Under the Arch
By CalicoKitten
Dresden was a quaint German town, quite reminiscent of the colliery town of Beldover. Resting upon a flat, gray plane of land, few trees were scattered across the area, shown between the substantial buildings adjacent to the string of streets, in which there were people. Not a very quiet place, it lacked the foolishness and duality of such prominent towns as Paris or London, unchanged and unchanging in appearance.
Of late, however, it was the recent destination chosen by Ursula in her and Birkin's travels of the land. The spring was just coming in when they had arrived in town by train, and after entering they surveyed the sights, looking across the solitary park in the midst of the scenery to where amorphous roads led to sordid part shops, part dwelling-houses lining the streets. Ursula, secretly longing for the familiarity and the atmosphere of her home in the Midlands, decided to forego the exploration of these shops and locations in favor of rooming at the town's local hotel, which looked of an air more sophisticated inside than the view of the front, which accommodated the lay of the streets.
"I should be glad if you didn't ask me anymore of that," said Ursula, in a strained voice. She pulled absorbedly at the sleeves of her dress, made of light blue poplin. She wore a loose coat above it, of broad, dark blue and dark violet stripes that matched well with the ruches of green linen lace in the neck and the sleeves of her attire. Her hat was of a yellow straw, as if it was just made, and a plaited ribbon of turquoise adorned the front while her stockings were dark blue and her shoes the darkest navy.
Birkin, thin and ill looking, was dressed correctly for his part, but there was an innate incongruity that made him a bit foolish in appearance. It angered Ursula to no end to see him able to adjust to a multitude of situations in any environment, playing with them like a man juggling balls, maintaining an expressionless composure despite the possibility of dropping one or making the slightest mistake, which could result in a chain reaction. She watched him while he buttoned up his boots, taking his time with each one as he caressed the smooth leather exterior of the integument.
"Doesn't one have the right," he said, "to knowledge of where and why one is going someplace? If a man had a choice of heaven or hell, shouldn't he have prior knowledge of his destination rather than be ill- advised against his fate?"
"I suppose that is why they call it fate," she said, too conflicted with emotions roused by his simple attempt at an argument, in which she did not want to participate.
She was suddenly filled with a sharp contempt for him, for his permanent behavior that was despicable in numerous ways. She saw that he sought to understand her, for he wanted each to give of the other freely and fully in order to achieve his definition of love. There was a certain cloud of derision gaining shape over her, suffused by the duality in her own feelings, for she contained vast love for him but was disturbed in her doubt that she could not completely have him as her own. Her fine hate of him quickened in her bowels as his firm speech displayed the fullness of life that was so desirable, in spite of his constant look of ailment.
"It is fate that controls everything in the universe - our lives are subject to it," added Ursula. "Our actions are all controlled by fate, so we cannot stray from it."
"It is not fate that we possess emotions, that we can feel and think for ourselves," he replied. "I would say, instead of fate possessing us, we possess fate."
"If we possess fate, why are we not happier because of it? How is it that we are bound by the social order in the world, unable to change our thoughts and beliefs without this fate tying us to reality?"
She looked at Birkin with piercing, inchoate eyes. Within his eyes she could see the comprehension dawning in her words, and she spurned him for being so astute, for recognizing the meaning she had wanted to hide. Suddenly she saw herself confronted with another problem - the problem that had been gaining distinction ever since the death of Gerald Crich. Her loathing of Birkin began a tumultuous downfall, lessening in effect while still embedded in her body, and she began to condemn Gerald with all her might, despising his entire self with all her being, content of his demise but despondent because of the outcome.
"If this is our chosen fate, to travel married throughout the land, why are we not fully satisfied?" she asked in a strangely abstract voice, knowing of her flawed reasoning. "It is not our decision, but it is still fate. If I possess my fate, why am I not enough for you?"
He flinched slightly, as if struck, his face becoming impassive. She stared at him, half in wonder, half in horror, unable to tear her eyes from his face though she recoiled aghast from the harsh asseveration of her withheld emotions. Sensing in him recollections, he seemed to her a man gathering his wits after a realizing he was living a life filled with terrible shame.
"I would freely give my whole soul to you and still be happy," he said. "But I cannot help the longing I wanted for eternal completeness, with a woman and a man."
