08-23-2022, 06:06 PM
(This post was last modified: 08-23-2022, 06:06 PM by Koenraad Akermann.)
Perhaps the seaside view hadn't been necessary.
Somebody, once, had told him that in fact, one only benefitted from the seaside when close enough to the waves to feel their freshness against the feet, to breathe in the salt, and have the ears filled overwhelmed with the sound of the waves. The sea only helped when it was almost a threat.
Koenraad was not in the position to actually experience that himself, not today, so instead he fantasized about it, looking outside the window from his bed. The water seemed more grey than blue today, but there was beauty even in that. Colour had the chance to come true much better when there was such a scarcity. Koenraad found himself liking it almost as much as he had liked the overabundance of the desert. He sighed and turned to Ramses, sitting nearby.
That desaturated space really contrasted with him, not only superficially, his colouring definitely closer to that of the desert rather than the cold, English beach, but also in spirit: Koenraad thought of his presence like a gentle and constant sort of warmth, nothing to share with the English summer, where comfort was never to be counted on. And yet, this was also his land. Koenraad did wonder how the connection worked here. He had learnt that no place in the world was more home to Ramses than an excavation site or a library, but that didn't have to mean he felt no love or connection to this place. "Have you been to this part of the country before?" he inquired. The island was not one and all and they had so often talked about their trip to Whitby only as "going to England." Now that they were there, he supposed, they ought to be more specific.
"I had thought the sea here would resemble the sea in Belgium, but it isn't quite the same. It looks cooler, but also wilder. I wonder if it will look like this for the rest of the summer."
Koenraad was lying down and he had the feeling it was harder to hear him because of that, so he made an effort to make his voice louder, but it cracked a little because of his slightly dry throat. The room wasn't big and the ceiling was somewhat low for his taste, but his window on the sea was large and the fair wood bed felt sturdy and comfortable, though it was too large for him. Koenraad was a very, very tall man so they had to arrange something long enough to fit him, which in turn turned out to be wide enough for two more people. It made him look thinner and whiter than he already was. Two days prior, he had had a bout of convulsions and Ramses had to make the necessary arrangements to finish arranging the house for them both while he slept in a half-finished bedroom, tormented by a fever that, while exhausting, wasn't life-threatening. Or so had the doctor said. Koenraad was wearing only his night attire -it was too hot for a dressing-gown- and his white clothes made him look even paler. It was no news, Koenraad had always been a rather pale man, but the traces of sun of the Mediterranean were slowly disappearing, draining some additional red from his face that had been almost omnipresent throughout the last few years.
