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Rosaura Wells
The English version of this story is dedicated to my friend Rusty, who
chose it for me, not knowing it was mine.
Thank you for this almost-a-year of
friendship!
Once again, Vincent found himself climbing. He had not found Catherine
in her apartment for more than six months, but even so it continued to
be a special place. He experienced a bittersweet happiness, anticipating
the prospect of soon enjoying the sweet torture of being so close to his
beloved’s memory. As always, he would appreciate the view, remembering
the moments they had spent together, and looking over the lights of the
city for some clue as to where she could be now. Eventually he would
start remembering that moment, six months before, when a pipe message
sent by Catherine had led him to her; but he had barely gotten to see
her from a distance while she entered a car, and his attempts to stop
the vehicle had failed. This memory would cause him renewed anxiety and
frustration, and he would spend the rest of the night wandering the city
streets looking for his love in vain. If only he could feel her.…
At her apartment, he felt an upsetting beat. He shook his head once
again, troubled; the strange sensation had appeared suddenly three days
ago, along with an intense and inexplicable pain which had driven him to
the edge of madness. During this trip the beat had intensified. Maybe
the exercise.… Father did not want him to go out, and he probably was
right. Vincent was still recovering.
Before he reached the balcony, he noticed something was wrong, and he
traveled the rest of the way carefully. The apartment was lighted. There
was the possibility that another police officer had entered the
apartment looking for clues in the
An unpleasant idea entered his mind. What if someone had occupied the
apartment? He avoided the thought; it caused him too much pain.
Vincent crossed the balcony. He knew that for his own sake he must
abandon the area, but he did not stop even to consider it. Now that
their empathic bond had disappeared and she was not close, this place
was his bond with Catherine, and to lose it terrified him as if he were
losing her by proxy.
A prick of nostalgia assaulted him when he saw the French doors, through
which Catherine had so often run to his arms, glowing. He could see two
shadows inside. Carefully, he stepped closer to them.
At first he could not believe what he was seeing. It must be another
dream. And if it was, he did not want to wake up … for it gave him the
opportunity of seeing Catherine’s shape … so close … as if she were not
going to vanish at a touch.… She was not moving with the lightness he
was familiar with, and her expression was of weariness and sadness, but
it was her … safe … at home.
Now he was so close that he could support himself on the door, and he
did, not considering even the risk of the other shape seeing him. This
dream was too beautiful, too important.
Joe Maxwell didn’t look in Vincent’s direction; he was looking with
worry at the woman. She had gone through pretty hard times. She had been
kidnapped throughout all of her pregnancy! If not for Diana, who had
found her and had guided the police to her.… It had been a good decision
to employ the detective. Even with her help, Cathy had been found just
in time, and she had had to give birth in an ambulance in precarious
conditions. It had been just three days since then. It was incredible,
the strength of this extraordinary woman who now saw him with a quiet,
tired face. He embraced her lightly and crossed the threshold
but, reticent to let her alone,
he stayed there until he saw her close the door.
Catherine put her forehead against the door and sighed. Along with the
wonder illuminating Vincent’s soul, he felt a prick of restlessness,
followed by the overwhelming wish to comfort her. He raised his hand and
just hesitated a moment before tapping the window with his nails as he
used to do so many months before.
A second later, his arms closed around the delicate, warm shape of his
beloved and felt her tremble. He felt Catherine’s arms slowly
surrounding his waist, and the familiar yet longed-for touch made his
eyes wet. He put his cheek against her hair and he inhaled his beloved’s
scent. It had been months, and never before, not even in Catherine’s
apartment, had her essence been so intense. Vincent felt amazed at how
well he could remember her, and he thanked his subconscious with all his
strength for giving him such a spotless, filled-with-details dream; he
would treasure it for the rest of his life.
They embraced tightly for a long time. Neither of them had any wish or
will to cut short this long-craved-for moment.
A shriek separated them. Catherine glanced into her apartment and then
she turned to look into his eyes. A shiver traveled through Vincent. He
needed no supernatural bond with her to understand her expression, and
it was one of hesitation, almost of guilt. In any case, it just lasted a
moment, until Catherine ran towards the source of the sound.
