Light of Day

by Barbara Samuel

  Lila had dried out somewhat and had changed into a pair of sweatpants and a clean shirt. Now she stood up with some difficulty to fix their bowls.

  Samuel shook his head. “Sit down. I will get it.” Ladling the fragrant soup into wooden bowls, he said, “Your back is not well?”

  “I’m all right.” She shrugged. “The cold and damp aggravate it.” But her blithe assurance was at best a half truth, for she knew by morning she’d be lucky to be walking. A hot bath and some exercises might help turn away a really bad episode, but the sheer work involved in such a process at the cabin was more than she could contemplate. Her back ached at the very thought of hauling buckets of water to the stove, water that would have to be drawn outside at the pump in the rain. Nor did she wish to ask Samuel for his help. She had already embarrassed herself once today. Once was enough.

  Instead, she opened a bottle of wine. It sometimes helped to relax the recalcitrant muscles. She poured herself a tumbler and offered a glass to Samuel, who refused.

  “I like your Einstein,” she commented as they ate their supper. “There’s a lot more to him than I knew.”

  “What do you like?”

  “A lot of things. I mean we all know his work was partly responsible for the atom bomb, and that he developed the theory of relativity—” she widened her eyes “—a theory I certainly will never comprehend. But I didn’t know that he liked silly jokes or that he played violin or that he was such a passionate humanitarian.”

  Samuel nodded, breaking a bit of crusty bread in his fingers. “There’s a story in the Agada about why God created only one Adam. He did this to show us that one man in himself is an entire universe, and to destroy one human being is like destroying all of humanity.” He paused. “He also wanted us all to know that we all came from the same place, the same man, so that we wouldn’t boast of being descended from a greater Adam than someone else.” Lifting a finger and an eyebrow, he added, “It always seemed to me that Einstein knew well that thought. It comes through in everything he wrote.”

  “Hmm,” she said, nodding. “I like that story.”

  “It was one of my grandfather’s favorites,” Samuel replied, a glint in his eye. “Of course you like it. There’s more to it, really, but those are the parts I always remember.”

  A little quiet fell. Lila listened to the rain outside and the fire within, their patterns oddly similar. “I think I’m going to do some more reading about scientists,” she said. “I’ve never studied that kind of biography, but I find myself feeling very curious now.” She paused. “What drew you to science, Samuel? What made you want to devote so much hard work to it, besides Einstein?”

  “Einstein came later, after I’d already fallen in love with science.” His brow furrowed in the manner she’d grown accustomed to. It meant he was gathering his thoughts, focusing them. “When my grandfather and I walked in the fields, looking at the vines, I was amazed this energy came from the sun with enough power to transform flowers into these plump grapes. It seemed magnificent that light could make a grape that I could feel and touch and taste.” He smiled. “I drove my grandfather crazy with my questions, and he found a man who could answer them for me. And the more I understood, the more questions I had.” He pursed his lips and shrugged, but the glitter remained in his eyes, a glitter of wonder. “It still amazes me, even today.”

  “But you gave it up.”

  He gestured as if throwing the idea over his shoulder. “I will never add anything to the body of knowledge already existing, so I turned my talents in another direction.” He shook out a cigarette and lit it, blowing the smoke out with the sharpness he used on the first bit of a cigarette. “A mistake, as well, as it turns out.”

  “Why don’t you go back to your studies of light, then?”

  “Perhaps.” He shrugged. “But I have duties to meet first.”

  “You and your duty,” she said, but without rancor. She watched him for a moment, watched the lines tighten around his mouth. “It isn’t just government stuff, though, is it, Samuel? There’s something personal in your fight.”

  He nodded soberly, his black eyes meeting hers. “My brother.”

  “You have a brother?”

  An amused light touched his face. “Yes. Three years older than I. His name is Mustapha.”

  “Can you tell me about him?”

  “Mustapha…” He pursed his lips. “He is a troubled man but not a bad one, I think. He is in grave danger, and I must help him if I can.”

  Even if I must die. The words hung unspoken but definite in the air. With a lightness she did not feel, she said, “And I thought I’d come to know you a little bit.”