"It seems you can't do that, if you still long for somebody else. You cannot give yourself freely to me if you constantly yearn for another kind of love."
"I could give my soul to both of you," he responded, "now that I know what I want. But how can I give it to you? I cannot have you completely, for your doubt of my want for another kind of love obstructs the path necessary for me to hold you."
"Why should you! Why should you have two kinds of love? It is unattainable and unfeasible. It is not right."
"But haven't you said that love is the most important commodity in life?" said Birkin, smiling softly during his expostulation. "If you believe in that, is it so wrong to trust in the formation of two kinds of love, though socially undesirable? If you cannot trust in love, what else are you to depend on?"
She could not respond. Her heart leapt in her chest, threatening to burst with the heat of passion and her frustration of not finding a logical answer to his onslaught of questions. Silence passed throughout the room, and Ursula sat on the bed, mute in expression as well as voice. Birkin, maintaining an air of immutable impassivity, remained seated against the white walls of the room, occasionally brushing his fingers atop the smooth material of his boots. It annoyed her that he could keep of a sangfroid nature, knowing that despite the prescience underlying their argument, it could have still turned into meaningless palaver or passed off as simple persiflage. Also, in spite of the discussion that had previously taken place, she felt strongly attracted to him. He impinged visibly on her, and their marriage was not based on a purely ephemeral fascination with the other.
It was strange, the urge that rose up in her to run, to just flee from the room at that moment. It seemed no good to stay at times like these, but she could not bring herself to leave his presence behind. Though he brought to her unreasoning rage and inimical fury, she was comforted in his company and was happiest when she knew he belonged to her and only her. However, she was uncertain if she could ever repudiate his presence, though she knew of the many contingencies within their marriage. Ursula knew she seemed uncouth and irrational to Birkin, but she did not care. For she hated the direction they were headed in, where she thought they were headed to.
"It does not matter," said Ursula, the tone in her voice spurious. "Let us explore the town to become familiar with the land for the morning tomorrow. I do not wish to become lost within the crowd during a beautiful day."
Birkin glanced at her, suddenly fearing her anger. "If you wish us to do so, I have no complaint." he said. "You may use the bathroom to prepare, as there is no boudoir, and I am already finished with it."
Disclosing her assent with a tip of the head, she refused to look at him as she passed, indifferently heading towards the bathroom. Unexpectedly rising from the floor, he caught her wrist in his hand, turning her to meet him. He stooped to kiss her face while her arms closed round him in an embrace. The motion filled her mind entirely, as if death had arrived and was taking over. She felt that she possessed him so fully and intolerably at that moment, but a trickle of hesitancy soon grew in her mind that she had to let him go of the embrace.
"Shall we never go apart again?" she whispered in his ear. And he did not answer, for he knew the question was of a rhetoric nature.
When Ursula emerged from the bathroom, they decided to take a path leading through to a main section of the town, one that led through the small, dungy shops they had seen when arriving by train. The streets were remarkably wide, having no distinct shape yet containing a definite path. Ursula clutched Birkin's arm to her side, wanting to be near his fire, and observed the reasonable amount of people traveling the road at that time. She thought them fascinating, loving to criticize and analyze them, and she was thrilled to be out among the common people. It reminded her of the jumble markets that occurred every Monday in her hometown of Beldover, and she felt a pang of satisfaction when recalling the chair they had bought and given to a reluctant young couple.
She paid rapt attention to a merchant bargaining with a potential customer over the price of a meretricious old table. The merchant was young, relatively new to the stores, and seemed not to grasp the positive aspect in the meaning of the word venality, letting the table go for half of his asking price. She was reminded of the young man of whom received their chair, recalling her attraction to him through the young merchant. Both were mindless animals, not able to handle themselves alone, yet they managed to rouse prurient longings within her. She felt a slight surge of confusion, fused with anger, as she thought of this, but she did not know why. Ursula dismissed the thought as evanescent, purposefully forgetting the matter entirely.
"Come and look over here," said Birkin's voice, to her left.
She moved over to where he was looking over a small box of priced items beside a broken zither, holding one in particular up to her line of vision. It was a square amethyst set in a circle of extremely tiny diamonds, offsetting the dirty look that the gold band retained from years of storage. A profound blissfulness settled over her as she took the ring and tried it on her finger. When she found it was a perfect fit, her heart rose in joy.
