The young bartender put the trays of glasses behind the bar and began to fill glasses with beer. They worked in almost perfect tandem together. Every few minutes, when he thought she was too busy to notice, he sneaked a glance at her. Yam noticed that the girl was pretending not to see him but it was clear she was basking in his attention.
“Are you new?” she asked eventually, without looking at him. “I’ve been working here for a month,” he replied with a broad smile.
“I haven’t seen you before,” she said, handing a customer two glasses of beer with white foam on top.
“But I saw you,” he whispered in her ear. “I happen to know that your name is Amalia.”
He crossed from one end of the bar to the other, passing through the narrow space behind her, his body brushing but not touching hers, his invisible breath tingling her neck. Yam noticed Amalia’s sudden stillness. Her body flexed and her breathing deepened. Seemingly their shift was over because, a few minutes later, the two of them walked out of the club, and Yam followed. The music was replaced by the sound of the waves, and the headlights of passing cars on the coastal road cast a dim light on the two figures whose laughter echoed in the stillness of the night.
Yam strained to see. On the beach, he spotted the white tank top he knew she was wearing and next to her, the man’s long shadow.
The laughter had stopped, and the silence was broken only by the sound of the waves.
“I can’t take my eyes off you,” he said, and Amalia smiled at him with sparkling eyes. “Would you allow me to paint you?” he asked.
With one swift motion, Amalia pulled her top over her head. “Maybe.” She laughed and kicked off her jeans onto the sand. “Coming?”
Yam watched as the girl dove, launching herself headlong into the white surf. The young man jumped in and caught her. Whooping and laughing, the line between child play and adult play blurred.
Covered with seawater, they came out of the water and ran elated onto the warm sand. Yoav grabbed her by the arm and pressed his lips against hers. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered as he moved his wet body closer to hers.
“And you’re a painter,” she giggled, as her fingers drew the shape of a crown on his back.
“One day, I’ll be famous and you’ll be the most expensive painting on exhibition,” he whispered, his lips covering hers as she closed her eyes.
Yam longed to see more, but the scene began to fade, and he found himself once again face to face with the Indian and his four gesticulating arms.
“I hardly saw anything!” protested Yam, frustrated.
“Time’s up,” the Indian gloated with a smirk while peeling a clementine. “Besides, up here we maintain a strict policy of confidentiality,” he added with a hint of malice.
“I don’t need to see anymore; I know what I want,” said Yam, his entire being yearning for one more blissful moment with the two of them there on that beach.
“So innocent. How touching,” said the turban-wearing Indian mockingly.
Yam squeezed his eyes shut. He would not let the fat, annoying Indian unhinge him.
“It’s in the regulations,” the Indian affirmed, “Right here in Clause 314, Article C,” he waved the book in front of Yam’s nose. “Believe me, I’d love to be rid of you as soon as possible, but unfortunately I’m obliged to offer you three options. It’s mandatory, which means that I have to show you three families. Otherwise, I could face disciplinary action.” He sighed in frustration and wiped his sweaty face with a handkerchief.
“Protocol states that I am obligated by the guidelines to recommend that you consider your decision very carefully. You know that life expectancy on Earth has risen to eighty-five. Who knows? There’s a chance it could even go as high as one-hundred-and-fifty in the near future. That’s a very long time to live on the primitive planet they call Earth, with humanity’s quarrels, lies, and greed,” he coughed and spat out a small clementine seed.
“Childhood might be a relatively short period, but it’s the most fundamental time because it shapes and defines you and affects the rest of your life. Family is important, so you should choose carefully and it’s not necessarily the first pretty face you see,” he smirked. “But if you think you’re so smart and you know it all, then sign this waiver here, and here, and let’s wrap things up.”
A hologram in a black frame opened itself up in front of Yam, and a long finger poked through it, “Go on, hurry up, please.” The Indian’s dark eyes gleamed with aggravation.
In general, Yam fully trusted his gut feelings, but he had to admit that the Indian might be right. It can’t hurt to watch the last family, he thought. The insufferable Indian was right; after all, childhood is the most significant period of one’s lifetime. He really didn’t feel like going through another painful childhood. He’d gone through enough of those in previous incarnations.
“OK. I will see the last family,” he said, ignoring the irritating triumphant smile spreading across the Indian’s face.
Darkness fell once again. This time, when the picture came into focus, Yam found himself in a vast living room. The room was large and bright, and a view of the sea was framed by the white sill of a large, wide window.
A large flat-screen TV was hanging on the white wall opposite the window. It was on, though the sound was on mute. The screen showed two stern middle-aged men in the midst of what seemed to be a heated discussion.
It was clear that a lot of thought and money had been invested in the design of the house. Yam thought that if he chose this family he would probably have no financial problems in his next reincarnation.
A man and a woman were seated stiffly
