LIGHT OF DAY

by Ruth Wind

  "And see how well you are doing?"

  "Am I?"

  "You are the sanest, most grounded woman I've ever met."

  "Bleh." Lila wrinkled her nose. "Couldn't I be mysterious or sexy, instead? Who wants to be sane?"

  "Everyone does. If everyone was as sane as you are, Lila, there would never be another war."

  "Thank you. I'll accept the compliment in the spirit it was intended, then." She grinned at him. "I guess." Seeing where they were, she pointed to a small road leading from the highway down to the sea. "Here's our turn."

  He navigated it easily, guiding the big car over the rutted road with care. At the edge of the beach, the road simply died. "This is good," Lila said.

  "I'm very glad to hear it. I had thought we might be driving to the Orient. I know you are fond of this car, but it isn't able to drive long distances over the water."

  She slapped his arm. "Come on."

  As they walked to the cave, Lila said, "I'd like to travel in Europe. I envy you that experience."

  "Americans all long to travel to Europe. I've never understood it."

  "That's a sweeping generalization, Mr. Bashir." She laughed. "I don't think I've ever met anyone as quietly elitist as you are."

  He stopped. "You keep saying that. Am I really?"

  "Yes." She stopped, her tennis shoes digging into the soft, wet sand. She'd spoken without thinking, but now saw the pensive look on his intelligent brow. "It's part of you, Samuel. I would never change it."

  "All the same, I have spent my time trying to overcome such things." He looked toward the water. In profile his forehead seemed broader, his nose more hawkish, his chin sterner. And this troubled him, that she teased him about something he didn't like.

  Lila tipped forward on her toes, leaning her weight on his arm. "It's also very important to avoid taking oneself too seriously," she said in a whisper.

  He glanced at her, his lips curled in a rueful grin. "You are an elf."

  "Leprechaun, remember?" she responded, and brushed her hair back from the tips of her pointed ears. "See?"

  He chuckled. "So I am enchanted—is that it?"

  "No one can resist both marzipan and leprechaun magic." She shot him a look from beneath half-lowered lids. "You thought I was only kidding, didn't you?"

  "Never," he said, and caught her to him, sweeping her into his arms in an embrace. Lila laughed. "Put me down, you brute," she cried. When he released her, she saw the love shining clearly in his black eyes.

  Her heart was suddenly so overwhelmingly full that it threatened to burst. She turned and ran with the power of it, her throat full, her chest burning, her heart thudding. She ran from the knowledge that he had to leave her, that she had to go on somehow without him, that after these days at the cabin were finished, she might not ever, ever see him again.

  Not as long as she lived.

  At the edge of the huge and eternal sea, she stopped, breathing in short, hard gasps, trying to hold back the tears. She looked at the undulating gray waves, moving in the same manner they had for as long as the earth had been alive, longer than any human could imagine. It comforted her to know it would still be moving long after her great-great-grandchildren had gone to their rewards.

  The mist fell lightly on her cheeks, salty as her tears. For an instant she bowed her head and prayed with all the force she owned, prayed in a mingling of languages.

  For in that moment she knew that if God was kind, she didn't have to go away completely empty. She could take with her more than memories. She could take a child.

  She turned to see Samuel standing where she had left him, his hands thrust in his pockets, the wind whipping his hair over his forehead. His face was as stony as the cliffs surrounding them.

  With a sudden sense of resolve, she knew that they couldn't waste these precious hours in mourning. Whatever bits of time they were granted would have to last.

  She walked back to him. "Forget the cave," she said. "I have a better idea." Lacing her fingers through his, she led him back to the car. Lila started the engine and left the door open. The Vivaldi recording in the tape player swirled out into the air, light flutes and strings underscored by the pounding sea.

  Lila held out a hand to Samuel. "Would you like to dance?"

  "Yes, I would. Very much."

  Gracefully he gathered her into his arms, looking steadily into her eyes as they waltzed in the wet sand. He danced the way he made love, with passion and tenderness and spirit, communicating with hands and eyes the most subtle messages, tenderly making up for Lila's awkwardness. In his lashes and his hair, mist clung in tiny, diamond drops. She could not take her eyes from him.

