The Last Exile, Chapter 26
TriNeo – just for them, and of course, all of us
Firelight moves in aquatic waves of orange, turquoise and aubergine as it refracts through gemstones, as Trinity holds the candle at different angles for different effects, telling him that this is how The One should remember the Temple. You see all the colors? Citrine rays ripple over her skin as she navigates through the underground maze, and he kisses her as they stand against a limestone shield. She is wearing some kind of perfume, earthy and piquant like ginger. Neo can't wrap his head around it – the scent fogs his thinking, like a spell. He isn't so sure it isn't- and he asks her, are you a witch? She nods an affirmative. Are you a good witch, or a bad witch, Trin?
I'm the devil herself, comes her reply. And God help him, even if it were true, and she ruled all of hell from a thrown of flame and bone, it wouldn't make one damn bit of difference.
He discovers that he loves to talk to her; he loves the occasional crackle or pop from her end, like birch bark in a fire - a pithy comment, a sharp look, an introspective hum. He tells her about his private audiences with the councilors, exaggerating his satirical observations to make her laugh. The story of his incarceration follows seamlessly, beginning with his getting lost and ending with his fiasco at the corrections bureau. Then Trinity grins a little too widely. What's so funny? Oh… nothing. It's nothing. A silly thing. Never mind.
But Neo isn't about to let her off the hook. It is the word silly that gets to him- he wants to hear the Witch say something silly… Please? She seems to struggle with it. Pretty please? So she finally gives in- Alight, fine, but you asked for this. Have you ever seen Lady and the Tramp? What? Because, you kind of remind me of Lady. Excuse me? You know, don't pretend like you don't know. Lady, with the big brown eyes. All sad…and lonely… lying with her muzzle between the bars, whimpering as she despondently waits for the gallant hero to rescue her – (and here she pouts a little to illustrate canine woe).
Neo waits for her to whine, which she doesn't.
"As I recall, Trin, the hero would be the mangy, flea-ridden Tramp."
"Yes, well…" -she looks off and scratches behind her ear- "so the parallel isn't perfect."
They walk hand in hand, having left the Temple and stopped by a street vender to share a late supper of something called Squiddie Fingers. Trinity explains the peasant delicacy as a loaf of fried bread hollowed out and stuffed with nuts, seeds, curry and something else that 'is like tofu, but it isn't really tofu.' He tells her that the only thing worse than tofu is something that is 'like tofu.' She chuckles, and seems to enjoy watching him tentatively sniff the stuff before taking a bite. Surprisingly, it isn't bad. Even more of a shock, he can't stop eating it. When was the last time he ate? They share four helpings, for which Trinity will only pay for three. She claims the bread is stale. Is there any other kind, asks the merchant? Yes, she replies, the kind that isn't stale. The man, who is pleasant enough with a pitiful, apologetic look, points out two urchins playing around his feet. Not for me, he says, for them, my poor children… I'm all they have. Trinity cynically raises an eyebrow and speaks to the older of the two kids, a gaunt girl of no more than twelve.
"You there," she speaks directly, commanding the child's attention from a drawing she had been sketching in the dirt. "Do you know this man?" The girl shrugs. "Well, either you do or you don't," reasons Trinity. "Which is it, and don't lie to me."
So she thinks about it, looking from Trinity to the vender and back again. "He pays us two and ten a day to play here and look pathetic," the girl says. "Or, he's supposed to, the thief. We would tell the cops if we weren't thieves ourselves."
Trinity folds her arms and glares at the accused. He dismisses her judgment with a flippant gesture and a pppfft sound, already unhinging his cart and moving on. "Useless beggars," he mumbles, shaking his head. "See if you do any better on your own."
The girl says that her name is Aurora. Her brother is Fie, and he's terribly shy, and a little stupid, so don't even bother with him. It's very nice to meet you, strangers… and might they have a bite to eat? After all, they are out a day's wages and will have to find other employment tomorrow – she hints that her father will be displeased. Trinity nods and hands over the rest of her stale sandwich (Neo is embarrassed to have already finished his). "You two are from the Other World," Aurora observes as she breaks the bread in two and gives her brother the smaller half. "You're from a ship."
