Do
you remember the party they gave when we first arrived at Port
Royal?
The others mostly were off carousing with women, but you sat
by the
fireside, moping about how the only mangoes to be found were
in the
far east, in India, or Indochina, or someplace else unknown
and
mysterious. Your eyes were bright and your cheeks were flushed,
as you
drank cheap wine, as you talked to me about everything under
the
sun. I knew you completely, and yet…I wished you would stop
talking.
Eventually you did, pillowing your head against the back of
the
chair, drifting off to sleep.
I
pulled my chair closer, so I could watch over you. I could
feel
your breaths, could almost sense your heart beating, feel the
very
force that made you you and not me or any of the other
lieutenants
or anyone or anything else on earth. You were beautiful.
Even
when you slept. Especially when you slept, I think…you were the
most
beautiful, because then…you were entirely mine, you were not
able
to protest my admiration. I could possess you, I could
understand
you best listening not to your words, just the rhythm of
your
breaths. You were mine.
It was
that night that our love was the strongest, the most
real;
when you dozed in a chair by the fireside and I sat nearby
adoring
you. I imagined that you dreamed of me, and I was content.
And
then you awoke.
And
our love affair was over.