Kaleidoscope ~ The Circle
by Cynthia Hatch 

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Part VII

Weird balls of light bounced and soared around them like fairy fire. Catherine squinted against the increasing glare, and Mouse's face came into view, a flashlight bobbing on either side.

He pulled up short, obviously as surprised as they were. Never one to successfully mask his emotions, he looked in turn guilty and fearful and finally stubborn. Apparently, deciding the best chance of avoiding Vincent's displeasure was a direct attack, he frowned. "Why are you here, Vincent?  Supposed to be in the pipe chamber.  Supposed to be helping Pascal!"

"Mouse, you were told not to come this way.”  Vincent's voice had returned to normal, and it was enough to dissolve the boy's defiance.

"Sorry, Vincent,” he said, shuffling at the ground.  "Didn't bring anybody. Thought it was okay, if it was just me. Nothing can happen to Mouse."

“Something could have happened to you. There was a wind in this tunnel, so strong it almost blew us off the ledge. It destroyed our lantern.”

"Don't hear any wind!"

"It's gone now, but you must promise me never, never to come this way again. Mouse?”

"Okay good. Okay fine.”

“I want to hear the promise.”

"Okay. I promise - won't come this way again.” He stopped his squirming, heartened by a burst of irrefutable logic. "What if Mouse hadn't come? You and Catherine stuck here alone in the dark for hours. Maybe forever. Awful, right?”

“Awful,” Catherine agreed. A more verbal person might have caught the irony in her tone, but Mouse merely glowed at a point won.

"Mouse, I want you to go back and warn the others. Make sure they understand what has happened here. Someone else might take it upon himself to ignore Father's warning, and it is far too dangerous.”

"Thought you said the wind was gone.”

“It is, but it could have time to build up again before everyone's left.”

"Please, don't make me, Vincent," came the plaintive reply.

“It's safe now, Mouse. You have time to make your way back before there is any risk.”

"Not the wind that scares me. Mouse gives the warning, Father knows somebody didn't do what he said. Yells at me - again. Already had you yell at me.”

"Vincent didn't yell at you, Mouse," Catherine pointed out protectively.

“Same thing.”

Vincent sighed. "Alright. You show Catherine safely back. I will go talk to Father.”

"Vincent, no! I'm going with you.”

"Please, Catherine, don't."

“But why?” She felt a familiar rush of panic that he might be closing himself off from her again.

He shook his head wordlessly.

"Vincent, don't do this. I can't - -"  she hesitated.  “Mouse, would you mind if I talk to Vincent alone a moment?” The blond head had inserted itself between them, turning from one to the other of them with a perplexed frown, flashlights bobbing foolishly with every move.

"No need, Mouse.  I must go. Catherine, forgive me."

“Don't have a light.” Mouse reminded him.

"I will find my way. Watch over her. Mouse. Go carefully.”  He turned and was swallowed up in the darkness.

Catherine stared into the void, torn between following him and doing what he asked. What had he meant when he asked her forgiveness? Forgive him for leaving her or for what had happened a few minutes ago?

“Nothing to worry about, Catherine.” Mouse was pulling at her arm.  "Mouse goes first, you follow. Easy.”

“Right.” She tore her attention away from the blackness that had taken him from her sight. “Okay, lead on.”

"Vincent's not too mad.”

“Mad at whom?”

“Mad at Mouse, who else? Still depends on me. Let me take care of you, didn't he?” They made their way back to safer ground and easily through the tunnels beyond. "Going back to your apartment? Know where it is."

“No, I'm going to wait for Vincent, but thank you for showing me the way.”

"Yeah, Mouse is indispensable, right?” he grinned.

“Absolutely indispensable.” She laughed that anyone so economical with the English language would choose such a word.

She entered Vincent's chamber, still wondering what he was thinking, whether he needed time to assimilate what had happened or time to reconstruct the barriers that had been so easily demolished by their passion. Resisting the urge to relive those moments, which she knew would unravel her completely, she crossed the chamber with the intention of sitting on the bed, but as she approached, it seemed to take on a new significance, potent with a possibility she'd dared not dream of before. Suddenly, the sensations of those moments in the darkness washed over her anew, and she moved on uncertain legs to collapse in a chair instead.

