running her fingers through her hair, she looked at him. But look was not exactly the right word to describe it. It was a gaze from lowered eyelids, not exactly innocent, nor was it outrightly saying anything, rather it was a rather opaque kind of gaze. She lifted something from inside-something not quite capturable in words, nor is it a mere thought, or feeling. It was a communication of sorts, but she wasn't saying anything, not really. Not something you can put in words at least. It was half animal, half sacred, half satanic, half child-like. Half everything else you can conjure up. So he was slightly thrown off balance. trying to decipher her look, trying to read her as if she just made a statement. But she had not moved, nor spoken. She sat there, still fingering her hair, but her gaze has left his body and settled somewhere else-restless like those reflections which danced on walls when light hit them as if by some magic. But there was no magic here, only a game. A primitive game. No one loses, no one wins, but still everyone plays it, once in a while.

He watches, he waits. She looks away, she waits.

They are both baiting, waiting for their prey to step into the ambush. Trying to unbalance each other. It was a matter of timing, of chance, of will. She will not yield to his presence, she has left her clue, a scent, he was to pick it up. Stalk, wait for the opportunity to pounce. She was looking away, but she was alert. Her whole body was just waiting. The look, the retreat, the distancing, the pretend unawareness was all a farce. He stands on the edge, gathering his mind, strength, gauging his opponent. The mind is a minor actor in this play. People get pissed when you tell them that in general, as a whole, human beings are really just animals. They prefer to think of themselves as spirtual, mental, emotional beings ranked somewhere just below the angels and above animals. Descarte in his arrogance proclaimed that he 'was' only because he thought. But the mind had little to do with what the body was secretly, blatantly, consciously and sublimally doing. The loosening and tightening of the kite. Released and withdrawn. A dance, a ritual. A step forward, then backwards. Forward again, twirl around. Backward. Spun, pushed, pulled by forces, the romantics call "amore", pragmatics call chemistry, cynics call biology.

She glances his way again, a quick scan over his body, a slight smile, pretends to be looking at something beyond him and loses interest in the next split second. He was prepared this time, so her glance did not make him lose his grip. He takes his time now, he has his own strategies. An intriguing dance, the steps, the rules have all been ingrained, memorized from millenias ago. It was as expected, and as formalized as every rain dance, delicate rituals involving birth, death and maturity. The music plays, the dancers take their place, the move in specific patterns, flowing in, draining out of those fixed places, but always in the standard ways. Sometimes the partners change, the gaze meet, the dance becomes a frenzy of energy. Sometimes he leads, she follows, sometimes she break into a solo that he has to accompany. Always the distance makes it possible. That they are distinct. That they see the difference, the gap. The lack and the desire.

He looks around for possible distractions. A glass of champagne, a stalk of rose, a phrase from a song, a quote from a poem, a joke, a line, a word, a name. He plans his attack moves. She foresees the possibilities. They wait. By the kind of animal instincts which lead the lions to emerge from their hiding as if the clock struck the destined seond announcing the time is NOW. The kind of instinct which drives predators to start to give chase, and the prey to run. The ancient knowledge instilled in all animals which make them understand poison, warnings, and make them afraid of fire, of enemies. It is unleashed. The kind of timing, coincidence and beauty of chance and opportunity and possibility which made the universe possible. Formed the solar system, the planet earth and gave life. The inexplainable causes and webs of occurences which made possible every life. A chance meeting of a man and a woman, a sperm and an egg. Forces involving gravity, science so complex it has no names, that even the word 'God' is too facile as a reason-- occuring on an everyday level, in every second. The zebras dash across the plains, the lion bursts into a speedy chase. The herd of buffalos stampeding across the river, the crocodiles taking a chance. The insects pollinate, the world revovles, he approaches her. She turns around with her enchanting smile. He delivers his lines, plays his part of the courter. They take their place and start the dance.