Part 16 (2/2)

He remained crouched down. One hand rested on his thigh, the other hung lifeless between his knees. She fondled in her hands one of the little white flowers that had broken off the vine. She was disappointed she could not find a way to wholly connect with him.

”Women and flowers,” said Deacon, watching her. ”There's an affinity between the two, isn't there?” He smiled, uncomfortably.

Her own smile faded. Her gaze fastened on the small thing in her hand. ”I know flowers to be our companions in time of pa.s.sing-they devour old abandoned walls, and they have venom instead of blood. They make poisons and toxins, take our breath away ...” As she spoke her palm was poised above the flower, all her focus concentrated on it, almost vindictively. She watched with a detached interest as it withered beneath her touch. As if a thousand years had pa.s.sed, it lost its flush and freshness, it became dried and shrivelled, drained of its bloom, and eventually died.

Deacon watched with silent alarm. There was horror in witnessing beauty destroying beauty. He remained transfixed.

”They can be treacherous beauties,” Magenta murmured, as if pained, slowly looking up at him. For a time she was silent. Deacon saw that when her consciousness readjusted itself, she mourned the death of the little flower. Why she should lament over it, in a manner so keen, perplexed him. With her feelings of vindictiveness his own had come up within him like a languid poison.

”But I should not be so vengeful,” Magenta said softly. ”She is beautiful-Nature. There are many abundances to be thankful for.”

With a scornful sound, Deacon turned his face aside, an eyebrow raised with a twitch. ”Don't speak to me about nature,” he said. He rose to his full height. ”I have no love for her. I feel and see only death. Even your beauty wilts and perishes before my eyes with the decay of time.” He rubbed his hands over his face as if worn by some burden. ”I feel it building in momentum each pa.s.sing day with sickening acceleration. It will not slow, and everything is lost within its great hunger. It makes all that is now a pleasure a bitter pain, knowing it is all to be lost in the end.”

Magenta, who had longed for a glimpse into his soul, listened quietly and un.o.btrusively, pa.s.sionate in her desire to understand him.

He became quiet, seething with resentment, and then slowly, with bitterness: ”It seems we are condemned to have everything taken from us, piece by piece, till we have nothing left but to submit to death ourselves.”

”Nature is cruel in her way,” she agreed.

”Then why do you mourn that small thing?” he asked fiercely, glancing at the dead flower. He did not understand her. ”Do you not hate nature?”

”I will see Nature in her entirety,” said Magenta. ”And not wholly condemn her for part-failings.” Deacon did not remove himself from her physically, but there was a great distance between them, and in her soul she felt quite alone. ”I feel the pressing of time, also,” she said quietly. ”My only comforts are the words I tell myself.”

He looked cynically from under dark brows. ”And what are the words you tell yourself?”

She hesitated beneath the intensity of his stare, then said with soft a.s.surance, ”That nothing is taken that cannot be found again. Always I remind myself of this.”

The afternoon sun filtered through trees in golden effulgence. Deacon, suddenly feeling foolish for his outburst, rubbed the back of his neck as if it ached. ”Come, I'll return you home, priestess.”

She rose reluctantly. She disliked his cold use of the term-she would rather her name came from his lips.

Together they went through the silent wood. Her hands were clasped pa.s.sively in front. His hung at his sides, clenching, at times, almost convulsively. He wanted to draw her against him as they walked. If he could put his arm around her and hold her softness against him, the smoothness of her motion would have soothed him. Instead he was withheld by his suppressed anger.

”Where do you go when you come here alone?” he asked, in a strangely penetrating voice.

”Shall I take you there?” she answered, lifting her face toward him. They came to a standstill.

”Would you like to show me?” he asked.

”Yes.”

”Then show me.”

Magenta took Deacon to a place where a steep fall of water flowed from a height, cascading down smooth rock. They stood atop looking down.

”This is where you come?” he asked.

”Do you not feel the freedom of it?” She held her eyes shut and let the breeze take her. He made no answer but looked at her as if she fascinated him. She had a beautiful look of abandonment. He had an exhilarating sense of risk in standing so precariously near the edge. She took a deep breath and let the pale suns.h.i.+ne play across her features. She loved the breeze when gentle. She opened herself to it, and took its caress on her face and throat.

”I come here to allow myself a sense of release.” She turned her face toward him and found that his eyes were already upon her. His expression, uncloaked, revealed wonder and pure adoration. They stood there an uncounted number of minutes, neither speaking, lost in the wonder of the breeze. The afternoon light faded rapidly. Looking down, Deacon noticed how close she had come to the edge, and in sudden alarm, felt the urge to take hold of her arm and pull her back. He checked the impulse, however, and instead moved closer to the edge with her. She seemed to drift nearer and nearer.

”I fear my life has been a perpetual condition of waiting,” she said at length, a.s.suming her former sobriety.

”What is it that you are waiting for?” he asked slowly, keeping a nervous watch on her footing.

”To be conscious of living,” she said wistfully. ”I wish to feel as much as possible, with the highest degree of intensity possible.” As if unaware how near she was to the edge, she took a step closer, seemingly drawn by the allure of the wind. Instinctively he put out a hand to catch her should she lose her stability. ”I fear what you fear,” she said, glancing at him. ”I fear I shall be here, lost in darkness, till the years have withered by and there is nothing left for me but death.”

