Sand

“You . . er . . you don’t have to . . you know . . stay . . !” He said softly.
“It’s fine.” I said. “I’ve nothing better to do. Besides, you need looking after.”
“Thank you.” He whispered. “You’re . . very kind . . !”

As I sat there next him, I realized that I really liked him. I liked his shy manner, his utter politeness and his quiet gentleness. Of course, I also liked the fact that he was enormously good looking and very easy on the eyes. I laughed softly and his eyebrows shot up questioningly.
“Sorry.” I said. “But I’ve been wanting to meet you properly for some time. I’ve lived across the hall for just over a year now and I’ve hardly ever seen you.”
“I apologize . . for that. I . . uh . . I’m not . . um . . very good . . you know . . uh . . with people . . strangers . . !” He managed to get out, the longest sentence I’d ever heard him say.

“Well, we’re not strangers now, are we.” I said with a grin. “So I expect to see more of you. I’d like us to be friends.”
He stared at me, his eyes wide and piercing.
“You want . . to um . . be friends . . with me . . ?” He asked.

“Sure, why not?” I said. “I don’t have many and I really would like you for a friend.”
He sighed and relaxed back into the bed.
“I’d like that too.” He said and closed his eyes.

A little while later, I gave him some more of the tonic and he fell asleep again. I left him and went down to the corner deli and picked up something for us for lunch, some nourishing soup for Nic and a beef and salad on rye for me.

When I got back, I woke him and sat on the edge of the day-bed and helped him drink the soup. He sat up, his hands folded neatly in his lap and drank every drop that I spooned into him. He could have fed himself I suppose but when I held out the first spoonful, he sipped it up obediently. I think he knew that I would insist on it so he quietly let me feed him.

After lunch, I sat in the armchair and we talked. We talked mainly about art as it was a common subject for us. The more we talked, the less hesitant he became in his speech. His sentences began to flow more easily and he no longer punctuated them with ‘ums’, ‘ers’ and ‘you knows’; and I realized that he’d only spoken in that manner because of his extreme shyness.

“Your name?” I asked at one point. “It’s foreign, isn’t it.”
“Yes.” He said softly. “Russian. My father’s family were Russian.”
“Nic!” I said, his name falling off my tongue easily. “Is that short for something? Nicholas? Nicholai?”
“Nicok.” He replied. “It’s short for Nicok. But I don’t like it so it’s just Nic.”
“Nicok!” I repeated. “I’ve never heard that before. Does it mean anything in particular?”

He hesitated and looked down at his hands, a little unsure.
“I . . um . . I really don’t know.” He said. “I don’t think so. It’s just a name.”
“Well.” I said. “I think it’s a nice name. You should use it more often.”
“Your name; David?” He asked. “Does it have a specific meaning?”
“It comes from the Hebrew ‘Dawid’ which means ‘beloved’.” I told him.

He thought about this for a moment.
“Very appropriate.” He said with a small smile. “You are . . um . . you’re a very nice man.”
“Thank you.” I said.
“Don’t people use the diminutive . . like Dave or Davy?” He asked.

“No never.” I said. “My mother didn’t allow it so I’ve always been David.”
“Your mother was a wise lady.”
“So you’re Russian.” I said.
“And you are Jewish.” He replied with a smile.
“Well yes, I suppose you could say that.” I said. “What a pair we make.”

By late afternoon, Nic was able to get up. He was still a little unsteady but he was determined to be up an about as quickly as possible.
“I have things I need to do and I can’t be sick.” He told me matter of factly.
I told him to take it easy for a couple of days and let the medication take proper hold. I gave him the pills and the tonic and described the dosages to him and finally, as it seemed that he no longer needed me there, I went back to my own apartment.

*** Sand.

The next morning, as I left my apartment for my morning run, Nic’s door opened quickly and he actually stepped out into the hall.

