“I will not!”
His eyes flashed, and his face grew very red. Now it was he who looked from Lucie to Clara, much as Lucie herself had looked from Clara to Tomás; and he appeared no more pleased than she had been.
“You love her, Lucie?” he asked in a broken voice. “You love her – and not me?”
A round of whispering circled the room, amounting essentially to: “She loves whom?”
But no person present could be disparaged as being ignorant; and the true meaning of the situation dawned finally upon them all. They looked blankly at one another; wonderingly at Lucie and Clara; and pityingly at Tomás.
Tomás himself was standing very still and silent, in a corner of the room, a little apart from the rest. He stared down at the old shoes he had obviously taken some pains to shine, and the workings of his mind were invisible; but then his nostrils began to flare, and his brown face turned a livid white. He whirled around quite suddenly, with the eyes of an animal, and sprang towards Lucie, meaning very plainly to cause her some physical hurt. It took every man present to restrain him; and even then he managed to wrap his hands, for a single moment, round Lucie’s throat. He laughed loudly and maniacally. The sound, sometimes, was interspersed with shrill screams, the auditory manifestation of his emotional angst.
The men lost him again, and he and Lucie both fell to the floor, to grapple for a little with one another. But finally the rage cleared from his face, and his arms went slack. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head, and he fainted away. He fell directly on top of Lucie; and by the time he had been dragged away, and she had scrambled to her feet, everyone was quite out of breath, and so stood back for a moment to compose themselves. A hush fell over the room – and in it, it seemed that the beat of every heart could be heard.
28
Sylvie of the Stars
Lucie stayed for only a moment, after that. Her eyes met Clara’s for the briefest instant, but she saw nothing she recognized there. They were empty, and strange. Clara even took the extra measure, then, of turning her face away from Lucie; thereby closing the campaign, what seemed for good.
Lucie whirled around, pointed herself towards the exit, and hurtled towards it as if possessive of superhuman speed. Indeed, no one could catch her, though several did try, after shouting her name to no avail. But she was gone from them in a moment, and shooting like a torpedo through the door, and down the corridor. She looked desperately for a destination. The staircase, escape down which was of course her first thought, seemed terribly far away. So she turned her eyes from it; and they seemed immediately to light upon the metal door she had passed countless times, across whose surface was pasted the words “Acceso del Techo.”
Though Lucie ordinarily wouldn’t have known what a “techo” was, still the meaning of the phrase (especially given the fact that she was running along the topmost floor) was obvious. So she grabbed at the door handle, which turned unsurprisingly without resistance. In such a building as that, who could expect so much as to find the door to the roof safely locked?
She darted into the dark and tiny vestibule at the foot of the stairs, and closed the door softly behind her. She had been fast, very fast, and she knew that no one could have seen which direction she took. So she paused for a moment, breathing heavily with her back against the wall, and listened to the sound of several sets of heavy footsteps, thundering on down the hall. They made for the staircase, of course. She could hear, for a time, the sound of her name being called; but it faded completely away, as her search party issued out into the street.
Finally she turned from her hiding place, and started up the steep flight of steps. There were twenty-five in all. At the top, there was another metal door. Lucie turned the knob with half a prayer, and was extremely grateful to find that it also gave way.
After fastening the door in her wake, she stepped out into the deep square of the roof. On all sides it was surrounded by a four-foot ledge. She made for the one straight ahead, and peered over it, resting her shaking hands against the rough concrete.
Just before her was the hopelessness of the dirty street. When she turned her head to the right, she caught a glimpse of the small spark of relief that was the courtyard. She alternated her gaze repeatedly between these two sights, using the latter to cheer her somewhat, after the former had thoroughly depressed her. Finally she left the view of the street behind, and went to stand beside the ledge that towered over the courtyard. It was bathed, at this hour, in a thick silver glow, with all its flowers and vines shining like little moonbeams. She heard the strange calls of several birds who seemed to have forgotten to turn in for the night – and was chilled by the sound. She wanted to tell them to keep a special watch for prowling cats; but it seemed that, just as soon as she had heard their voices, they all flew away, across the glowing sky like a dark arrow.