”Can you not leave any time you desire?” he asked, preoccupied, his eyes fixed at where she stood precariously.

”A task more easily said than achieved,” she answered.

He could feel his pulse beating in his throat as he watched. He felt afraid for her. She stood fearlessly. He very quietly sought her hand. ”Come away now,” he half-pleaded, half-commanded, glancing downward. Once he had hold of her, he fastened his grip, as if afraid she would be lost to him should he let go. Her eyes fell to the hand that clasped hers, and her heart seemed to faint. His grasp was so strong, so a.s.sured. She allowed him to a.s.sist her back to a safe distance.

They drew to a standstill, his hand clinging still to hers, and it was as if all her soul was drawn to him. Facing one another they were very quiet, very calm. The scent of flowers was in the air of the falling evening. They were such strangers, yet he stood so very close, so very intimate. His head was bent down as if he had a yearning toward her, but a deep reservation held him apart. He looked down at her heavily. She watched him with a warm expectancy. She knew not what he was feeling or thinking, and she was afraid to speak and break the dream-like languor. She wanted his tenderness, his caresses. Waiting for him was pleasure that was almost pain. Under his gaze she became vaguely aware of everything round them, near and intimate, as lovely presences upon her, contained by him, as if he was the medium through which she felt the beauty of all things.

They remained in this half-dream as the night imperceptibly gathered round. Her standing there like that, soft and pa.s.sive, waiting for him, made his blood beat. He wanted to gather all her warmth and all her softness into him. She seemed offering herself to him, so vulnerable, possessing a gentleness and grace indefinably elegant, but which he knew came from sorrow, and he was drawn to her with a deep sympathetic tenderness.

He saw that she was submerged. She needed him. He was her breath. His heart was tight. He knew where his thoughts were going. She saw the ardor fade from his eyes. The tenderness, however, did not. His eyes remained dark and soft and communicative. Her heart was swelling with emotion and yearning. She wanted to know him, to gather in all of him by touch.

It was then he decided that he would comfort her with his heart. For the short time that he was to remain, she would have the a.s.surance and sympathy of his love, though he knew he would have to steel himself against her when he withdrew it again. He brushed aside the strand of black hair that blew across her face with a soft, lingering touch, his gaze heavy and steady. She waited upon him breathlessly. She could feel him searching her tenderly with his eyes, making a silent effort to comfort her. Then he looked up, watching the light fade, as if in thought, and as if he were alone. She watched his averted face and felt vague and confused.

”Come with me,” he said and again looked down at her. ”I want to show you something.” The stillness remained in his voice and the heavy tenderness in his eyes.

”Where are you going to take me?” she asked, allowing him to lead her by the hand.

”You'll see soon enough.”

Together they pa.s.sed through the trees, among the falling shadows. She was so beautiful pa.s.sing in the darkness, he thought the night might draw her back, so that no other should have her. When they at last reached the edge of the wood, night had fallen and settled over the lake. He left her to stand among the trees and bent down by the water. She waited for him to come back, but he remained crouched there.

”Come over here to me,” he said. She went to him and watched as he lay his open palm on the black water. At the first touch of his hand came the effect of frost on the surface, forming ice, and it spread rapidly a distance out on the lake. He arose and, with a certain alert sensitiveness, led her far out onto the surface transparent as gla.s.s. Underneath was a deep, seemingly endless black. She felt its great depth and was afraid, but continued on with the wonder of it, clinging the while to his firm hand. He drew her to a standstill and crouched down, urging her down with him. Again he placed his hand on the surface. All she saw was this deep ma.s.s of cold darkness, yet she s.h.i.+vered with antic.i.p.ation at what he would reveal to her. This excitement arose as much from him being the one to share it with her as from the event itself.

”The water,” said Deacon, ”is full of life.” A gentle glow put forth from his hand began gradually to illumine the dark beneath. For a moment everything below was still, a dead stillness. Then she could see, through the grainy darkness, life stirring. He was drawing it up. At first she seemed to feel it more than see it, like a great wave coming up in her stomach, so that she felt unbalanced, and might fall forward with the immense gravity of it.

It was coming up quickly, and she felt a flush and fainting in her breast, as if he and she might collide with whatever he was urging up. It approached, as it were, with a great swell, a kind of arrogance about its entrance as if it knew they watched intently for its spectacular rising. The immense beast's great, sleek, grey ma.s.s skimmed and glided just beneath the surface, before diving deep again, returning to the depths, and there came a breath of relief as the rush ebbed away.

Magenta was flushed, her eyes alight with life. He smiled with a tender luxuriousness, a pride surging up in him. Presently he recovered, and smaller life gathered near the surface, languid and peaceful.

”Do you still feel there is meager life here?” he asked, glancing quickly up at her. For a moment his face was unguarded in its love and affection.

”You have altered my perception,” she said, softly.

There settled upon them a reverenced hush, together watching the stir of activity beneath. The beauty of it caused a mysterious want in her soul. He watched her with a kind of fascination. He leaned forward, coming as near as he could without lifting her attention to him and away from the spectacle beneath, where fish and other life moved with lively tranquillity.

”Look at them all,” she murmured. She was pa.s.sive and marveling at the beauty she had perceived for the first time.

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