15. Hands That Pilgrims' Hands Do Touch

Eliezer did not allow Mercutio out of his house for several days, waiting to see if Mercutio would recover from the surgery. Benvolio visited him as much as he was allowed, bringing him news of Verona to distract him from the discomfort of his healing wounds. He did not tell Mercutio of Romeo's marriage, however, insisting that Romeo deliver that news in person.

"I cannot face him," Romeo admitted. "I was at fault in his injury, for it was I who pulled him onto Tybalt's blade. He would not be in the surgeon's home were it not for me."

"I am glad to hear thee admit that," Benvolio said. "I am reasonably certain that Mercutio will forgive thee thy trespass if thou dost ask it of him, but thou must do so thyself."

Romeo sighed, and then nodded. "I will go this afternoon, then," he said. "Should I tell Mercutio about Juliet?"

Benvolio snorted. "If thou dost not, who will? I have not told him. Juliet is thy wife, not mine. It was thy choice to wed her, and it is thy part to acknowledge thyself as her husband."

Uncle Tiberio and Aunt Susanna agreed with Benvolio's reasoning, and Romeo set out that day for the ghetto. While he was gone, Benvolio took the opportunity to seek out Juliet. He found her in the orchard, clutching a book of hours, but not reading. Benvolio coughed a little as he approached, so as not to startle her. Juliet looked up, and smiled at him.

"Thou art Benvolio, Romeo's cousin," she said.

"I am. May I sit with thee a while? I have hardly had a chance to speak with thee, and I would know my cousin's wife."

Juliet moved to one end of the stone bench, and Benvolio sat down next to her. An awkward silence fell. Benvolio, never having been interested in women, had not had much practice speaking with them, and Juliet seemed almost as shy of him as he was of her. At last, she flashed him a quick smile.

"I confess, I know little about thee," she said. "Romeo did not speak about his family before we married."

"I believe thee," Benvolio said, with a nervous laugh. "He was not out of my sight for long at thy father's feast, and I cannot believe that he would have spent that time expounding on the various members of thy enemy's family."

Juliet giggled, a child's laugh, and Benvolio suddenly wondered how old she was. "He did not speak much at all at the feast," she admitted. "He kissed me, twice. It was just as in a book of romance."

Benvolio smiled. "That I can believe," he said. "When we were boys, Romeo practiced kissing his own hand, so that he might not shame himself when he kissed a maid. I caught him at it many a time."

Juliet laughed out loud at that, and then she and Benvolio fell to chatting like old friends. Benvolio discovered that his cousin's wife had a sharp sense of humor and a practical mind, though she was not yet old enough to have had any experience of the world. She was almost fourteen years old, a few months younger than Valentine, her head filled with dreams of romance.

"Dost thou have a love as well?" she asked shyly. "It does not seem right that I should have all the joy of love with thy cousin and thou left alone in the world."

Benvolio froze for a moment. He wondered how this sheltered child might take the news that he loved a youth and not a maid. Finally, he settled on the bare bones of the truth. "I do have a love," he said carefully. "But it is a new and tender thing, for both of us, and I would not spoil it with much disclosure. Thy passion is as a bright bolt of lightning, but mine is yet a hidden ember."

This explanation seemed to satisfy Juliet. "I wish thee well in thy pursuit of thy love," she said. "Love has been kind to me, and I would have thee know its joys as well."

When Romeo returned later in the day, his mood was thoughtful. Mercutio had been surprised at the news of Romeo's sudden marriage, and both angry and hurt that Romeo had not seen fit to mention his new love before the disastrous encounter with Tybalt. But Romeo had apologized profusely, and as Benvolio had predicted, Mercutio had forgiven him.

"I suspected that he would do so," Benvolio told Romeo. "Thou knowest that he is quick to reconcile with his friends once an apology has been given."

"Ay, so he is," Romeo said. "He has even agreed, for my sake, to avoid fighting Tybalt for a time, especially while the truce between our houses is still so new."

Benvolio laughed at that. "Well, that is a sacrifice indeed. Let us only hope that Tybalt will honor his end of that bargain."