"I like it," she said, holding it up in the light. "You can see the years of wear upon it, see how it was then cruelly tossed aside and forgotten."
"Would you like it?" he asked.
"Is it very expensive?"
"Not very," he replied.
As Birkin discussed the price with the gregarious merchant, she extended all of her fingers to see how her fourth ring looked with the other three. The amethyst ring excited her. She felt that it was a sign, a sign that would make her forever satisfied with Birkin. It symbolized the wholeness of his devotion to her, just as the three other rings offered her before. It gave her such pleasure to turn her hand this way and that, to see the lambent jewels flash in the light. It seemed that fate, which was above her, was finally turning her way. She felt the amethyst's smooth surface, noting with slight dismay the crack at the top edge of the stone. For some reason, it bothered her greatly.
"This ring is not as faultless as it seems," she said, showing him the marred perfection of the tiny stone.
"No ring can be faultless," he replied. "They can only be made to show it."
"I suppose that is why it was so cheap," she said, disturbed by the statement he had just made.
"Yes, it was quite cheap."
They continued on their way down to the main section of town, passing a variety of shops located on the sides of the street. Soon, the amorphous roads began to take shape, forming straighter pathways with smoother surfaces. Louder and more piercing rang the people from the street, and Ursula took great pleasure in being glanced at, for she could observe them more fully. Grass grew on patches on the sides of streets, short and thin as if it had just been born. The buildings started to become more erect, standing tall and proud as though they mocked the earlier buildings. They left shadows of darkness that spread across areas lucky enough to lie opposite the sun, and the shadows gave the town an indistinct divisions with the contrasting sights of light and dark.
As they entered the main square of the town, Ursula could not help but feel a wave of sepulchral darkness as she passed through the shadow of a small building. The tension grew in her stomach until it seemed unbearable, yet it stopped as soon as she cleared the macabre dimness caused by the building. She felt so much better in the light, and so she attempted to avoid the black shadows. The varying shades of gray, however, seemed not to upset her in the slightest, and she went through them carelessly while Birkin was a bit uneasy.
"It is marvelous, yet disconcerting, to see the dark shadows of the building imposing unto the light of the day," she said.
"Light and dark mix," he added, "and create many shades of the same color. It is only natural to assume as well that you cannot have one without the other."
They soon advanced through an iron wicket, which was guarding a road hardly used anymore by the town. As they ventured through the small, gray road, they spotted a building in the distance. The building appealed to Ursula greatly, and she had a premonition that she was soon going to arrive at the destination of her soul. Urging Birkin along with a tug to his arm, she headed off in the direction of the inviting building.
The path to the building was straightforward, and it was outlined with lush, green grass speckled with dots of catkins. Covered with a layer of flat rocks, the roadway had been laboriously made by hand, creating the fine workmanship only allowed by the dedicated toils of humans. In the face of the sun, there were few shadows that dissuaded anyone from walking the course of the road, leaving a wondrously bright light shining down upon the beautiful, secluded domain.
Ursula walked a bit ahead of Birkin, hastening her pace in order to reach the building sooner. She pulled a portion of her dress up when she climbed up the few wooden steps located before the entrance door, not wanting to soil her dress by stepping on it. The door was of a remarkable olive green color, splendidly carved in the most miniscule of details, though it was quite worn from the years in use. There was a simple, white archway above the door, casting shadows upon those beneath it and directing the eye's attention to the brilliance of the door.
"This is very much you, Gudrun," said Ursula distractedly. She ran a hand over the door, stroking it as if she could feel its very core.
"So that is why you came here." His voice broke in as Birkin came to stand at the bottom of the steps, half shrouded in the little darkness that the arch offered.
"You could say that," she replied, mystified.
She watched him, captivated by the ethereal appearance the archway and sun gave him as they vied for his attention. The blackness of his eyes reflected the sun above him, yet the sun was not shining upon his face. He regarded her seriously, turning the celestial eyes upon her, bewitching her with their allure.
"She does not need your interference in her life," he stated suddenly. "It is hers to do with as she wishes."
"Of course I know that. I only wish to speak with her."
"You should not."
"Who are you to tell me what I am supposed to do?" she cried angrily.
