Bound Home
Chapter 4
Mist veils the cold stream, and moonlight the sand,
As I moor in the shadow of a river-tavern,
Where girls, with no thought of a perished kingdom,
Gaily echo A Song of Courtyard Flowers.
-Du Mu, A Mooring on the Qin Huai River
There is no direction. He spent the night at Marian's grave and now wakes to find his clothes and hair invaded with sand, and thinks only to stand and stare at the stretching sky, wondering what there might be for him to do now that his journey is done.
He wonders what she would want him to do. Last night, in his dreams, she was as brilliant and cold as the stars. Now in the blossoming heat of morning, she is just a memory, a once-was, a never-again. He still does not know why he came here. He only knows that there was a burning ache to be close to her again, and now that he is close, as close as he will ever be, the ache remains.
He draws in the sand – some idle arc, perhaps the curve of her cheek. He cannot bring himself to leave. Marian is untouchable, but he could not stop himself from coming here; he trembles at the distance that separates them even now.
He knows he should abandon this foolishness. The desert sun is already beginning to sap his strength, and to stay is to perish. He shakes his head. He will go now, but only for a while. He will return.
She will be waiting, always.
Kalid tells her to fetch a bottle of almond oil. She goes to the shelf, but stares at it blindly - her mind has gone blank. The cabinet is as large as the wall, filled with every herb and medicine imaginable, and she has studied each and every one, knows their exact location – she organized the collection herself. The oils are conspicuous and at eye-level, a group of bottles bulbous and slim, tapered and round, colored green or blue or brown.
She has forgotten why she came here.
"Saffiya," the physician calls from the other room. His voice is distant, and she continues to stare, unblinking. She does not want to remember. She does not want to move.
Her mind drifts.
In the moonlight, his hands look like carved marble.
He jerks about in his fever-dream, and she tries to steady him, tries to soothe him with soft words and touches, but he is wracked with some delusion, and he is right there in her arms but as far away as the stars-
"Saffiya."
Dusty sunlight. A wall of glittering glass.
Kalid is in the doorway, and he again asks for the oil. She nods, and as she hands him the bottle, she keeps her face turned the wall, too proud to let him see how the grief has overwhelmed her.