Chapter 4:
Sunbirds and Seagulls
The mornings in India were just as exciting as the evenings. The evenings were filled with fumbling tourists, a dozen tongues bartering for goods, the scents of spices and exotic fruit hanging thick in the air, and a bright violet sky choked by a thousand stars. But the mornings were fascinatingly silent, the harbor left deserted and barren, like the ruins of a long-lost kingdom, or an ancient ghost-town on the water's edge.
This morning, specifically, the mood was eerie and still, a misty white fog draped over the buildings and hovering around the ships in the bay. All was quiet and calm, even the palms stirred by a sparse gust of wind were silent as they danced.
Instead of a rooster's call, the soft cry of a seagull was the first sound of life to wake the world before the sun rose. The clouds were heavy this morning, and the sun's presence was visible only as a dim, greenish spotlight behind the mottled horizon.
Esme had been the first to rise at the seagull's song, her head lifting from the pillow with ease. Her husband shifted beside her as he watched her sit up, his eyes just as free from fatigue.
Had they been a human couple they would have been exhausted from a night of vigorous passion, and most likely sore from religiously following the pages of the Kama Sutra without break. Needing not a wink of sleep may have been a curse for many reasons, but the one thing it had not cursed was their love life.
A sunless sky in the morning was a welcoming scene for a vampire. The horizon over the sea was like molten charcoal, and the waves were dull green with fluffy white foam on the tips of the curling waves. The occasional shimmer of a gray fish beneath the surface or a translucent ivory crab on the sand brought just a touch of life to a lifeless scene. It was beautiful in a way only an artist could truly see.
Fortunately, Esme was the most sympathetic artist around.
She grabbed her husband's hand and pulled him upright, dressing him as a mother would dress a sleepy child in the morning. Her hands were patient and his limbs were accommodating. She sat across from him as she draped his shirt over his shoulders, brushing away any lotus petals that had lingered from the night before. The velvety white flakes tickled his chest as they fell, and Esme considerately collected the ones that had landed in his lap.
"I'll be shedding lotus petals for a week," he whispered against her forehead as she plucked the last petal from between his legs.
"It suits you," she whispered back.
Wrapping herself in her own white robe, she dragged him to the door, insisting that they make the most of this ideal morning by visiting the ocean together.
Any lotus petals that had been clinging to Carlisle's shirt were scattered at last as he ran after his wife into the colossal green waves.
Esme looked like a lost white water nymph, cloaked in her loose-fitting morning gown. The water licked happily at her toes as she waded, the sand glistening vainly to catch her attention. Her husband, too, tried to catch her attention with the occasional wave of his hand toward her fluttering caramel tresses. Her feet continued a giddy but graceful dance as she stepped lightly around him, avoiding the brush of his fingers against her hair.
Frustrated, Carlisle rushed into the waves after her, chasing her through the sparkling spray. The ocean clasped at their knees, trying in vain to swallow them whole, but they were too quick to fall prey to the water's wrath. Esme's laughter echoed over the deserted beach, drawing the attention of a few irritable seagulls whose mornings were usually spent in silence.
The large white birds glided past her in a wide flock, fluttering overhead until they landed on the tops of the droopy palm trees. The setting of this gray, humid morning was hardly romantic, but the dismal weather kept the crowds away. Only a pair of vampires would find rain and overcast skies appealing for a day on the beach.
If Esme's laughter had stirred the seagulls, Carlisle's laughter had frightened them off. He dragged his arms threateningly through the rising waves and splashed his wife until her clothes were no longer so loose-fitting. They warred in the water with the restless vigor of adolescents, and had they been human, they would not have stopped until their lungs were straining for breath.
Both soaked from the waist down, they collided in fits of laughter, Esme still fighting the capture she knew would be inevitable. She managed to work herself free of Carlisle's arms, taking two more steps into the raging waves before he pulled her close and tipped her chin up to treat himself to a kiss. This time she did not resist, her hands burrowing luxuriantly through his windswept golden locks as their tongues were lost in a loving wrestle.
Esme threw herself into the kiss, much to Carlisle's jubilation – and as a result of her enthusiastic force, they both ended up on the ground, curled together clumsily in the moist sand.
Esme's arms stretched languidly above her head, long tendrils of her damp hair spread out on the sand like limp, coppery flames. "Let's move here," she suggested in a gushing voice.