Birkin looked at her ruefully before answering, "I believe I was yours. But I am not so sure I believe you are mine."
She flushed angrily at the comment. "How can I be yours when I know what you desire? That I alone can never be enough for you is more harmful to me than you can understand."
"Is this what is wrong? Leave Gudrun alone then. We can discuss this on our own," he insisted. "Gudrun has her own life now - she is accomplishing what she wants to do right now, successfully. So am I."
"My sister is none of your concern," she said.
"Fine," he said, suddenly looking weary and unhealthy when the ethereal glow left him, the sun passing slightly overhead. "I shall leave you on your own then."
She watched as he retreated from the building as if it burned him, never looking back at her. She was filled with an immense sadness, seeing his figure fade into the distance, his shadow lingering momentarily before vanishing as well. Suddenly, her amethyst ring caught a brief ray of light intruding upon the safeness of the arch, causing an abrupt twinkle of reflected light to shine forth into her eyes. She stared mesmerized at the stone, which seemed quite dull beneath the shadow of the arch. She fingered it upon her hand.
"Oh, Gudrun," she murmured softly to herself, caressing the cracked surface of the amethyst with her thumb. "Were you right? Do I need the old connection of the world along with the new to really make a world? Or is it simply my other self belonging to the new that is attached to the old?"
She could feel her heart beating harshly against her chest. She felt overwhelmed by a sudden perspicacity, yet lugubriously numb at the same time. Her passion for Birkin threatened to overtake her entire being, yet she was also permeated with hatred for him. She wanted to speak to Gudrun, just speak a few lines, but there was a abhorrence in that, too, for she did not want to see Gudrun satisfied in her new life when she was unhappily dwelling in the past. She stroked the ring gently. It seemed to her to be a sign, a sign that determined her destiny while showing her past. It was a sign of her moving on in life. In several ways, it was alarmingly frightful, yet it seemed such a relief as well.
Ursula continued to finger the ring. Then slowly, very slowly, did she slide the ring meticulously down her finger. It caught at the joint of her finger, but she worked it up until it slid off into her other hand.
She stared at the ring in disbelief.
"I took it off," she said.
By CalicoKitten
Dresden was a quaint German town, quite reminiscent of the colliery town of Beldover. Resting upon a flat, gray plane of land, few trees were scattered across the area, shown between the substantial buildings adjacent to the string of streets, in which there were people. Not a very quiet place, it lacked the foolishness and duality of such prominent towns as Paris or London, unchanged and unchanging in appearance.
Of late, however, it was the recent destination chosen by Ursula in her and Birkin's travels of the land. The spring was just coming in when they had arrived in town by train, and after entering they surveyed the sights, looking across the solitary park in the midst of the scenery to where amorphous roads led to sordid part shops, part dwelling-houses lining the streets. Ursula, secretly longing for the familiarity and the atmosphere of her home in the Midlands, decided to forego the exploration of these shops and locations in favor of rooming at the town's local hotel, which looked of an air more sophisticated inside than the view of the front, which accommodated the lay of the streets.
"I should be glad if you didn't ask me anymore of that," said Ursula, in a strained voice. She pulled absorbedly at the sleeves of her dress, made of light blue poplin. She wore a loose coat above it, of broad, dark blue and dark violet stripes that matched well with the ruches of green linen lace in the neck and the sleeves of her attire. Her hat was of a yellow straw, as if it was just made, and a plaited ribbon of turquoise adorned the front while her stockings were dark blue and her shoes the darkest navy.
Birkin, thin and ill looking, was dressed correctly for his part, but there was an innate incongruity that made him a bit foolish in appearance. It angered Ursula to no end to see him able to adjust to a multitude of situations in any environment, playing with them like a man juggling balls, maintaining an expressionless composure despite the possibility of dropping one or making the slightest mistake, which could result in a chain reaction. She watched him while he buttoned up his boots, taking his time with each one as he caressed the smooth leather exterior of the integument.
"Doesn't one have the right," he said, "to knowledge of where and why one is going someplace? If a man had a choice of heaven or hell, shouldn't he have prior knowledge of his destination rather than be ill- advised against his fate?"
"I suppose that is why they call it fate," she said, too conflicted with emotions roused by his simple attempt at an argument, in which she did not want to participate.
