She's baffling – absolutely unlike any other woman Vincent has met, and he can't figure her out. She is a tough military professional, yet he can't really imagine her wearing a uniform; she's strong and self-confident, yet there are moments when she seems clueless, almost like a child… and the next moment she handles her students with ease and natural authority. She is jaded, even cynical, but when she entered the dining hall, decorated for the Christmas party, she paused with such a weird look…
Baffling. Vincent tries to imagine her as a child, to picture her when she was six, or sixteen, but without success; he is unable to erase her tattoos and scars.
He wonders what sort of childhood she had – he even made the mistake, once, to ask, and immediately knew he had overstepped, and never dared again.
Even now he doesn't dare: half-hidden behind the huge artificial Christmas tree, all silver and gold, electric candles and chains and stars, he watches while the others are dancing, everyone: the students, the staff… Jack.
Watching her dance, he doesn't hear the generic dancing tune but another one, a haunting old melody he learned during the course of Biblical studies which he picked out of despair, after Susan left him.
Tender and treacherous
Timid and dangerous
Flame and the red of dawn
Angel and devil's pawn
Sugar and salt.
Jack dances, her eyes shining, her lips red like Salome's. Her lips...
When the party is over, everyone is hugging and kissing and wishing 'Merry Christmas', and when his turn comes, he wants more than a peck on the cheek. His hands hold on a moment too long, bolder for all the whisky that he has drunk, and he knows that he has overstepped again. Helplessly, he waits for yet another 'just friends' look, but then Jack kisses him on the mouth, thoroughly, and hugs him tight. "Merry Christmas, Vincent, and thanks for everything."
"Merry Christmas, Jack," he replies automatically as she pulls away and leaves, walking with that feline grace. All the Christmas glamour seems suddenly dulled. His head is spinning and the next thing he knows, he is very, very sick, behind the Christmas tree, and Siri is supporting him and manoeuvring him away, muttering something. Her voice is surprisingly gentle but all he hears is the Salome song:
Tempting in candlelight
For the king's sole delight
Salome's dancing
The whisky spills into his eyes because he knows that the king is another and he doesn't stand a chance, yet again.
Comes the morning with the inevitable retribution, he wishes that someone cut off his head just like the Baptist's, for her.
Salome (translation mine, original text by Karel Kryl)
Tender and treacherous
timid and dangerous
flame and the red of dawn
angel and devil's pawn
sugar and salt
Scent of cloves filled the air,
she danced with flowing hair,
the king watched, enchanted,
to revenge consented,
a price so small
Salome
under the waning moon
Salome
swaying like reed to tune
tempting in candlelight
for the king's sole delight
Salome's dancing
Salome
the Baptist died on your word
Salome
your smile the king's heart stirred
spinning and whirling round
your lips red like a wound
glisten with blood spilled
Night sky is reddening
satisfied is the king
making use of the feat,
my realm will benefit
and fear no fate
Knowing the ancient truth
he pondered without rue
'when writing history
don't weep for heads gory
on silver plate'
Salome
no use in dancing on
Salome
you remained all alone
red wine in last droplets
drying in jewelled goblets
lures night moth swarming
Salome
Your blushing cheeks went pale,
Salome
You're concealed in your veil
Hiding from every stare
No-one can see you there
Salome's crying