The fact that Nathan allowed another man to fill his woman’s need of companionship led me straight to the weakness in their relationship.  Catherine was in need of a friend.  Someone to listen to her stories, to know the name of her childhood pet, of her desire to climb Angkor Wat, to understand that her fear of spiders could be seen in the scar left on her arm.  All these details combined together, like a unique fragrance, one that drew me closer to her, and her to me.  It was the unique combining of each one’s sense of self.  I told her about my right ankle.  How the problem originated from a fall off a horse, and my need to sustain my “manhood,” no doctors, no crying.  I was a man.  It had been a test by my father, which I won at the cost of a forever limp. 

I promised to show her the world, and if we loved it together, we’d stay that way.  I would make her my wife.  Catherine grew up in Texas, close enough to Latin America to appreciate the heat.  I’ve always believed those who grow up in hot climates remain more passionate by nature.  Perhaps it’s what they call pheremones in the sweat, though I think it’s a product of the land.  You can see it in the dancing, the twirls in a salsa, the thrust of a tango.  Flamenco lights the flame of desire that permeates the night, which is why latins stay up so late and sleep through the morning.  Our siesta is a rest from the heat that burns within us.

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