I STAND BY THE SHORE watching the waves roll in, churning sand, debris half-hidden in the ocean’s foam. Using my toes, I wedge one shoe off, then the other. I roll up each sock and tuck one in each shoe, far enough from where the water reaches dry sand. Rolling up the cuffs of my pants, I take those first few steps into the cold water. There is immediate relief.
This may be my last meeting with Pó. I will be leaving Beira soon. Taking with me all the effort that Pó has put into crafting her life.
A wave crashes against my shins. I stagger back. My calves are pulled by the undertow into deeper water, knee-high.
Sunday, and most of the city is closed now. There are hardly any lights except the blue glow from fluorescent bulbs in billiards halls or all-night cafés. Gradually I become aware of only the Grande Hotel. When I stand on my balcony it appears as a black hole erased from the city. I think of the dream realized when it was built. No money was spared. The idea was that they would come to safari in luxury, feel compelled to stay in this unknown city, and the place would fill them with wonder.