Surely there was already some small bird down there amidst the grass, that had become the late supper of a lurking feline. Surely it lay there, dead and bleeding, torn every moment into smaller and smaller pieces by a set of sharp teeth. Possibly next morning Mrs. Vicente would see it; but surely she would pay it no mind, just as she never did. Lucie, however – even from her place high above the ground – felt that she could see it already. She spoke out to it, in the case that it maintained still a little hearing in its slow dissection, so that it might be comforted in its last moments by the sound of a voice which truly cared.
“I’m sorry for you,” she said. “I hope very much that the pain has gone. Probably it hasn’t. But, you know – sometimes I think I can feel, just what you’re feeling now. I’ve felt the pain.” She paused, and bit her lip. Then she added, “But no one ever looks at me, either.”
She said these last words almost exclusively to herself, feeling sure that their rankling self-pity could do a dying creature no good whatsoever. But upon hearing a small voice speak out behind her, she started, and turned around.
Before catching sight of the speaker, she spotted the door to the roof, standing open when she had left it shut. This discrepancy between what should have been, and what was, led her to search more thoroughly the shadowed places between herself and the door. It was then that she saw Clara.
Now, Clara had followed the others downstairs – but after having run for a little down the street, without seeing Lucie, she returned to the building and began her search anew. She went all the way back to the apartment, and then sallied forth once more. It was then that she saw the door to the roof, and realized where Lucie had gone. She altered her own course accordingly, without informing anyone of where she meant to go.
She spoke out now for the second time; but Lucie hardly heard what she said. Instead of answering, she merely turned away from the sound, and changed her place to the ledge over the street.
Her mind was crowded by a single image. She saw Clara, only Clara – standing unfeeling beside Tomás. She heard his laughter ringing in her ears, accompanied somehow by every laugh she had ever heard uttered at her own expense (the collection of which was no small thing). She clapped her hands over her ears, but it did no good; for the voices came from inside.
But it was perhaps worse than anything else, because it so harshly contradicted what she considered just. In every story she had ever read – in every dream she had ever dreamt – it went only one way.
One person loved another. Many times, those two people were separated by all manner of obstacles and stumbling blocks – but they always found a way, even if only after a considerable period of time, to overcome them. After this point, the two people were unquestionably faithful, loyal and true to one another, till all persecutors were removed, or till one or both of them were dead.
But here – here was something else. If Lucie closed her eyes, she could see very clearly the moment that everything changed. It was the very night before, in the hours after she fled the motel. After she left the tension and worry of the kitchen, and repaired for the remainder of the darkling hours to Clara’s room. A wall had come dow
n, sometime in the night. Clara became something different, sometime in the night – and so did Lucie. That was supposed to be the turning point. That was the bend they were supposed to have rounded, past which everything would seem changed. Nothing should have been so hard, after that. Nothing should have made a difference.
But here Lucie stood, on the other side of the bend, looking longingly back the way she had come. She wished she had never come so far. She wished she could turn around, and walk back home. She wished her heart was still her own – for Clara had betrayed her.
She dwelt on this, until she thought that she would burst. After a little the pressure became so great, that her mind changed its own direction, to avoid spinning out of control. There came other thoughts, then, which shoved Clara effectually away. They were of a shadow, merely a shadow, which reached out to her with a dark little hand. She stretched her own arm towards it, and drew nearer to the edge of the roof.
When she looked back, however, Clara was just behind her. “Get away!” she screamed. “Get away from me!”
“Lucie, please –”
“Get away, Clara, or I’ll jump.”
These words were spoken very calmly, and very quietly; but they struck fear into the heart of their hearer. Clara took several steps back, and let her hands fall to her sides.