“Good morning, David.” He said with a smile.
“Good morning, Nic.” I replied, with a broad grin. “How are you feeling? Did you have a good night?”
“Yes, I did and I’m feeling a lot better, thank you. I . . er . . I want to tell you how very grateful I am for everything you did for me yesterday.” He said, his shyness barely perceptible. “You were very kind and you must let me pay you what I owe you for the medication.”
“Nic.” I began. “You are more than welcome and please, don’t worry about the medication, it’s on me. What are friends for?”

“Indeed!” He said with a grin and a flash of a deep dimple in his right cheek. That dimple did things to my equilibrium and my under-utilized package. “Thank you.”
“See you later.” I said, gave him a wave and went on my run. Wow, I thought, what a guy!

All along the route, I prayed. Please God, let it be there! Over and over again, I repeated it to myself because I didn’t know what I would do if the note from Sand was not there.

I got back to the playground after my run up to the point and I slowly made my way to the rocking horse. I paused, took a deep breath and bent and looked into the horse’s mouth. My legs sort of buckled and I sat on the sand suddenly and tears started to flow down my cheeks with relief. I pulled the rolled up piece of paper from between the big carved teeth. My relief at seeing that little scrap of paper was palpable. Sand had not deserted me. I quickly unrolled the paper and sat on the sand and read what he’d written.

Dear David, (This was a change. I was now ‘Dear’ David.)
Unfortunate circumstances beyond my control kept me from this place yesterday and for this I am deeply sorry. If I had the time to explain, I know you would understand, but nonetheless, it was inexcusable. I apologize most humbly and please, I beg you to forgive me.
I shall not even try to answer your note from the day before because most of the answers are in the one you left for me yesterday.

I am happy that you have a new friend, but remember that friendship is like a garden. You have to cultivate it; tend it; and it will flourish. Neglect it and it will die. Of course, this works both ways and one can only hope that your new friend will nourish and feed you so that you can grow to your full potential. This new friend of yours is a lucky man, for you are a pure soul and I believe that he will benefit more from the friendship than you might. I can only hope that he is deserving of your friendship, that he is worthy of it and that he will value and treasure it; for you deserve nothing but the best.

I have a feeling that very soon, you will no longer need me and I will become a forgotten memory but for the time being, I will support and encourage you, as a good friend should.
Sand.

What did he mean by those words. Of course I needed him. I would probably always need him. He had become my lifeline and I would be lost without him. I spread the clean sheet he had kindly provided and wrote:-

Dear Sand,
I don’t know how to begin thanking you for what you have done for me, but I still need you. I need your wisdom, I need your kindness, but more importantly I need the love that I feel you have for me. Why else would you go to all this trouble. You must feel something for me. You must have felt something for me when you wrote that very first greeting in the sand. I know that what I feel has gone beyond friendship. It has become an all consuming warmth in my heart and it has invaded my soul.

The fact that you think that I will not need you much longer saddens and hurts me. I shall always need you. And the thought that soon you might disappear from my life devastates me so please, reconsider.
My greatest wish, my only desire in this world right now is to meet you face to face. To stand in front of you and thank you. And to have the opportunity to tell you that I love you.
David.

I carefully rolled up the piece of paper and slipped it between the horse’s teeth. I had laid out my heart to him and I knew that what I had written was nothing but the truth. It had come home to me, along with the relief that I had felt when I saw that piece of paper wedged deep in the horse’s mouth. I was in love with Sand, a ghost, a phantom and I could only hope that my words would bring him out.

The day dragged by and I became impatient with the staff at the gallery and frustrated with myself. I wanted the day to end as quickly as possible and for morning to come so that I could get Sand’s answer to the last note I had left him.
After work, I stopped off at the deli and picked up some rather nice spaghetti marinara for Nic and I for dinner and then banged on his door. He opened it quietly as he always did and smiled broadly when he saw it was me. I invited myself in and proceeded to dish out the spaghetti on to two plates in his kitchen.
“Tonight, you’re having dinner with me.” I said and handed him a plateful.