Raising himself up over his wife, Carlisle cupped her cheek in his hand and shook his head. "You've said the same when we were on your island, my darling."
"Well, we should move somewhere with sand," she groaned, taking a fistful of the thick dust in her hand. "Lots...and lots...of sand." She giggled as she let the ivory grains rain down on the back of his knee.
"I'll buy you sand," Carlisle negotiated, reaching back to brush away the decorative dust. "...Lots and lots of sand."
Esme laughed robustly. "Oh, that's practical."
"In fact, we'll fill up the entire cellar of our house with sand," he proposed, his eyes sparkling with creative inspiration as his voice lowered. "And I'll have you paint the ceiling like the sky," he said between soft kisses to her forehead, "and the walls like the ocean…" He stroked a loving finger down the back of her neck. "…and then you'll pretend to drown so that I can perform artificial respiration on you..."
Shoving his shoulder, she wriggled out from underneath him. "Alright, now you're just getting carried away."
Carlisle grinned, slipping a handful of sand to sprinkle it casually along his wife's thigh. "We've already established that you enjoy when I get carried away."
Esme shifted her leg so that the sand fell away, propping herself up on her elbows to look him in the eye. "Hmm, perhaps we're both getting carried away..."
He leaned in close before she could scoot backwards, his voice low as he brushed his lips against her cheek. "But the real question is, Mrs. Cullen, where exactly are we being carried?"
She smirked and playfully captured his arms in tight a grip, mumbling unappreciatively about how he always had to turn all philosophical on her in the most heated moments. Granted, she had been guilty of this more often than he had in the past. Luckily for them, twenty plus years of marriage had helped to balance things out a bit.
"Where would you like me to carry you?" she teased, rubbing her nose affectionately against his.
"Far away," he whispered, as if in a trance.
"We're already far away."
"Carry me further," he demanded.
Esme smiled indulgently, rather enjoying listening to her husband play the part of the damsel for a change. "How far is far enough, my love?"
He lowered his voice even further before touching his lips to the base of her throat. "You can stop when we reach heaven."
"That can be arranged."
-}0{-
Lovemaking on the beach was reserved for Isle Esme. It would have been unwise to take the risk on any foreign beach, even if it was unlikely that they would be discovered on such a dreary morning.
Besides, behind a fortress of foliage-infested palm trees was just as good a place as any.
"You're turning me into something depraved, my dear," Carlisle accused, his voice breathless in the shade of the heavy leaves that surrounded their bare bodies.
Esme smiled impishly as her fingers traveled up the span of his back. "Likewise."
"I can't seem to keep my hands off of you for more than an hour at a time," he whimpered, burying his hands into her hair as he flipped her beneath him.
"Must be something in the water," she surmised lazily.
Carlisle sighed with a deep chuckle, "Now I see why you want to move here."
"It's wonderful, isn't it?" she asked rhetorically, her eyes blinking adoringly up at him.
He burrowed his nose into her neck and hummed against her. "Mmmhmm..."
"I want to make our island just like this," she declared wistfully.
"Then we should keep a copy of the Kama Sutra in the bedroom," he suggested with a wry grin.
"Not just on the island, though," she corrected.
"On second thought, it won't be necessary," Carlisle assured smugly. "I'm fairly sure I have it memorized by now."
Esme feigned displeasure. "Don't go around telling other women that."
His dimples flickered in amusement. "Why not?"
"Because devastatingly handsome surgeons who have the Kama Sutra memorized are a coveted breed of husband."
The doctor smirked. "Do you think I would allow another woman to steal me from you?"
Esme pursed her lips, tucking his head firmly between her hands. "You'd be surprised how ruthlessly possessive some women can be."
"Would you consider yourself 'ruthlessly possessive', Esme?" he whispered.
"Absolutely."
Her fiery kiss ensured another long hour spent hidden between the trees. Every chirp of the birds above was but a trivial interruption to their ceaseless passion. The ivy beneath their backs was pressed to a fine green powder, the misty fog upon the ground serving as their only blanket. The intense humidity would have been a danger for any living, breathing couple – the fragrance drawing them in with its sweet spell before they would suffocate under the strain of such heady air.
But vampires never came up for breath.
