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Still, as time wore on, the glad feeling faded. The weight of what we would soon have to face exacted its toll. The cruel reality became stronger than our new inner peace, even though that peace was founded on a more solid reality. As if it were in response to a deeply drawn urge to acknowledge this more solid reality, with which to hold back our fear, we put our arms around each other and avoided even the slightest syllable about the awesome task that lay before us.
As time passed, we walked slower, and slower, and went into every shop. We even tried on various items of clothing that we saw, though we had no intention to purchase any.
At the center of town we stopped and purchased an ice-cream cone each, in a brightly colored and brightly-lit store. We had a double scoop of Pina Colada, and another scoop of Swiss Orange Chocolate, both of which tasted wonderful, and on top of that a scoop of the finest vanilla. The giant cone in itself was enough to make the evening last for as long as it possibly could. We took the cones outside to the park and ate them under the legendary Banyan tree that covered the entire Town Square. The tree had long been a famous landmark. For decades people had loved and dreamed beneath its branches. My dream that night was for a safer world, and that our paths would never part. Actually, I felt these were related, though I couldn't see how.
Long after our ice creams were gone, Jennie said quietly that she was now ready to face the world. But those were just words, bravely spoken. I was certain that Jennie was no more ready than I was.
Still, while being careful not to hurry, we turned back towards the car. We stopped at every window again, browsed through every store, tried on hats, scarves, and bracelets, and checked out the trinkets and toys that were offered for sale.
"Let me buy you a present to remember this day by," I said to her in a small, narrow shop in a side alley. The walls of the shop were covered with everything that was interesting and valuable, from rare seashells to fine wooden boxes, carved figures, items of brass, silver, and gold. In long glass cases behind the counters, a wide variety of jewelry was displayed, polished pink coral - an ideal present for her, I thought.
She smiled when I asked her, but urged me not to buy anything. "Not now," she entreated. "Wait until the last day."
Reluctantly, I agreed.
But what if this is our last day? I wondered. What then? Who can be certain that we may live through to the end of tomorrow? Was her denial of my present a rejection of some gnawing fears?
Evidently, neither of us was ready to face the world, I was sure of that. But if so, why were we going back? The answer was simple. We had no choice. The human need was too great to be ignored. The rescue work had to be carried out. There existed no other option. Not to go, to suppress the compassion I felt for those in need would have been a betrayal of everything I believed in, even a betrayal of myself. That, I could allow no longer. I had stepped too far away from this grave to step back into it. We simply did not have a choice. Our love to one another was intertwined with that sense of unity that embraced all.
It was quiet in the car as we drove back to the airport. There were shadows on the road, shadows of trees projected by the moonlight. We spoke only of trivial things now, of make-believe ideas that seemed supportive in some way.
As we turned away from the shore, Jennie noticed that the mountains were still wrapped in the same covering of clouds that we had seen when we came. "I suppose they will still be like that tomorrow when we come back," she said.
I agreed, but I couldn't shed the feeling that we would not make it back to see them.
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Stories about
Sex
from novels by Rolf A. F. Witzsche
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