Broken Space

Some days had passed since I had arrived on the island, but they had all been much the same. I had learned the way from my room to the kitchen, the privies, the cellars. I had walked the island, hoping for a sign from any god that might be listening. I had prayed in a way I had never been prone to before.

More recently, I had found a book in Greek--a collection of old poetry, much of it familiar. On one page were the familiar letters, and on the other, strange words in a different alphabet that I had come to recognize, at least, as the tongue most of the island knew. I took the book out to the seaside, found a large flat rock to sit on with a view of the sea and a good breeze, and tried to make sense of it. I would read the Greek, and then try to puzzle out the other language, but it was very slow going. Still, there was little else for me to do, and it gave me something to focus on, so I did.

I woke to the slanting light of evening. No one had come. The air was heavy with heat. I thought, they must come soon, his body will not withstand it. But no breath of corruption came from him; he seemed no more than sleeping.

Always the life in him was stronger than in other men. I felt at his heart in vain; his breath did not mist the mirror; yet somewhere deep within him the soul might still remain, preparing to depart, but not yet gone. I spoke to that; not to his ears, I knew they would not hear me, but to whatever of him might hear.

"Go to the gods, unconquered Alexander. May the River of Ordeal be mild as milk to you, and bathe you in light, not fire. May your dead forgive you; you have given more life to men than you brought death. God made the bull to eat grass, but the lion not; and God alone will judge between them. You were never without love; where you go, may you find it waiting."

At this, the memory came to me of Kalanos singing on his flower-wreathed bier. I thought, He has kept his word; he has put off for his sake being born again; himself having passed in peace through fire, he is here to lead him across the River. It eased my heart, to know he was not alone.

"I would go with you," I whispered, and held his hand. "I would follow you, anywhere." He could no longer hear me, and it seemed there was no more reason to be careful of my words. If his soul heard, they would only bring him peace, or so at least I hoped. My head bowed; I could feel the thick lines of kohl heavy on my eyes. "I would give anything to go with you."

I closed my eyes, and lay my head on his chest. There was no heartbeat, nor would there ever be again, but still I listened for it, prayed to feel its soft rhythm beneath my cheek. So much did I dream of it that everything else, for I do not know how long, must have faded away.

When I opened my eyes again, the light was bright against them. I could not have slept until morning? I could feel the absence of his body like an open sore, and despaired; they had come to take him away from me and I had not even stirred. I felt as though my heart must be missing, and I suppose it was.

Someone should close the curtains, I thought, it is too bright for death. I meant to stand and see to it, but I could only stare around me in surprise. Where the bedchamber should have been was a sandy shore, and a sea more blue than any I had ever seen. At first my heart, that I thought absent, leapt--he had called for me, truly, and I had gone to him. If this was death, and he was here, then I would welcome it.

But he did not appear, and slowly my joy wilted. For whether this was life or death, I was alone in it.

[See post on spaced_out. Then play.]