The ground seemed to cool around them as they descended from their high, the mist dispersing, having done its job to protect them from prying eyes. Now they lay in nothing but their pure white skin, tucked so closely against one another that they looked to still be one.
Empty thunder sounded off in the distance as a breeze blew through the tops of the trees. Fronds of dry rattan shivered as if frightened by the soft sounds of the storm, each blade bejeweled with tiny brass-colored beetles searching for shelter from the rain.
With hushed voices the couple watched for exotic birds from their mossy bed, their words punctuated by the wayward raindrops that slipped beneath the canopy of palm trees overhead.
"See that one, way up in the cocoa tree over there?"
Esme looked in the direction her husband pointed. "Mmhm."
"That one is called a sunbird."
Esme was rather surprised by its name, expecting the bird in question to be yellow in color. Instead, its feathers were a deep, shiny shade of teal, tipped with inky black.
"It's lovely, but it doesn't look very much like the sun," she said, nudging her head against Carlisle's shoulder as they both watched it flutter away.
He smiled to himself as he explained the name. "They're called sunbirds because they enjoy sitting at the very tops of the trees, where they can be in the sun."
"Oh," Esme laughed in understanding.
"Shh, look…" Carlisle whispered, directing her gaze to the left. "That one on the rock over there, that's a flycatcher."
Esme smiled wryly as she turned her head to watch the bright orange bird hop from one stone to the other, jerking its tiny head back and forth in search of passing insects.
"I think I can guess why it's called that."
Carlisle laughed softly, tugging the ends of her hair in a teasing gesture.
"Remember that time you bought me those doves?" Esme asked reminiscently.
"Yes." It was just a one word answer, but his voice was inebriated with affection.
"You should capture a pair of sunbirds, and we'll bring them home with us."
He gave her a sad look before clearing his throat. "I think they might prove a bit too...tempting if we had to carry them with us all the way home, darling."
Esme had to sullenly agree. "Hmm."
"I'll buy you another pair of birds when we return," Carlisle offered, "if that would please you."
She sighed heavily as he draped his arm around her. "We would just end up letting them fly free like we did with those doves."
"Anything with wings longs to fly free," Carlisle said thoughtfully. "It's just in their nature."
"That is very true," she mused as she trailed her fingers contentedly over his chest. "It's so nice not having anything serious to talk about," she added as a segue into simpler conversation.
Carlisle smirked out of her view. "You know that's because anytime there's nothing serious to talk about we end up like this," he said slyly, gesturing to their bodies. "Naked in a forest somewhere."
Esme giggled. "You exaggerate."
He sat up, grinning guiltily, and reached for his shirt. "Ah—still soaked," he sighed, spreading the wet sleeves out across his arms to show her.
Esme bit her lip as she scooped up her nightdress, finding it even more drenched than it had been when they came out of the ocean. "It must have been raining while we were..."
As her words trailed off, Carlisle warily caught her eye. "Finish the sentence, love."
No matter how sweet and innocent his voice, it would not have stopped her from slapping him in the side with her wet robe.
"Unnecessary," she murmured before capturing his smiling lips in a violent kiss.
Just as quickly as she had attacked him, Esme pulled away, stuffing the rest of his clothes against his stomach. Carlisle idly began to slip his legs into his trousers. "For the rest of the day now I'm going to be dreadfully curious about what you were going to say..."
Esme threw him a cheeky look over her shoulder as she tied the sash of her robe. "You'll survive."
-}0{-
After a stealthy hunt through the beachside jungle before nightfall, Carlisle dragged his willing wife back to the market square where the deserted ghost-town had reawakened with crowds of unfamiliar faces, busier than the inside of a beehive in summertime.
Though she had spent the previous evening cleaning out every vendor's stand in sight, Esme now wished to visit the few she had not yet met. Lucky she was that the streets of Mumbai were rarely filled with the same characters from one eve to the next. Tonight, a tall black ship carrying a band of charismatic pirates had dropped in for show. Carlisle knew that his wife, being the fire-hearted romantic she was, would find the scene at the harbor greatly intriguing.
He was comfortable allowing Esme a step closer, knowing she could defend herself well if threatened. But the ominous guests had surprised the harbor folk with their kindly manners, despite their dastardly faces. Not surprisingly, Esme was quite a charming point of attention amongst the crew members. One fellow had even offered Esme the chance to hold his pet parrot for a while. She departed the harbor that night with a sack full of golden clams and her very own sheathed dagger, compliments of the ship's captain.
