The boyfriend came forward, moving closer to the tank, but still he hung back. He never said a word.
Marisa was excited. "You can adjust it? How?"
"It is motorized."
"To any angle?" She giggled. "Show mevingt-sept degrees. Twenty-seven."
"Coming up." Marshall typed at the keyboard. With a slight grinding sound, the slope of the shore angled higher.
The American boyfriend went closer to the tank to look, drawn by the activity. Itwas fascinating, Marshall thought. Anybody would be interested. But the guy never spoke. He just stood and watched the pebbled surface tilt. Soon it stopped.
"So that is the slope?" she said.
"Yes," Marshall said. "Although in point of fact, twenty-seven degrees is fairly steep, more than the average shoreline in the real world. Maybe I should set it to--"
Her dark hand closed over his. "No, no," she said. Her skin was soft. "Leave it. Show me a wave. I want to see a wave."
Small waves were being generated every thirty seconds. They rippled along the length of the tank, with a slight whoosh. "Well, I first have to know the shape of the shoreline. Right now, it's flat beach, but if it was an inlet of some kind..."
"Will it change to make an inlet?"
"Of course."
"Really? Show me."
"What kind of inlet do you want? A harbor, a river, a bay..."
"Oh," she said, shrugging, "make a bay."
He smiled. "Fine. How big?"
With the whir of electric motors, the shoreline began to sink into a curve, the slope indenting into a bowl.
"Fantastic," she said. "Come on, Jonathan, show me the wave."
"Not yet. How big is the bay?"
"Oh..." She gestured in the air. "One mile. A bay of one mile. Now will you show me?" She leaned toward him. "I do not like to wait. You should know this."
He smelled her perfume. He typed quickly. "Here it comes," he said. "A big wave, coming into a one-mile bay, with a twenty-seven-degree slope."
There was a much louder whoosh as the next wave was generated at the far end of the tank, and then it rippled smoothly toward them, a raised line of water about six inches high.
"Oh!" Marisa pouted. "You promised me it would bebig. "
"Just wait," he said.
"It will grow?" she said, giggling. She put her hand on his shoulder again. Then the American glanced back, and gave her a dirty look. She jerked her chin in the air, defiant. But when he looked back at the tank, she took her hand away.
Marshall felt despondent again. She was just using him, he was a pawn in this game between them.
"You said it will grow?" she said.
"Yes," Marshall said, "the wave will grow as it comes to the shore. In deep water a tsunami is small, but in shallow water it builds. And the inlet will concentrate its power, so it goes higher."
The wave rose higher, and then smashed against the curved shore at the near end. It foamed white, and sloshed up the sides of the shore. It came up about five feet, he guessed.
"So it comes high," she said. "In the real world?"
"That's about forty, fifty feet," he said. "Fifteen meters."
"Ooh la la," she said, pursing her lips. "So a person cannot run away from this."
"Oh no," Marshall said. "You can't outrun a tidal wave. There was a wave in Hilo, Hawaii, in 1957, came right down the streets of the town, tall as the buildings, people ran from it but--"
"So that's it?" the American said. "That's all it does?" His voice was growly, like he needed to clear his throat.
"Don't mind him," she said quietly.
"Yes, that's what we do here," Marshall said. "We generate waves--"
"Jesus fucking A," the American said. "I could do that in my bathtub when I was six months old."
"Well," Marshall said, gesturing to the control panel, and the monitors displaying data, "we generate a lot of databases for researchers around the world who are--"
"Yeah, yeah. That's enough. Boring as whale shit. I'm leaving. You coming, Marisa, or not?" He stood and glared at her.
Marshall heard her suck in her breath.
"No," she said. "I am not."
The American turned and walked off, slamming the door loudly as he left.
Her apartment was just across the river from Notre Dame, and from the balcony in the bedroom he had a beautiful view of the cathedral, which was lighted at night. It was ten o'clock, but there was still a deep blue in the sky. He looked down at the street below, the lights of the cafes, the crowds walking on the streets. It was a busy and glamorous scene.
"Don't worry," she said, behind him. "If you're looking for Jimmy, he won't come here."
Actually, the thought hadn't occurred to him, until she mentioned it. "No?"