additional research before travelling back
home to continue her arts degree, it had all been such a huge experience.
Most of the work could have been done in her home country, but Bethany had an intense passion when it came to her chosen vocation.
Thinking, how much she admired the life within the many varied forms of art in her own country, yet here in England within easy reach of the rest of Europe, a vast array of architecture steeped in history, much of it art in its own right, all to be experienced and savoured.

In-between the clouds outside, the strong early June sunlight, scattering its rays,
through ageing tress, it all looks so green and lush she thought.
Looking down at her watch, as two o, clock arrived then turning towards the door
retrieving her coat from the cast iron hook, buttoning up to her chin.
Outside requiring some adjustment of the eyes, overwhelmed by the light pouring back up from a rain soaked suburb, the sound of the birds beginning in response to the skies respite.
Her dark tightly curled hair sparkling in the sunlight, caught within fine droplets of rain that had become trapped there, taxicabs waiting at the side of the road, engines still running, plumes of white fumes rising lazily above the reflections in the tarmac.
An array of umbrellas, allowing her mind some mild debate, looking at the chosen designs and styles, wondering which ones appeared to look in keeping with the person beneath, rarely was it that her mind became completely idle.



Alongside the pavement Victorian wrought iron railings, lending stark contrast to the sun-soaked stone slabs, as she walked towards the gates of Forest park.
The voices of children playing, carried on the wind like the chorus of some medieval song, a dry scraping as one small boy walked past dragging a stick as though it were the culmination of a ritual forage.
Opening the gate, hinges creaked until the lowest rung slammed against the stop,
an almost rhythmic chatter, decaying into silence as she entered the park.
Gravel footpath crunching underfoot, as an expanse of lawn, filled the view, with more greenery interrupted by blues and greys reflected by water.
Dominating the lake frantic calling of mallards, the sight of the sliced bread bobbing along the edge alluring the foul, skimming tips of their webbed feet across the surface into noisy view.
As she walked towards the shallows, a more densely wooded area appearing into view
with rich flower beds and people sat lazily enjoying the afternoon.
Beyond the benches, an arched figure standing in front of an old battered easel, his
wiry frame engaged, propelling a brush laden with pigment.
She paused and then altered her direction to converge a little more closely, watching as his wrist contorted, laying sky onto the fabric.
At first she could not see how closely he observed his subject, the life he had portrayed with his brushes, all there in front of her too.
She exhaled lightly and wondered what went through his mind as he worked,
now seeing the likeness of refracted cloud borne sunlight, eased onto the stretched flaxen cloth, Bethany pondered how those random looking strokes, slowly but
surely contrived to convey his perception.
“Do you mind if watch for a while?” She asked! “Not at all!” he replied, I will, probably forget you are there anyway, please don’t take it personally.

Washing out the tired looking brush, he leaned towards an untidy box containing the
half empty tubes of colour, momentarily, she caught a glimpse of his eyes as he once again started mixing his paint into another chosen shade on his wooden palette.
Seeming almost careless, dropping the brushes into a conscripted coffee jar, he turned towards her, his neutral expression giving little away until a gentle smile interrupted her heartbeat.
Her dark brown eyes caught his for a moment as she became aware that her feet were fidgeting, there was something about him that drew her attention.
Drawing breath, he shook the brushes out onto the wet grass, flailing the sparse remnants of pigmented water into multicoloured beads, then carefully zipping the half finished painting into a purpose made folder, he collected his brushes and paint into a small rucksack.

