The Apple and the Thorn
Page 14
"I am frightened by love, Vivi," I say. “It has been such a long time.”
"As am I, dear one," she answers. A tear falls down her cheek, but her body is calm.
Across the meadow the dancing circles twist and weave together. Slowly at first, then with more enthusiasm, couples begin to disentangle themselves from the group and drift away toward the trees.
I brush her hair with my hand. "There will be many young folk in the woods tonight," I say. Then, sighing, "But I fear I am too old to spend the night on the ground." She laughs, and it warms my heart.
"Eosaidh, dear Eosaidh," she whispers.
"Come," I say, rising and helping her to her feet. "I have mead in my roundhouse, and some barley bread. And it will be quieter there than in the woods tonight."
Like two grandparents leaving a family party, we walk quietly through a patch of woods to the base of Wirrheal, part the door covering, and enter my small hut. An oil lamp hanging from a roof pole gives a little light. I go about lighting a small fire for warmth. Vivian draws her cloak about her, and sits on a low stool, watching me closely the whole time. I sneak glances at her from the corners of my eyes. The fire started, I slice some barley bread on the small table, pour two cups of mead, and hand one to her. Sitting on a corner of my cot, I look at her closely for the first time since we entered.
"You look so young tonight, Vivi," I say quietly.
She smiles. "It is not real, Eos. Yet nor is it glamoury. It is the magic of the rite. But it does not make this body feel young, nor does it return skills long unused and nearly forgotten." She looks down into her cup.
I set my cup on the table, and move to kneel before her. "I have not lain with a woman since last I set foot on this island," I say. Her eyes widen for a moment, and then soften, as she places her hand over mine on her knee.
She looks down at me softly. "Twenty-five cycles have passed since we were together last. I was too old to bear children even then." She lifts a hand and touches my face, smoothing the lines of my skin. "Eos, what are we doing?"
"Vivian," I breathe, "I have always honored you with my mind. These last three months I have come to honor you with my heart. When it is time for us, if it is time, I shall honor you also with my whole being."
“Now is the time, Eosaidh.”
She is silent. For the first time, I find I can look deeply into her, and understand. She is calling for the strength and courage that she needs, and I realize she fears and cherishes this moment as much as I. As if in answer to her call, the space around us, within us, fills with a dark fluid energy, like the waters of the marshes. Not cold, but warm, and wet, and life giving. My people, like the druids, have always looked to the sun for warmth. For Vivi it is the dark dampness of the marsh that is life. I am immersed in it now, as I am immersed in her. It washes through me with a thrill that brings pleasure from within.
She draws my head towards her as she leans forward, our lips almost touching, but for an age of the earth we do not touch, and the power of the closeness is a flood of deep waters, as slowly we open to each other, soul touching soul in the extraordinary power of intimacy, before flesh touches flesh. In that closeness she holds my eyes in her gaze and the intensity is excruciating. With each movement of our eyes, each blink of an eyelid, each soft caress of breath upon tender skin, the sensuality is breathtaking. To touch would be to break the spell, or to invite annihilation.
When our lips do touch, it is nearly the latter, for she holds the power of my soul in the depths of her being. She calls forth to my spirit, as if I were pouring my life breath into her, sliding into her soul cup, a cup as black as a cauldron. Then, as the touch grows, the softness of our breath and our lips is given substance by the hunger of taste. She draws me closer, my arms pulling her to me, drawing her from the stool to the straw mat where I kneel. In our kiss we become one, like currents of the great ocean meeting, and swirling together, and blending into a single sea. And it goes on and on, as the ages of the world move past outside us, and we breathe from each other, and merge into a single being with two souls, touching from the inside out, even as our hands begin to search for the soft sensuality of the other's flesh.
