Book of the Dead [antikvár]

RomeWater splashing. A gray mosaic tile tub sunk deep into a terra-cotta floor. Water pours slowly from an old brass spout, and darkness pours through a window. On the other side of old, wavy glass is the piazza, and the fountain, and the night.She sits quietly in water, and the water is very cold, with melting ice cubes in it, and there is little in her eyesnothing much there anymore. At first, her eyes were like hands reaching out to him, begging him to save her. Now her eyes are the bruised blue of dusk. Whatever was in them has almost left. Soon she will sleep."Here," he says, handing her a tumbler that was handblown in Murano and now is filled with vodka.He is fascinated by parts of her that have never seen the sun. They are pale like limestone, and he turns the spigot almost off, and the water is a trickle now, and he watches her rapid breathing and hears the chattering of her teeth. Her white breasts float beneath the surface of the water, delicate like