She was suddenly filled with a sharp contempt for him, for his permanent behavior that was despicable in numerous ways. She saw that he sought to understand her, for he wanted each to give of the other freely and fully in order to achieve his definition of love. There was a certain cloud of derision gaining shape over her, suffused by the duality in her own feelings, for she contained vast love for him but was disturbed in her doubt that she could not completely have him as her own. Her fine hate of him quickened in her bowels as his firm speech displayed the fullness of life that was so desirable, in spite of his constant look of ailment.
"It is fate that controls everything in the universe - our lives are subject to it," added Ursula. "Our actions are all controlled by fate, so we cannot stray from it."
"It is not fate that we possess emotions, that we can feel and think for ourselves," he replied. "I would say, instead of fate possessing us, we possess fate."
"If we possess fate, why are we not happier because of it? How is it that we are bound by the social order in the world, unable to change our thoughts and beliefs without this fate tying us to reality?"
She looked at Birkin with piercing, inchoate eyes. Within his eyes she could see the comprehension dawning in her words, and she spurned him for being so astute, for recognizing the meaning she had wanted to hide. Suddenly she saw herself confronted with another problem - the problem that had been gaining distinction ever since the death of Gerald Crich. Her loathing of Birkin began a tumultuous downfall, lessening in effect while still embedded in her body, and she began to condemn Gerald with all her might, despising his entire self with all her being, content of his demise but despondent because of the outcome.
"If this is our chosen fate, to travel married throughout the land, why are we not fully satisfied?" she asked in a strangely abstract voice, knowing of her flawed reasoning. "It is not our decision, but it is still fate. If I possess my fate, why am I not enough for you?"
He flinched slightly, as if struck, his face becoming impassive. She stared at him, half in wonder, half in horror, unable to tear her eyes from his face though she recoiled aghast from the harsh asseveration of her withheld emotions. Sensing in him recollections, he seemed to her a man gathering his wits after a realizing he was living a life filled with terrible shame.
"I would freely give my whole soul to you and still be happy," he said. "But I cannot help the longing I wanted for eternal completeness, with a woman and a man."
"It seems you can't do that, if you still long for somebody else. You cannot give yourself freely to me if you constantly yearn for another kind of love."
"I could give my soul to both of you," he responded, "now that I know what I want. But how can I give it to you? I cannot have you completely, for your doubt of my want for another kind of love obstructs the path necessary for me to hold you."
"Why should you! Why should you have two kinds of love? It is unattainable and unfeasible. It is not right."
"But haven't you said that love is the most important commodity in life?" said Birkin, smiling softly during his expostulation. "If you believe in that, is it so wrong to trust in the formation of two kinds of love, though socially undesirable? If you cannot trust in love, what else are you to depend on?"
She could not respond. Her heart leapt in her chest, threatening to burst with the heat of passion and her frustration of not finding a logical answer to his onslaught of questions. Silence passed throughout the room, and Ursula sat on the bed, mute in expression as well as voice. Birkin, maintaining an air of immutable impassivity, remained seated against the white walls of the room, occasionally brushing his fingers atop the smooth material of his boots. It annoyed her that he could keep of a sangfroid nature, knowing that despite the prescience underlying their argument, it could have still turned into meaningless palaver or passed off as simple persiflage. Also, in spite of the discussion that had previously taken place, she felt strongly attracted to him. He impinged visibly on her, and their marriage was not based on a purely ephemeral fascination with the other.
It was strange, the urge that rose up in her to run, to just flee from the room at that moment. It seemed no good to stay at times like these, but she could not bring herself to leave his presence behind. Though he brought to her unreasoning rage and inimical fury, she was comforted in his company and was happiest when she knew he belonged to her and only her. However, she was uncertain if she could ever repudiate his presence, though she knew of the many contingencies within their marriage. Ursula knew she seemed uncouth and irrational to Birkin, but she did not care. For she hated the direction they were headed in, where she thought they were headed to.
"It does not matter," said Ursula, the tone in her voice spurious. "Let us explore the town to become familiar with the land for the morning tomorrow. I do not wish to become lost within the crowd during a beautiful day."
Birkin glanced at her, suddenly fearing her anger. "If you wish us to do so, I have no complaint." he said. "You may use the bathroom to prepare, as there is no boudoir, and I am already finished with it."
