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Part 10
Suddenly, she realized that the mechanism had been triggered on the other side of the door. She shrank back, heart pounding. Any second it might open and Vincent could be standing there. As much as she hungered for the sight of him, she knew it might not solve anything in the long run. The door opened, and a group of children tumbled out. Her relief was mixed with an irrational sting of disappointment.
"Hi, Catherine.” Zach said, surprised. “Did you want to go in?”
"That depends, Zach, on who's around."
The boy was growing up; certain undercurrents, unnoticed by the younger children, had not escaped him for some time. "Vincent's gone, Catherine. He’s way down in the deepest quarry."
“I see. Do you happen to know where Father is?”
"I think he’s in his study. At least he was a little while ago.”
"Thanks. Listen, do you guys know it’s raining out there?”
“Sure,” he grinned, “that's why we came up. See you, Catherine.” And he led the others out into the park.
Some natural instinct in them must crave the rain, as
well as the sunshine of her world. She slipped through the door and closed
it after her, willing herself to be calm to quiet the turmoil that might
bring Vincent to her. Strangely, this world too had a closed in feeling,
as if the greyness of the storm had penetrated below. The candles and torches
she passed along her route, seemed to be struggling to put forth their
usual light and warmth. She met no one along the way and wondered if they
were cozily engaged in the same kind of rainy day activities as their
counterparts above.
She was relieved to see a familiar glow emanating from Father’s study. His chambers were always the most well-lighted, thanks to a profusion of candles and lamps. His penchant for reading and his aging eyesight must require particular attention. Summoning all her courage, she stepped into the study.
“Catherine, hello.” He looked up from the ledger he'd
been studying. "I'm afraid Vincent isn’t here just now. He’s cutting rock
in a quarry below the catacombs.”
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“He’s been doing that a lot lately, hasn’t he?" She hadn’t moved from the top of the steps.
“Yes. Yes, he has.” She thought there was a wariness in his expression. “He does that when he’s concerned or troubled about something. Physical exertion can be a kind of release when the pressure is too great.” He removed his glasses and tapped them nervously on the worn surface of the desk. He still hadn’t asked her in.
“I need to talk to you, Father,” she said, and the determination in her voice was not lost on him. He sank back in his chair with an air of resignation.
“Come in, then,” he said finally. “I suppose I’ve known for a long time that this conversation was inevitable."
She descended the steps and sat down opposite him. “What has Vincent told you about - about what happened?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Nothing at all. I only surmised that something must be amiss between you. The two of you looked so radiant the night you were together, but he’s been distracted ever since, brooding. He hasn’t gone above all week, so...” He let the thread of his reasoning trail off into silence.
"I don’t know what to do,” she said, unable to keep the desperation from her voice.
"Catherine, believe me, I know how difficult it is for both of you. You have the demands of your life above. No one can blame you for feeling torn, but you cannot let yourself feel guilty, if other responsibilities, other commitments claim your attention. Vincent wouldn’t want that, no matter how dearly he cherishes your time together.”
"That isn’t the issue, Father. Something - something happened the other night when we were alone together.”
“Oh?” He dropped his eyes, but not before she’d seen the trepidation in them.
"He kissed me, or I kissed him - I don't know." The statement was so inadequate for what they’d experienced, but she could share the essence of it with no one but Vincent. Perhaps the very triteness of the words would allay Father's fears. He sighed, but whether with relief or dismay, she couldn’t tell.
"I suppose I’ve been naive to think something like this would never occur. I hoped and prayed that what you and Vincent had together - so much more than most of us ever dream of - that somehow that would be enough.” He stood up and moved away from her. "What you’ve shared has been so spiritual, so pure, that I hoped it wouldn't come to this."
"What are you saying?” She was surprised to find anger welling up inside her. "That love can only be pure if it’s platonic? That lovers should have to suffer? If those who truly care for each other, who have trust and respect and empathy, can't express those feelings, then who’s supposed to make love - only people who don’t give a damn?”
Her voice had risen with her, as she stood up, leaning across the desk. "Or is it that nice women aren’t supposed to want those things? I'm sorry, Father. but that idea went out with the suit you were wearing when you came down here. I do have those feelings, and I don’t see why I have to pretend that I don’t. It isn’t fair to me, and it isn’t fair to your son. Why should we have to follow a different standard than everyone else? Did you ask as much of yourself and Margaret?”
