KALEIDOSCOPE II
PART 3By Cynthia Hatch
"Radcliffe, who the hell goes out at seven o'clock on Saturday morning?"With a grim smile, she dialed the office and asked for his extension. "Joe, who the hell calls anyone at seven o'clock on a Saturday morning?"
"Hey, Cathy, it's good to hear your voice. Look, something came up last night, but I decided it could wait till you'd had some rest." He paused, and she wondered if this magnanimous remark was expected to inspire a gush of gratitude. Where in her job description did it say she was on call twenty-four hours a day? 'I'm a little antsy about you after yesterday. You're okay, right?"
"I'm okay, Joe. I just spent the night with a friend. What's going on?"
"We got reporters crawling all over this thing. If you could spare a couple of hours, we could keep them happy. They've still got time to make the Sunday editions, and they'd be off our backs, so maybe we could get some work done Monday."
"Not to mention, it's an election year."
"Yeah, right. Picking up a few brownie points about now couldn't hurt, but if you're still really strung out over what happened, if you're not up to this, I can try and stuff 'em back into their box."
"No, it's okay, Joe. I'd just as soon get it over with. Give me an hour to make myself look politically correct, and I'll be down."
She hung up and went to the closet, not really relishing the idea of reliving her ordeal, fielding questions whose answers might require some careful modification, but any day that began in Vincent's arms and promised to end there couldn't possibly be all that bad.
In fact, the onslaught of questions proved surprisingly easy to handle. She spoke calmly, managing to make the more dubious loose ends sound unimportant. The detachment that allowed her to describe the events coolly and logically rose from the fact that other images stood between her and yesterday's terrors -- that feeling of sanctuary as he pulled her down beside him on the bed, the unique moment of waking to the velvet whisper of his voice, the melting blue of his eyes looking into hers. The unpleasantness of the day before might have happened to someone else.
The afternoon was wearing on when they finished. She shopped for groceries on the way home, reminding herself that during those rare times when her schedule permitted, it would be a good idea to have a balanced meal. She accepted the challenge of a recipe clipped from the Sunday paper, less out of any craving for haute cuisine, than a need to fill the frustratingly long time it took for the summer sun to set. After a shower, she stood contemplating her closet for the second time that day, chiding herself for some of the less subtle choices that came to mind, and Finally settling on a cotton skirt and sweater.
At last the orange glow faded from the window. Turning out all the lights in the apartment, she sat down on the couch, legs curled beneath her to try an experiment. For a brief time in college transcendental meditation had been the in thing to do, so of course she'd embraced the idea wholeheartedly, but with disappointing results. Her thoughts had kept skittering off from one subject to another. Now she tried to recall the basics, willing tense muscles to relax, emptying her mind of intrusive thoughts, focusing on one thing only.
It wasn't hard to do -- perhaps because she was more mature now, more centered, or possibly because the image she had chosen to focus on was one that could seldom be pushed aside for long. If she concentrated on him, with the growing power of their bond, would she be able to sense his approach? Her mind whispered his name like a mantra, and she opened herself to a vision of him moving quickly and silently as the darkness itself, every movement bringing him closer.
Deep within there came a soft stirring, a subtle vibration that seemed to mount, but whether it was a true manifestation of their bond, or merely her own growing anticipation, she couldn't tell. Suddenly, she was convinced he was near, Her ears strained to hear the slightest sound, but there was only the muffled chaos of distant traffic, the hum of the refrigerator. Still, she was filled with such certainty that she opened her eyes and moved to the dining room doors. Fingers tingling, she pushed them open.
The terrace lamps were unlit, the night moonless. In the blackness the cloaked figure was darker still, a silhouette against the matrix of lighted windows in the buildings beyond. It was an image likely to evoke a visceral fear in the most civilized of men -- black-shrouded, faceless, a being materialized out of the night itself, menace implicit in its size and stealthy arrival, but his words flowed softly to her with the warmth of candle glow.
"You knew I was here."
"I think I did." The tingling in her fingers had moved upward; it trembled in the smile she was certain he could see, even as he remained only a dark shape to her. "I wasn't sure if I could really sense your approach or if it was only my own wishful thinking. Our bond is growing stronger, Vincent. More and more often it seems I have a sense of what you're feeling."
"Tell me." His voice was scarcely more than a whisper, yet the music of it blotted out all the harsh sounds of the city. "What have I been feeling?'
"That it seems like days instead of hours since we've been together, that the sun took an unnaturally long time to set tonight and that," she took a deep breath, "and that you wish I were in your alms."
'Those things are all true, Catherine." He hadn't moved toward her, but his voice reached out with the power of an embrace, drawing her inexorably closer, until she slid happily into his arms.
"I don't know, Vincent," she murmured, her face pressed against him. "I can't always tell which are my feelings and which are yours. It's hard for me to separate them."
"Perhaps they weren't meant to be separated."
She leaned back, barely able to see his face, a unique design of planes and hollows, still shrouded by the sheltering folds of the dark hood. Her fingers found the cool, worn leather of its binding and with the air of one performing some significant ritual, slowly slipped it back over the pale mass of his hair, smoothing the soft folds of fabric across his shoulders.
She knew they were both remembering the first time she had dared this strangely intimate gesture. Then it had been a token of acceptance, almost of atonement for her hysterical reaction on seeing him for the first time. That response had been reflexive, mindless, born of her own shattered self-image and overweening anxiety, but it had wounded as surely as the most deliberate attack, striking where he was most vulnerable. The realization had shamed her. For the first time in ten days her thoughts had turned away from her own suffering and toward compassion for someone else.
