It happened last summer. I had recently written my first story that had been published in a local journal. Then I was dreaming of a series of short stories and was looking for themes for them. My editor advised me to speak to a woman. Of course, I had absolutely no idea of what we could talk about, but I found her representative, and we arranged a meeting in a small cozy cafe overlooking the embankment.
Having finished the night shift, feeling gloomy, being anxious of failure, I went to see the stranger.
A cold sky hovered over my head. A piercing wind blew from the sea becoming intense by the shore and scratching the skin like sandpaper. A large fair seagull with glittering amber eyes was walking along the shore. The air smelled of sea salt. I hastened my steps and climbed a steep road up the hill.
I came to the cafe before the appointed time. The silence was total: there were no visitors. I ordered tea and eagerly made a few sips of the scalding drink. Then, as if caught in a chill, I began to rub my hands over the hot cup.
A woman of forty approached my table a minute later. Her embarrassment was brightened up by a childlike smile; she was looking at me amiably with her grey-green eyes. Her cheeks were flushed red, as if she had smeared them with cherry juice. Small firm breasts could be guessed at under a blue thin silk dress. The neck was decorated with a delicate pink coral necklace.
I got up to greet her. She held out a thin hand to me. I offered a chair. She thanked me and sat down. And after a short silence she asked:
“Do you smoke?”
“No…” I replied, as if apologizing.
“Do you mind, if I do?”
I could hear high notes in her melodious voice. Not caring for my consent, she squinted and looked inquiringly at me. On noticing that ours was a non-smoking table, she rose from her seat, crossed the empty hall, and returned with an ashtray. Then, having lit a cigarette, she released a thin stream of smoke.
The owner of the cafe approached us to take an order. The man was slender, about fifty years old, with slightly curly gray hair at his temples. He had a beautiful elongated face with deep black eyes. He glanced at us and smiled broadly.
“Do you have something to drink?” she asked.
“Lemonade, coffee. Tea.”
“To drink, I meant…” she emphasized the word “drink.”
“Wine,” followed a hasty response, “local, very good.”
“A glass of dry red wine and a coffee.”
The owner slightly bowed to the woman and left.
The sound of waves was heard in the ensuing silence. After a short pause, she noticed:
“Oh, right, we haven’t still introduced each other. My name is Irina.”
“Pleased to meet you, I am Jan.”