Is Love That Blind?
http://20six.co.uk/oberon
powered by
20six.co.uk
|
|
Out of the darkness
She waited until she had found her way in the darkness to the landing before hitting the switch. She paused while her eyes adapted to the artificial brightness. The dog stirred in his basket below in the kitchen. On bare feet she walked across the polished wooden floor to the door of Bruno’s room and pushed it open.
No sooner had the rectangle of light fallen across his bed than fear gripped her by the throat.
He lay precisely as she had left him the night before, entirely still for eight hours, seemingly lifeless, a chilling echo of that terrible day in the woods many years earlier.
She moved swiftly to his side and took hold of his hand, its warmth reassured her. She held her face close to his and felt his regular breathing on her cheek, and gradually, gratefully she swallowed down the momentary panic.
With her fingers she brushed the hair from his eyes and stroked his face gently until eventually he opened his eyes with a smile as warming as the dawn.
“Time to get up Bruno,” she said quietly.
“You go back to the clinic today and the car will be here in an hour. And Harry wants his breakfast!”
At the mention of the dog’s name Bruno smiled more broadly, pushed away the covers and climbed out of bed. Harry was barking a welcome before he got to the top of the stairs.
In what had become in a few short weeks a Monday morning ritual, Zuska finished packing his bag. She knew the pleasure tactile sensations gave him and combined a few favourite garments with new things she had bought - stiff white cotton, soft, springy wool, burnished leather.
Between his shirts she interleaved little notes on purple paper written with an elegant, looping hand. One reminded him to telephone each evening, another told how she would cook his favourite meal when he returned on Friday evening, a third held out the vision of the cottage in the country she had always promised him, and a fourth said simply - and truthfully - that she loved him with all her heart.
But Zuska knew it mattered little what she wrote or said. Words could mean as much, or as little, as you wanted them to mean. The important thing was what you did, and this time she was determined to keep her promise - even if it killed her doing so.
|
|
|
To date 0 Comment(s)
TrackBack-URL
|