Fragment Two

She was wounded almost fatally; wounded and lingering upon the threshold of death. She was feverish and delirious; lying in a bed of white satin, while her friends looked on anxiously, for they knew that there was little they could do. She was fading fast, like the phantom she had always been; ethereal and somehow not wholly of this world, merely a visitor, too pure to remain in this imperfect realm.1

And as she fell into a cold, white slumber from which her carers feared that she would never awaken, her hold on the tenuous thread of life began to slacken; began to loosen its grip, and her essence began to dissipate and to unravel into the ether from whence all came. Her carers turned to mourners, and she was covered in a shroud of white silk, for they could not bear to witness her passing from the world. She laid there, her skin the colour of ivory; pallid and serene, her lips a pale rose, her eyes closed; the lashes with beads of frost upon them, collected like dew. Her breath was slow and uneven, like her heart. 2

And then she was moving; moving through cold air. She was cradled in someone’s strong arms. She could hear his harsh breathing; feel the quickness of his beating heart and the hardness of his chest and arms. She was held like a child, small and helpless like a water-lily swept upon the currents of a raging, impetuous stream. She opened her eyes, slowly and laboriously, for they seemed to be sealed with a gum-like substance. After some time, she opened them and her eyes stared; blank and unfocused, upwards. There was a jolt; her bearer had almost tripped, and her eyes brought themselves into focus. She saw his throat and chin silhouetted against the stars and the night sky, and all she could discern was a prominent Adam’s apple. She could make out the forms of trees shrouded in fog on either side.3

Time passed like the trickling of syrup; thick and saturated, and permeated with the rhythm of his ragged breathing and the moving of his body. But at last, after an interminable time, she became aware that they were no longer moving. She opened her eyes again, and saw the blue-black sky spattered with the sparkling stars, and, as she tilted her head to the left upon perceiving a silver effulgence in that direction, she beheld the glowing orb of the moon, and saw that it reflected upon an expanse of water, beside which she was being held in the arms of the man, who was kneeling beside her.4

She looked to her right and saw his face, illuminated by the light of the moon, and she remembered a phrase from the past which surfaced in her consciousness like a whisper: ‘The best light to see you in.’ His hair was thick, black and long, and some of it fell forward across his pale face. His cheekbones were high and well-defined; his cheeks slightly hollowed. His jaw was strong and his lips were full and well-formed, although his mouth was relatively small, as though he did not use it much. His eyes were deep-set and also of a smaller size, although they were remarkable in their way, as though they reflected a bitter-sweet pain of which only he was aware.5

His eyes widened when their gaze connected. He pushed a strand of hair delicately behind her ear, and cupped her face in a hand. It was rough, but not unpleasantly so, and the fingers were long. She felt a sense of peace which she had not known for ages; a kind of tranquillity which helped her mind to shrug off the noxious vapours which had smothered it for so long. She knew him, of course. How could she ever forget such a face, such a caress? ‘I thought I had lost you,’ he whispered into the stillness. She struggled to find her voice. It was like fighting against a current, trying to force her throat to perform the necessary vibrations – to drag the words out of somewhere deep inside her chest. Her lips parted, and she managed to rasp, ‘You were the one who left me, all that time ago.’6

His eyes left hers, and she saw his focus turn inside his self, as his mind wandered back to that time, when he had been aflame with passion like a burning fever; desperate for an exorcism of the energy which had raged within him. He had stolen away one night, leaving her a note in a hurried hand - gone to find his self in the wide world.7

‘I know,’ he said. ‘It could not be avoided. I was young and rash and bold, and tortured. I feared that if I stayed, I would only hurt you; burn you with the flame that burned so ravenously within me.’ He paused and brought his eyes back to hers. ‘It was the hardest thing I ever did.’8

‘You broke my heart,’ she said, turning away.9

‘I know,’ he replied. No excuses. ‘I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, I broke my own as well.’ She turned her face back to his. ‘Foolish boy,’ she whispered, and, as a tear trickled from the corner of his eye, she reached up to hold his face and wipe it away with a thumb. And then, they were kissing, and the sweet sensation flooded her mouth and made her whole body tingle with warmth. She tasted him; the taste which she had thirsted for so long. It seemed to last forever, but eventually their lips parted and he held her close and tucked her to his chest in a desperate embrace, and she felt the hot, bitter-sweet moisture of tears oozing from her own eyes. ‘Darling,’ she said. ‘I’m dying.’ He pulled her away so that he could look down into her eyes and smiled - a strange kind of smile which she could not recall seeing before. His eyes gleamed and he said, simply, ‘No.’10

He reached down into the lake, supporting her with one arm, and cupped some of its glowing water in a hand. He brought its shining wetness to her face, and poured it gently onto her forehead, bringing it down across her right cheek and across her lips on its way to her other cheek, and back up to her forehead. He washed her features with it, and she closed her eyes so that he could rub the gum from her eyelids and the frost from her lashes. She opened her mouth, darting her tongue out to take in the moisture which had landed on her lips. She drank it in, and she began to feel a glowing warmth which suffused her head like a silver aura. She moaned and arched her back, her eyes wide. He nodded to himself and slid one arm under her back while it was arched, and another under her knees. He lifted her again, like a child, and stepped into the lake, each movement taking them deeper into its embrace.11

Before long, she felt the wetness seep into the back of her gown, and she was semi-submerged. But instead of the freezing shock which she had expected, she was suddenly enveloped entirely within the glowing aura. It radiated health and purity, and she felt herself being renewed. It was ecstasy. She gasped and convulsed, overcome with the sensation, and he held her head above the water, kneeling down beside her. If she had had the presence of mind to look, then she would have seen that his eyes were moist, although it had nothing to do with the lake.12

At length, when the spasms had subsided, she planted her feet on the sandy lakebed and stood up. She felt invigorated. The moon had sunk, and the sun was rising in the east, casting a crimson-saffron glow over the horizon. It had never looked so beautiful. She breathed in the fresh morning air, and relished its cold harshness as it rushed into her lungs.13

She was healed.14