The Sun Behind the Clouds (A Short Story)

The Sun Behind the Clouds

The couple sat side by side at a small table of a rooftop cafe overlooking the stupa. Though one could just as easily say the stupa was overlooking the couple—for the stupa had eyes—Buddha eyes—blue and pervasive, painted on each of the four sides of a golden tower rising above the vast, dome-shaped monument. An unending flow of pilgrims walked clockwise making kora, the ritual circumnavigation of the white-washed boudha and symbolic center of the cosmos.

"I just felt a drop of rain," the girl said. "Yep, there's another." She wore a pair of obsolescent sunglasses and fussed with them. She pushed the bulky frames back on her head but then brought them down again. The sun was hidden, though it was more bright than dark under the swiftly moving collage of black and white cloud cover.

"The monsoon comes," said the man.

"Finally," said the girl. "It's been so hot."

"I've heard the hotter it is before the rains, the wetter it'll be."

"It's true," she said. "Remember last year? It wasn't this hot, and we had a weak monsoon."

"Last year was weak? Then I don't even want to think about a strong one. I'll go moldy."

The girl smiled. "You'll eventually get used to it."

"I suppose I shall."

The girl shot the man a look. "Now that you're stuck here, right?" Her smile was gone.

"I didn't mean it like that," said the man.

The girl quietly drew in a breath and turned her gaze back toward the stupa, her eyes hidden behind the dark lenses.

The man topped off his glass of beer from a large, brown bottle of Everest. "You don't like your lassi?" he asked, looking at the girl's untouched glass.

"No, it's fine... Just taking it slowly." The girl wiped at the moisture along the side of her glass. "I've always wondered what it's like to have four seasons. Don't you miss it?"

The man watched as the foamy head on his beer settled before answering:

"Monsoon brings the hopes of spring, the fullness of summer, and the fulfillment of autumn all in one," he said.

"Is that from a book?" Her voice had a tone that very well could have been accompanied by an unseen eye roll from behind her dark lenses.

The man looked to the girl and shrugged. "Probably," he said.

The girl leaned forward over the table and took a sip from the straw without touching the glass. Her gaze was skyward. A large drum began a slow beat on the street below.

"I like when the sun is shining behind the clouds moving fast like this." She took another sip from her straw. "The sky looks like a watercolor."

The man said nothing. He swayed slightly side to side with the beat of the drum.

The girl frowned and jabbed the bottom of her glass several times with the straw.

"You never listen to me anymore," she said.

"Yes, I do."

"Then what did I just say?"

The man took a slow drink from his beer glass before answering.

"Watercolors," he said. "And you're right. The sky is lit with an impermanence that is very suggestive of a watercolor."

"It's pretty."

"Yes, but I do miss the view."

The girl looked past the square to where the great Himalayan range towered and stretched cloud-hidden to the north.