Disclosing her assent with a tip of the head, she refused to look at him as she passed, indifferently heading towards the bathroom. Unexpectedly rising from the floor, he caught her wrist in his hand, turning her to meet him. He stooped to kiss her face while her arms closed round him in an embrace. The motion filled her mind entirely, as if death had arrived and was taking over. She felt that she possessed him so fully and intolerably at that moment, but a trickle of hesitancy soon grew in her mind that she had to let him go of the embrace.
"Shall we never go apart again?" she whispered in his ear. And he did not answer, for he knew the question was of a rhetoric nature.
When Ursula emerged from the bathroom, they decided to take a path leading through to a main section of the town, one that led through the small, dungy shops they had seen when arriving by train. The streets were remarkably wide, having no distinct shape yet containing a definite path. Ursula clutched Birkin's arm to her side, wanting to be near his fire, and observed the reasonable amount of people traveling the road at that time. She thought them fascinating, loving to criticize and analyze them, and she was thrilled to be out among the common people. It reminded her of the jumble markets that occurred every Monday in her hometown of Beldover, and she felt a pang of satisfaction when recalling the chair they had bought and given to a reluctant young couple.
She paid rapt attention to a merchant bargaining with a potential customer over the price of a meretricious old table. The merchant was young, relatively new to the stores, and seemed not to grasp the positive aspect in the meaning of the word venality, letting the table go for half of his asking price. She was reminded of the young man of whom received their chair, recalling her attraction to him through the young merchant. Both were mindless animals, not able to handle themselves alone, yet they managed to rouse prurient longings within her. She felt a slight surge of confusion, fused with anger, as she thought of this, but she did not know why. Ursula dismissed the thought as evanescent, purposefully forgetting the matter entirely.
"Come and look over here," said Birkin's voice, to her left.
She moved over to where he was looking over a small box of priced items beside a broken zither, holding one in particular up to her line of vision. It was a square amethyst set in a circle of extremely tiny diamonds, offsetting the dirty look that the gold band retained from years of storage. A profound blissfulness settled over her as she took the ring and tried it on her finger. When she found it was a perfect fit, her heart rose in joy.
"I like it," she said, holding it up in the light. "You can see the years of wear upon it, see how it was then cruelly tossed aside and forgotten."
"Would you like it?" he asked.
"Is it very expensive?"
"Not very," he replied.
As Birkin discussed the price with the gregarious merchant, she extended all of her fingers to see how her fourth ring looked with the other three. The amethyst ring excited her. She felt that it was a sign, a sign that would make her forever satisfied with Birkin. It symbolized the wholeness of his devotion to her, just as the three other rings offered her before. It gave her such pleasure to turn her hand this way and that, to see the lambent jewels flash in the light. It seemed that fate, which was above her, was finally turning her way. She felt the amethyst's smooth surface, noting with slight dismay the crack at the top edge of the stone. For some reason, it bothered her greatly.
"This ring is not as faultless as it seems," she said, showing him the marred perfection of the tiny stone.
"No ring can be faultless," he replied. "They can only be made to show it."
"I suppose that is why it was so cheap," she said, disturbed by the statement he had just made.
"Yes, it was quite cheap."
They continued on their way down to the main section of town, passing a variety of shops located on the sides of the street. Soon, the amorphous roads began to take shape, forming straighter pathways with smoother surfaces. Louder and more piercing rang the people from the street, and Ursula took great pleasure in being glanced at, for she could observe them more fully. Grass grew on patches on the sides of streets, short and thin as if it had just been born. The buildings started to become more erect, standing tall and proud as though they mocked the earlier buildings. They left shadows of darkness that spread across areas lucky enough to lie opposite the sun, and the shadows gave the town an indistinct divisions with the contrasting sights of light and dark.
As they entered the main square of the town, Ursula could not help but feel a wave of sepulchral darkness as she passed through the shadow of a small building. The tension grew in her stomach until it seemed unbearable, yet it stopped as soon as she cleared the macabre dimness caused by the building. She felt so much better in the light, and so she attempted to avoid the black shadows. The varying shades of gray, however, seemed not to upset her in the slightest, and she went through them carelessly while Birkin was a bit uneasy.
