The Yellow Sign
Eroticism, it may be said, is assenting to life. AMY The Demhe out of Batumi lay at anchor in a quiet cove on the western shore of Kheros. A warm, red light rippled across the water from the deck like a paler echo of the setting sun. The faint sound of a Dvorak piano quintet drifted to the shore. Even in the pale twilight the woman’s nudity was startlingly luminous against the grey sand. She zipped up a weighted bag containing her newly-bought clothes and carried it into the sea - the...