The temperature in these central chambers was fairly constant, yet so late at night with a single candle burning faithfully on the table, it seemed cold. There was little sound except for sporadic rappings on the pipes, a noise that she had once thought irritating, but now it blended into the atmosphere of this world she loved, like the soundtrack of a movie. She rubbed her bare arms with a momentary pang of regret for the antique shawl, wherever it might be. Maybe it was still winging its way through some dark channel, or perhaps it had emerged bat-like from an open fissure of the city to surprise a passerby. She imagined it flapping down on the windshield of a taxi. or draping itself over a statue in the park above. She welcomed the fanciful thoughts, not trusting herself to listen to the insistent voices inside her, tempting her to remember.

She had to be strong, to brace herself for whatever might be coming. Whatever was going through Vincent's mind - that gentle, brilliant tortured mind - would affect everything that followed. It might not be fair, but it was true. Her own desires and goals and priorities hadn't changed, but tonight they had been validated, crystallized into one pure truth that formed the center of her being.

There had been a time when she too had struggled to make sense of her life, to reconcile the everyday realities of existence with the secret world they shared. It had been difficult, but when she had gotten through it,  the truth had been so simple: sometimes the impossible is the only possible choice.

For Vincent, learning to accept what they had, to incorporate it into his life, was even harder. He had led such an extraordinary existence, unique, alone, battling the unknown horrors of his darker nature. She knew that she was beyond his experience.  Little wonder that he found difficulty in seeing where she fit into a universe that had seemed forever bound to contain only himself.  He had grown up believing his fate, not only inevitable, but appropriate. He had not understood that he deserved more than that.  Gradually, she had become aware of some of  his motivations, his fears, but it would take patience to change the perceptions of a lifetime. She would wait forever if necessary, but tonight...

She got up and took a blanket from his bed to wrap around her, walking up and down the room in an effort to ward off the chill. Tonight had been beyond anything she had ever imagined. She had had her share of intimate relationships, but the word no longer seemed to fit. What could be more intimate than the sharing of a single soul, one heart? The moment he had touched her she had known that she'd never made love before. Other kisses, other caresses had been play-acting,  no more real than Mouse's shooting stars. The memory of his touch and the violence of her own reaction made her weak, and she began to walk faster, determined to master her turbulent emotions. She stopped. I'm doing it, she thought. I'm pacing. Maybe it's contagious - or something about this room.

Voices filtered in from the tunnels beyond. She tossed the blanket back on the bed and hurried out. The passages were filled with people  returning from the green cavern. Most were headed for their own homes; some were trailing off to Father's study. Vincent was not among them.

"Jamie, have you seen Vincent?”

"Oh, hi, Catherine. Not for a while. I don't know where he went. Why don't you come with us to Father's.  He's going to tell us about the time he put a cadaver in his professor's car."

“Good heavens. No wonder Mouse makes him nervous."

She followed Jamie into the chamber. About a dozen people. reluctant to see the night's festivities end, were continuing the party. They passed around a decanter of wine, and she could see that Father had already helped himself. No doubt this explained his willingness to divulge the exploits of his youth, a frivolity he might regret in the morning, when once again he'd have to play the wise and solemn patriarch. Vincent was not in the room, but her attention was caught by a shining head, nodding beyond Cullen's shoulder.

At her approach the little man looked up, surprised.  "Hello, Catherine.   I hear you had a problem down below tonight."

“It depends on how you look at it, Pascal.  Have you seen Vincent?"

“Sure. Since I didn't get to the party earlier, he suggested I come down here now.  He's up at the pipe chamber."

"Thanks."  As she hurried up the steps, Father called out to her,  “Catherine, why don't you stay a while? I was just about to relate a rather amusing incident."

"I'm sure you were,” she laughed.  "Sorry - another time."

She rushed along the tunnels, slowing when she knew she was almost there. She had to gather her wits about her, keep her emotions in check, until she had some idea of what he was thinking. Her thoughts must be forced into some rational middle ground, away from the part of her that was terrified he'd look at her coldly, dismissing her from his life and thereby from her own. The opposite extreme was just as dangerous; she dared not hope that he would accept her into his arms, take her back to the bliss they'd shared, finish what had begun. She'd be setting herself up for a fall, if she assumed it would be that easy. There was no doubt of his emotional and physical response to their intimacy. The memory of it was burned into her flesh, as well as her heart, but through what labyrinths of reason would he feel compelled to force it? She knew he would examine the implications in an exacting. rational light. The tendency was partly a legacy of Father's scientific and philosophical teachings, but now she knew how fully he relied on his own powers of reason to keep that other part of him at bay.