Carlisle was forced to hold back laughter watching his sweet wife mingle with a ship full of Scandinavian sea rats. Here he'd been worried they would attempt to slit her throat, and all they seemed to want was a moment to bask in her gaze. He didn't blame them of course; Esme was surely more beautiful than any mermaid they could have hoped to see on the ocean. And she was not even a hallucination – she was real.
Perhaps it had helped that she was one of the few women not covered from head to toe in a formless black robe.
After such an exciting scene, Esme was determined to make good use of her unexpected rewards. She decided to spend a handful of golden clams on a fine Persian quilt. Her choice of pattern was not an easy one; each blanket was equally beautiful as the next, and each had a unique story of how it came to be.
The woman who sold the quilts was quite intent that her customer should hear each story in detail. As she recounted each fantastic tale in rapid Hindi, Carlisle translated so that his wife could listen as well.
The first quilt was said to have been hand sewn by an old woman who many believed to be an oracle. It was the color of the night sky, peppered with small eight-point stars of silver and gold. It was thin and light, almost sheer – more like a shawl than a blanket.
The second quilt was covered in all shades of green in simple but small, precise patterns, with twisting leaves and tendrils of ivy. Its edges were printed with bright orange flora, and it was rumored that if one bent close enough, she would breathe in the everlasting perfume of the tiger lily.
The third quilt was thicker than the last two, printed with swirls and exotic shapes in shimmering colors that resembled many-faceted gemstones. Rich purples and sea blues and shamrock greens, all interlaced with thin golden filigree, each corner decorated with a shiny threaded tassel.
"What is the story behind this quilt?" Esme asked in a secretive tone as her fingers explored the dizzying pattern.
The woman behind the veil mumbled what sounded like an incantation to Carlisle, her hands cupped mystically around her mouth as she spoke. Carlisle turned to his wife with sparkling eyes and a careful translation. "She says this quilt is really a magic carpet. That on a full moon night, one need only wish to fly upon it, and it will whisk her away to the land of her dreams."
"I should very much like to visit the land of my dreams," Esme whispered to her husband.
Down went the coins and up went Esme's spirits.
Her new blanket was wrapped like a colorful silk scroll and tucked beneath Carlisle's arm as they headed back to their candlelit dwelling for the night.
"It's a shame that the moon is not full tonight," Carlisle observed as Esme opened the door.
"I don't think I'll need a full moon to bring my dreams to life," she murmured, kissing the inside of her husband's hand as she tugged him toward the window.
Carlisle paused to unravel the priceless quilt, smoothing it out over the surface of the daybed for his wife to lay upon. He lifted her properly with both arms and placed her on the quilt, admiring the way her pale skin blazed against the dark, shimmering patterns. Kneeling before her feet, he removed her sandals and kissed each of her toes in turn while she watched with a mirthful smile.
"You treat me like a queen," she whispered with a wicked little laugh.
Carlisle's lips broke into a pleased smirk as his fingers traveled slowly up her ankle. "What shall I render to thee, Majesty?"
Esme heaved a theatrical sigh, charmed by his naturally winsome accent. "Don't talk like that – I'll do something unthinkable."
Letting go of her foot, he raised himself up onto the shallow bed beside her and tucked her hair behind her ears.
"I'd appreciate that," he noted with a grin, kissing lazily up and down her throat.
He spent a few moments of silence worshipping her body in a manner of gentlest sensuality. Every inch of her skin seemed to beg his tongue's blessing, and with every new inch he touched, she shuddered excitedly.
"It's so breathtaking," she murmured suddenly. "The sea."
Turning his head to look out the window, Carlisle sighed in agreement.
"I wish I could keep it with me, always," Esme confessed, curling her fingers around his wrist to bring his hand to her heart. "I'll miss it when we have to leave."
Her words sparked a tender burning sensation in Carlisle's pocket where the twin emerald earrings still hid from the night before. Knowing he would not find a more opportune moment to give her the gift, Carlisle sat up beside the window and reached into his pocket.
"Esme, my darling..."
Her eyes glittered under the moonlight as she looked up at him from her bed. "Yes?"
"What if I told you there was a way you could keep the sea?"