“Okay.” He replied with a smile. “I’ll put some coffee on.”
With steaming mugs of coffee in front of us and plates piled high with sticky spaghetti, we tucked in.

“Is this what friends do?” He asked, waving his fork around. “I mean . . you know . . just burst in uninvited?”
“Always!” I said with a broad saucy grin. “You’re welcome to bust into my place anytime you want.”

“Okay!” He said. “Strangely, I like the idea. It’s so . . bohemian!”
“Haven’t you ever had any friends?” I asked curiously.
“Not really, no.” He answered. “Too shy . . and maybe too caught up in my work.”
“Well you have one now.” I said. “And trust me, I’m here to stay.”
“What?” He queried wide eyed. “Here, in my apartment?”
“No, you dolt.” I said. “I mean I’m here as your friend for always. I’m going to be like cholera; difficult to get rid of.”

He thought about this for a second and then nodded.
“I like that, yes.” He said with another devastating grin.

That dimple was really beginning to get to me. He was unbelievably handsome and the more I looked at him the more I liked him. Added to that was the fact that once he got over his shyness, he was charming and funny in a dry sort of way. Not to mention that he was amazingly talented and an incredibly nice guy.
And don’t even get me started on that body of his . . !

I stopped myself in these thoughts quickly with a new thought. If I wanted him as a friend, a close friend, I had to be totally up front with him from the start.
“Nic.” I began. “There is something that I really need to tell you.”
“Oh my!” He said. “Now we’re getting serious, right?”
“Yeah.” I said. “Even though I’ve only really known you properly for a couple of days, I already value what we have and I don’t want to spoil it in any way, so I want to be totally honest with you from the start.”

His face took on a serious expression. He put his plate down and sat back in his chair, his hands on the armrests.
“Nic, I’m gay.” I said. “You know . . I like men.”

His eyes kept their steady green gaze on me.
“I’m not naive, David! I know what ‘gay’ means.” He said gently. “So?”
“Well, I want you to know, that’s all.” I said. “It’s better you find out from me rather than from some stranger. I’m worried that this might sour our friendship. I can only hope that it won’t put you off in any way.”
“Why should it.” He said. “This is nineteen-ninety. Who cares anymore?”

I had a distinct feeling that there was more to this than he was ready to admit.
“Well, some straight men are still uncomfortable with it, even in nineteen-ninety.” I finished.

He sat in silence for a moment, his steady beautiful green eyes on mine.
“There is one other thing.” I said carefully. “Well, maybe a couple of other things.”

In for a penny, in for a pound I thought.
“Go on.” He said softly, his eyes never wavering from mine.

“I find you extremely attractive; probably a lot more than I should.” I said. His brows rose slightly. “I mean, you are an incredibly good looking man. Your eyes are devastating, not to mention that you have an amazing body.”
“Thank you.” He said matter of factly. “Anything else?”
“Well, there is a man I’m sort of seeing right now.” I said. “So what I wanted to say was that even though I do find you very appealing, I am in a sort of relationship at the moment so you have no need to fear me.”

He sat forward slightly.
“David.” He began. “You have been perfectly frank with me so I’m going to be honest with you. I know that you’re gay. I’ve known for . . well, for almost as long as you’ve lived here.”
“Oh!” Was all I could say.
“Now ask me.” He said obscurely.

“Ask you what?” I said.
“Ask me the million dollar question.” He said with another disarming smile.
“I’m not sure what . . !” I stopped when I realized what he wanted me to ask him. I stared at him and then softly and carefully posed my question.
“Nic, are you gay?”

“Yes.” He said so softly that I barely heard him. “Yes I am.”
I stared at him.
“So you see, David.” He continued with a smile. “Your concerns are unfounded.”

*** Torn.

We got ourselves some more coffee and then sat down to talk; really talk. I felt closer to him right then than I’d ever felt with any other human being.
“David.” He said at one point. “I like you, enormously, I have for some time. Why’d you think I always picked up my morning paper at the precise time you left for your run?”

