She stood leaning on the railing of her balcony, resting on folded arms. A gentle breeze kicked up stardust from the flickering gems in the night sky; it lovingly wafted her hair back off her face.
Her negligee floated behind and then beside her as the breeze, caught in a moment of indecision, revealed its fickle nature. Beyond the park, the lights of the city were dazzling.
Gauzy images rose from her memory of happy times, and floated dreamlike around her: dancing, dining, concerts, galas with the most eligible bachelors New York City had to offer, and she'd passed on them all. When the fun was over, they'd left her feeling empty and sad.
How ironic now, how bitterly ironic that the man she loved, who was not a man at all, was passing on her. That was it, she knew it, he was passing on her, and she didn't know why, and she didn't know how to fix it. And she felt empty, so very empty, and sad, so, so very sad.
She started crying, and the tears rolled down her cheeks, and that melancholy rain pattered down to the floor of the balcony. The tear stains of this night joined the tear stains of every other night of the last three weeks, the three weeks he'd been away.
She heard a small rustling behind her, and her heart leapt. Turning, her knees went weak with relief at the sight of him. She longed to run to him, to throw her arms around his neck, to kiss his sweet, sweet lips, to lose herself in his embrace.
But she swallowed the impulse, an ice cold gulp of rejection, and she stood frozen, arms at her side, fists clenched, knuckles white. She knew he wouldn't touch her, and worse, if she tried to embrace him, he would peel her arms off, gently, kindly, but definitely.
"Vincent!" she cried, her voice just above a whisper, "Vincent…where have you been? Why have you stayed away?"
"Catherine," he breathed. Stardust was falling all around and about her, and she glowed radiant. He looked down. "There is something I must say to you." He felt emotion stirring the deepest part him; he was short of breath; his hands were shaking. "I care for you, so very deeply, and what we shared will always be a beautiful memory that I will treasure, but Catherine, we must stop seeing each other."
"No! Vincent!"
"Catherine, it must end."
"No! Vincent! Why? Are you angry with me? Have I upset you?"
"No! Catherine, no," he stepped toward to her. "You have given me something wonderful, something I've never had before, never dreamed I could have, beautiful feelings I can't even describe. You mustn't think I say this in anger."
"Why, then?"
He opened his mouth, but no words came out. "Catherine, I want—more than anything, I want…" He turned and started pacing. "You deserve so much, and there is so little I can give you-"
She was crying now. "No, Vincent! You give me everything! Everything! Please don't take that away from me, please!"
"Catherine, you must meet someone who will give you a family, children, a life here, among your family and friends. You must continue in your work, helping so many people."
"Vincent, if you don't want to see me again then I can't make you, but don't tell me you're doing it for me! I don't want anyone else or anything else but you! These feelings I have for you, I never knew they existed until I met you! You're not just some boyfriend! You can't 'end' what we have!" Anger tinged her words.
"Catherine, please trust me, it must be this way! It has been a beautiful dream, a wonderful dream. But we must awaken, and it must end. You will see me no more."
"Kiss me goodbye, then." She was desperate. She hoped that a kiss, one kiss, would change his mind, change their relationship, bind him to her. "If you can kiss me, and still walk away from me, at least I'll know it was the right thing for you to do."
He took her shoulders in his hands, and stared, anguished, into her tormented green eyes.
"One kiss, Vincent, that's all I'm asking for."
He bent down and leaned close to her face. He inhaled her scent, drank in her essence. He hungered for her, for the taste of her on his lips, on his tongue. His lips barely brushed hers; she could taste his warm, sweet breath.
He froze. He pulled away slowly. He realized that if they kissed, he could never leave her. He released her shoulders, and started to slowly back away.
"No, no, Vincent," implored Catherine, "please, please don't do this. Please don't leave me! Vincent! Vincent!"
But he sprang away, up on the roof, and then he was gone, down the elevator shaft, hearing her distress as she called his name, feeling her misery in his own heart.
Catherine doubled over, hyperventilating. She stumbled into her bedroom, and tumbled down on the bed.
Vincent reached the tunnel under Catherine's building within a few seconds. He reached out and leaned on the wall for support. Slowly, he lowered himself down to his knees, and sobbed.
888
In Father's study, Vincent's pacing made visible the storm of emotion that tortured him.
Father sat at his desk. "Vincent, this is absolutely for the best."
"Whose best, Father? My best? Her best? Everyone else's best? Or your best?"
"My best?! How can you question my motives? It's for your best, Vincent!"
"Then why do I feel like I've been torn to pieces? And her! She has never felt such pain in her life!"
"I knew bringing her down here would cause nothing but trouble, I told you-"
He brought his fists crashing down on Father's desk. "My 'trouble' comes not from bringing her down here, but from leaving her up there!"
