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brasserie named after a famous writer of adventure novels. After a short stroll, they found the place sandwiched between an art dealer and a rug store at the end of one of Carmel's myriad dead-end alleys. |
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A man wearing a short apron showed them to a table next to a wall-mounted, nineteen-inch television set and recited the menu to them from memory. Kyna ordered a draft beer and a slice of pizza and Cyrus asked for a steak sandwichrareand a beer. Between bites, they watched part of a football game between the Giants and the Jets while over at the bar, three old-timers with red noses sang off-key IRA protest songs. The soft lights, the good food and even the melancholy singing did wonders for their mood and for the first time Cyrus noticed that the tiny lines around Kyna's eyes had disappeared. In fact, her whole appearance was a puzzle to him. In spite of all they had been through, she looked younger than she had when they started the trip. |
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After dessert, Cyrus paid the bill and they stepped outside. |
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It was the kind of night that made Carmel a magnet for lovers from all over the world: cool with a heavy fog that filtered down like wood smoke through the tangled tree limbs. It was kind of spooky too, in a Hitchcockian sort of way. |
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"What do you want to do now?" Cyrus asked as he helped Kyna into her jacket. |
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"Feel like taking a stroll?" she replied. |
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Ocean Avenue was one long display window and Kyna felt the need to stop and peer in every one. |
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"Look at that," she said, pointing to a bronze statue of a Navaho warrior spearing a buffalo. |
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It was okay, Cyrus supposed, but in his opinion most of the stuff in the windows was TUStotally useless shit. He did, however, see a graphite tennis racquet in the window of a sporting goods shop that he wouldn't have minded having. |
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As they strolled along, admiring the clothes, the art, the rare books and jewelry, the slope of the street became increasingly steep as it approached the ocean. Before they knew it, the |
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