“But you never said anything.” I argued. “You always sort of whispered ‘good morning’ to me and then you’d sort of vanish.”

“I wanted to talk to you, many times.” He said with a small smile. “Every morning I’d wait . . you know . . behind my door until I heard yours open and I’d think that it would be the day that I . . would finally . . you know . . talk to you. But I always lost my nerve. You terrified me. You seemed so on top of everything, so confident, so . . there.”
“And you were the opposite.” I said matter of factly. “Shy, withdrawn and like a wraith.”
He nodded.

“As I said. I’m not very good with people. I never know what to say, how to talk to them. I’ve been that way all my life. School was a nightmare for me.”
“Well, you’re talking to me now.” I said.
“Yes, because I know you now. It’s strangers I’m afraid of.” He said truthfully.
“Nic, let me tell you something.” I said. “And again I’m going to be totally honest here. You have nothing to be afraid of. You’re a stunning looking man. All you need to do is flash one of those smiles of yours and that dimple you have will melt the heart of a tartar. The first time you smiled at me like that, my legs just about buckled up and I wanted to be your friend more than anything in the world.”

“So you’re just my friend because of a dimple.” He said with a small smile.
“No, don’t be silly.” I said with a smile. “I like you because of who you are. You’re polite; you’re charming and you’re a really nice guy once you get past the shyness. I’ll admit that it was your looks that first attracted me, but as I’ve got to know you, that changed. I can see past that dimple and beyond your amazing eyes.”

“Okay.” He said. “And I’ll admit that I always liked the look of you. You’re . . uh . . you’re very good looking yourself . . in a sort of clean-cut way. I like the clear grey of your eyes. Payne’s Grey, it’s called . . in an artist’s pallet.”
“Thank you.”

He stared at me for a moment and then looked away. I had a sense that what was coming next was very close to his heart. Strange, I’d only known him properly for a short time but I could already read him like a book.
“So.” He said and paused. I waited, giving him the time he needed. “What now?”
I knew what he meant. He wanted more from our friendship than I was willing to give him right now.

“Nic.” I began softly. “I like you very much, probably far more than I should but at this time, with this other man in my life, I have to take things slow. I have to consider all the angles. I think I might be in love with him and I need to find out for sure.”
“Okay.” He said, quite happy with my answer. “I understand.”
“You will always be my friend, my closest friend now. I’ve told you things I’ve never told anyone else. And I will always like you very much.” I said. “I just need time to organize my own emotions. I need time to find out how this man feels about me.”
“What’s his name?” He asked curiously.

“Sand.” I answered. “Strange, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” He said. “It certainly is.”
“It’s probably short for something.” I said. “Maybe Lysander . . or Alexander. I really don’t know.”
I hardly slept that night. I was torn between two very different men.

On one hand there was shy, retiring Nic, who I was greatly attracted to and who I liked a lot more than I should. I knew that he wanted to be more than friends. He’d half admitted it and I had a feeling that we would be great together. I knew that it would be very easy for me to fall in love with him. From where I was standing right now, I really didn’t have that much further to go.

Then there was the wise and worldly Sand. I was sure that I loved him although I’d never met him. His manner and his tone on the paper he left for me each morning spoke volumes. I was sure he felt the same about me. But what if he stuck to his guns and didn’t want to meet me. I recalled one of the first messages he’d left me. I’d asked if we could meet and he had replied that we would ‘in time’. I could only hope that the time would come very soon. Still, at the moment he was an idea, a ghost, words scrawled on paper. How could one love something as intangible as that; I asked myself. It sounded crazy but I was sure that I did.

And so I tossed and turned. Nic or Sand? The ghost on paper or the warm blooded, beautiful man? There was one thing I knew I had to do: I had to find out more about Sand. I had to be certain.

*** Meetings.

There was a note for me in the horse in the morning.