Juliet, who had just joined them, put her arm around Romeo's waist and smiled. "I have heard from my old nurse that Tybalt has been keeping increased company with the Franciscan brothers," she told them. "He is boastful and quarrelsome, but he has little taste for murder. Nurse said that he was distraught at what had happened, and sought ghostly aid, as he has not done for many years."

"That is good news," Romeo said. "If Tybalt can be convinced to keep the peace, then we have truly done well."

Juliet smiled, and Romeo bent to kiss her. Benvolio sighed. "I wonder," he said quietly. "Wouldst thou still have said such words if Mercutio had died of his wounds?"

But that question remained academic. Mercutio lived, and Eliezer soon pronounced him well enough to return home. At Mercutio's request, Benvolio continued to call on him in the palace. Although he was out of immediate danger, Mercutio was still sore and grew tired easily, and Eliezer had ordered that he not go out to roam the streets for at least a week after going home. Deprived of his usual companions and cut off from the unfolding social drama of the ending of Verona's great feud, Mercutio was bored and lonely, and welcomed each of Benvolio's visits.

They spent many hours walking in the gardens and courtyards of the palace. Since Mercutio was not yet strong enough to play, they talked instead. After Benvolio's initial frightened confession of his love, they had not spoken about it; now, very gradually, they began to explore the broader topic of love in some detail.

Mercutio often asked about Romeo and Juliet. Were the two families still speaking to their children? Were Romeo and Juliet content with their sudden decision? Did Benvolio think that their love was strong enough to ensure a successful marriage? Were they happy? Benvolio answered Mercutio's questions as honestly as he could, and tried to gauge Mercutio's thoughts from his reflective silences.

"I think thou art afraid," Benvolio said one day. "I think that the notion of love strikes terror deep into thy soul."

"And why should it not?" Mercutio answered. "When has love ever brought Romeo happiness? It has made him moan, and sigh, and recite dreadful poetry, but I have never seen him happy and in love at the same time."

Benvolio smiled. "He is both now, strange though that may seem. Juliet loves him as fiercely as he loves her. But come now. I suspect that thy fear of love runs far deeper than thy concern for my cousin's welfare."

Mercutio stopped walking, and shot a nervous glance at Benvolio. "If thou hast aught to say, then say it plainly." His voice trembled a little, and he twisted his hands together.

Benvolio sat down on a bench and patted the seat beside him. "Sit down, Mercutio." Warily, Mercutio complied. It made Benvolio vaguely sick to see Mercutio look at him with fear lurking behind his eyes, but he persisted gently. "Canst thou tell me why thou dost fear love? Has someone broken thy heart?" Romeo had asked that question once before, years ago.

Mercutio's answer had not changed. "No one can break my heart, for I give it to no one to break." He was shaking now, and Benvolio reached out his hand to steady him. Mercutio flinched violently, twisting away from Benvolio as though he feared that Benvolio would strike him. He had not startled so badly since the night of his disastrous sixteenth birthday.

Slowly, several new ideas began to form in Benvolio's mind, along with a realization that hit him like a blow to the stomach. "Oh, Mercutio," he said softly. "It cannot be love that thou dost fear. Thou dost not even know the meaning of the word."

"I do. Love is pain, and I have had enough of that in my life."

Benvolio took a deep breath. "There art thou mistaken. Love is not pain, Mercutio. Love can cause pain, but the two are not the same. Love can give pleasure, too, and great joy."

Mercutio seemed to shrink in on himself. "What pleasure wouldst thou have?"

"I would give thee the pleasure of a sweet friend's loving touch." Benvolio held Mercutio's eyes with his own, and held out his hand. "Wilt thou take it? It is nothing more than my hand, and thou hast held it before to give and receive comfort by it."

Mercutio hesitated for a long moment. Benvolio kept perfectly still, his hand extended, trying to keep his expression calm and reassuring. Finally, Mercutio seemed to come to a decision, and placed his hand in Benvolio's. Benvolio let out a breath he had forgotten he was holding, and caressed the back of Mercutio's hand with his thumb.