But then a sort of dreamy look spread across Lucie’s face, and she was whisked directly out of the moment. She could no longer see Clara to her left. There was only a shadow, that little shadow, away to the right. She looked towards it yearningly.
“Will you take me with you?” she asked, in a voice tinged with desperation. She put out her hand, and felt it brush the murky fingertips. “Will you take me with you, this time?”
There came a shift in the clouds overhead, and the moon opened one of its bright shafts upon the roof, to bathe the scene in a perfect wash of crystalline light. The shadow disappeared, and quite suddenly, Lucie found that little Sylvie was standing beside her. A very little girl, reminiscent of a fairy, with fine golden hair all round her head, and eyes of cerulean. Her smile was that of an angel.
Lucie felt herself dropping, dropping down in height, till she stood level with Sylvie, and could look into her eyes. Her years began to fall away, till only eight remained. She stood on a roof in Mexico, all alone with her sister, who had died twenty years ago. She was no longer a woman, but a child again. She liked it much better that way.
“Why have you never come?” she asked Sylvie. Her voice was very tinny, and very high, and very little.
Sylvie only continued to smile, and reached out to take Lucie’s hand. This time, there was neither murk nor shadow; but flesh and bone, with blood running beneath.
“You’ve grown too big,” she answered. “You couldn’t see me anymore.”
“Not so big,” Lucie said, frowning as she looked down at herself.
“Bigger than you think.”
“Why are you here now?”
Sylvie pressed her hand, and said, “Because this is the end.”
“The end? Of what?”
“The end of together,” Sylvie answered.
“No!”
“Yes.”
“But – but won’t you be lonely?”
“Oh, no!”
Sylvie turned her face towards the sky, and pointed into it. “I have Mommy,” she said. “And Daddy. We’re all together in heaven.”
“Will I come there someday?”
“Of course you will. In a long, long time – many years from now.”
“Not too many?”
Sylvie smiled more sadly, and replied, “As many as there should be.”
“But I’m all alone.”
“No, you’re not.”
Lucie began to sob. “I only have Robert,” she said. “And he’s worse than nothing.”
“No,” said Sylvie. “Not just Robert.”
“I have no one, after you leave me.”
Sylvie grinned, and pointed back over Lucie’s shoulder. “You have her,” she said. “She loves you just as much as I do.”
“Who does?”
“Clara does, you silly goose!”
The two girls ran forward, then, and embraced each other tightly. They kissed, and rubbed noses as they used to do, before they pulled apart.
“It will be all right,” Sylvie said. “I’ll wait for you.”
“You will?”
“Forever and ever.” She paused, and then added: “But don’t be in a hurry. You’re going to like it here, from now on.”
“I’ll miss you, Sylvie.”
“I’ll miss you, Lucie! I love you very much.” She turned her head again, as if she heard someone calling to her. “Mommy says it’s time to come back,” she told her sister. “She says she loves you. Daddy, too.”
Lucie stared wonderingly up into the sky, half-expecting to see her parents’ faces there. But there was only the moon, and the stars.
“Goodbye for now, Lucie,” Sylvie said. “Kiss Robert for me!”
She began to skip away; and as she went, she ascended slowly up into the sky, her little feet pattering soundlessly through the air. She looked back once, smiled and waved. But then she turned away again, and cried, “I’m coming, Mommy!”
Lucie watched her depart, till her little shimmering form disappeared into the clouds. Then, all in an instant, she felt herself shooting up like a weed, till she stood high again above the ledge of the roof. She blinked several times, feeling dazed.
She heard a voice cry her name. She whirled about, and saw Clara there, just beside her.
“Lucie! Lucie, are you all right?”
Lucie merely frowned, and looked back to the place where Sylvie had stood. “Did you see that?” she asked.
“Did I see – did I see what?”
“Never mind.”
