Postcard from New Mexico
Deborah Levy
On Oct 31st I swam amongst the last leaves of the fall in my hotel pool in the railyard district of Santa Fe. When I surfaced from doing the jet-lagged lengths I saw a flip-flop lying near the edge of the pool, ZEBRA written across its red sole. The sun had been fierce that morning but at 5pm (when I was swimming) though my body was warm in the heated water, I was shivering as I spliced through the leaves. I realised it was snowing. For a while, I continued to swim as the snow came down and the sky darkened. Earlier that day (wearing a summer dress) I had passed a restaurant offering rabbit and rattlesnake stew on its menu. I knew I had the adventure in me to try at least one spoonful of snake. That’s what I was thinking about while I swam in the snow in Santa Fe. And I was thinking about you.
Then later, when I was sipping mezcal (smoky, strange) by the log fire in the hotel, I saw a man talking to the staff at reception. He was holding up one flip-flop with ZEBRA written across its red sole. I waved to him and when he came over, I was pleased to tell him exactly where to find his missing flip-flop. He said, thanks, I ran out of the pool in a hurry because the weather had changed so rapidly.
I couldn’t work out why he felt it was better to run in a solo flip-flop and that (again) made me think about you.