  He touched her hand across the table. “Never doubt it.”

  She looked at his hand, at the long brown fingers and lean strength of his palm. “It’s hard to think of this being over,” she said quietly.

  “I know.” He stroked her fingers meditatively, then with a shake of his head released them.

  For a moment Lila stared into the pale rosé wine in her glass, watching the fire play through it. “It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “The wine?” he asked with a smile.

  “Light.”

  “It’s like dancing. You can never really hold it or understand it, only wonder over it.”

  “You should find a way to put that wonder back in your life.”

  “I have,” he said quietly. As if he could no longer resist, he crossed the small space between them and stood before her, reaching out with one hand to cup her cheek. “And I will always have you to thank for it.”

  She turned her face to press a kiss to his palm. “I’m glad.”

  Arrow, who had been peacefully sleeping in his favorite spot behind the stove, trotted out at that moment. His yawn crossed with a moan, and he headed straight for the door, looking back to the humans with pleading.

  Samuel dropped his hand and went to open the door. When Arrow had gone out, he said, “I think I will go upstairs and read. Do you mind if I take the lamp?”

  “No, please do.”

  She sighed as he nodded and left her, removing the temptation of loving her by removing himself. With a twist of her lips she wished he wasn’t so damned disciplined.

  * * *

  In the very deepest part of the night, Samuel awoke to the sound of rain—and the tongue of a persistent dog licking his hand. “All right, Arrow,” he said impatiently. “I’m awake. What is it?”

  Arrow trotted to the head of the stairs and looked back over his shoulder. He whined softly.

  “I let you out earlier. Can’t you wait until morning?”

  Determined, the dog returned to the bedside and made a distinct series of almost-human moans. Samuel frowned, suddenly much more alert. He threw back the covers, looking for his robe. The air in the cabin was frigid.

  He followed Arrow down the stairs to find the fire in the stove all but out. Ordinarily Lila fed it through the night, waking almost automatically, she said, to keep it going. Her restlessness the past few days must have exhausted her, he thought, for she was curled into a ball beneath her quilts, only the very top of her head showing.

  As Samuel fed small bits of wood to the fire, Arrow moved back and forth between the stove and Lila’s bed, obviously agitated.

  “What is it?” Samuel whispered, a sudden fear seizing him. Had someone slipped into the cabin and killed her in her sleep? He crossed to her in an instant. As he reached out to touch her, to make certain of the life of her still body, she made a noise, a chest-deep moan.

  His head cleared. No one could get into the cabin with Arrow standing guard, but the dog had known something was amiss with his beloved mistress. He touched her shoulder gently. “Lila, it’s your back, isn’t it?”

  Her head peeked out from below the covers. “I’m so cold,” she whispered.

  “I’ll be right back.” He ran upstairs for the quilts on his own bed, cursing himself for his selfishness. At least he might have volunteered for f
ire duty, seeing how badly her back was bothering her earlier. But he’d been too deeply focused on his own internal struggle to see that she faced one of her own.

  He remembered now that she had spoken of the hot baths she took at home in Seattle, and realized how difficult it would have been for her to fill a tub here. He swore again. While his thoughts had been centered on avoiding the temptation of her ripe body, hers had been upon avoiding pain.

  One by one he spread the quilts over her, then turned his attention to the fire, stoking it carefully until it was roaring. He put water on to boil so that a cup of tea might warm her internally, then sank down on the bed next to her.

  “I’m sorry, Lila.” His hand feathered over her wild curls. “I’ve been very selfish. It will be warm in here soon.”

  Lila closed her eyes again, unable to move a muscle without agony. Even the delicious sensation of Samuel’s hand, gentle upon her hair, did little to distract her. It would be better when she got warm, she thought.

  When Samuel solicitously brought her a cup of tea, she shook her head. “I can’t sit up yet,” she said quietly.

  With a muttered curse he put the cup aside, then moved to the end of the bed. Before she really understood his intention, he had climbed in next to her, his velveteen robe soft against her skin. “Samuel,” she protested. She felt oddly shy even through the cloud of pain. She wore only one of her sleeveless T-shirts and a pair of underwear, and although Samuel, too, was clothed, the intimacy was a little overwhelming.