“Do you paint here often?” Bethany interrupted, “Sometimes” he replied, without elaborating.
“There is a café at the end of the park! would you like some coffee?” He asked,
taken completely by surprise, she answered “yes” and then glanced shyly towards his wind weathered features.
His eyes somewhere between slate and indigo sparkled intensely, as he moved away from her walking along the pathway, his conversation followed him as she listened
intently, barely having time to reply to his remarks.
A little further on, he turned his head towards her and smiled again, “what do you do when you are not painting?” she asked.
“I have a day job! working in Engineering, it keeps the wolves away, and allows me to pay for the remainder of life and the roof over my head”.
“Do you live near here?” “Yes that is why I painted in the park today, I had a glass of wine at lunchtime with my meal, so had to go somewhere within walking distance”.
“Maybe I could see some more of your work sometime?” Yes if you are interested, I have quite a selection of pictures at home, although most of them are unframed”.
Their walking continued until the arrival of a café, “Fancy a coffee” he asked smiling.

Sitting at the sun bleached wooden table, pale steam swirling in the gentle breeze as it began to rise above the hot coffee cups.
“I live just over there!” He gestured.
“By the way, what is your name?” “Dante” he replied. “mine is Bethany,” she informed him, almost hiding behind her cup.
“Is it one of those thatched cottages over there? your home” “Sorry! Oh yes!, second one from the right”.
“It must be great living so close to the park!” Yes! It is, I walk here most days after I finish the day job--I had better be going Bethany, I have enjoyed chatting, you are most welcome to call at my house anytime to view my paintings”.
“Are you busy now Dante?” “No! I am just going to have a bite to eat and then, maybe relax with a little music for the evening”.

Without saying anything else, he stood up with his folder and walked towards the path again, briefly turning his head to see if she had followed.
Breaking step to catch up with him, Bethany once again found herself conversing with the back of his head, she found this quite bemusing.
For a moment his footsteps slowed, and then for the first time they walked together, heading towards the gates at the bottom end of the park.

Taking a bunch keys from his inside jacket pocket, he then opened the door a few feet inside of the red brick arch, almost obscured by a bloom laden wisteria tree,
its tendrils clasped to the masonry.
Although Bethany was not particularly tall, she found her self-having to duck to avoid a large oak beam that appeared as though it had seen more than a few woodworms.
“Please excuse the clutter I don’t have many guests and usually find myself far too
busy during the week to be particularly bothered with domesticity” he mumbled.
The room certainly reflected that statement there were, paintings everywhere.
Her attention now drawn towards one particular picture on the opposite wall, it portrayed a vase of flowers, the flowers appearing so lifelike, also very intense.
Further along, in amongst half a dozen or so landscapes that stood stacked against the wall, she could make out the features of his own portrait also looking out from a
roughly framed canvas.
By now it was obvious to Bethany that Dante lived here alone, she was almost tempted to remark, but thought better of it.
“I am having a glass of wine! Would you care to join me?” “Yes! that would be nice”
moments later he returned with a dusty un-labelled bottle, “blackberries picked last year from the park, I make it myself” as the cork now effortlessly withdrew, impaled by the corkscrew.

A few glasses later she found herself feeling very relaxed in his company, his economical use of words had subsided, he had quite a warm smile when he chose to display it.
Topping up her glass and passing it back again, their fingers touching briefly, she chuckled, and commented how fragrant the fruity wine was.
Walking across the room and then returning, he handed her a small canvas, painted on
which, a view of the moon at night.
“Where is this Dante?” “I painted that one purely from my imagination he replied”.
Once again, Bethany found her thoughts returning to the house near the beach, all those miles away and her family.
Dante was himself becoming less reserved, aside from the stimulating conversation he
found Bethany extremely attractive.
She then rose from the chair and announced, “I had better get going, and leave you in peace so you can enjoy the rest of your evening, I have very much enjoyed talking with you”.
“Feel free to visit again if you find yourself at loose end” he replied”.
Stooping as he reached for the door then pausing, Dante turned towards her again. Bethany looked into his eyes, then placed a single kiss on his cheek, smiled broadly and once more, thanked him for showing her his work.
Both in silence lingering in the doorway their gazes held more deeply now, Dante
returned the kiss, finding her full lips, as she deliberately turned her head demurely
and dwelled upon his smile.
Opening her eyes, she found herself moving away from the doorway, her hand now held in his, they both looked awkwardly at each other, before returning back to the sofa, sitting and mutually enjoying the warmth of their lingered embrace.
He leaned over her now, placed a delicate kiss on her neck, while caressing her ear with his lips.
Together they tumbled onto the carpet, he noticed the button of her faded jeans opened, the zip moved downwards as she reclined, revealing- peach coloured lace, his eyes were surely transfixed on her exposed navel, the loosely knitted jumper riding up her waist.
As they moved closer, a single kiss barely placed on her brow, one hand placed against her cheek his fingertips massaged her tousled hair.
She unbuttoned his shirt, and pulled him closer, her lips held against his, pressing her tongue between his, and delicately traversing his teeth.
His hand once again found hers as she lifted herself, following him up the narrow staircase, fading sunlight draped across the sheets of his unmade bed,
inviting more than just a visual inspection.