  "You are the most passionate, beautifully intriguing woman I have ever had the good fortune to meet," he said, leading her in a turn, his eyes glittering with laughter. "And if I am enchanted, I hope the spell remains forever."

  "Leprechauns are very powerful," Lila murmured. She met his lips with passion, her heart swelling once again in unbearable fullness. "I love you," she whispered.

  He pressed her face into his shoulder, and their dance slowed. Around them the sea pounded, violins soared and seagulls squawked. Into the shoulder of his jacket, smelling of tobacco and cologne, Lila wept.

  When they returned to the cabin, Samuel sent her upstairs to rest. She protested vigorously, but he said that he had a surprise, one that would take a little time to prepare.

  So Lila climbed the stairs, dragging quilts with her, and surprised herself by sleeping until past dark.

  During her nap, rain had begun to fall in earnest again, and she decided that had been what awakened her. That and the heavy body of Arrow, lying across her feet. One of her ankles was turned at an uncomfortable angle beneath the dog. With a grimace she tugged it free. "Good grief, Arrow. You're not a puppy, you know." He looked at her a moment with one yellow eye, then fell back asleep.

  She stretched and dressed. "Samuel, can I come down now?"

  He appeared at the foot of the stairs. "Ah, you're awake." He gestured, a smile creasing his face. "Please."

  At the scene that greeted her downstairs, Lila sighed. "Oh, Samuel." The table was set with a length of dark green fabric, overlaid with a gauzy bit of white. Candles glowed from every corner of the room, dancing on windowsills and counters and the head of the bed. Near the stove was the galvanized tub, filled with water that visibly steamed. A scent of herbs thickened the moist air of the room, and Lila breathed deeply. "It smells heavenly."

  "It will taste heavenly, too, mademoiselle. You are not the only one who is able to move about in a kitchen." He lifted a rakish eyebrow, and his hair fell contrarily on his forehead as he gestured her to her seat. Lila smiled and sat.

  "Wine?" he asked.

  "Of course."

  He stepped outside and brought in a small box lined with plastic, out of which he produced tulip glasses and a bottle of the local vintage. The glass of the bottle immediately showed condensation.

  "Did you go to town while I slept?"

  "Yes." He poured the wine with a flourish, and glass aloft, said, "To your health." He tasted it and sighed in satisfaction. "I'm getting used to this. I think I rather like it."

  With the same exaggerated flourish, he served their meal, an elegant braised chicken with herbs, and a side dish of broiled mushrooms on toast. From the oven he took a long loaf of crusty bread.

  "Samuel," Lila said, "this is wonderful. Thank you."

  They ate with relish, both of them, and drank freely, for Samuel had several bottles of wine in the tub he left outside in the cold rain. After the meal, he made coffee with a hint of cinnamon and served a bread pudding, heavy with raisins.

  Stuffed, Lila sank back against the wall, her feet out in front of her. With a smile she glanced at him, his sleeves rolled up on his elbows, his face and body relaxed. "You're hired," she said.

  He met her grin with one of his own. "Head chef, I assume?" He patted his pocket for cigarettes, and finding it empty, sippe
d his wine instead. "You know, Gerald at The Shell and Fin was one of the finer chefs I've met. I was very impressed with him."

  "He was trained in New Orleans," Lila said. "It doesn't get any better than that."

  "I hope he's been able to find other work. Pity that lovely place was a victim of all this. I liked it."

  "So did I," she said a little sadly. "It's strange to imagine Seattle without it." Spying his cigarettes and lighter on the counter near her shoulder, Lila grabbed them and handed them to Samuel. "Looking for these?"

  "Ah, thank you."

  Watching him perform his ritual, she asked, "Do you care about the restaurants, Samuel? Or are they just a front?"

  "Originally I saw them only as a means to an end," he admitted. "But I learned to understand them, to see what part they play in people's lives." He glanced at his cigarette. "I like restaurant work, oddly enough."