"Your trouble comes from wanting something that you can never have!" Father drew in a breath, and exhaled slowly. He spoke calmly, "Vincent, my son, how I wish it were in my power to give you this, to make this possible for you. But it is not possible, and the longer you feed this notion, this 'dream', the harder it will be for you to accept reality."
"Why must my reality be filled with nothing but limitations? I have always done everything that was expected of me, and I've never complained, I've never demanded, there is little I've ever even asked for. So why is happiness, for me, beyond my grasp?" For the first time, Vincent was demanding the satisfaction of a selfish desire. For the first time, he was venting frustration at being denied his happiness. "Until I met her I never knew such joy existed. I knew love, once I met her. She makes me feel wonderful beyond words; her love makes me happy beyond words."
"Vincent, son, the kind of love you're talking about is not for you; that life if not for you."
He shook his head. "If life for me means spending it without her, I'm not sure I'm willing to live it."
"How dare you?" Father rose up from behind his desk. "How dare you say that?! Yes, your life has many limitations, but your life has also been one of community, and sharing, and warmth, and yes, love. All that we've given to you, Vincent, all that we've been to you, does that mean nothing to you now?"
Vincent was silent, so Father continued. "Our love is the kind of love that won't hurt—anyone. If you love her, Vincent, let her go."
888
The days went by, and the days became weeks. Alone at night, Catherine cried, and Vincent was doubly anguished, in her pain, and in his own.
Indifferent to mortal fortunes, the spring sunshine lit the world with a cheerful brightness; the air was soft, warm, filled with the scent of loam, trees were putting out buds, soft new grass was sprouting from bald earth, the first hairs of infant spring: the seasons graced earth with beauty but knew no empathy.
Catherine and Edie were eating their lunch in the park across the street from the office when a school bus pulled over and parked close by. A group of high school students and their teachers disembarked. They spread blankets and sat not far from Catherine and Edie's bench, and one of their teachers began to read aloud.
"Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The words wounded Catherine to the quick; she brushed tears off her cheeks.
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year's bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go,—so with his memory they brim.
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, "There is no memory of him here!"
And so stand stricken, so remembering him."
The teacher looked up from the book. He was in his thirties, had sandy brown hair that fell in loose curls, and large, sparkling blue eyes behind round-rimmed eyeglasses. Catherine saw kindness in those eyes; there was gentleness in those eyes.
The teacher went on to talk about the author, Edna St. Vincent Millay, her life, her work. He talked about sonnets, their structure. He asked the students to explain their interpretation of the poem; he listened to their remarks, and then praised them for doing a good job.
Then he announced that it was time to go back to school, and he asked them to get back on the bus. They moaned, but complied. As they were boarding, the teacher approached Catherine and Edie.
"Beautiful day, isn't it?" he greeted them.
"Yes, very," they agreed.
"Miss, I hope I'm not being too forward, but I couldn't help noticing that you were crying when I read Vincent's poem," he began. She looked at the ground and flushed.
He continued. "I don't mean to embarrass you. I think it's great that it means that much to you. If you love poetry, there's a poetry reading once a month at Gramercy Coffee Shop at 21st and Broadway; there's one scheduled for tonight. It starts at eight o'clock. I'll be there, I'll be reading more of Vincent, and some Keats. A lot of actors come and read, and they're really good. So—just thought I'd tell you about it."
"Thanks," answered Catherine. "That sounds great, I'll see if I can make it."
"I'm Gary Fowler, I teach freshman English at Independence High School."
"I'm Catherine Chandler, I'm an investigator in the District Attorney's office. This is my friend Edie, she's a Research Assistant."
"Good to meet you both. Well, I have to go. Hope to see you tonight, Catherine."
888
He'd walked perhaps twenty feet from his chamber door when Samantha caught up to him. "Vincent!" she cried, coming from behind and taking his hand. "Vincent, we're going to start our skits now! C'mon!"
True, the sun never appeared in the tunnels, but Samantha was surely the warm golden ray of his proxy. He dropped to one knee to look her in the eye. "Samantha, please forgive me if I miss your performance. I'm not feeling very well, and I don't think I'm up to it."
She thought she heard a weariness in his soft voice that she'd never heard before. She frowned her concern for him; she leaned in to get a close look at him. "You haven't felt well for weeks, Vincent. And you missed dinner again tonight. What's wrong?"
"Please don't worry about me, Samantha. I'll be fine. I'm probably just tired."
"I remember once when Pascal was feeling tired, Narcissa gave him some tea that made him feel better."
"Maybe I'll go see Narcissa."