"That was different,” he said quietly, and she realized how strident she must have sounded.
"I shouldn’t have said that. I'm sorry. I know how much you loved each other.” She had come here hoping for his understanding and advice, and now her outburst might have ruined any chance of that. She sat down again, and Father came back to the desk. She was surprised to see that he was smiling slightly.
He sat down on the corner nearest her. “Catherine, I would like to say something to you before this conversation goes much further, something perhaps I should have said some time ago, but your earnestness just now, your logic reminded me. You know how much Vincent means to me. No father ever had a son who gave him more reason to feel proud, but I cannot take credit for his character. So much of what he’s achieved, what he’s become is of his own making, in spite of obstacles that the rest of us can't even begin to fathom. I value him above everyone else in this world, yet I truly feel, Catherine, that you are worthy of him. If I had a daughter, I could only hope that she would have your courage, your passion.
She stared at him, disarmed. "Thank you, Father.”
“You’re welcome,” he nodded and returned to his chair. "I expressed myself badly when I spoke of the purity of your love. What I meant was your selflessness, the naturalness with which you put your concern for one another above your own. I had hoped that inclination would prevent you from taking the path you’ve obviously chosen.”
“You think I’m being selfish?"
“No, I think you’re being a perfectly normal, healthy young woman, but you must consider the implications for Vincent.”
“I have. Father, this isn’t just something I want for myself. I want it for him. I honestly can’t tell you which is more important to me. It’s all mixed up together. In some way that I don’t know how to explain, it’s one and the same thing. I have so much love to give him. I want him to feel that love - to know he deserves it."
"I do believe you, Catherine, but to open the possibilities of that world - even by something as harmless as a kiss ... It’s a world he’s long ago accepted that he can never be a part of. To give him a glimpse of those possibilities, whatever your motivation, could be cruel and ultimately dangerous.”
"I don’t want to give him a glimpse of it, Father. I want to give him everything.”
“Cathy, you cannot. Surely, you realize that there is a great potential here for disaster.”
“Are you talking about what happened with Lisa?”
"Ah, you know about that."
“Vincent told me, and frankly, I think the whole incident has taken on far too much significance for him."
"You know know how sensitive his nature is. It was inevitable."
"I don’t believe that. He's sensitive, yes - especially to the feelings of those he loves, and I think it was your reaction to what happened that affected him so deeply.”
“You blame me?”
“I’m sorry, Father, but I do. He was an adolescent - infatuated, in love, caught up in the excitement of the moment. It happens all the time. I can't ten you how many boys I had to fend off when I was a teenager, and Vincent would never say so, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there was some provocation from Lisa. But did you help him put all that in perspective? No, you sent her away, as if just being around him put her in mortal danger. How do you think that made him feel?”
“The girl was hurt, Catherine, and frightened."
"Fine. So was Vincent, and he's been hurt by it for twenty years. He’s convinced that it was the dark side of his nature that caused the problem, and I don’t think that’s true."
"You can't be sure of that, and I certainly couldn’t at the time. It was too great a risk then, and it still is."
"It’s a risk I’m willing to take."
"Perhaps you are willing to take it, Catherine, but suppose you allow yourself to get closer to Vincent in some physical way. Your expectations, your experience lead you to want certain things that an ordinary man would know how to give you. You must know that he has no experience of these things. Has it occurred to you that he wouldn’t know how to please you? It could be tragically disappointing for you both.”
“Believe me, Father, he knows," she answered, and something in her voice caused him to look away. She could almost swear he was blushing.
“Yes, well - assuming that is true, you can't believe
that the pain of your separations would be lessened by a more intimate
relationship. The body simply does not work that way. Those hungers once
awakened would only add to your misery when you’re forced to go back to
your
separate worlds, your separate responsibilities."
“It's too late to do anything about that now," she said quietly.
"I'm very, very sorry to hear that. You must know that this time spent away from you may very well be Vincent’s way of regaining control, a control he obviously let slip. You know his strength, Catherine. When next you meet, you may find he's closed himself off from you in that regard - permanently. What will you do then?”
“We'll go back to the way we were."
“I see. Magically, all of these feelings you speak of
will have disappeared. What happens when you are alone together? Can you
honestly say that the memory of this unfortunate lapse in good Judgment,
this kiss you shared, will not influence you, create a temptation that
can only
be repressed at a cost to your own well-being?"
