Chapter Eight

When she woke she had no idea how much time had passed. "Vincent?" she said, on the merest breath of sound.

"Yes, I’m awake."

"Have I been sleeping long?"

"About two hours."

"Did you sleep?"

"Yes, I woke just a few minutes ago."

She waited for him to suggest that they leave the pool, but he said nothing further, so she asked, "Are we going to get out now?"

While they rested, the guilty knowledge which was eating him up had claimed Vincent's entire attention; so much so that their mutual nakedness and Catherine's nearness hadn't caused a problem for him; his total concentration had been focused on the problem of how to tell her, and how to reconcile his own feelings of agonized guilt.

He didn’t answer her question directly. He said instead, "I want to talk about what happened now, if that’s your wish also."

There was no question in her mind of what he meant. So, he was ready to talk at last, and he preferred to do so in the darkness. "Yes, I want to talk about it too. Whenever you’re ready, Vincent."

There was a pause so long that she wondered if he had changed his mind, but at last he began to talk. "I…I could try to express to you my shame and my sorrow at what I’ve done, and perhaps I should do so for my conscience’ sake, but I think you know, and I will spare you and myself that much. You do know how sorry I am." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes." She stopped there. It was his time to talk.

"I think that the way to go about this is to tell you what happened that night."

There was a pause, and Catherine wished that she could see his face. But that probably was the reason why he had chosen this time and place to talk. It would be easier for him if he didn’t have to look at her, or know that she was looking at him. While she mused he moved restlessly, dropping her hand, and began again.

"I’m going to report it as nearly as I can." Another pause. When he began again his voice was a half-whisper. "…When I came to your balcony what I was feeling from you was…a sort of languorous…well-being. I was…glad that you were feeling so contented and happy. …But as I reached the door…the …sexual…content of what you were feeling broke over me like a tidal wave." He stopped for a moment, then said in a different, harder tone of voice, "I don’t want you to think that anything I say is an attempt to excuse myself for what I did. There is no excuse….none. I’m well aware of that. I’m reporting what happened."

There was another long pause before he resumed his narrative, his voice again the soft half-whisper. "When I realized what you…what was happening, I turned to leave immediately. But…I can’t explain what happened, Catherine. I can’t. Without meaning to, without wanting to, I turned back. And when I saw you…my God, Catherine, I’m only…human…" he found the phrase grimly humorous; she could hear the irony in his voice.

When he spoke again, his voice had changed; it was colder, harder again. "There is no excuse. I could have turned and left the balcony. I didn’t. That’s the fact. I stood there, aware of what I was doing to myself, and to you. I stood there and watched you."

There was silence for a moment, and when he went on his voice was husky with emotion. "…And...and…oh Catherine, I don’t want to tell you this…!

"I watched your hands…touching that lovely body, and I felt them…on me. On my body. I felt them! And when your hands moved lower on your body…they did on mine also, and…and it was the most wonderful…the most…exciting…and I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t stop…it… it…went all the way."

The water lapped gently against her as his massive tension resolved itself in random, restless movement while he continued to excoriate himself in a convulsion of guilt. "I took my pleasure…my selfish, solitary pleasure…from spying on your lovely, lovely body. Nothing, nothing can excuse that."

He was absolutely still then, Catherine thought he must be holding his breath.

When she answered she spoke from the heart, without preparation. "Vincent, I love you. My body is yours. You have always had my permission to look at it, to touch it, to take your pleasure from it, in any way whatever. I only wish that it had been my hands touching you. I long to do that, I want you so much. I am yours, Vincent, body and soul, now and forever."

Silence. Then a long shaky sigh and he spoke brokenly. "…What am I…what have I ever been…or done, that I should hear this from you…the most generous, the most loving of hearts…how can I be worthy…of such love…"

There was another silence while he regained control of his emotion. Then he took a long, shuddering breath. "…What I did was wrong, Catherine. I’ll be sorry for the rest of my life that it happened. But I am forever in your debt for your forgiveness, forever astonished at your generous heart. If you can forgive me, perhaps someday I will be able to forgive myself…."

"Vincent, my dearest … there was nothing for me to forgive. And I see nothing for you to forgive yourself for. What happened to you was a result of your love for me, a love that is my proudest, most precious possession. You’ve always known that I love you; did you think that your excitement at seeing my body could make me love you less? How could I be anything but happy that you find me desirable?"

He didn’t answer immediately. When he spoke again, his voice was choked, tears very close to the surface again. "I…you are so magnificent…I am humbled by your generosity, and your love…" His voice closed off entirely.

Catherine thought that he had had all of this that he could take. She waited a few moments, then said gently, "I think we should be going. Don’t you think that we should get out of the water?"

He said nothing for a second or two, and then his voice came softly out of the dark; "Yes….yes, we should, we must be going." And she knew that she had been right to end it.

She heard him rise out of the water, heard the water sluicing off as he stripped his body with his fingers. In a few moments he was dressed. She heard the match strike, and light bloomed from the torch.

He stood with his back to her as she toweled herself and dressed quickly "All right, I’m dressed."

He turned and watched her as she bent over and rubbed her head vigorously with the towel. "There, that’s as good as it’s going to get." She handed him the towel. "Dry your hair, Vincent, it’s still dripping. I’m sorry, I’m afraid the towel is pretty damp." She smiled at him, and pulled a comb out of her pocket. "I wonder if I’ll ever get this mess straightened out?" She began to pull the comb through her tangled hair.

Vincent took it, rubbed his head quickly, and tucked one end of the towel into the top of his pack, spreading the rest out over the pack. He walked a little upstream from where they had lain, bent to the edge of the water and filled the water bottles.

When the bottles were full, and the packs were shouldered, Vincent turned to look at her. "Thank you, Catherine." She knew that he meant to thank her for ending the difficult conversation. Then he went on, "and I must thank you again for your generous words. I know that you meant them in the kindest possible way, and I am much comforted by them."

She put her hand on his arm as he began to turn away from her. "Kindest way? Vincent, what am I going to do with you? Are you now trying to convince yourself that I didn’t mean them literally?"

He turned back to her and she saw his eyes drop to her mouth and rest there for a moment. He looked up at her then, his eyes intense, with a longing look that broke her heart.

"No." he answered, his voice very low, "I know that you meant your words…how could I not know? How can I…" He stopped and turned away without finishing, took her hand and started off down the tunnel, pulling her gently along with him. They walked for several minutes before he spoke again, looking into the dark ahead. "Our task now is to get out of here. When we’re safely at home we will talk again."