As the first moment calms, we are lying together on the mat, the wall of the roundhouse rising above us as though it were the shaft of a living well through which we have passed into the waters of the deep earth. We hold each other's faces in the palms of our hands, lying side by side in the silence of the night. The next kiss begins even more gently, but when she opens to me a great hunger awakens and we seek to taste the depths of the other. In my loins I feel a stirring I have not felt in years, and that I had not thought ever to feel again. My hand slides down the length of her body, feeling her nearness, resting on her hip that is pressed so close to mine. "Vivi," I breathe, my eyes lost in hers, "Come to me." She nods, and kisses me softly on the cheek.
I help her to rise. It is not easy for either of us. We both struggle with the sorrow and the humor of age. But when we stand our embrace renews, bodies wrapped around one another, hands caressing. Our bodies melt against each other, becoming one. Suddenly a searing pain flashes through my limbs and I cry out! Vivian looks into my face, alarmed.
"It is all right, Vivi," I say to her. "I am all right. It is only," tears begin to flow down my cheeks, "It is only that I have felt what it feels like to be you."
I knew she bore the psychic pain of fear for her people. I did not know the awful physical pain that tears her body, the result of agelessness among the marshes. Answering tears come to her face. She kisses me gently as I fall into her being. It is as though I live through her, feel her pain, see our loving now through her eyes . . .
~~~
With each movement, the pain in my body breaks over me, yet with each breaking wave I find myself more open to him. There seems no reason to stop, no path left on the shore with which to retrace my steps, my soul now too close to the fires of his, and as his hand moves over my body, finding the hard bones and soft flesh, I feel him gathering me up and drawing me closer still, urging me in his whispers to come to his soul’s fire.
And with my fingers weak with wonder, I pull at the knots of his robe. He smiles with such tender care, putting his hand upon mine, and unties the knot, taking the robe from his shoulders and, at my silent bidding, after a moment of hesitation, he pulls his tunic over his head.
Vivi, he murmurs, though no longer in sound.
“I know,” I whisper and I breathe in the strength and the vulnerability that we share, letting my fingers move over the softness of his old skin, the thick tangle of white upon his chest, the marks of his age, browned by so many harsh summers. I look into his eyes, and unclasp the old bronze broach of my outer robe. Gently, he pushes it from my shoulders with hands that seem big enough to hold my entire body. Then he lifts my flaxen shift over my head. For a moment he searches my face with a fear, feeling the fragility of my body, and I am afraid. Perhaps I pull away for he whispers, “No . . . ”
“Eos, I am old and my body is . . . ”
“Vivi, I am sorry, I was shocked, you are so thin. But we both are old, and your body bears the beauty of the ages.”
I close my eyes, but his hands are upon my face and his lips touch mine with a thousand kisses like drops of rain, and as our eyes meet, he murmurs so softly, “I love you, Vivian.” And the words are like rainfall reaching into the depths of my soul. I reach to unlace his leggings, and then there is nothing between us. I have never said those words as Lady of Affalon.
"Eosaidh, Dear Eosaidh, I love you."
~~~
Knowing now how fragile she is, and her pain, I bend, reaching behind her shoulders and knees, and lift her in my arms. Then I kneel, gently settling her on the cot. For a moment I stand and drink in the sight of her. In the low firelight she smiles and holds her arms out to me. Gently, to keep from jostling her body, I lie beside her. We draw our arms around each other becoming one flesh, fingers exploring, lips caressing, spirits joining in c
elebration. She moves her hips to bring us closer. I gaze into her eyes, her lips on mine, as I dissolve into the depths of her being. Together we cry out in joy, spinning into the darkness of oblivion.
I awake to the sound of a soft rain, though the sun is already high in the eastern sky. I am alone, but the soft scent of Vivi lingers about me.
On the table is a branch of whitethorn. Scattered about its blossoms are a handful of dried apple petals from last month's blooming. In the center, a small dried fruit, which I must look closer to identify. Where had she gotten this? From Armenia in the east, perhaps traded through Gaul, a golden abricot, the sensuous fruit of love.
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