"I can do it, if I have to, Father - if that’s what it takes to keep what we have.”
“So many sacrifices, Catherine, at a time when you should be living life to its fullest."
"He is my life.”
Father sighed and picked up his spectacles, turning them over and over in his hands. "You are very bright, Catherine. I want you to consider for a moment the nature of this 'dark side' that you speak of. What do you know about it?"
"Only what I’ve seen when he’s provoked by something too horrible and violent for human understanding."
"And would you say that he’s thinking during these incidents, planning what he's going to do next?”
“No, of course not. It’s a reflexive action - instinct.”
"Precisely, and what are the instincts that have troubled mankind throughout the ages, that have been hardest to civilize, to control? I will tell you, Catherine. They are man's propensity towards violence and his sexual urges. The two are unfortunately intertwined. Surely, you see that every day in your work.”
“If you mean rape, I don't agree with you. That’s an expression of violence. It really has little to do with sex."
"But they are both instinctual in nature, Catherine. A darkness that permits one to flourish unrestrained may very well give free rein to the other.”
She shook her head. “I can’t accept that Father. The part of us that’s connected - I don’t think it has any end.”
“How do you mean?”
"I don’t know. It's hard to put into words, but it’s like
it’s growing, expanding, taking in more of who we are. It’s like a giant
circle, holding us safe inside, pushing away everything else. And that
other part of him is outside the circle. I truly believe that there’s no
room for it anymore,
that together we can become so strong it will have no
power."
"But suppose, just suppose, that you are wrong, Catherine, that something happens, and he hurts you."
Her chin came up defiantly.
“He hurts you,” Father persisted. “What do you think that would do to him? I don’t think I’m being overly dramatic to say it could utterly destroy him. Are you willing to bear that risk as well?”
She felt herself deflating under his harsh words. The room grew quiet, except for the distant banging of the pipes.
“It’s a beautiful dream, Catherine,. but you simply must face the fact that it may be only that. That the reality may be far, far different.”
“May, Father, everything that you’re saying is something that may be or could be or might happen. I can’t live my life based on possibilities, on things that might not be true."
“Very well. You want facts then? I will give them to you. I am sure there were other questions in your mind when you came here today. Why don’t you ask them?"
"You’re right.” she answered, but faced with a direct challenge, she was finding it hard to begin. “I need to know if what I wish for is possible, physically possible."
"Vincent's physiology is quite different from anyone else's, Catherine, his biochemistry. You’re aware of that."
"That's not what i meant.”
Father was silent. He could be eloquent on almost any subject imaginable, yet she felt his reluctance to speak one simple word that might produce untold ramifications. "Would you like some tea, Catherine?" He got up to get it, his back turned towards her.
"I don’t want any tea, no". Her own voice sounded choked with tension.
"Yes,” came the muffled reply. He turned and brought two steaming mugs back to the desk. “Yes, of course, it's possible, but I suspect you already knew that. Here, Cathy, drink this.”
There was a kindness in his command that was meant to soothe her embarrassment, and she welcomed the tea she’d just refused, hiding her blush behind the mug. She had to keep reminding herself that he was, after all, a doctor.
“I Just had to be sure.”
"Very well, now you know. Does that solve anything? What will you do with the knowledge, Catherine? Where does your longing for fulfillment lead you? Plans for a family perhaps?”
"Would that be possible?”
"I can't say with any certainty, but I should think the possibility exists. Of course, given the unknowns, we have no idea what sort of a child such a union would produce - one as human as yourself perhaps, or a duplicate of Vincent, a combination of the two, or something else entirely.”
"I would love it whatever it was like," she said fiercely.
"I know you would. So would Vincent. Bear in mind that should the child be - different you would never be able to take it above. He would never know your world, his relatives, the people who care for you. So many things, Catherine, that a mother longs to share with her child, to show him, give to him, would be quite out of the question.”
"He would have Vincent,” she countered.
He leaned towards her. "And you consider that a fair exchanger?" Her expression gave him the answer, and he sighed. "0f course, but suppose on the other hand, this child were to be wholly human. Then he would have to miss none of the things your world has to offer. After all, Vincent has had to bear the pain of living apart from the woman he loves. Oh, yes, he’s quite used to pain. Hopefully, he could bear just a little more to be separated from his child as well.”
