Painted Stairs – Part 2: The Blue Bird

Isidora arrived at nine on Saturday in jeans and a faded T-shirt, with her hair loose for the first time. She carried a brush in one hand and a paper bag of bread rolls in the other, and she looked as nervous as a girl on her first day of school.

"You are not wearing the blazer," said Camila.

"It is Saturday," said Isidora. "I am a civilian."

"Civilians get paint on them."

"That is what I am afraid of," said Isidora, and smiled.

They worked together all morning. Camila taught her to hold the brush loosely, to let the paint follow the curve of the wing rather than fight it. Isidora was careful and exact, and Camila found herself watching the line of her neck as she leaned over the railing.

By noon they were both splashed with blue. Isidora had a streak on her cheek and a fleck of white in her hair, and she was laughing at something Camila had said about the harbour inspector.

"Eat," said Camila, and handed her a bread roll with cheese. They sat on the red step, shoulders touching, the sun warm on the tiles.

"Can I ask you something?" said Isidora.

"Yes."

"Why did you never ask for the permit yourself?"

Camila turned the bread in her hands. "Because the last time I asked, they said no," she said. "I was twenty-three, and I thought the city did not want me. So I stopped asking."

"And now?"

"Now a woman with a clipboard climbed my stairs and wrote a report," said Camila. "It is a very good change."

Isidora's eyes were bright. "The permit came through on Thursday," she said. "I was going to surprise you."

"You are a terrible surprise."

"I am an excellent surprise," said Isidora. "I have been waiting four days to tell you."

Camila laughed, delighted, and put her arms around her. Isidora went still, then relaxed, and held on.

When they drew back, they were very close, paint on both their faces, the harbour sparkling below.

"Can I ask you something else?" said Camila, quietly.

"Yes."

"Can I kiss you? Here, on the red step, in front of the whole bay?"

"Yes," said Isidora. "And if I say stop, I will write you a ticket."

"That is a very serious penalty," said Camila, and leaned in.

She kissed her slowly, paint-stained fingers curling in Isidora's hair, the taste of bread and sun on their lips. Isidora's hand rose to her shoulder and held on, steady and sure. A gull cried overhead, and the bells of a church rang down the hill.

When they parted, both of them were breathless.

"Green?" asked Camila.

"Green," said Isidora. "Very green. Now finish your bird, Camila. I want to see it fly."

They went back to the ladder together, and by sunset the blue wings were done, glowing against the hill, and the whole stairway seemed to take a breath.