A child? Catherine had a child?
A swarm of powerful, contradictory emotions went through Vincent’s heart
like a mortal arrow. He could only identify some of them: a furious envy
as he had never known towards the father of the child – whoever he could
be – and guilt for feeling something so wretched, along with pride for
Catherine and an advanced pleasure for seeing her in the role of mother
which would fit so nicely in such a complete woman.
Beside those emotions, his questions made no sense; they were too
incoherent. If she had not been
forced to leave, why had she disappeared so suddenly, without speaking
with him? If she was not in danger, but just … spending time with her
new family, why had she called him to her for help through the pipes six
months before? Who would her lover be? What did all of that matter
now?
She was long in returning.
Perhaps she is breastfeeding her child, Vincent thought with
ambivalent feelings. For a moment he thought about going away, but he
had no strength to leave her - not now - and he found the perfect excuse
to obey his feelings in the warm welcome she had given him.
Finally, Catherine’s delicate shape came closer. This time Vincent
noticed her slightly stretched belly and her large breasts, along with
the rounded face so typical of pregnant women and new mothers. Making it
even clearer, Catherine held a swaddled infant in her arms.
It was like a vision.
Vincent had desired to allow himself to dream that this woman was his
wife, that this baby was his child, but such dreams are allowed only to
a man, and Vincent did not regard himself as such … not completely. Not
even in his wildest dreams had he considered the possibility of creating
a family with Catherine, and he had always known that she would find her
own … with another man. Why this pain, when she had achieved the life
that he himself desired for her? He smiled sadly, as he had smiled those
painful days when Catherine was starting to love Burch; in his pain, he
still felt happiness for her, and for this child who would have the
opportunity of being breastfed by Catherine and, sated, sleep in her
arms.
When Catherine came close enough, Vincent could see that her expression
had changed: now it showed resolve. She stopped just before him. Vincent
wanted to speak, to tell her how well maternity suited her and how happy
he was for her, but a knot closed his throat. Eventually, she spoke.
“Vincent, do you still trust me?”
Vincent, getting back his voice, assured her, “Always.”
“Come with me then.”
She guided him to her living room. Vincent stood in front of one of the
chairs, still watching her, hypnotized, while she turned. Behind her
there was now an enormous mirror, and Vincent had the opportunity of
seeing her from two different angles. She seemed to him more beautiful
than ever.
Without further words, Catherine came close to him and offered him the
child. Vincent hesitated a moment before taking him. Babies, such
wonderful creatures, had always seemed too delicate and precious to risk
them near his claws; besides, the dark emotions invading him made him
feel dangerous, and therefore unworthy of such a privilege. Finally, at
Catherine’s insistence, he raised his arms and felt the weight of that
little life.
Vincent looked at his face. He was rosy and wrinkled, and he was covered
by a blond fluff, thicker on his head. He would be a few days old.
Through the thin clothes Vincent felt his warmth, and for some strange
reason he felt the heartbeat, not from the baby’s body, but from inside
his own. The child had a peculiar odor, too, something like Catherine’s.
At that instant, Vincent knew that he would give his life for this one,
more easily than for any other member of his family, and he knew that he
loved him.
Catherine watched her family carefully. From his expression of surprise
and pain at hearing the cries, she had inferred that Vincent didn’t
suspect whose baby this was; probably he still hadn’t remembered how
they had made love in the cave during his fever. It would had been
difficult enough to explain everything at the beginning of her pregnancy
when nothing indicated that a child grew inside of her; she would have
started from the beginning, from her initial despair to giving warmth to
her beloved to bringing him back to life, and how, as he responded, in
her heart she had known that only love could bring him back from death.
She didn’t want to reveal to him abruptly the child’s identity, nor
could she start from the conception. She had to trust that the father’s
heart would recognize the child. As the way Vincent held the child
became more natural, Catherine knew that she had made the right
decision.