"If we had a baby, we would raise it together - in the tunnels.” She knew what he was doing: he was taking her on a relentless journey through the dark places in her own mind, opening doors, forcing her to face the questions that cowered there.
"Good. Good. I wonder, though, how Vincent would feel about committing a beloved son or daughter to the same kind of hell that he has suffered: the rejection, the loneliness, the hurt when others look on you with fear or disgust, all things for which no amount of parental love can compensate. Would he enjoy teaching such a child how to cope with that other side of his nature? But I nearly forgot - he hasn’t quite yet mastered that himself, has he? So such efforts might be in vain. Of course, he would have you to soothe his frustration, to share his anguish as he sees his own torment reflected in the eyes of an innocent and frightened child. Then, there is always the possibility that his child, your child, would have nothing of the finer qualities of either of you, that he would be utterly and eternally trapped in that dark, soulless place --"
“Stop it,” she said, struggling to keep her tone strong and even. “I understand what you’re saying, but we wouldn’t necessarily have to have children. There is such a thing as birth control."
“Yes,” Father acknowledged, "and I know you are both responsible adults, but such things are never foolproof, Catherine. Still, if an unfortunate accident were to occur, it would be an easy enough matter to correct it. I am, after all, a physician, and an abortion is really quite a simple procedure.”
“No,” she said softly.
“Why, Catherine. I am surprised. You’re such a worldly young woman. You’ve seen the misery that an unwanted pregnancy can create. I should have thought you would support a woman’s right to decide.”
"I couldn’t - not his baby - no matter what,” she whispered, vaguely aware that a tear was sliding down her cheek.
Father sat impassively, watching her, until she could no longer hold back the torrent of emotions and began to sob quietly into her hands. She heard him get up then and approach her chair. He put his arms around her and kissed her head.
“Catherine. Dear, dear Catherine," he whispered, and the cool, matter-of-fact tone of a moment ago had left his voice. "Please believe that I've been cruel only to be kind.” He rocked her gently, as he must have done that other troubled child long ago, and she felt herself sobbing all the harder. "There, there. Let it all out.” He patted her shoulder soothingly. "That the two of you - the brightest and best our two worlds have to offer - should suffer so, always trying to be strong for each other - it breaks my heart. I regret the pain my words have caused you, but left in the subconscious, such thoughts can fester and drain you of the strength you need to continue." He released her and brought out a large, white handkerchief. " Here."
She accepted it gratefully. “But what you said -" She blew her nose. "Any of those things might be true."
"Oh, yes, certainly. But there are many kinds of truth, Catherine." He was standing now, one hand on the desk, looking off into the distance as if he saw another time. "When I first came to this place, there were so many unknowns, so many obstacles that it seemed quite impossible our dream could survive. There were the physical logistics, the problem of keeping our existence a secret, of organizing ourselves into some kind of viable community, and there was John, beginning to dream his own warped vision of our future. Oh, there were many facts, many truths, that told us it was impossible, but we survived, and we flourished. With hope and with love.”
“What are you telling me?" she whispered, searching his face through tear-stained eyes.
“I’m telling you that there is another kind of truth, Catherine, one that no one else can show to you. There is no need. You and Vincent - you carry it in your hearts.”
She stared at him, till a sound behind her drew her attention. Pascal was standing in the doorway.
“Father - oh, hello, Catherine - you'll want to hear this too. I just got a message from Kanin down below. He says Vincent let out a roar a few minutes ago and took off. He says he's barreling this way like the IRT express, and he has no idea what set him off. I thought you’d want to know.”
“Yes, thank you, Pascal. I'll take care of it.” He turned back to her with a wry smile. “Oh, dear, I should have expected something like this. I’m afraid I’ve let myself in for a rather unpleasant scene. Are you up to this, Catherine?"
Before she could answer, there was a noise in the tunnel outside and Vincent burst into the room, stopping at the top of the steps. His cloak was gone, hair wild, chest heaving, his clothes smeared with dust from the quarry. She thought she'd never seen anything so beautiful in her life.
"Catherine? What's happened? What have you done to her?" He directed this last at Father with a ferocity that would have reduced any other man to rubble.
"Ah, Vincent, come in,” he said pleasantly, cleaning his spectacles on the hem of his shirt. Catherine and I were just having a little chat. You’re welcome to join us!"