"Yes."
"I know all about such things," the girl claims, tossing back a handful of her hair, which is wound between colored beads and ribbons. "I know everything about people like you."
"Oh?" Trinity seems amused. "What do you know?"
"I know that you aren't a real human. You have those things on your arms and back because the machines spawned you from devil's magic. The machines used evil potions from the blood of dead soldiers to make you. And they'll damn me with the same curse if I'm not good and say my prayers.
"I also know that you are very powerful, you must be, to have escaped from the Dreamlands. You get your powers from the soul that grew inside you when The One's tears fell on the fields, one hundred years ago. When He died, His spirit cried, and you were lucky, because a tear fell on your head, and grew you a soul, and that's what you do all day. You fly around on that ship of yours and look for others who have a soul, too." The girl finishes her speech by taking a bite of her bread and adding matter-of-factly, "But, I'm not afraid of you."
"Maybe you should be," Trinity says. "I am cursed after all."
"Oh, you are, you are," Aurora says, nodding gravely. "You will be until He comes back."
"Who?"
"The One." Aurora is becoming impatient, having to educate this woman on the sate of her own soul. Fie reaches for the last bites of her uneaten sandwich, which she holds up out of his reach without paying much mind. "It's common sense. The One is the guy who put the soul in you (even if it was just an accident), and so only His tears will liberate it again. When he returns to save us all… and, I suppose if you ask him nicely, he'll save you, too. I hope he does. I like you."
Neo can tell from Trinity's expression she has heard this myth before. They share a look, a private, ironic sort of smile, and she winks. "Alright, that'll do. Take your brother now, and go home. It's getting late."
"I'll do as I like, thank you very much."
"Ror-ie! Cummon!" Fie complains, finally making a sound. "We shouldn't be talking to them! She might magik us with Other World curses."
"Your brother is a coward," Trinity says. "But in this case, he's right." And at this moment she bends down and shows Aurora two empty palms before pulling a pair of silver coins from behind the girl's lobes –"I am magic."
"These are carnival tricks, not Other Worlder magic!" Aurora grins ear to ear as she gingerly takes the money, looking along Trinity's bare arms in puzzlement. "I'm not that naïve!"
"Then you know that I can make them disappear just as fast."
"No! That is to say… thank you, Auntie." The girl stares at her, still on bended knee, and scrunches her sharp little features as if struggling very hard with an important decision. Then she takes Trinity into a tight hug, nearly choking her, nearly knocking her over. It's adorable in its own way, hilarious more because of Trinity's reaction. She goes completely rigid, which does nothing to help her regain her balance.
Neo looks up and sees the city column. Main power has been shut off, and the railings, bridges, and catwalks have faded against the twinkling lamps above doorsteps and along avenues, until all that remains is velvet and silver. Trinity is rising to her feet, looking more than a little uncomfortable. She hadn't expected the child to touch her, and doesn't appear too sorry to see the pair of them go. Though, Neo notices she keeps them in her sight until they board the elevator. She says something about how the kids should be in school, and the council should be doing a better job of imposing education on the young ones. The parents should be fined, and that vender should be ashamed.
But Neo isn't completely listening – he is still looking up at the Zionist twilight. It is beautiful, titanic, humbling – but this is all there is of the Last Human City. The magnitude and finality of it hit him simultaneously, as he hears the girl's voice in his mind. Her innocent belief in spiritual absolution strikes a dissonant chord. The idea that he should be responsible for Trinity's soul (or anyone else's for that matter) is utterly ridiculous. If anything, it is the other way around, and she has saved him. She is the strong one. Could this entire city really be his responsibility to preserve – within his power to save, or to lose? It doesn't seem possible. He hopes it is all a mistake. He hasn't the first idea of where and how to start. What do people pray for in the Temple? And if he were really The One they worship, shouldn't he be able to hear them, somehow?