"It is marvelous, yet disconcerting, to see the dark shadows of the building imposing unto the light of the day," she said.
"Light and dark mix," he added, "and create many shades of the same color. It is only natural to assume as well that you cannot have one without the other."
They soon advanced through an iron wicket, which was guarding a road hardly used anymore by the town. As they ventured through the small, gray road, they spotted a building in the distance. The building appealed to Ursula greatly, and she had a premonition that she was soon going to arrive at the destination of her soul. Urging Birkin along with a tug to his arm, she headed off in the direction of the inviting building.
The path to the building was straightforward, and it was outlined with lush, green grass speckled with dots of catkins. Covered with a layer of flat rocks, the roadway had been laboriously made by hand, creating the fine workmanship only allowed by the dedicated toils of humans. In the face of the sun, there were few shadows that dissuaded anyone from walking the course of the road, leaving a wondrously bright light shining down upon the beautiful, secluded domain.
Ursula walked a bit ahead of Birkin, hastening her pace in order to reach the building sooner. She pulled a portion of her dress up when she climbed up the few wooden steps located before the entrance door, not wanting to soil her dress by stepping on it. The door was of a remarkable olive green color, splendidly carved in the most miniscule of details, though it was quite worn from the years in use. There was a simple, white archway above the door, casting shadows upon those beneath it and directing the eye's attention to the brilliance of the door.
"This is very much you, Gudrun," said Ursula distractedly. She ran a hand over the door, stroking it as if she could feel its very core.
"So that is why you came here." His voice broke in as Birkin came to stand at the bottom of the steps, half shrouded in the little darkness that the arch offered.
"You could say that," she replied, mystified.
She watched him, captivated by the ethereal appearance the archway and sun gave him as they vied for his attention. The blackness of his eyes reflected the sun above him, yet the sun was not shining upon his face. He regarded her seriously, turning the celestial eyes upon her, bewitching her with their allure.
"She does not need your interference in her life," he stated suddenly. "It is hers to do with as she wishes."
"Of course I know that. I only wish to speak with her."
"You should not."
"Who are you to tell me what I am supposed to do?" she cried angrily.
Birkin looked at her ruefully before answering, "I believe I was yours. But I am not so sure I believe you are mine."
She flushed angrily at the comment. "How can I be yours when I know what you desire? That I alone can never be enough for you is more harmful to me than you can understand."
"Is this what is wrong? Leave Gudrun alone then. We can discuss this on our own," he insisted. "Gudrun has her own life now - she is accomplishing what she wants to do right now, successfully. So am I."
"My sister is none of your concern," she said.
"Fine," he said, suddenly looking weary and unhealthy when the ethereal glow left him, the sun passing slightly overhead. "I shall leave you on your own then."
She watched as he retreated from the building as if it burned him, never looking back at her. She was filled with an immense sadness, seeing his figure fade into the distance, his shadow lingering momentarily before vanishing as well. Suddenly, her amethyst ring caught a brief ray of light intruding upon the safeness of the arch, causing an abrupt twinkle of reflected light to shine forth into her eyes. She stared mesmerized at the stone, which seemed quite dull beneath the shadow of the arch. She fingered it upon her hand.
"Oh, Gudrun," she murmured softly to herself, caressing the cracked surface of the amethyst with her thumb. "Were you right? Do I need the old connection of the world along with the new to really make a world? Or is it simply my other self belonging to the new that is attached to the old?"
She could feel her heart beating harshly against her chest. She felt overwhelmed by a sudden perspicacity, yet lugubriously numb at the same time. Her passion for Birkin threatened to overtake her entire being, yet she was also permeated with hatred for him. She wanted to speak to Gudrun, just speak a few lines, but there was a abhorrence in that, too, for she did not want to see Gudrun satisfied in her new life when she was unhappily dwelling in the past. She stroked the ring gently. It seemed to her to be a sign, a sign that determined her destiny while showing her past. It was a sign of her moving on in life. In several ways, it was alarmingly frightful, yet it seemed such a relief as well.
Ursula continued to finger the ring. Then slowly, very slowly, did she slide the ring meticulously down her finger. It caught at the joint of her finger, but she worked it up until it slid off into her other hand.
She stared at the ring in disbelief.
"I took it off," she said.