She stopped at the entrance to the pipe chamber, took a deep breath, and stepped inside. At times it could be difficult to hear the human voice over the clamor that rang through this, the heart of their communications system. Here all the many pipes that snaked and burrowed their way from deep in the earth emerged. They crisscrossed the immense cavern on several levels, sprouting from the floor, striping its high walls. At this hour it seemed to doze. Only occasional tappings. probably from a sentry reporting in, showed that it never slept, that somewhere a wary eye would be keeping watch over the secret, murmuring messages to insure its safety.

She searched the tangle of copper and lead with her eyes, finding him at last on a platform at the second level. He was standing against the wall, head back, eyes closed. His cloak hung over the railing. She crossed silently to the stairs and stopped, pausing to savor the sight of him, to welcome the rush of love and tenderness that blossomed inside her whenever he was this close.

“Catherine."  He hadn't moved.  His eyes were still closed.

"You knew I was here."

“You should have gone back home."

“I was going to spend time with you, Vincent. Remember?”

He opened his eyes, but still didn't look at her. “I am sorry, Catherine, but it's best that you leave."

“Why, Vincent?” she said softly. “Why is it best?”

"You know why.” He pushed himself away from the wall and trudged across the platform above her. She had an impression of enormous energy, roiling inside him.

“No, I don't. What happened tonight tells me just the opposite - that I need to be with you.”  She put her hand on the railing and started up the stairs.

“Don't!"  He whirled and for the first time looked at her. She saw the emotions warring in his eyes - fear, pain, and a love that jumped the distance between them like an arc of electricity. He tilted his head and looked at her pleadingly. “Don't come any closer. Please.”

"All right," she said slowly. He loved her. He'd only told her not to approach. Her gratitude for this much gave her the strength to continue on this strange, uncharted course he'd set for them. She thought she could bear anything but the pain she'd seen in his eyes.  It hurt her as deeply, as if it had been her own. Confronting the issue head on hadn't worked. Maybe if she ignored it entirely for now, reverted to a casual conversation, it would soothe his troubled mind, help him to relax, defuse the threat her physical nearness seemed to pose to him. She sank down on the bottom step, hugging her dress around her knees.

“Father's having a great time entertaining.  He's telling stories and plying everyone with wine.”

Vincent didn't comment. He had resumed his march across the platform.

“Something about a dead body that he put in one of his teacher's cars."

 “Yes.” he responded, and she doubted he'd heard anything she'd said.

“Pascal seemed to be having a good time.”

“He should not have missed the play - and the party."  Vincent stopped, listening. As if in response to this mention of the maestro, the pipes were clanging out a message.  He crossed to pick up an iron bar and tapped out a brief reply. When he returned, he sat down on the top step, arms crossed on his knees. He was staring at a point out in space. but she knew he was seeing some dragon in the caverns of his mind.

“You know, I still felt like I was in a storybook tonight,” she continued her light patter.  I kept going around asking everyone I met, ‘have you seen Vincent?', and it reminded me of this book I loved when I was little. My father used to read to me on the nights when he'd get home early, and there was one summer when I think I asked for the same book every time. He must have been really sick of it. It was about this little animal - a bird, I think, who'd never seen his mother, and he'd go around asking everyone he met, are you my mother? Of course, it was very funny to a four year old, because the animals he asked were cows and horses and cats and --" she stopped. There was no sound in the chamber even the pipes were silent. She brought her hands up to her face. “Oh, God, Vincent. I'm sorry."

“For what, Catherine?"

“Because I'm babbling and not listening to what I'm saying.  It was insensitive. It sounded like - I didn't mean to trivialize your search for who you are."

"The truth is never trivial, Catherine, even if it's in a children's story.”  He was looking down at her with the gentle clarity she knew so well with compassion for her embarrassment.

His calm certainty had returned, and it gave her courage. "The truth is what happened between us tonight, Vincent.  It was the clearest, most perfect moment of truth I've ever known. We were part of each other in a way we've never been before. You must have felt that.”