"Okay. I'll tell everyone you're sorry to have to miss the skits. Get better, Vincent," she said. She put her arms around his neck, kissed his cheek, and scampered off. Maybe he should see Narcissa; she might have something that would help him shake off the sick, sad feeling he'd been suffering from since he'd turned his back on Catherine.
It was a long hike to Narcissa's chamber, and Catherine's face floated before him with every step. She had been in his every thought since he'd left her alone on her balcony, weeks ago. He didn't want to stop thinking about her, seeing her face reflected from his heart, hearing the echo of her voice on the air. He'd left the woman behind, but held dear her phantom.
At 21st and Broadway, the tunnel ran behind the subway station. He asked himself if he was sure he was doing the right thing to quit her. How could it be when all he wanted to do was stroke her lovely hair, her cheek; take her in his arms, drink in her scent, her essence, and kiss her, tenderly, lovingly, as she deserved—
He felt her near. He could see into the subway station through a ventilation grate. He picked her out of the crowd, pausing before ascending the stairs up to the street. She was pressing her fingers to her lips, looking searchingly through the crowd.
888
The lighting in the coffeehouse was subdued; the hum of dozens of quiet conversations droned in the background. "So—how did you like it?" he asked softly.
She pursed her lips and nodded. "I liked it very much."
"I thought you would. So, how does a woman like you, with so much heart, get up every day and prosecute criminals? Wouldn't you be happier, I don't know, delivering meals to the elderly or distributing toys and clothes to needy children?"
Catherine's inner eye flashed to a vision of her last trip down to the tunnels, delivering food, toys, and clothes. She squelched the recollection quickly; they had appreciated her help so much, it had moved and humbled her. But she would never go Below again, never see any of them again. "My goodness, I don't know if I'm so giving of myself. I'm an attorney, and I enjoy the work I do."
She had not masked her feelings quickly enough. He saw the emotion pass though her eyes. "What was that, Cathy? You were thinking of something. Just for a second, there was a terrible grief in your eyes. Did someone break your heart?"
He was so kind, gentle and warm. She closed her eyes, but one errant tear ran down her cheek before she could stop it. She brushed it away quickly. She opened her eyes. No good trying to deny it. "Yeah," she whispered. "This afternoon I thought I'd better start trying to move on, get over it. Maybe I'm not ready for that yet."
His brow furrowed slightly. "Cathy, let me read you a poem I just found today, it's by Marge Piercy." He opened a book he'd been holding, and flipped through a few pages. "Ah, yes, here:
Learning to love differently is hard,
love with the hands wide open, love
with the doors banging on their hinges,
the cupboard unlocked, the wind
roaring and whimpering in the rooms
rustling the sheets and snapping the blinds
that thwack like rubber bands
in an open palm.
It hurts to love wide open
stretching the muscles that feel
as if they are made of wet plaster,
then of blunt knives, then
of sharp knives.
It hurts to thwart the reflexes
of grab, of clutch ; to love and let
go again and again. It pesters to remember
the lover who is not in the bed,
to hold back what is owed to the work
that gutters like a candle in a cave
without air, to love consciously,
conscientiously, concretely, constructively.
I can't do it, you say it's killing
me, but you thrive, you glow
on the street like a neon raspberry,
You float and sail, a helium balloon
bright bachelor's button blue and bobbing
on the cold and hot winds of our breath,
as we make and unmake in passionate
diastole and systole the rhythm
of our unbound bonding, to have
and not to hold, to love
with minimized malice, hunger
and anger moment by moment balanced.
He closed the book and closed his eyes. He sighed.
Cathy nodded. "She gets it."
"Sometimes just knowing that someone understands, really understands, is what we need," he added.
He opened his eyes, and smiled softly at her. She smiled back, and sighed. She realized then, that the only attraction he held for her was in how much he reminded her of Vincent.
888
Father stared at the chess board. Mary stared at Father. She glanced at the captured pieces lying beside the board. She picked up the Queen's Knight that Cullen had carved to resemble Vincent. She replaced it on the board next to her Queen, carved to resemble Catherine.
"What are you doing there, Mary?"
"These two should never be separated," she answered.
Father sighed, exasperated. He glowered at Mary. "You know, this is very difficult for me, as well. I would appreciate some support, Mary."
She waited a long moment before answering. "I put them together because living your life alone is not good. If you're lucky enough to find your true love, your soul mate, it's wrong to not grab on. You've got those two fighting their natures; it's unnatural and it's hurting them. Vincent hasn't eaten in days, he's only had a few hours of sleep."
"For God's sake, Mary, you've seen what he's capable of. He can and has ripped men limb from limb. What if, in a moment of passion, he lost control with her?"
"Yes, I've seen what he can do. But I've also seen how gentle he is with the children and the elderly. And what about their bond? If their love was never meant to be, how could they have bonded?"