"Neo. Come back," Trinity says, a cool hand on his cheek. "Come back to me."
He finds her eyes, but he has lost his words – the conversation dissolves. Everything feels different after that, when reality weighs down on their shoulders, when they look around, seemingly for the first time, and see that the streets are nearly empty. "Tomorrow," she says. "We'll sort everything out tomorrow. Just… let's go home."
"Home?"
"It will be home," she says. "We'll make it home. I promise."
I remember thinking she had a beautiful name. You'll think I'm inventing things, but I thought that night, that if I was ever a mother, I might like to call my daughter Aurora. I would see her again not long after, but how was I to know that? Her face haunts me now. I never told you, but hers was the first body I pulled from the rubble when we started working for the reconstruction effort – killed in the earthquakes caused by the drilling. I'm not sure why, but I never got over it. There was something about her. I should tell Rorie about it, if she wants to know for that book she's writing. Maybe she'll have better luck sifting through the registry. You see, I never knew what happened to her brother- I asked around, but his body was one of those never found.
And she was lying about her father – she had no parents who'd claim her- records show she took her brother and ran away form the orphanage two years prior. That's all the information I could find.
And that was it, wasn't it?
Yes, that was it. I was troubled to see her get onto the elevator; I considered walking her home, but decided against it. And when I looked at you, I knew it was time. It was time for us. We had waited long enough – too long. It was as if I had already seen it all happen, everything had been decided and played out, and all I had to do was drift with it – providence. I surrendered myself to it.
We began our lovemaking before even arriving home – the avenues were dark that night, and the elevator was much, much too slow…
The lights flicker and the lift jerks as they ascend, the ceiling lamps an octave of long fluorescent bars blinking out of phase, like the visual effect of a melody. The song is strange and dizzying as Trinity watches it from below, offering her neck as Neo trails with his mouth from chin to collarbone. He moves lower, enjoying the low dip of her top, burying his face between her breasts. She caresses the back of his head in soothing circles, and he takes his time kissing as far as her clothing will allow, and perhaps an inch or two more.
And the lights play on. Part of her engineer's mind absently muses if there could be a single mathematical function to describe the fluctuation- there certainly were such expressions for current, voltage, resistance. Could these basic formulas- Kirchhoff's, Maxwell's, Ohm's and the rest- somehow combine with the myriad variables of a particular slot of time to define these seemingly random electrical ebbs and flows? She likes the inherent logic and elegance of such a possibility. She likes it, because she feels like submitting to it. Should she, a redpill, dare to extrapolate that all human behavior – joy, sorrow, anger, lust – is ultimately born of innumerable layers of mathematical laws, she could live with it. What arrogance to think that human beings could be exempt from the deterministic laws which govern the very molecules, atoms, time and space from which they are made. She and Neo didn't choose this. This chose them. The universe- all time, matter and energy- wants this, commands this, gives love like a cosmic gift to its offspring. Who is she, child of stardust, to argue?
Trinity nearly misses their floor, gasping and plunging her hand between the doors just as they are sliding shut again. Feigning reproach, she tells Neo he should be paying more attention, so next time he doesn't get lost. He ignores her completely, blindly wandering along with his face buried in her neck and shoulder, his arms around her waist. Are we there yet? She indulgently replies with a no. Three steps later he asks again, Now? No. Can't we just hail a cab? Neo, get your nose out of my ear and pay attention.
"But it's a perfect fit," he says, as if this were the ultimate test of their compatibility. "I think, you were made for me."
She squirms, his breath and eyelashes tickling the sensitive places around her earlobe, under her jaw. "You feel that?" he asks her, his hands running along the sheer fabric of her clothing, circling over one curve, then another. "It doesn't matter where I touch you. You fit me perfectly."
Trinity turns and kisses him while reaching out behind her to press two palms on the chipping red paint on the front door. He grins. "Now? Say now. I want to hear you say it."