He was shaking his head. “You don't understand, Catherine."

"Then tell me. Make me understand.”

"No. The words could be destructive - unforgivable."

“You once told me words can't change anything.”

"They can, if they reveal a part of the truth that neither of us wants to face."

"I will face it, Vincent, with you, but you have to let me know what it is."

He didn't answer. Catherine looked around the chamber, searching for some idea, some words that would reach him. “It's hard for me to accept,"  she said finally,  "that something that made me so happy, could bring you only sadness.”

His response came swift and unmeasured. “Catherine, I have never known such joy - never imagined in my deepest dreams that so much - so great an ecstasy could be. Your gift to me was beautiful beyond imagining.  Even now...” He bowed his head onto his arms, and she knew he was struggling against the memory of those feelings that set her own blood racing.  She longed to fly up the stairs, and kneel beside him, kiss the top of the golden head, take him in her arms, and will all of the pain to leave his body and to be absorbed into hers.

Instead, she answered, “It was our gift to each other, Vincent. What we need. What we are. You knew what I was feeling - how desperate I was for you to love me, and you gave me what I needed. Gently and perfectly. We both wanted the same thing.”

“No.” His head snapped up, and he stood, moving back to the parapet above her. “You don't know what wanted, Catherine, what I might have done, would have done, if Mouse hadn't interrupted.”

"What makes you think I wouldn't have welcomed it?”

“Not that, Catherine. Never that. I had no sense of your desires, none.  All I knew was my own need, my own hunger to. . . " He was Looking at his hands, which she knew symbolized for him the dark instincts he fought against.

She chose her next words carefully, knowing they would hurt, hoping they would shake him from his dark vision. "Dld you want to hurt me, Vincent?”

She could see that they'd served their purpose. He shrank back a step, looking at her with horror. "No!”

"Then whatever you wanted would have been right. Whatever you needed I would have given you - willingly.”

“No,” he repeated. “Catherine, I cannot bear the thought of anything, anyone bringing you pain or fear or disillusionment. If I were to be the instrument of that, I - it would mean the end of everything, the end of what we share, the end of me."

"Vincent, I know why you think you lost your sense of me. The answer is so simple -- " she stopped and turned to follow the sharp look he threw at the chamber entrance.  No one was there, but a moment later Pascal appeared.

“I'm back. Is anything going on?”

"Nothing important."

“Oh, well, that's good."  For Pascal missing an important message would have been like a mother finding her child had said its first word to a baby-sitter.  “Thanks for your help, Vincent. I can take things from here. You go on with Catherine."

Vincent took his cloak from the railing and came down the steps, stopping beside her. He didn't touch her, and when she took his arm, he flinched. She dropped her hand, and he spoke to her quietly, so that Pascal couldn't hear. "I'm Sony, Catherine. I cannot do this."

“There's so much more to be said, Vincent. There are things I have to make you see."

He shook his head. “Not now, Catherine. I must think. Your nearness makes that impossible.”

“But what you're thinking is wrong.”  She started to reach out again, but he turned and retreated to the safety of the bridge above them.

“Pascal," he called,  "would you do me the favor of seeing Catherine safely home?  I will stay until your return."

"I can find my own way back,” she pointed out, knowing she'd lost the battle.

“No, I need to know that you are safely home.  I need that, Catherine.”

"Alright," she said, making no attempt to hide the feelings that showed in her eyes.  She saw the swift flight of desperation in his at yet another parting, and then she turned and left the chamber with Pascal.

“I hope everything's okay,” he said shyly, ever sensitive to the vibrations of hidden messages.

"It will be fine," she assured him, hoping it was true. "but there's a favor you could do for me too. Would you sort of keep an eye on him?  He needs some time alone, but too much of it isn't good. Maybe you could ask for his help or spend some time just talking with him.”

"I will, Catherine. Don't worry. He'll be all right."

She thanked him and said good-bye at the ladder. Retrieving the beaded bag from its hiding place, she chose to climb the stairs to the eighteenth floor. She was already tired, but the exhaustion was mainly emotional; she needed it to be physical as well, When she finally crawled into bed, it was to be welcomed by a deep, dreamless sleep in which no beasts prowled and no lovers burned in the darkness.