My Dear David, (Another upgrade.)
There is no need for you to thank me. Unknowingly, you have helped me a great deal, more than you can ever know and for that I will be eternally grateful. You are truly a good friend and I would like to thank you for that, face to face sometime.
As for the other. I have felt the love you have for me in your words on these small bits of paper. I have felt it and I have embraced it. Do you have any idea how it feels to be loved. I’ll tell you. It is the greatest gift any living soul can give another and I thank you for that gift. I love you too, more than you realize. I have loved you for quite some time and the only way I know how to express it is to write it down for you to see.

But if we meet as you want, face to face; might you not be disappointed. Might you not expect me to be more than I really am. This is my fear. That you would realize that the words on the paper are far more appealing than the flesh and blood man in front of you. What if you find that you love the concept, and not the man. This is what holds me back; this is what keeps me from meeting you face to face.
Be comforted in the knowledge that you are loved. That alone, will shed you of your loneliness.
Sand.

I sat on the wall, Sand’s note crumpled in my hand. Damn him! Why doesn’t he come to me himself and tell me? Why this continuous back and forth with the notes? I made a decision. I would give him an ultimatum and take it from there.

Dear Sand,
You say you love me, yet you won’t meet me. You say we’ll meet sometime, yet you won’t commit yourself.
I have to tell you that there is another man who, I think, loves me for who I am, for the face that I bear and for the love I know I can give him if given the chance. It is the new friend I spoke of. I know how he feels because as you have felt my love for you, so I have felt his love for me.
And like you, I know now what it feels like to be loved. You are right; it is the greatest gift any one person can give another and I revel in it.

You ask if I would be disappointed in you, yet you deny me the chance to find out. I need to know, Sand. I need to find out about you and in knowing that, I can find out about Nic.
Please, give me the opportunity. Give me the chance to face you, even for a few seconds; just enough time to say, “Hello Sand.” This would make me the happiest man alive. And know this, no matter how it turns out, I will always love you and I will always be grateful to you for showing me how to love again; and how to live again.

I leave the ball in your court; it is your decision and I will abide by it.
David.

I put the note in the horse and left. It was up to Sand now. I had only to wait until tomorrow morning.
The note was there, as expected and this one lifted my spirits.

My Dear David,
You are right and I have been wrong to deny you the chance to find out where your true feelings lie.
This, obviously, will be my last letter to you. There is no need for you to answer it for I will come to you and get your reply from your lips in person.

Stay at the playground and wait for me. I will be along shortly.
Sand.

My excitement rose as I waited. I sat on the wall patiently, glancing up and down the beach every now and then, anticipating the appearance of Sand.
Five minutes became ten minutes which in turn became thirty minutes, yet still I waited.

At one point I thought about how ridiculous the whole thing was. I was sitting there, waiting for a man I thought I loved, a man I’d never met.

After an hour, I began to get restless and the doubts started to set in. What if this was some sort of elaborate prank? Who could have done such a thing? I went through the meager list of friends that I had. I discounted my acquaintances and colleagues because I really didn’t think they would bother to go to such lengths. Charlie? No! He was too stupid to have pulled this off and the language in the writing was definitely not his. Dean? He would never do something like this to me.

He would know how much it would hurt me and I think he respected me far too much to make a fool of me. Brian? Nope! Brian was just too straight to even think of an elaborate scheme like this. Georgia was out because first, she was a woman. Although Sand might have lied about his gender, I really didn’t think he had. Second, I hadn’t seen Georgia for a couple of months and as far as I knew, she was out of town at this time.

That left only Doctor Jack from among my friends. He was intelligent enough for this. He was an early riser like me and he didn’t live very far away. It had to be him. I looked around carefully. The usual group of early morning strollers were now starting to appear. Okay, Jack, I thought, you can come out now. Ha ha; the jokes on me, laugh it up, why don’t you!