She held him close, as the mattress absorbed their careless arrival onto the duvet.
His large but gentle hands stroked inside of her pullover, and then moved the garment over her head, leaving only a lace bra to cover the rise and fall of her breasts, pale
against her soft brown skin.
Their deepening breaths quickened, almost muted by a tongue entwined appreciation, his lower garments removed without taking his eyes from her gaze, she gasped as she felt his touch, her own faded jeans now strewn at the foot of the bed.
Dante, lying on top, holding her in his arms, felt her erect nipples brush against his skin, their last items of clothing cast aside with complete disregard.
His position shifted slightly as she felt him pressed against her moist anticipation.
She then drew her feet upwards along the backs of his legs, allowing them to naturally nestle onto his lower back, kissing his shoulders, flicking her tongue mischievously.
As their lips parted one more time, his tongue traversed her skin, he slowly tenderly nibbled his way towards her beckoning teats, hands squeezing her ribs,
while he savoured the sensation of her inner warmth slid against his waist.
Against his chest, this feeling more intense while her breathing uttered a deepening
gasp, his tongue barely touching, as her secrets were then no more.
Without any conscious effort, the kissing resumed as she lifted her knees grasping the back of his neck, his fingertips stroked her forehead, smiling again she felt him slowly enter her, awaiting warm moist, so yielding flesh.
Her gesturing became impatient, as he allowed himself to push a little deeper with each downward movement, his hands massaging her throat as she took him inside.
As he held onto her tightly, her fingertips sinking into his buttocks encouraged his
sow deliberate strokes, such was the urgency of a deep warmth growing, as her hips pivoted allowing him to penetrate much further.
Silently she gestured him to roll over, he found himself looking up at her silhouetted
form against the ceiling, she nestled downwards gathering the sheet with her hands supporting her as she threw back her head and gasped!
She lifted and lowered herself, his fingers tracing the taught muscles of her thighs,
then holding her waist, raising himself rhythmically meeting her falling ecstasy.
The temperature in that small room became, almost stifling as the beads of perspiration condensed, a mingling with nightfall.
Looking straight into each others eyes, every sinew of each of their bodies tightened, teeth clenched, her mouth opened wide, he observed her impending release.
He allowed himself, to disregard his earthly ties, their minds entwined pulsating warmth discharged as static might through clammy air, inside hot tingling blood rushing, throbbing raising, subsiding…
Still both gazes fixed, as heartbeats quietened inside their ears, which for moments
shared had become oblivious to all else.
Dante, smiled broadly, he appeared to be momentarily speechless, and remained so
Bethany was not saying much either…
Lying, together in silence, not wishing to find words to justify, their consciousness, drifting as they massaged each other into a satisfied and restful sleep.

“What time do you need to be at the college,” Dante asks! standing over the bed with a tray containing toast, marmalade and freshly squeezed orange juice.
“Somewhere around nine, she replies, smiling sheepishly towards him.
Placing the tray on the bedside cabinet, Dante leans over holding her head in his hands while placing a kiss on her for-head. “Mmmmmm you are amazing” he says.
She yawns stretches out fully, then exhales, “yes last night………..”, and lit the room with her smile……….





(Registered Draft)




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