Weekends like this are motivation to get dooced.

Something about the time changing (we do it a few weeks later than in America), or maybe it was the fact that Manboy had dismantled the bedroom shutters in order to paint them, sending morning rays of sunlight like a coaxing, teasing floor through the bedroom’s double glass doors.

I opened it to let in fresh air before collapsing anew into pillows and slumber, vaguely aware of Yuki’s soft patter as he ventured onto the open balcony and set to work chewing on the iron grate, undoing Manboy’s precedent day of work as his teeth left long slivers in the fresh paint. It will surely peel before it’s time now.

By the time we rose from our lazy morning haze the sky had already begun to turn from the peircing morning blue light to a hazy gray, which settled, and cloaked our village for the rest of the day. Manboy set to painting again, and I joined him on the downstairs terrace, suddenly inspired, and set about a series of continuous line drawings of flowers and the church across the street and Manboy and my feet and such.

Manboy looked at me quizzically, and smiled, softly inquiring as to the source of my sudden flood of creativity. I pretended not to hear, afraid that it would break the spell.

My eye traced the contours of his chin, hands, face and eyes, as my hand followed blindly on paper. One, two minutes passed. Only when finished did I glance at the paper, causing laughter to spill out of me and Manboy to look up from his semi-frozen, strained, unnatural painting position. I showed him the picture, which did not look anything like him.

He continued his painting and asked if I thought it would rain. I said yes (and was later proved to be wrong) and sketched a second portrait. And a third, and another, until a panoply of differing renditions of my Manboy lay sprawled on the cold marble table by my side. I had used a rock to hold them down, so that they would not be carried away my the wind.

None of them looked like him and I was glad.

That evening, after dinner and rum with orange juice, I asked him if we could just get naked and talk.

I was surprised, after over four years of marriage, that such a thing could make us shy. We giggled like kids. I guess that it’s natural to be naked in certain circumstances, others feel odd.

We did talk. I asked him what he wanted this year, and I told him what I thought about how unbearable it must be to spend your life with someone who doesn’t love you in return. I told him I thought that he loved me in a way that is very rare and that it has taken me a while to understand that. He said he wanted nothing. And then he corrected himself, saying that he wanted a Pentax k10, and iPhone, and for me to be happy.

I could hardly remember why I had been so angry with him, and why we had been so broken. I closed my eyes and prayed to God, anything, please, just don’t break the spell.