“David?” A voice called suddenly. Aha, I thought here it is.
I stood and turned slowly. It wasn’t Jack; or Sand for that matter. It was Nic on his bicycle.
“What are you doing down here?” He asked. “I would have thought you’d be home by now.”

“I’m . . um . . I’m waiting for someone.” I replied.
“Oh!” He said and dismounted. He wheeled his bike onto the sand and came towards me.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Riding.” He said. “Like you, I exercise. You run, I ride.”

“Oh!” I said and sat down on the wall again. Nic parked his bike and sat beside me.
“Let me guess.” He said. “You’re waiting for . . um . . Sand, is it?”

I nodded, too wounded to speak. I had been stood up and it hurt terribly.
“Right.” He said. “I’ll keep you company until he arrives.”
“He’s not coming.” I whispered so softly I barely heard myself.
“What?”

“I don’t think he’s coming.” I said a little louder.
“Oh!” He said and was silent.

Then the whole story came flooding out. I told Nic everything; the messages in the sand; the notes in the horse’s mouth and I gave him the last crumpled note to read. He listened with keen interest, his green eyes sad and at the end of my tirade, he shook his head slowly.
“I’m so sorry David.” He said softly. “But look, he might have been delayed. There could be any number of reasons why he hasn’t pitched.”

“Maybe.” I said disheartened. “And you know something? I can’t even leave a note for him because he told me not to bother to answer so I have no way of contacting him. You saw what he wrote.”
He was silent. Then I had a sudden thought.

“Wait a second.” I said, my spirits rising. “There was one day when there was no note. The next day, he left an apology for me. He explained that he had not been able to get here and that he was very sorry about it. Maybe something like that has happened. Maybe he’s stuck somewhere.”
“Yeah.” Nic said. “That could well be the case.”

“But, don’t you see?” I said excitedly. “He left a note for me the next day. I’ll have to check here tomorrow. I’m sure it’s something like that.”
“Yeah.” Nic said, with a smile. “There you go. There’s always hope, right?”
“Right!” I said and jumped up. “Hell, I’ve got to go and get ready for work. I’ll see you later. Maybe we could have dinner at my place and watch a movie this evening. What do you say?”

“I’d like that.” He said.
I waved at him and took off up the beach.
I was a little late for work but no-one seemed to notice. The entire gallery was in an uproar. I cornered Brian and asked him what the hell was going on.
“The Russians have arrived,” He said excitedly.
“The Russians?” I asked stupidly.

“Yes, you nutter.” He quipped. “The Russian Exhibition. You know, the Russian icons and paintings. They’re mounting the exhibition in the west wing now. You gotta see it. It’s spectacular!”
He dragged me through to the west wing where the last few paintings were being hung. The first part of the exhibition consisted of the icons. Beautifully painted and inlaid with gold leaf, they were beyond stunning. They glowed with an inner life of their own. A very smart looking middle-aged lady came up to us and Brian quickly introduced her to me.

“This is Olga Gordov.” Brian said. “Olga is the curator of this exhibition. Olga; David Palmer, one of our Artistic Supervisors.”
“You like this exhibition, yes?’ Olga asked me.
“Absolutely.” I replied. “The icons are magnificent.”

We slowly walked down the line of icons. Olga gave us a quick history of each one. It was fascinating. Then came the paintings. A selection from different periods, some of the best works that had ever come out of russia. I walked down the wall, admiring each work in turn, Olga and Brian at my side, talking quietly. Then a small painting caught my eye. A simple work, modern, earth colored swirls on the canvas, nothing more. I moved closer and looked at the label and froze.
“Olga.” I whispered. “What is the title of this painting?”

She looked at the small label underneath.
“It is called Pisok.” She said.
“But that doesn’t look like a ‘P’.” I said.
“Yes, but in Russian it is pronounced so.” She replied.
“And what does it mean?” I asked. “You know, in English?”