“What do you feel?” Catherine asked on impulse, remembering the first
time Vincent had held
The slight movement made the infant open his eyes. Oddly, he didn’t
start to cry, he just looked at the man with curiosity.
Vincent looked into the baby’s eyes, infinitely blue, and he felt his
legs tremble. He remembered those eyes; he had watched them a long time
ago in the surface of still water … in his own reflection. He felt the
enormity of this revelation before he analyzed it.
Catherine saw him hesitate and she smiled. “He inherited your eyes,” she
confirmed softly.
She saw his expression alter. She saw her beloved collapsing into the
chair. He was shivering violently – and perhaps she was, too – but the
child stayed still and safe in his arms, untouched by the trembling.
Catherine moved quickly to kneel beside him. The condition in which she
saw him, although understandable, worried her.
The bond between Vincent’s gaze and his son’s had not severed even for
an instant. Eventually, the child nestled and closed his eyes again. The
father copied him.
Vincent was in shock. The first coherent emotion he could distinguish
was a transcendent, ineffable happiness filling every fiber of his being
and reaching his heart, to a place he himself had never known existed.
He could not think with congruity, and it took him a long time to
control his voice. Finally, he tried to articulate. “How…? When…?”
“In the cave, during your sickness. You weren’t fully conscious, but….”
A groan seemed to resonate around the room as her memories did.
“Vincent, for a moment you were dead; I was so scared.
And when you held me … I
couldn’t withhold anything from you … and even I.… Vincent, I needed to
feel you as close as possible, after I had felt you go.” Her words were
unconnected and almost lacking sense, just as the emotions which had
moved her at the time, but they were enough.
Vincent felt divided. He wanted to scream with joy, to cry, to raise his
son, to seize Catherine in his arms, and yet all that would not be
enough. So he gathered all that happiness inside of him, placed it in a
gaze and gave it to Catherine. “Thank you,” he said simply. The word
could not contain all he felt, as all the words in the world would not,
but the rest would have to be expressed in actions, and the rest of his
life would not be enough.
She stood and took the baby in her arms. For a moment, she remained
facing him. My woman, Vincent
thought with shocked pride. He had possessed her physically nine months
ago, but she had belonged to him long before that, and he no longer
could ignore it: the happiness he had not allowed himself to grasp
before, as a blue bird, had flown back to him and nestled in his hand by
its own will. My son: the
idea took his breath away.
He stood beside her and Catherine put her free arm around his waist and
rested her head against his side. Vincent passed an arm around her
shoulder, a protective gesture that was already familiar, and he put a
hand over his son gently asleep in his mother’s arms. Then he raised his
gaze to the mirror, without fear, and it gave him back the most
beautiful vision he had ever seen.
His family.
In the polished surface he saw Catherine lifting her gaze to him, and he
turned to watch her. She smiled at him, and his gaze was attracted to
her half-open mouth. By habit he fought for a moment against the desire
to taste those lips, but then he surrendered to it with a smile.
It was the chaste kiss of a new-married couple: beautiful and ephemeral,
but pregnant with the promise of being together an entire life.
Then, lightly, Catherine walked to her room and disappeared into the
darkness. She reappeared, still baby-in-arms, to invite him to follow
her. Vincent hesitated, but his need to remain beside her left him no
choice. From the door, he saw her place the child gently in the cradle,
near the French doors hidden by curtains, and then turn and smile.
In that room, silhouetted against the night and the pale curtains,
dressed in those white pajamas, Catherine recalled a dream that he had
had once upon a time. He neared her and she took his hand and guided him
towards the bed, lay down and made space for him.
He shook off his
hesitation; it would not be the first time that he had watched over his
beloved’s dream. Resolved, he took off his boots and leaned, facing her.
They weren’t touching, but just facing each other, watching each other,
made them happy.
“What is his name?” Vincent asked.
“He has none yet. I wanted to ask your opinion. I was thinking about …
Jacob.”
Vincent smiled. “A good choice.”
Catherine rolled into his arms and he cradled her. They both sighed at
once with pleasure, and for the first time in months they fell into a
quiet sleep.
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