Contours of Darkness (40 page)

'Do you hate me for what I just said?' Aaron asked her.

She shook her head. 'No Aaron I don't hate you. I understand you too well for that. We just have to go separate ways, that's all.' She walked to the door. 'Will you help me pack in the morning?' she said.

He nodded. 'Where are you going?' he asked.

'I think it's best if I don't tell you,' she answered.

Aaron watched her walk from the room, hesitated a few moments, and then went to the stereo. He switched it on, lifting the tone arm, and dropped it on the record that had been lying there. The sonorous phrases of Bach filled the room. He sat heavily on the couch, closed his eyes, and began the long job of erasing thousands of entries from the files in his memory bank. All traces of Cynthia and Conrad would have to be destroyed before he could rest.

Cynthia ran down the back stairs and out under the open sky. Overhead, the stars burned in steady indifference to the turmoil so distant from them. The air was damp and sweet, and Cynthia stood naked, a white dimly glowing figure in the pre-dawn chill. She looked around the yard and for an instant Conrad's presence enveloped her. She imagined him on his ladder, peering through her bedroom window. She remembered the feel of his arms and the touch of his lips. She conjured up the taste of his cock when she had shuttled back and forth between him and Aaron.

'Was that just two night ago?' she thought.

She lay on the ground and buried her face in the thick grass. She was choked with a feeling that threatened to engulf her if she released it, and clutched her hands over her breasts. Like the legendary child holding a finger in the dyke to keep the waters from flooding the land, Cynthia held her breath to hold back her emotions.

'Conrad,' she whispered.

And at that moment, a bird sang, its clear chirping melody slipping happily through the night and tripping through her consciousness in a stroke untying all the knots inside her. The uncomplicated innocence of its call opened the gates to her feelings and the fearful tension snapped. A deep sob shuddered through her frame as she took a full painful breath, and then her eyes burned with salt and heat. Her shoulders heaved as she surrendered to the spasms of grief, and gave birth to the tears which allowed her to feel her sorrow.

She wept until she was empty. And when she sat up, the first thing she saw was the oak that dominated the entire space behind the house. Her teeth began to chatter as she thought, There are no trees in prisons. How will he live without trees?'