She shivered at that and pulled away, turning to give him a bright smile. “Indio will be waiting impatiently for his supper.”
He nodded, but didn’t return her smile. “Of course.”
“I don’t understand how you can see so much in what is only destruction and debris now,” she commented as they turned back toward the theater. She was very careful to keep from brushing against him as they walked, for she was afraid that if they touched a spark might be lit. She felt as if a fine tension ran along her skin, making her nervously aware of his every movement.
He shrugged beside her. “I see it in my mind’s eye, complete… and wonderful. It’s only a matter of… planting and moving… to reveal what’s already there.” He glanced at her fondly. “Really, ’tisn’t such a mysterious thing.”
She had a certain suspicion that he was talking about something else as well.
He coughed rather harshly, and she looked at him quickly. “How is your throat?”
“Sore,” he replied. “But… that is to be expected… after so long unused.”
“I’m very glad you can speak again.”
He smiled at her finally and then they were at the theater.
Daffodil scampered to greet them, closely followed by Indio with the news that he and Maude had brought back two large pies and they must wash at once to have them while they were still hot.
Thus instructed, Lily and Caliban washed by the old water barrel.
“Mama,” Indio said as they sat, “the wherryman had only two teeth and he could spit ever so far.”
And he proceeded to tell them all about the wherryman’s unusual and rather disgusting skill.
Caliban expressed suitable interest in this dining conversation and Lily was content to watch the play between the two males. Even Maude unbent enough to give her opinion on long-distance spitting and the number of teeth one usually found in the average wherryman.
Lily almost forgot her nervous tension until after supper, when Maude was clearing the dishes with Indio’s help.
Caliban drew Lily out the theater door, quietly closing it behind them.
“See?” he said, pointing to the North Star. “In another year… or two, you’ll no longer… be able to glimpse… the stars from the garden. The lights… and fireworks will obscure them.”
“So I should treasure the wildness now?” she asked whimsically.
“Perhaps,” he said, drawing her close. “Or… just be glad that you… have this time, hard though… it seems at the moment. After all, most of London has not this… grand view… of the night sky. Only we two.”
“As if we have a world of our own.”
He smiled right before he kissed her, and she knew somehow he felt the same. They were a universe apart, Adam and Eve, in a garden that wasn’t quite Eden.
And then she thought no more for many long minutes as he leisurely kissed her, mouth opened wide over hers as if he would consume her, meld with her and make them one being under the starlit night sky.
When at last he drew back she felt a little dazed, almost off-balance, as if the world had tilted a bit on its axis.
“Tomorrow,” he said, walking backward into the dark. “Shall I… show you the secret island… in the pond?”
“If you must,” she said, the tremble in her voice betraying her discomposure.
The last thing she heard before he disappeared into the garden was the sound of his laughter.
IT WASN’T EVEN dawn when Apollo woke the next morning, but he knew it was already too late.
He could hear people in the garden.
“In th’ gallery, ’e said,” a male voice called.
A disturbed bird shrilled as it flew away.