"There," he said. "It is merely hands, nothing more. It is not so terrible, is it?"

Mercutio shook his head, still staring down at their joined hands. "Thy hand is warm."

"And thine is cold. But I will warm it, if thou wilt give me leave."

Mercutio said nothing, but gripped Benvolio's hand a little more firmly, and nudged himself a little closer on the bench. They sat for a while, not speaking. Gradually, Mercutio relaxed, and even managed a smile. Warmth spread through Benvolio's body in response to that smile, and from that day, he began to believe that his dream of loving Mercutio might one day become reality.

After that day, the two youths often held hands as they strolled in the garden. At first, Benvolio was the one to offer his hand. But after a few days, Mercutio had grown comfortable enough with the gesture that he slipped his hand into Benvolio's of his own accord. This act, and the trust that it implied, thrilled Benvolio to the core, and it also set him wondering. Mercutio had learned to tolerate incidental contact from his friends. Perhaps Benvolio might be able to help him learn more, to accept a comforting hand, or even a loving embrace.

Such a task, Benvolio realized, could take a great deal of time. Although Mercutio had never admitted it directly, Benvolio suspected that the accident that had nearly killed him had frightened him badly, and that terror had torn open ancient scars inside of him. Now, Benvolio was beginning to see some of the secret wounds that Mercutio bore deep in his mind and soul, and he knew that they would take far longer to heal than the wounds to his body. But he could no more abandon his beloved friend than he could chop off his own arm, and he determined to stay at Mercutio's side until those deeper wounds healed.

Gradually, Mercutio recovered the strength of his body, and could run again. He and Benvolio chased each other around the garden, playing as they had done since they were small children.

"I think that I am grown strong enough to go outside again," Mercutio declared one day. "It will give me great joy to escape these walls and see my friends at last. Dost thou think they still remember me?"

Benvolio smiled at him. "Of course. They will be pleased to see thee again. Things have changed, of course, with Romeo's marriage. Vincenzo's father has started to seek a bride for him, and the others have also begun to consider the question of maids seriously."

"At last, they are acting upon their desires and not moaning endlessly," Mercutio said. "That will be different, at least, and likely more entertaining. And thou?"

Benvolio's smile softened. "I have told thee already. I have found my heart's desire here, in this garden."

Mercutio suddenly looked troubled. "Thou canst not love me."

"Why can I not? I do. It is not something that I can change on a whim."

"Because thou hast earned something better." Mercutio stared at the ground. "Thou hast said it thyself. How canst thou love one who knows nothing of the word?"

Benvolio sighed, and took Mercutio's hand. "The heart chooses its own course, and mine has chosen thee. For my part, there can be nothing better, but I would not have thee against thy will. Say the word, and I will pursue this no further. Have I thy leave?"

Mercutio's glance slid across Benvolio's face before settling on their clasped hands. After a moment, he nodded. "No one has ever asked my leave for such a thing," he said. "But thou art my friend, and thou hast never done me wrong."

Benvolio's heart pounded in his chest. It was probably as close to an admission of returned feeling as Mercutio was capable of making. He did not miss the unspoken warning to proceed slowly and with great care, however, and suppressed his urge to take Mercutio into his arms. Instead, he tightened his fingers briefly around Mercutio's. "I would ask a kiss of thee."

Mercutio's body stiffened, but he nodded again. Benvolio raised his hand and kissed it, and Mercutio relaxed again. "Just hands," Benvolio murmured. "No further will I go today."

He kissed Mercutio's hand again, and Mercutio responded as he had in the surgery chamber, with a brief caress to Benvolio's jaw. But this time, the intent was clear and deliberate, and it sent a shiver down Benvolio's spine. It seemed that, where most people kissed with their lips, Mercutio kissed with his hands. The effect was almost overwhelming, especially from someone who usually held himself out of anyone's reach.

Benvolio felt as if he were a traveler who had come upon an inn on the road. No one had come to greet him yet, but the door was unlocked.