  "So do I. It's just too grueling for me." She turned her glass on the cloth. "Too bad, though. I think I'm good at the kind of work I was doing at The Shell and Fin. I like the people. I enjoy seeing all the pieces fit together." She grinned. "And it's always a crisis, one right after another. I get a high on that feeling, when you know it's all going to fall apart any second, and then, somehow, the team pulls it off."

  "Yes." His voice was warm. "When there are dozens of people waiting at the door and the chefs are swearing, but the work is beautiful, anyway, and the waiters rush in, then become so calm on the floor…"

  "Exactly. It's like a dance."

  He stubbed out his cigarette and leaned forward, pouring them both another glass of wine. "If you could do anything, anywhere you liked, what would it be?"

  Lila widened her eyes. "I have no idea," she said after a moment. "I mean no serious idea. I'd like to ride a train in Europe, and a camel in the desert. I'd like to climb mountains in Peru, maybe even Tibet." She shook her head. "I don't know, I guess."

  "You don't really want those things, Lila."

  "Oh?" She raised her eyebrows. "Well, tell me what I do want, then."

  He gestured around the cabin. "This is who you are. These handmade quilts and the quiet, your face free of makeup and your energy springing into a hundred projects." On the surface of his eyes, a dozen candle flames flickered. "I liked the gypsy I first met. I like your motorcycle and your pillows, but those are not really the real you."

  "See what an arrogant man you are? You've known me a few weeks, and you're going to tell me who I really am?" But his observations made her vaguely uncomfortable. Somehow they struck a chord that had been ringing quietly within her for a long time.

  "Ah," he said with amusement, "now I have offended you again."

  "Now I'm not only sane, but I'm simple, too," she said dryly, lifting her glass. "Not exactly the exciting image I've built for myself."

  He took her hand across the table. "But don't you see, Lila? That one in Seattle, she was a girl. The one I see now, in front of me, is a woman—a very passionate, beautiful woman."

  She swallowed, looking away from his direct gaze. "While you were deciding who I was, did you spend any time sorting out yourself?" Her voice was constrained, for the picture he presented to her of herself seemed as dull as a dime-store sofa-throw.

  He stood and rounded the table, tugging Lila to her feet. "I know all that I need to know about myself. I know that I love you—and that I cannot waste a moment of my time with you."

  He kissed her then, deeply, and began very slowly to undress her. He unbuttoned her blouse and pushed it from her shoulders, then followed suit with her jeans, sliding them off her hips. When Lila would have returned the favor, he stopped her, smiling. "We are not finished with your evening," he said. "Over here."

  Lila stepped into the hot water he'd prepared in the tub. When she realized he meant to bathe her, she sat up. "No, Samuel, I can't—"

  "Shh." He pressed his fingers to her lips, lifting a sponge to wash her back. The water was hot, his hands gentle, and Lila allowed herself to be persuaded. He lazily soaped her arms and shoulders and breasts, her feet and knees and belly. A fine sheen of perspiration glowed on his brow, and he shed his shirt midway through. By then it was impossible for her to ignore the lure of his sensual movements, and she unbuttoned his trousers, pushing them away, then tugged him into the tub with her. Water splashed on the floor.

  "Are you aiming to show me the devastating talents of a Frenchman?" she asked, running wet hands over his shoulders.

  "No, ma chérie," he said against her mouth, "not even a Frenchman can equal my talents."

  She laughed throatily, moving her legs against his. "And not even you can equal a gal from Oklahoma."

  "But I have the lore of the ancient Arabians at my fingertips," he countered.

  "And I have the passionate Italians in my corner." She splashed him lightly. "And don't forget the leprechauns."

  He laughed, and Lila took pleasure in the freedom of the sound. "I'm afraid I cannot top that."

  "Go ahead," Lila said, unable to cap a giggle. "Try."

  "I suppose," he said, his breath whispering seductively over her lips, "that a man is always obligated to try."

  Later he rose from her bed, where the teasing had led them, to fill their glasses and extinguish the candles. One by one he blew them out, and the cabin grew slowly darker, until only the light of the fire, shining orange through the open door of the stove, lighted the room.