"Now," she obliges breathlessly, pulling out her key and taking much too long to jiggle it into place. "Now, now, now…"
"Darling."
"Goddamn it, Neo."
"Sweetie?"
"I can still change my mind about this." But she is seized by a great thrill as the lock finally gives in to her twist. The hinges creak open. Neo takes her firmly by the waist and leads her forward with the order, "March, you tease. Now."
She never bothers to turn on the lights. It's a blind grope through the door and an impassioned détente against the cold metal as it slams shut. Perhaps a little tactlessly, she asks him to remove his boots before walking across the floor. His hands freeze and the brights of his eyes gleam in the dark. You're kidding me, right? She bites her lower lip. "Sorry. But I just swept. The floor being made of dirt, you can see the problem."
The comment (which may or may not have been a joke), is caught, swallowed and returned in a gasp against her lips, and the boots come off faster than she would have thought possible. Her sandals follow, and they stagger forward in each other's arms, nearly tripping more than once. Through the foyer, through the kitchen, against the dining table. Somehow, she is sitting on top of it, her legs around his waist. Soft fingertips return to play along her spine, and Trinity is certain that she has never felt anything more erotic. His touch is honest, uncertain, inquisitive. She rests her head on his shoulder. His loops and circles are too gentle, almost tickling, and yet anything more daring would ruin the intimacy. She bites gently into his neck, then harder, panting even though they are hardly moving. He lifts her top over her head, and Trinity busies herself with his sweater, though when she gets it off, she is at a loss for where to put it. Perhaps if she just folds it and…
Neo grabs the shirt and tosses it into the dark. Before she can object, he covers her breasts with his palms. He has no plan, that much is clear, but they both know what he will do next. His mouth is like fire on her skin, over her nipples, kissing, and sucking earnestly. She hopes he will leave marks.
When they flow into a tight embrace, his hands slide under her, and he lifts. "Bedroom?" is his gruff request. "Which way?"
Trinity gives him directions, giggling at each near-trip, covering the side of his face in kisses. He backs through a door and it takes her a moment to realize something isn't right. She reaches out and gropes along the wall. A light flickers above the mirror behind her. She says, "No, your other left. This would be the bathroom."
Neo blinks around. "So it is. It's… nice."
They laugh as he sets her down, allowing him to see her properly, in the light. He stares, and tells her she's beautiful, gently tracing a line from neck to clavicle to chest to hip, lingering over the bandage which covers her injury, then down to the band around her waist. She suggestively tugs at his belt, feeling herself smile. She is a little shy, the grin growing wider when he asks her permission, which she gives with a nod, letting him push her skirt over her hips while she pulls his belt through the loops. Trinity hardly recognizes the sweet tone – hers, apparently- that cutely directs his attention to the laundry bin. He frowns, narrows his eyes, and collects her skirt only to deliberately throw it over the shower wall. When her jaw drops in outrage, he kisses her, abruptly ending it to pull his pants off and pitch them in the other direction.
The bastard. That's it. That's the last straw. She grabs him by the back of the neck and attacks him with her mouth, her teeth, gnawing angrily, gasping when he stops her with a caress on the inside of her thigh. He is lingering too close, unimaginably close. She holds her breath. Do it. She will not say it out loud – she won't utter the please that her whole body communicates – legs parted just enough, her fingernails digging into his shoulder in anticipation. He hesitates, catches her eye, and then rests their foreheads together. Uncertainly, he cups his palm over the mound of damp fabric. "Yes," she whispers into his ear. "Yes, Neo."