She looked for a moment up into the sky, feeling implicitly content. Somehow she and Clara came to sit beside one another, on a dirty little skylight that jutted up into the center of the roof. Lucie took her hand, as together they shifted their eyes to the stars. And Lucie found that every last bit of her anger had dissipated.
Clara looked down at Lucie’s hand in her own, as if she couldn’t believe it. “Don’t you – don’t you hate me?” she whispered.
“Of course I don’t,” Lucie answered simply, without turning her eyes from the bright sky. “I love you.”
Clara seemed to choke, then, and a stream of tears flowed from her eyes, as she brushed her fingertips against the dark marks that Tomás’s clutching hands had made on Lucie’s throat. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I can’t – I wouldn’t have believed he’d do something like that.”
“It’s not his fault,” Lucie told her. “He loves you – just as much as I do.”
Clara nodded wretchedly. “I know he loves me. But I can’t love him back.” She turned her face towards Lucie’s, and was such a perfect image of dejection, that Lucie felt her heart break.
“It’s all right,” Lucie said. “You don’t have to say anything.”
“I do,” Clara insisted. She fell down to her knees beside the skylight, and buried her face in Lucie’s lap. “I have to say it, because I want you to hear it. I don’t want you to doubt me. I love you too much.”
“I know you do.”
Together, they sighed wearily. Lucie pulled Clara back up to sit beside her, and they leaned against one another. They fell asleep with their eyes on the moon, and woke half an hour later, to trudge back across the roof, and descend the dark staircase with their arms around each other.
29
The Fallout
Once inside the apartment, they discovered that Tomás had disappeared. Clara, however, knew nothing at all as to what had become of him. Earlier, after Lucie fled, she sprang immediately into action, and left a half-conscious and bereaved Tomás to the care of those remaining (and after taking into consideration the individuals who had flown off to search for Lucie, these included only old Mateo, who couldn’
t run; Mrs. Vicente, who was unspeakably horrified by the whole proceeding; and young Maríbel, who was fully capable of running if she wished, but who hadn’t thought it worth her time and effort to chase after Lucie, who she deemed had grossly offended her family’s honor).
Presently, Lucie and Clara wandered into the darkened parlor, where Alejandra and Cristina were sitting up alone. Mr. and Mrs. Vicente, wearied and baffled by the events of the evening, had gone to bed. Maríbel, seemingly more upset than anyone else at the failed match between Clara and Tomás (the latter of whom she had always very deeply admired, and secretly wished could be her own, although she knew very well that she was far as far could be from the divinity of form which was her sister’s – and which men always seem to value so highly, so that she became all but despondent when she thought of how it could have been so very different, if only nature had chosen to bestow upon herself, those fine and unsolicited gifts which it given to Clara and Alejandra) – we say, Maríbel had run off into the sewing-room, half-mad with confusion, and needing very desperately to occupy her mind and hands with some sort of work.
Alejandra announced that Tomás had been escorted out some time ago, reeling like a drunken man, with César and Eduardo to help him home. It seemed that she and Cristina were only waiting for the latter two to return; but when Lucie and Clara arrived, they both observed somewhat uncomfortably how very late the night had become, and rose up out of their seats. They weren’t able to look either Lucie or Clara directly in the face; and they passed together out of the apartment, on the pretext of its being exceedingly stuffy, and their needing a good dose of fresh air (which rather contradicted their observation of its being so late).
Lucie and Clara stared after them for a moment, but soon afterwards made their own way to bed, with their spirits thoroughly sunk. Lucie stopped off in the brothers’ room to retrieve her pain pills; took three of them, against Clara’s advice; and fell quickly into a sound doze.
~
Next morning, the entire household rose early, and met as if by some unspoken arrangement in the kitchen for breakfast. The meal, for Lucie, was very awkward; and she became quickly aware of the fact that she must leave. There was no place for her there, with so many hearts turned against her – though she couldn’t say truthfully that she had been shown any outright resentment or hostility. But what could they be feeling? Nothing good, that was for certain. And did Lucie understand? She thought she could.
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