  Giving her the glass, he settled himself next to her soft body. "Lila, I want to tell you about what is happening."

  She was instantly alert. He felt the small muscles in her legs tighten. "All right," she said.

  He took a breath and explained The Organization, about its world ties and its aim of world peace. He told her about his place in it and that he had been planning to leave it. "But now I must finish this last thing."

  "Your brother," Lila said.

  "Yes. My brother." He paused. "He is not the man The Organization wants to believe he is. He is only lost and weak, and I must do what I can to see that he isn't harmed."

  "I understand, Samuel." She looked at him solemnly. "I have brothers of my own. I would give my own life to save them."

  It was not an idle boast. A little pause fell between them. Then Lila said, "You have to leave, don't you? When you went to town, you called and they told you it was time."

  He touched the downy flesh of her cheek. "Yes."

  "When?"

  "Tomorrow."

  She took a long breath. "When it's done, Samuel, will you find me?"

  And in that second, as he held her close and smelled the sweet, womanly scent of her, he offered her a promise he could not be certain he would keep. "Yes, Lila. I will find you."

  She touched his face. "Make love to me again," she said urgently. "Please, Samuel."

  And he did, finding succor and healing in her arms and lips and breasts, in her tiny whimpering cries. They joined in the deep silence of the dark night, their souls mingling, hearts joining.

  In the midst of it, when they were as closely joined as it was possible for them to be, he took her face in his hands. "Never doubt, Lila, that I have loved you," he whispered, and kissed the sweetness of her lips. "That I will always love you."

  She pulled him to her, and he felt her tears on his shoulder. He drove himself deep within her, wishing they would always be thus joined, that a parting would never cleave them.

  And knew that the dawn would bring sorrow as surely as the night gave them joy.

  * * *

  Chapter 11

  « ^ »

  The fog hung in the air the next morning, so deep and thick that the light in the cabin was as gloomy as dusk. As Samuel gathered his things together, Lila cooked breakfast and brewed a thermos of coffee for him to take on his journey.

  The early hour reminded her of the ranch, for her parents had always awakened before dawn. As a child she had been comforted by the sound of their murmuring voices in the kitchen and the faint gleam of light reflecte
d up the stairs. Her mother hated to see anyone start the day without a solid breakfast. In spite of her numbness, Lila smiled faintly at her own need to send Samuel off with food in his belly, fortifying him against whatever the world had to offer.

  When he came downstairs, suitcase in hand, he was freshly shaved, and his hair was brushed neatly away from his face. At the sight of the food piled on the table, he smiled, but it was a hollow expression, one that did not reach his eyes.

  As they ate, they spoke in hushed tones about the weather and the way Arrow's coat was molting, about brown eggs versus white and thick slices of bread for French toast versus thin. Inconsequential things, but Lila knew she would always remember every word he had spoken this morning in his lilting voice.

  He didn't linger for a cigarette or a second cup of coffee. "Thank you for breakfast," he said, and stood up to put on his coat.

  Lila bit her lip hard at the sudden plummet of her stomach. A fine trembling ran through her arms and legs as she stood up, a weakness she ignored as she opened the door for him.

  They walked out to the finned Mercedes in the heavy fog, and Lila shivered as the damp mist encircled them. It shrouded the trees overhead and blanketed the air with a profound stillness, one Lila was unable to break, for her throat was bound tight with sorrow.

  Samuel tossed his bag onto the front seat, then turned back to her. His hair, grown a little shaggy with the long days without a cut, fell down on his forehead, and with the gesture that had become so heartbreakingly familiar, he brushed it patiently away. Silence, filled with more words that neither of them could bear to utter, roared between them.

  As she looked into his liquid eyes, letting her gaze wash over the beloved face, she wondered how she could ever have thought it was dangerous. She lifted a hand to his cheek, engraved with long lines around his wide, good mouth. "God, Samuel, I love you," she whispered. Her vision blurred but not a single tear spilled over. "Can't we just go away somewhere, someplace where no one will ever know who we are?"