"Trinity…" He strokes with his first two fingers, the other hand on her breast. She nearly screams. And suddenly, they are in each other's arms, middles pressed together. Nothing matters now but the sensation, how hard he is, how wet she is, and the rhythmic rubbing of two layers of fabric. It's force of habit. It's ludicrous. They seem to realize the utter idiocy of the situation at the same moment, and in the time it takes her to wrap a leg around his waist, he has freed himself and moved the narrow band of her panties aside, pinning her with his pelvis against the wall. The motion itself is effortless, too easy to accomplish something so fundamentally significant. It's almost as if it happened by accident. Neither of them could have imagined it like this. She sinks down, off her the tips of her toes, and they're connected, looking into each other's eyes – they can't speak, and for a moment, they can't move, either. Everything falls away.
He tells her that he loves her, placing a slight emphasis on the second word. And she says it back in exactly the same way, as if she'd been the first to speak. There is kissing, and a moment of adjustment, but to hold off any longer would be impossible, or require the mastery of some kind of tantric art. She steadies herself, bracing a foot against the opposite wall of the tiny lavatory, one hand on the edge of the sink, and they make love standing up, which Neo would later confess to have never done before in his life. Nor did he ever expect to, or even particularly want to, thinking the whole thing too kinky for someone like him. But with her, he doesn't give it a second thought- in fact, at that moment, it seems like the only sane thing to do.
Just as it seems sane to Trinity when they find their way to the bedroom, to conclude their lovemaking on top of her perfectly folded piles of clothing. To be pushed against the wall proved too painful for her to endure for long, though they only stopped on Neo's insistence. For her part, Trinity found that she enjoyed the pain; it galvanized her and grounded her simultaneously. So she is impatient as she pushes piles off the bed, ignoring whatever glib comment might be coming from her lover. Shut up and make love to me. He slides his fingers into her, then his tongue, which is wonderful but not at all enough. Make love to me.
She positions herself on her hands and knees, separating her elbows until her face is in the pillows. She closes her eyes and waits, and hears him say her name in a tone of disbelief.
Because he has never seen a woman's body displayed so magnificently before. The explicitly sexual pose shows-off her lithe, feline figure with neither modesty nor shame. The word is proud. Her bottom is sweetly exposed, endearingly vulnerable to him, as she arches her back. He massages her buttocks and squeezes her thighs – everything taught, everything toned- then slides his fingers through her folds, and over his penis. He finds no resistance, only a hot, snug welcome, and he sets the pace by the sounds she makes – low, rounded oooh's at each thrust, with the intonation rising in the middle, as in a baffled question. At the end, she cries out something in blissful abandon that he doesn't understand. Perhaps not words at all, or perhaps lost to his own release, which comes too soon – exhaustion weakens his stamina. He'd apologize if he thought she were the least bit unsatisfied - but it is what it is and neither of them would change a thing. The universe is good and benevolent. It conjures something wonderful for them, a chemical potion to dazzle and transform the body that it has spent hundreds of years evolving, refining, destroying and rebuilding. Existence has been dreaming up love, or something very much like it for eons, and yet this is just for them to have together; it is somehow unique; it is somehow undiminished by the many who have come before them, and the many who will surely follow.
So he fills her. He fills her with himself, pouring in forcefully, nearly painfully. Neo grasps her hip with one hand and braces the other palm at the apex of the stone arc above his head. He yells at her, whimpers to her, her own name and other monosyllabic exclamations of joy, as a shudder travels up his spine. His pulse pounds in his ears. It's too much, and then too little. But it can't be over. He is out of breath, spent, and slowly softening. He doesn't want it to be over. Trinity doesn't move to separate them; he watches her breasts heaving in a labored pant. She turns her head and brushes hair out of her face. Perspiration shines on the ivory sculpture of her back. She reaches her hand out towards him, and he takes it. When gravity wins the battle, they fall together in a heap over covers, clothing, and pillows.
They don't speak. He rolls onto his back as she rests her head on his chest. After several minutes Trinity sits up and tosses a few scattered sweaters and socks aside to find a blanket folded at the foot of her bed. They tangle together anew in the threadbare sheets.
He is drifting out, falling backwards into nothingness, when he hears her voice come from neither here nor there. "I love you," she says. "I love you, Neo, my hero."