ADRIAN KORPEL
NAIADS
When you first see those white marble nymphs in the garden of the Hearst castle, they look so real, you want to kiss them. You want to hang back, sneak away when the guide is not looking, and make your way to the circular, blue-tiled swimming pool where the tall Doric columns are reflected in the still water.
There, off to the side, stands a group of three naiads. They form a small circle in the shallow pool, holding hands, laughing and giggling, while they kick up water at each other and their bodies sway with pleasure. You could take off your clothes and swim under water to come up in the middle of their circle, like a young god. They'd giggle even more and combine forces against you. And then, when you're all tired and happy, you and they would climb out of the pool, and sit on the lawn near the willow tree.
At the far end of the pool is a small pavilion. Pan may be leaning against a tree there, playing his flute. In the luxuriant afternoon, the reedy music of his pipes is drifting toward you across the water. The naiads would fall silent, listening to Pan, suddenly aware that you are a man. Maybe you'd kiss them then, softly, gingerly, your lips caressing their white skin.
The difficulty is, of course, getting around the guards. And the tourists for that matter; they're everywhere. They'll give you away. They'll point and twitter, and their children will be mocking and booing you. No, you must do it at night. You must take the last shuttle up the hill to the castle and go on the tour. Then you stay behind in the movie theater, in one of the big overstuffed seats with large backs. Up front, where nobody sits. You'll be safe there, they won't look for you, they never do.
When everybody has left, when all the shuffling and chattering has died away, you make your way in the darkness to the front of the theater and go out through the small door under the exit sign. It leads to a tiled terrace, just above the swimming pool. The sun has set and a pale moon casts blue shadows around the statues. Orion floats high above you. The air is clear up here, and the white, diffuse ribbon of the Milky Way arcs across the sky. Everything is quiet.
A marble Aphrodite watches you languidly, from near the low balustrade where wide steps lead down to the pool. You approach her, kneel down, and whisper your supplication. She smiles, and you know it is all right. You go down the stone steps. The pool lies in the moonlight as a blue bowl. The naiads form a silent circle, waiting for you, their white marble soft as flesh.
