To Live Again

Risa liked to think of it as her own property, due to descend to her in time. In fact that was untrue; the estate belonged communally to the Kaufma

It was midday, now: the most dangerous hour under the hostile sun. She stood nude in hip-deep water on the crescent beach, relaxing before more guests arrived. About a dozen were here already. Risa and her father had flown down from New York late the previous night to oversee the preparations for the party. Looking up and don the beach, she eyed the early arrivals. They were scattered like flotsam on the pink-white sand, su

Turning her back to the beach, she waded seaward. Her body glistened. She had oiled it to protect herself from the sun. Her eyes were lensed against the salt water. She dug her toes into the sandy bottom, kicked forward, and began to swim, cutting a lean swathe through the green, glass-clear water. She liked the touch of it against her breasts and belly. The sunlight made sparkling patterns on the ocean floor, five feet below her. Soon she was past the sandy zone and out above the coral reef that lay a hundred yards off shore. Gnarled, twisted coral heads jutted from the bottom. Fish of a thousand hues danced and played between the stony orange and green slabs. Malevolent black sea urchins twitched their spines hopefully at her. Risa sucked air, dived, plucked a sand dollar from the bottom.

In time she lost interest in the reef. When she swam back to shore, she found that another dozen guests or more had arrivedamong them, finally, someone of her own generation. Her cousin Rod Loeb stood at the water’s edge: eighteen, brawny, ta

“Just get here?” she asked. “Half an hour ago. There was hopter trouble at the airport and we were delayed. You’re looking good. Risa.”

“And you. Let’s walk.” They strolled through the slapping surf toward a cluster of jagged, metallic-looking rocks piled at the north end of the beach. Risa felt the noon warmth probing her skin for some vulnerable place to singe and blister; but the molecule-thick coating of cream protected her. She reveled in her nudity. She broke into a trot, her small breasts barely swaying. If Elena tried to run like this, Risa thought, she’d hit herself in the face with all that swinging meat.

They reached the rocks, neither of them short of breath. The white turrets of barnacles sprouted on the lower surfaces, licked by the waves. Rod said, “I hear you’ve had a transplant.”

“News travels fast if it’s reached Majorca already.”

“Gossip moves at the speed of light in this family. Is it true?”

“Partly. I’ve applied for one. Mark gave his consent a few days ago. I went to the soul bank and tried a few personae out, and on Tuesday I’ll have the transplant.”

“Who’ll it be?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’m deciding between some different types. Whichever it is, it’ll be a girl who died young and sexy. Maybe even someone you’ve slept with.”

Rod laughed. “Is that incest? If you pick up a persona with a memory of having been to bed with me, I mean?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care-Is there anything so special about going to bed with you?”

“Try me and see,” Rod said. “Without filtering it through a transplant.”

She eyed his loinstrap. “Right out here on the beach, or should we go to your cottage?”

“Why not right here?” he asked. “All right,” said Risa. She stretched out on a flat palm of stone, flexed her knees, drew her legs apart. Anyone on the beach could see them from here. She propped her fist against her chin. “Go ahead,” she said. “I’m waiting.”

“I almost think you’re serious,” Rod said. “I sin. And you are too, aren’t you? That strap doesn’t hide much. You want me. You’ve been hinting about it long enough. So here’s your chance. Get on top of me.”

His eyes sparkled maliciously. “I wouldn’t take advantage of a child.”

“Monster! I’m past sixteen.”

“Chronologically. But only a child would want to put on a sick exhibition like that in front of everybody. It’s tasteless, Risa. If you really want to have sex with me, get up and we’ll go somewhere private and I’ll oblige you. But just to show everyone that you’re old enough to sin a little—”

“Would I be the first to make love at one of these parties?”

“Stop it,” he said. He swung himself down beside her and lightly slapped the outside of her left thigh. “Can I change the subject? What do you know about Uncle Paul’s transplant? Who’s going to get him?”

Disgruntled by his casual disregard of her wanton mood, Risa closed her thighs and said, “How should I know?”

“The story I hear is that he’s going to go to John Roditis.”

“Not if my father has anything to say about it”

“That would be a blow, wouldn’t it?” Rod said. “Roditis is big enough as he is. With Uncle Paul, he’d be a titan. He’d have the business mind of the century.”

Risa yawned. She swiveled around, dipping her toes in the water. A gray ghostly crab scuffled along the sand and vanished, digging down with startling swiftness. Risa said, “My father doesn’t want Roditis to have Uncle Paul. My father’s a good friend of Santoliquido, and Santoliquido decides. See?”

Rod nodded. “You make it sound very open and shut.”

“It has to be. Why, if Roditis got Uncle Paul, he’d be able to come to our family gatherings, he’d have a wedge right into our whole group. Wouldn’t that be horrible? That nasty, aggressive little man sitting right there on the beach, sipping a drink, making us be polite to him for Uncle Paul’s sake? But it won’t happen.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

“It won’t.”

“If it isn’t going to happen,” Rod said, “what’s Roditis’ private secretary doing here?”

“Where?”

“Look,” Rod said, pointing. Risa peered back and saw a group of new arrivals descending to the beach from the cabanas. Leading the way came Elena Volterra, wearing next to nothing, her oiled body agleam, fusion nodes glistening in her skin, her heavy breasts artfully cantilevered into position by a wisp of sprayon support. Beside her, pink and fleshy, walked Francesco Santoliquido. A pace behind them came an attractive couple whom Risa recognized as David and Gloria Loeb, and on Gloria’s right was a very tall, very thin, extremely pale and fair-haired man who indeed closely resembled Charles Noyes, a well-known associate of John Roditis.

His appearance on the beach was exciting comment from many quarters. Heads were turning; whispers buzzed. Noyes himself looked ill at ease. He was thickly lathered to protect his skin from the sun, but even so he continually wrinkled his back as if to make sure he was suffering no harm.

“What could he be doing here?” Risa muttered. “Maybe Roditis is here too,” said Rod. “Having a little discussion with your father in the main house.”

“No. No.” Risa looked for Mark Kaufma

“Let’s hope you’re right. But it seems odd, having a Roditis man right in our midst. Like Death at the feast.”