  “Shh.” He gently circled her body with his, fitting them together in the ancient spoon fashion. “I will just warm you,” he said with a hint of teasing in his voice.

  “Thank you.” She let herself relax against him, welcoming the heat. His arms looped over hers securely, comfortingly, and his knees fit perfectly in the crook of her own. She accepted the moment gratefully, glad to touch him, glad he was so warm.

  Thus tucked in, she slept.

  * * *

  Several times through the night, Samuel rose to restoke the fire, always returning to the torturous but exquisite pleasure of holding her pliant body, smelling the herbal scent of her shampoo, reveling in the silkiness of her skin. He did not sleep.

  Nor did he think. For once he allowed himself to simply feel. He rested his face upon her shoulder, let his fingers rest upon her arm—and let his emotions carry him to the truth.

  This was no swift and sudden lust. He loved her. Loved her as a woman and a friend—and more. As he held her, he felt the same way he had when he was ten, first discovering the magical properties of light, the way he felt when he learned some particularly delightful bit of wine lore. He loved her with that ethereal part of him men called a soul for lack of any other word.

  And for once he did not hold himself aloof from the feeling or try to dilute it with analysis. He simply let himself drift while she slept in his arms.

  As the cold dawn, accompanied by the unceasing rain, crept into the room, she stirred, moving her legs a bit, and her toes, then her hands and body. The tiny shifts brought him to instant and furious arousal, but he was loath to leave her. Instead, he eased his hips away from hers so that she would not feel him.

  Lila felt the arousal an instant before he moved. She tightened her hand on his and lifted his fingers to her lips, planting kisses on the fine, tawny flesh. He was warm behind her and smelled wonderfully of himself, and for a long moment she forgot why she had awakened to find him in her bed with her, lost only in the delight of it.

  When he drew away, she wanted to cry, afraid he was going to leave her. Instead, very slowly, he began to rub her back. He started with her shoulders, his strong hands kneading those muscles with exquisite pressure, his thumbs sliding up the center of her neck and into her hair.

  “Lie on your stomach,” he whispered.

  Lila complied. He brushed away her hair and continued his massage, running his hands down the length of her back to the vulnerable lower muscles. He paused there, rolling his hands with expert attention over the injured places. Lila felt a bloom of relaxing heat in each spot and sighed softly.

  For a long time he simply massaged every dip and rise of her spine, every hollow and muscle in her back and shoulders and neck. Lila drifted on a sensual plane, her arousal growing as the stiffness in her body receded.

  When his lips, firm and hot, lit upon the nape of her neck, Lila felt a swoop of intense hunger sweep through her, and she sighed, about to turn. He stilled her, holding her shoulders gently with his hands. With infinite gentleness his mouth traveled the places his hands had explored, over the back of her neck and along her shoulders, along the length of her arms. Her heart slowed to a lazy, booming rhythm, but every nerve seemed to leap into electric thrumming, nerves she wasn’t even aware of owning.

  He paused in his ministrations long enough to push her T-shirt up. When he bent his head once more to her back, it was his tongue that roamed the dip of her spine, circled the tiny bones, teased into life a roaring aliveness that left her breathless.

  And now his fingers trailed up the bare flesh of her side, teasing the edges of her breasts with the pale swirls of a mist before swooping back down to trace the upper curve of her hips.

  Lila could no longer bear it without touching him, seeing him. She turned over, slipping free of her shirt with one quick motion, and held open her arms for him, her beloved Samuel, come at last to her in this gloomy morning.

  But he did not immediately respond to her invitation. He knelt over her, his black hair mussed, his eyes molten with the desire she’d awaited so long. His robe had fallen open at the top, showing a broad stretch of tawny, hair-dusted skin, rippling with powerful muscle. She reached for that chest, opening her palms over the flesh, and as she did so, Samuel followed suit, his hands spreading open over her bared breasts. His eyes followed his fingers as they traced the full swelling of her breasts and stopped at the aching, pointed tip. With a sigh he bent reverently to lay the bare heat of his tongue against her rigid nipples. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered. “I’ve wanted you so long…” His lips lifted to claim her mouth with barely controlled violence.

