Sam’s jaw tightened and the muscles rippled. “The second shot would
have been for me.” He looked down at his feet. He noticed that his
feet were bare and his shirt was open. He closed the shirt hastily and
looked up at me. “You’ve been watching. Then you saw--” He turned red.
“That’s when I made up my mind,” I said, laughing. “I decided that no
man who loved swimming and animals could be altogether bad.”
Sam looked down. The fawn was rubbing against his leg, looking at
Louise. Sam knelt. “Louise,” he said, “this is Bambi. Bambi, this is
Louise.”
“Hello, Bambi,” I said.
Then, for a little while, we didn’t say anything. We stood there in
the silence and it wasn’t embarrassed but somehow thoughtful and
peaceful with the only sound the soft surf breaking against the silver
shore. For one person is all the loneliness there can ever be, but
two persons--a man and a woman--is loneliness shared, which isn’t
loneliness at all but a world, entire and complete.
Sam looked up finally. “No inhabitants?”