She saw fury replaced by confusion and then other emotions as his eyes shifted to hers. Once again she recognized that they were suspended in a delicate and boundless bubble, that nothing could penetrate. She was not conscious that she had risen from the chair or that Vincent had moved from the steps, but the next moment she was flying into his arms. He clutched her to him.
“Catherine, I felt your pain, an overwhelming sense of grief!"
“It’s over. None of it’s important anymore!" She hugged him, stroking his head, smoothing the tangles from his hair.
He bent to hold her closer, and his mouth grazed her ear in what was indisputably a fleeting kiss. She burrowed into his neck, pressing her lips to it, luxuriating in the warmth of his embrace. She had no idea how long they stood there, wrapped in each other and in their own universe, but at last it dawned on her that they were not alone in the room. They had never allowed themselves such an outward display of affection in front of anyone, least of all Father, and she turned with dread to see how he was reacting to it.
His spectacles were back on his nose, and he was busily writing in the ledger in front of him. He paused, aware of her scrutiny, and peered up over his glasses. "I would appreciate it, Vincent, if you could conduct your conversation someplace else. I have a great deal of work to be done here.”
“Of course, Father.”
Catherine slipped out of Vincent’s arms and went to place a kiss on the older man's cheek. "Thank you, Father,” she whispered. His expression of mild irritation didn’t alter, but he reached down and squeezed her hand.
She followed Vincent out of the chamber, where he stopped. “You are certain you’re all right, Catherine?”
“I’m certain.” She brushed a smudge of powdery dust from his chest and let her hand remain there, over his heart, “You know, I don’t think I ever realized until today how well Father is suited to his position here."
"He created a whole world, Catherine.”
“Yes. Out of love and hope and dreams. It’s wonderful to know that’s possible, isn’t it?”
His eyes searched hers for a moment, but he said simply, “Yes”.
"Do you have to go back to the quarry, Vincent?”
He gifted her with a rare smile. “No. I believe there are those who might find my presence unsettling just now." He paused, as if reluctant to say what was in his mind. "Catherine, is it possible that you could stay a while?”
She nodded. The joy that flowed through her was headier than any champagne. "I can stay as long as you want me to. I’ve missed you so much.”
“I know.” He stepped away from her to lean one shoulder against the tunnel wall. “I’m sorry if my absence distressed you, Catherine. I thought it would be less painful than if we were to meet only to find a greater absence.”
“I don’t understand.”
"Our bond, our connection. It seemed lost to me, If I came to you and found I had only my eyes and ears to tell me what was in your heart, the loss would be terrifying.”
“For me, too, But it isn’t lost, Vincent. Why else would you have come to me in Father’s chamber? You knew I was upset, and you came.”
“Yes.”
It was unnecessary to tell him this: he already knew, but he still seemed to be turning the fact over in his mind, like an interesting sub-stance whose properties defied identification. "Was that the first time you felt what I was feeling since - since we last saw each other?" She chose the words carefully, tying to find a safe path through the minefield of his thoughts.
"I don’t know. There were times, brief moments when I thought you were troubled or that you were reaching out to me in some small way, looking for me.” He sighed and repeated. "I don’t know.”
She remembered the numbness she’d tried to pull around herself like a protective blanket, the occasional flashes of worry and indecision that had pushed their way through it, and her frantic search for some sign from him. “Was there anything else?”
“Once. On Sunday for a moment I thought --" He dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand.
Sunday, the day when she hadn’t had work to distract her, had fought back every memory that threatened to engulf her except - except for that moment with Jenny when her thoughts had drifted loose, freed by the foolish effects of the wine. “I think you knew exactly what I was feeling, Vincent. Why would you doubt that?”
He didn’t answer. His position against the wall appeared relaxed, yet even at rest, his body exuded a magnetism that reached out across the tunnel floor to where she stood. It was an aura of tremendous power and virility, but the eyes he turned on her now were as vulnerable as a child’s. “That night, Catherine, I could not trust those feelings. They were so intense. so overpowering that it was impossible to imagine. . ." He shook his head unwilling to go on.
“To imagine that I shared them? You should have trusted those feelings,” she said softly. “They were mine, as well as yours. You must know that by now. He didn’t speak. She crossed the tunnel and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Our bond was never more complete,” she said against his heart.
