“Yes!” Gene reasserted his command of the room. “Amsterdam, Barcelona, Berlin! My God, Berlin is the best. One of those cities not attached to any place in the world. Ever been to Berlin, Eddy? No, well, it’s like its own planet.”
They made their way outside, and started carrying over branches and driftwood from a pile beside the house to a spot above where the silver ribbons of foam washed in. Stars freckled the black dome above all the way out to the horizon with a clearness and uniformity that gave the feeling they were floating on a platform in space. The only voids in this display were the inlet island and tree line around them.
Edward looked over Gene’s sailboat, impressed by its size and interior furnishings. He quizzed Gene about its details. Later, while Gene and Charlie dug a hole, Edward retrieved packaged sausage and corn on the cob to roast. By the time the women came out – hair made anew – the men had the bonfire going and growing. The six sat on beach towels and blankets in a half circle on the windward side of the fire in what Edward considered a slightly curious order. There was Charlie, Gene, Anne, Rachel, Mary, and finally, himself. For a while he tried to figure out which woman was Gene’s girlfriend, but the visitors did nothing to show any of them were couples. He sat propped up on his elbows. A few feet above the flames the smoke dematerialized completely. From a distance their blaze must have looked like an ember in the blackness of midnight.
The concern about breaking the rules by letting people stay on the beach lingered in him, but another glass of wine cured him of this affliction. He stuck the sausages through sticks and they all helped barbecue these for a very filling snack, and soon Edward had forgotten all about his duties and started enjoying their improvised campout, listening to Gene’s jokes while trying to catch what the women were whispering to each other.
When the sausage was finished, Mary retrieved sliced cheese and crackers, laying them out on a tray with an unappreciated neatness. Before the first batch of wood had burned away, Gene ran to his boat, and returned with a bottle of red wine. He made a big show of opening this, pretended that it was a great exertion. When he finally pulled out the cork with a POP!, he asked everyone if the effort was as good for them as it was for him.
“This is a Reiner. Twenty years. In France, they call it a black wine because it’s so dark. You should sip it to receive the full majestic flavor.” Gene splayed his fingers besides Edward’s glass as he poured as if protecting every drop.
“Wow. Smooth,” Edward said. “Much better than anything I’ve ever had. How much is a bottle?”
“Oh, if you have to ask, my friend, if you have to ask… Just enjoy it. Let it slide down your throat. It’s like milk.” Gene gave everyone a third of a glass.
Edward caught Mary asking Rachel how long she had known Gene. She replied that it was a few weeks. Edward didn’t believe it.
“Ever been to Brazil, Eddy?” Gene asked in a way that made Edward wonder if he should even bother answering. Gene planted the bottle into the sand and lifted his glass, closing his eyes and lifting his chin into the air to let the wine flow into his throat.
“Wild place. Charlie and I flew there last year for Carnival. Charlie got pick pocketed – right, Charlie? Had to become a transvestite and sell his body on the street to buy a ticket home – right, Charlie? Right?”
Everyone laughed.
“One thing about Brazil, it’s like one big dance club on an acid trip. And I mean that in a good way. Every single soul is trippin, and I mean every single one. So, we go there and rented out a floor of a – I don’t what – townhouse. Very nice place. Stucco all around. Shaded by all these big potted plants everywhere. Shared a kitchen with this one family that came in for the festival from some village that’s probably a thousand miles away. Rode the bus for three days just to be in one parade, you know. That’s how they are there. And they have this twelve-year old daughter with them. Cute girl. Long blonde hair down to her elbows, brightest hazel eyes you ever saw and this adorable button nose. Well, we learn that this girl has cancer. Yeah, shit, I know. Doctor said she had six months to live. After they said that, I could see it. Her hair is rather thin in places. Very pale. But, you know what they do? Obviously, not move her into a hospital room.” Gene paused. No one spoke.
“You need some more wine, Mary? I see your glass is almost empty.” Gene stood, uprooting the bottle from the sand. He continued around the group, carefully pouring the valuable liquid into glasses.
“What did they do?” Anne asked after he had moved on to Mary’s glass.
“Who?”
“The family with the little girl.”
“Oh yes. What do they do?” Gene looked up as if remembering. “Do they take her to some hospice to wait out her last months, like a prisoner in a jail cell? No! They give her Samba dance lessons! She’s got this bandage around her waist that covers a scar from her last surgery. Her mother redoes it every morning, so she can dance. And that’s all she does. They tell us she’s been taking classes every day for the entire month before Carnival. Imagine that.”
Gene returned to his spot, got down on his knees, put his free hand down and leaned closer to the fire so everyone could see him.
“That my friend is the way to live. Life is short. You got to keep dancing. It’s a beautiful philosophy.” He made an exaggerated nod before sitting back on the sand.
“Oooh,” Anne cooed after a couple moments of silence. “But what happened to the little girl?” She held her glass out without moving it.
Gene crossed his legs, picked up the wine bottle by the neck and took in a long swig.
“I don’t know. We left a day after the party ended.” He shrugged.
“Didn’t you find out how she was doing?” Mary asked.
“No, and that’s not the point. The point is this. You have got to take life by the balls—”
“That’s a sad story!” Rachel glared at Gene.
“Woah! Woahhh! Stop, stop. Stop right there.” Gene waved the bottle over the edge of the fire. “You aren’t seeing it.”
“Seeing what? Did the little girl die?” Mary asked.
“Yeah, what happened?” Anne and Rachel asked in a partial chorus.
“No, no, no,” Gene shook his head with his eyes closed, causing a curl of hair to fall over his eyebrow. “I’m sorry, but you cannot be sad or ask, ‘did she die?’ You cannot say, ‘will or won’t we die’ – we all die. That’s not the point. The point is—” Gene stood up, holding the bottle up into the air. “We must stand up for our right to party and not take it sitting down – or lying down. Especially not in some hospital bed. That’s the genius of Brazil. Give me party or give me death. It’s better to die dancing than to live on your knees. And they don’t let anything get in the way of a good party.”
“So, you didn’t try to find out what happened to the little girl?” Anne asked.
“No I did not. Why would I? Why ruin the memory of that perfect, beautiful, precious little sambaing girl. Why do you want to see her in a state of disease? Scars and scabs covering her body. That beautiful hair falling out. Bone-white from weight loss—”
“That’s a terrible story,” Mary said. The two girls laughed, and this caused Mary to join them.
Gene looked from Edward to his friend Charlie and then back to Edward. “Men! The women refuse to be reformed. Will you join me in my cause? The world needs to see that while we dance, there is no war, no poverty, and no injustice.” Gene gyrated his hips, keeping his arms raised. “If only the world stopped worrying about tomorrow and started celebrating today, absolutely all problems would be solved. Will you both join my side in this important, humanity-changing debate?”
“What about taking care of family?” Mary asked, supported by the other women’s laughing.
Gene dipped his head, appearing to be gazing at his feet.
“I thought my story about the beautiful dancing girl proved my point. That family was overflowing with generous, joyful love—”