“The literal translation is . . . !”
“No! Don’t bother to tell me.” I said quickly, cutting her off. And I understood. “I know what it is already.”
“How do you know?” She looked up at me.
“I just know, that’s all.” I turned to Brian. “Brian, I have to go right now. There’s something really important that I have to do.”

I didn’t even wait for a reply. I tore out of the gallery and ran down the street. I ran like I’ve never run before. Finally, I was where I needed to be. I knocked on the door softly.
It opened and Nic stuck his head out.
“Oh hi!” He said with a dimpled grin. “I thought you were working today.”
“Nope.” I said. “I decided to take the day off and spend some time here, with my new friend.”

“Well then I’ll take the day off too.” He said. “Come on in. You want some coffee?”
“Yeah.” I replied. “Coffee would be good right now.”

I wandered around his apartment admiring his work on the walls. He brought me my coffee and sat on the day-bed watching me.
“You know, Nic.” I said. “I think I should put in a request at the gallery for an exhibition for you.”
“No.” He said. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” I said and sat on the corner of the table. “I mean, just look at this collection. It’s wonderful. It would be a big hit.”
“You really think so?” He said, looking around at the walls dubiously.
“Yes I do.” I replied. “No arguments. I’ll get you an exhibition. It’s about time your work was seen.”
“That would be really nice, I think.” He said doubtfully. “Would I have to be there? You know, all the time; at the gallery? You know how I am with people; strangers.”

“No, not at all.” I said. “You wouldn’t even have to set foot in the gallery. We’ll take care of everything. For instance; we’ve just mounted a new exhibition of Russian work. You’d like it. Icons and paintings. Those artists are all dead by now I’m sure, so I hardly think any of them are going to show up.”
“Sounds really nice.” He said. “I’ll have to come down when it’s quiet and have a look at it.”
“You must, it’s spectacular.” I said and stood up and went to the window and looked out.

There were a couple of kids playing football in the street. They seemed to jump out at me in sharp focus, the colors of their clothes, the brightness of their laughing voices. Everything seemed have gone into slow motion. I realized that it was because my mind was buzzing along at an alarming rate. I had never felt more alive in my life, more certain of anything as I was then.
He was silent.

“There was one painting that caught my attention. You’d really like it.” I said carefully.
“Who’s it by? I know most of the Russian painters. I might know it.” He said.
“Someone called Vladistov . . or Vladismier . . I can’t really remember. I do remember the title of it though.” I said carefully.

He was silent for a moment.
“What’s it called?” He asked quietly.
“Pisok.” I replied clearly. “It’s called Pisok.”

He said nothing, but I knew without looking that I had his attention.
“I met the curator of the exhibition, Olga Gordov. A very nice lady.” I said. “I asked her about it. Did you know that the Russian letter ‘P’ looks like a lower-case English ‘N’?”
He was silent.

“Well, it does.” I continued. “And do you know that when you see the word Pisok written in Russian, it actually looks like your name. The letter ‘C’ is pronounced as an ‘s’ though. Interesting, huh? I think I’ll take up Russian. It’s fascinating.”
“A second language is a good thing to have.” He said softly.

“Then I asked Olga what Pisok is in English.” I said. “And I thought that now I would be able to tell Nic what his name means, well, where it’s derived from anyway.”
“And . . what was it?’ He asked softly.

I turned slowly and faced Nic. He was standing up now, his arms hanging at his sides, his fists clenched. I could sense the tension in his body. He was like a wound up spring. His lips were edged in white and his eyes had taken on the look of a startled deer. He was terrified out of his wits and my heart went out to him.

I stood and looked at his beautiful face, with the long blond hair framing it. I took in the tall, lean, lithe body and then I stared into those penetrating, glorious green eyes that I loved so much.
I knew that he knew what it meant. He’d known it all along.

I stepped forward and smiled, my face calm and my eyes gentle. He sighed and all the tension left his body; he visibly relaxed and his eyes glowed.
“Hello . . Sand.” I said gently.