Father drew breath, but had no answer.
Mary continued. "He feels what she feels, she knows when he needs her."
"If he were to hurt Catherine, he would never forgive himself, and he might do himself harm."
"What is he doing now, but suffering a slow death?"
888
Father stood for a moment in the doorway of Vincent's chamber. He watched as Vincent held a shard of glass from a broken headlight. He thought he had approached quietly, but Vincent was aware of his presence.
"She threw this at me, the first time she saw me, my appearance startled her so."
Father began walking toward Vincent, where he lay stretched out on his bed. "I was so angry that you'd brought her down here. I was afraid she would betray the secret of our location. Then, later, after she'd gone back Above, you told me you were falling in love with her, and I was afraid you might hurt her, she might hurt you, you might be captured Above going to see her…I've always tried so hard to protect you, Vincent, from everything, but especially from the world above. I have always feared that if you were caught Above, you would be chained, caged…killed. But what have I been, but the worst captor of all? Oh, yes, it's true. I've kept you locked away from love because I believed that you were capable only of behaving like an animal." He sat down on Vincent's bed.
"No, Father, you-"
"Yes. I'm sorry. Go to her, Vincent, don't be afraid anymore of what might happen. Your love for her will protect you both, I realize that now, and you should, too."
888
She stood leaning on the railing of her balcony, resting on folded arms. She felt Vincent nearby; she turned in time to see him drop down from the roof.
She ran to him; he caught her tightly in his arms. She buried her face in his neck, feeling nothing, thinking nothing, aware of nothing but the feel of him, his scent, his warmth, his arms around her, holding her. He swept her off her feet and cradled her in his arms, and gently, so gently, kissed her warm, full lips.
She pulled away and whispered, "Vincent, oh, my god, Vincent, Vincent! Don't leave me again, don't ever leave me again!"
Planting kisses on her lips, her cheeks, he murmured, "No, no, I won't, I swear I won't, I'm so, so sorry, oh my god, what have I done, what have I done…I feel your heart, it's almost breaking…" He kissed the tears off her cheeks, and stilled her crying with still more kisses to her lips.
Still kissing, he carried her inside.
888
The cave walls of the hot springs were wet and dripping, and the air was very humid. Vincent and Catherine entered holding hands, he carrying a torch in his free hand.
He bent down and kissed her, savoring the taste of her on his lips. Her skin tingled under his touch, and she felt her insides melting a bit.
He pulled away slowly, and smiled at her. He lit the other torches mounted on the walls, and set his in an empty sconce; the room glowed with soft, flickering light. He took the bag he'd been carrying off his shoulder, and set it on a shelf carved into the rock wall. He pulled a fat pillar candle out, and set it on the shelf. He took a punk from the sack, crossed over to a torch, and lit it.
Carrying the punk in his right hand, he took her hand with his left, and led her to the candle. She laid her hand on top of his right; together they set it to the wick, and the pure flame leapt up.
Next, he pulled a bottle of red wine and two goblets out of the sack, and set them down on the shelf. He poured the wine, and handed her a goblet. Staring over the tops of the rims, they drank a wordless toast, to each other, to love; to have, not to hold, but bonded.
He bent and kissed her lips, lovingly. He set his goblet on the shelf, and began, leisurely, to undress. Catherine set her goblet down next to his, and unbuttoned the cuffs of her blouse. Under his appreciative gaze, she undressed.
He handed her her goblet, took up his own, and offered her his hand. They walked to the hot spring, and entered at the most shallow point, where the water only came to Catherine's knee. They waded to deeper water and sat down on a bench carved into the bank. They sat for a few minutes, eyes closed, sipping wine, holding hands.
Catherine whispered,
"Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove."
Eyes still closed, he snaked his arm around her waist, and pulled her onto his lap, her legs straddling his. She laughed, delighted. He opened his eyes, and smiled at her. He whispered,
"O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken."
He reached back and set his goblet down on the bank. He cupped water in his hand, and dripped it down her shoulders and bosom. He watched the rivulets run down her smooth skin; she caressed his brow, his cheek. He cupped up more water, let it drip down her shoulders, then pulled her closer, bent his head down, and kissed and lapped it off.
He nuzzled his way up her neck, and whispered in her ear, "Stay with me tonight, Catherine."
"I will," she whispered back.
"What about the next night?" he murmured.
She reached past him and set her goblet down on the bank. She wrapped her arms around his neck. She kissed from the base of his neck, up to his ear. "I will," she whispered.
"And the next night? And the next? And the next?" He pulled back to look into her eyes.
"Yes," she answered.
They kissed, and lost themselves in their embrace.