Before Robert could go on he heard the phone on the other side being replaced, followed by the dull engaged tone. Robert carefully placed the car phone back in its holder. He looked at the rear-view mirror again. He took off the cap, an indistinguishable colour in the pale light, but with the numbers ‘23’ on it. He felt like dialling home again and speaking to the maid. He wanted to tell her that he was sorry for shouting.
Robert put the cap back on and decided to drive home and never come back again. He looked at the side of his hand where they had stamped him. He started rubbing the spot and then spat at it. He rubbed it harder. Then he licked the spot as if curious what his own skin would taste like. It was salty, and he could feel the small wet hairs on it. Then he started the engine and slid out of the car park. He was never coming back, no matter how good or dashing he looked. He thought of calling his wife’s aunt in Wisconsin, and interrupting her from whatever she was doing to ask, “Did you mean that? Did you mean it when you said I was a dashing man?” And then he dismissed the thought because he knew he did not have her number anymore.
It was three a.m. when Robert got back to the apartment. When he opened the door, he sighed into the stale darkness that greeted him. Robert went straight to the bedroom and lay on the bed. He turned on the radio. They were playing Love Line on Class 95 FM. The female deejay was asking a woman about her most romantic experiences. The woman was telling her about the time that she had chickenpox, and how her husband had cooked for her, even though he had never been in the kitchen before. He had not been afraid to touch her. He had in fact carried her in his arms back into the bedroom when she fell asleep in the living room. The night went on like that, with callers, giggling, the deejay going “awwww” and furnishing pauses with that synthetic laughter, from behind her sponged microphone that absorbed all insincerity and filtered out only that silvery voice.
Robert thought that at one point of time that a boy had called the station talking about a cap that he had lost. And then he imagined a Filipino woman talking about the loneliness of ironing other people’s clothes. And then more voices came in, people whom he would never meet, people who just filled in the spaces between love songs, lovestruck songs, lovelorn songs. And then he found himself asking what station he was listening to, what they were saying… Robert felt his eyes growing heavy as the voices from the radio faded away, like the sound of waves sweeping back into the horizon. He was brought back to a beach, some time in the late evening. The sky was a deep indigo and he had to shield his eyes from the glare of the setting sun. A woman was walking up to him, trudging barefoot on the sand and whisking away grains from her elbows. She smiled at Robert.
“I saw a crab just now,” she said.
“Then why didn’t you catch it?” he asked her.
“I wanted to, but the waves caught it and washed it away.” The woman looked sadly at the sea, pouting her lower lip.
“Do you want to go back now? It’s getting dark.”
“Can’t we just stay here a little while?”
“If you want to.” Robert peered into the distance and saw an Indian woman towelling her shivering son.
“I want to see the sun disappear into the sea,” said the woman.
“Well, it’s not such a nice sunset. The best ones are in other places, like Hawaii.”
“You’ve been to Hawaii?”
“Once, when I was small.”
“This sunset’s all right,” said the woman. “Robert, do you think we could go to Hawaii some day?”
“For a holiday?”
“For a honeymoon maybe.”
Robert gasped disbelievingly. “You’re kidding, right? Honeymoon?” He started laughing.
“What’s so funny?” the woman asked. “We’ve known each other for what? Five years?”
“So we should get married,” Robert smirked.
“Does it sound like a bad idea to you?”
“I’ve never really thought about it.”
The woman suddenly looked into Robert’s eyes.
“Robert, I know I’ve never really told you this.”
Robert stole a quick look behind her, and then, feeling obliged, looked back at the woman’s face. “Yes?”
“But you should stop wearing your cap.”
“Why?”
“I like you better without your cap.”
“You know why I wear it. It runs in my family. You’ve seen my dad. He’s only 53 but his hair’s all gone.”
“Take it off.”
“Come on, don’t force me.”
The woman reached her hand out and touched the rim of Robert’s cap. She slowly lifted it off his head and then, in one lightning motion, threw it across the beach.
“Hey!” Robert cried.
The cap had landed in the sea. Robert lurched forward but the woman held his shoulder firmly.
“Robert,” she said.
“Why did you do that for?”
“Robert, I like you this way.”
“I don’t. I look old.”
“We’re all going to grow old some day. Isn’t it better to grow old with someone?”
“You don’t understand. You don’t know me. Look, I’m at a stage where I’m going through a lot of things.”
“Robert, don’t say anything. Just hold my hand. Don’t think.”
Robert did as he was told. He held the woman’s hand in his and squeezed it gently. The woman turned her face towards Robert and kissed him. Her lips were soft. Robert closed his eyes, but he knew her eyes were open, trying to read his face. He would not know that he would wake up with a start with Wan