Slowly, his arms came around her, and he pulled her closer, his head bent close to hers. "That knowledge, Catherine, however miraculous, however precious, leads to other mysteries, other dangers.”
“We can face those dangers together. I'm not afraid." She poised for his reply, expecting a litany of his doubts to follow, but he raised his head and was silent.
"What are you thinking. Vlncent she asked gently.
“What can I think? My mind is consumed by one thought, one truth. It has no room for any other."
“Tell me what it is.” She knew her eyes had widened, imploring him to end her suspense, yet betraying the fear she felt about what he might say.
He looked into them for a long time, then drew her head to his with one huge hand and bent his mouth to her ear. “I love you, Catherine,” he whispered.
She thought the words had never truly been spoken before, never with such soft resonance. The passion with which he infused each word spoke only to her, to their bond, and she trembled as they found their way to her heart. She didn’t speak, wanting the sweet sound to echo forever, undisturbed.
The noise of footsteps in the adjoining tunnels, voices drifting from nearby chambers reminded them that they were still in a public place. Reluctantly, she stepped back till his hands rested lightly at her waist.
“Where shall we go?" he asked her.
"I don't know. Your chamber?”
"No." He had dropped his gaze to the crystal she wore, but he looked at her now, and there was nothing childlike in the deep-set eyes. “Not yet.”
Her breath caught in her throat. The intensity of that look, an inflection in his voice. Could it be that something there had taken on a new connotation for him as well? Was she reading too much into the simple words? Were they meant to tell her that the time was near or merely a promise that it would come?
She struggled to regain her power of speech, aware that she was swaying towards him again, drawn by that look and the infinitely seductive spell of his voice. “I know a place we could go. The pond where the children swim.”
“The Mirror Pool?”
“No, the shallow one where I went last week. It would be interesting to see if the rain comes in.”
"Then we’ll go there.” He took her hand and for one breath-stopping moment she thought he was going to kiss it, but he only held it, inviting her to walk beside him.
The sounds of the common tunnels faded behind them, as they wound their way through the shadows. Where passages came together, torches burned from their sconces on the rock. Sometimes the darkness was interrupted by a pale, grey stretch of stone where light filtered in through some crevice, who knew how far above.
“I felt your suffering,” he said at last, "In Father’s chamber. Tell me."
She thought a moment. “He was tying to help me, Vincent, to guide me on a search that I didn’t have the strength to make alone. Maybe looking for the truth is always painful.”
“Because you cannot select the truths you wish to discover. To find the beauty you must face the ugliness as well.”
“Yes, but the strange thing is that when you find the answers, it turns out they belong to different questions. Am I making any sense?”
“Of course, Catherine," he looked down on her solemnly. “You always make perfect sense."
How easily he could quell her doubts, make her feel that she was indeed wise, when she was afraid she might appear foolish. With one word, one benediction from those lucid eyes, she felt she could do anything, that anything was possible.
No squeals or sounds of splashing greeted them as they approached the domed cavern. At the entrance she saw that it was deserted, except for the last thing she had expected to find. Elation soared through her at the sight.
"Vincent, it’s sunshine!" she exclaimed, laughing.
The storm above had gone its way, leaving the chamber drenched in summer sunlight. The rocks glowed with its yellow warmth. It glittered on the ripples of the spring-fed pond.
They moved to the water’s edge and sat down in the brightest spot, surveying the uncanny brilliance of the place with a sense of wonder. She turned to watch his face. As his eyes adjusted to the unfamiliar flood of light, he looked up, reveling in the strangeness of the sensation, raising his magnificent head, accustomed to the shadows, to welcome the full brunt of the sun. She felt his joy multipying her own, grateful that he could have this moment and that she was there to share it.
He looked at her then, turning his full attention to a study of her face. She felt no self-consciousness, no fear that what he found there wouldn’t please him, lost as she was in the rapture of seeing him fully in the sunlight.
His beauty overwhelmed her every line, every color, uniquely designed by nature to some secret specification, hidden deep In her heart. His eyes, clear and blue as the sun splashed pond, held everything she could ever hope to know or want.
“The radiance, Catherine. Your radiance. . ."
She felt radiant and longed to tell him that it came from him, to show him that its light was theirs together. There was a fleeting impression that this had happened before in some half remembered dream. The circle turned. Patterns shifted. Pieces of dreams rearranged, and as he moved towards her, they slid into a perfection that was absolutely real.