  She pushed the robe from his arms to run her hands over the supple skin of his shoulders and back. He straightened, shaking the fabric away from his torso, and Lila fumbled impatiently with the tie at his waist. When at last it was freed, she sat up, eagerly running her hands from his shoulders, down his chest to his flat waist, and lower still to the curiously silken skin of his rigid manhood.

  “Lila,” he breathed, grasping her arms. She filled her eyes with the glorious sight of him, his black eyes no longer glassy obsidian, but deep, soft pools. The severe lines in his face were gentle with love, unmarred by any tinge of regret. She pulled him to her, sighing as their bared chests met gently. “Love me, Samuel,” she murmured huskily.

  Samuel thought of his shoulder, not yet strong enough for the kind of activity just ahead, and thought, too, of Lila’s back. He slipped off her panties, then gripped her slender body in his strong left arm. “With both of us handicapped,” he whispered against her neck, “we shall have to be inventive.”

  Lila’s lips curled in her impish grin as they turned, reversing the usual order of lovers. The smile faded, her eyes growing heavy lidded as they joined, at last, in the cold, rainy morning.

  And as they moved together, the darkened places in Samuel’s heart and soul shed their shadows, bit by bit, until everything within him shimmered and blazed with pure white light, a light as perfect and wondrous as the sun that teased tiny plants into sturdy vines, heavy with ripe grapes. His hands slid over her rib cage, over her soft white arms and into her springy hair, until he could pull her full lips to his own. Her breaths came in shallow, airy pants, and a small sound escaped her throat as his lips touched hers.

  With the power lent him by his passion, he turned her again with a growl, watching her curls splay against the pillows. He paused a moment to taste the hollow of her throat, then grasped her shoul
ders and thrust powerfully into her, feeling the light build into an energy too great to be contained. At the instant Lila’s quivering turned into a great arch of her body, the light exploded and Samuel gathered her close. “I love you, Lila,” he whispered, and let the light carry him away, beyond all earthly care.

  Chapter 10

  They dozed lightly, warm beneath the heavy quilts in the cabin, the rain outside insulating them from the world beyond.

  When Lila sleepily opened her eyes, Samuel was wrapped around her securely, his bare chest against her back, his arm looped around her waist. She held his hand close to her breast and smiled, then pressed her lips against the fine sinews of his fingers. He loved her, this man who’d fallen into her life by mistake, whose life had been tangled with hers through a queer series of events. He loved her, this man born to parents who’d been brought together only through historical accident. He loved Lila, daughter of ranchers and Indians, Italians and Irishmen.

  The press of his lips against her shoulder made her smile, and she turned in his arms to look at him. “Good morning,” she said.

  “Good morning.” His smile was rich with warmth, his voice deeply accented.

  “How’s your shoulder?” She touched the ragged line of stitches with the tip of her finger. The wound had a pinkish look now, the pink of healing skin.

  “Good,” he replied. “And your back?”

  “Much better, thank you. Making love is a rather unusual cure, but it seems to have been very effective.”

  Propping himself up on his strong left elbow, he said, “Is that so?” His hand moved in a lazy circle on her stomach. “What about a second cure, hmm?”

  Leaning close, he brushed her lower lip with his mouth. He kissed her without closing his eyes, his hand creeping over her ribs to cup a breast in a swirling, gentle caress. The tip of his tongue flitted over the tip of hers, teasing her like the light in his eyes. His leg moved over hers lightly, the rough hairs of his calf against the tenderness of her thigh.

  Still his black eyes fixed hers, drawing her into him, the teasing light gone. His teeth caught her lip at the exact instant his exploring fingers plucked the hard tip of nipple, and Lila gasped. His hand slid over her belly, his mouth over her neck. His fingers parted her legs as his mouth fell hot on her breast, and slipped gently into the secret harbor of her womanhood. And thus they began again.