Such a small turning it had seemed at that moment, and yet it was the first step on a journey more thrilling than any she could have imagined. In this new direction all things were possible and life ever more enriching until she could stand here now and know with perfect conviction and serenity that his life meant more to her than her own.
That night so long ago her reaching out to him had provoked an almost animal panic. She had seen in his eyes the overwhelming urge to flee a situation that was bound to result in pain and sorrow for them both. Only his great courage, his deference for her had kept him resolutely in place, until her smile had told him the truth. Once it had upset her to remember those moments when raw emotions had brought such pain to their encounter, Now the memory only served to punctuate the miraculous gift of this night with its mellow breeze teasing at the fringes of his hair, as his eyes looked steadily, lovingly into hers.
"You're happy tonight." The pleasure he took in this knowledge was evident in the soft timbre of his voice.
"How could I not be, Vincent? You're here. The clouds have gone. There doesn't even seem to be any smog in the air to reflect the lights. I can't remember ever seeing so many stars over the city before."
He threw his head back to survey the natural splendor rarely visible over so populated an area. After a moment, he looked down at her and removed the cloak whose only purpose on such a temperate night was concealment. "Come." He spread the dark folds close to the balcony wall and sat down, drawing her after him. She wrapped her arms around one of his, and leaned against his shoulder.
The sun had banished all traces of the storm and with it any serf-imposed obligation to invite him inside. Fine. The beauty of the night was a reminder that the balcony existed not only as a sanctuary between their two worlds, but a place where he could relax and enjoy their piece of sky, the subtle melody of the summer darkness, away from the dangers that might lurk in the alleys and back streets, even in the limpid shadows of the park.
"The sky seems flooded with stars," he marveled. "One behind the other, as far as the eye can see."
"I used to think there were fewer stars every year -- that they were blinking off like fireflies, but it's only that we keep lighting more of the earth, making them hard to see. Nights like this remind me that they're still there. When I was little, I always looked for Orion. He was my favorite of all the constellations.
"The Great Hunter. Why did you search for him?"
"Because he was easy to find. So many shapes seemed impossible to make out -- Cassiopeia. Pegasus. No matter how hard I squinted. I couldn't find them, but I could always see the three bright stars in Orion's belt.'
"Orion won't be back for some time, Catherine. He's hunting on the other side of the earth."
"You sound as if you know him pretty well."
He nodded. "He visits our world every year at the same time --in the Mirror Pool."
"Really? Then I like him even better." It seemed as she sat there contentedly, her head against the bulwark of his shoulder that the entire cosmos was on display simply for their pleasure, "Do you think we exist exist out there somewhere as well, Vincent? In another place, another time?"
"A parallel universe?"
"Mm-hmm, or a backwards one, or one where we're the same people, but different things are happening to us."
"It's possible."
"I feel sorry for that other us, whatever their world is like."
"Why, Catherine?" He looked down, as she turned her eyes to his.
"Because no matter what they're doing, it couldn't be as perfect as this."
He shook his head slowly, caught in the tender snare of her blissful expression and the soft sidereal cadence of their bond.
Her eyes closed as he lowered his mouth to hers in a slow, sweet kiss. The stars, the gentle melody of the summer night, left their appointed places to float lightly through all her senses, whispering secrets of the life-force that had created them, that flowed freely within her now, reduced to its most basic component, which seemed to bear the simple name of love.
She could feel the silent sigh that escaped him, as he leaned back against the parapet, pulling her closer against his chest. It was several minutes before his soft voice broke the silence. "I haven't asked you Catherine -- were you able to rest today?"
"Not very long. There was a message from Joe when I got back this morning. We met with the press, to answer their questions about what happened yesterday."
"It could not have been easy for you."
"No, it really wasn't bad -- I honestly feel it's all behind us now." 'Good." He took her hand and squeezed it gently.
"What about you, Vincent? Did Father want anything important?"
"Important, but not unexpected. There has been an unusual amount of rainfall for this time of year. It creates problems throughout our world, problems that the work crews are hard pressed to control."
She frowned up at him. "What kind of problems? Is there any danger of flooding?"
"Seldom that, but there are places where the water gathers, undetected, weakening the walls. Erosion has caused some of the deepest storm drains to collapse. More often, there are leaks in the pipes themselves. Seals give way, and the water flows into the abandoned systems. If it isn't stopped, eventually it will be detected, and the city crews may venture into places too close to home."
"It's too bad the taxpayers can't appreciate how much money you're saving the city. Some of the old-timers on the water commission must be pretty smug about creating such a trouble-free system."
"It isn't quite as efficient as they might think," he agreed.
"And you've been helping with all that?"
"Everyone helps, Catherine, even the children."
"That's what fascinates me. Everyone in your world is so self-sufficient. They know how to take care of themselves in ways that people above would be at a loss to do, and yet at the same time they work so well as a team. It seems like a paradox.'
"Catherine, those who have faith in themselves are the most able to reach out to others, to give without fear of loss."
"I've been thinking about that. I – " The telephone's ring sounded unnaturally shrill from inside the apartment. "I'm going to ignore that, Vincent." It rang again, and the answering machine clicked on. A familiar voice wafted through the open doorway.
"If you're there, pick it up, Radcliffe. So help me, I'm not gonna keep you more than a minute. I just want to tell you something."
"I don't believe this," she said with exasperation.
Vincent looked more amused than annoyed. "Your work is important, too, Catherine. Perhaps you should talk to him."
"You won't go away? Please, Vincent. I'll only be a minute."