sneak into her house without them realizing she’d been listening to them, and seized this moment to scurry up onto the deck unnoticed. She lingered by the door for a moment, taking in the sight of two middle-aged fools clenched together in that dishevelled yard.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Ken said.
“It feels great. A human being, is only really being, when he is being, looooved,” Derek brayed.
“That song sucked. You can let go now.”
“No fucking way. I’m loving it.”
“Small doses, man. Everything in small doses.”
“But not love. Never say that about love.”
22
Sylvanne sat on her bed while Thomas paced her room. He’d been speaking for some time about his wife, most especially the history of her illness. “She suffered no convulsions, or twitching or spasms to serve as signposts of what was to come. No, it was just a gradual malaise, a sickly cough such as anyone might have in the winter season, only this one lingering into spring, and growing more bold with the lengthening days. Her pulse weakened till she could scarcely rise from her bed in the morning, and lay there much of the day. Some days, by sheer strength of will, she would pull herself to her feet, unsteady as a newborn foal, and make her way to the chapel for prayers.”
Sylvanne tried to distract herself from his words, for she feared that such a sad story might arouse sympathy within her, and weaken her resolve. She encouraged her own mind to wander back to her former life, well before the siege, when she and Gerald had been newlyweds, when he had loved her keenly. He had written poetry for her, not only before they were married, but afterward as well, in fact the later poems became even more ardent and explicit in describing her charms, because by then he’d gained intimate and detailed knowledge of them. How she wished she had committed some of his poems to memory, for she knew not what had become of them in the siege. She hated herself for being able to recall only a handful of random lines in full, for it made it all seem so wasted, as if Gerald, the poems, her former life, none of it had ever really existed. She was lost in such thoughts when Thomas, in his pacing, stopped and stood directly before her, mouthing words she barely heard.
“The soup and the vegetables are working wonders,” he said. “And now that we have ceased to open her arm for bloodletting, the infection grows less livid. The oranges I expect to arrive before dark tonight. If not, then tomorrow.”
Sylvanne turned away from him and looked out the window. “Look at me when I speak to you,” Thomas ordered her. “I need to be sure this is heard. There’s been such vast improvement already, I wish there was some way I could thank you. I am of course addressing Meghan with these words. There’s an unreality to it, for although I address myself to someone who has already proven herself helpful, sweet, and kind, yet I speak these heartfelt words of thanks to the sullen face of one who can’t bear to look upon me.”
Sylvanne met his eyes. “Why should I look upon you, when you speak not to me, but some imaginary creature?”
“You have a point,” Thomas said. In softer tone he continued, “It’s my mistake—I should know by now not to expect much from you in the way of sympathy. I wish you would be helpful. Come along now Sylvanne, I wish to show my daughter again to the woman Meghan, who dwells inside you. Come, we’ll go see Daphne now.”
Sylvanne made no effort to get up.
“Come.”
“No.”
“Dear Meghan,” said Thomas, exasperation in his voice, “Forgive me if I resort to driving this uncooperative lady like a beast of the field. Know that my intentions are pure. Grant me one moment.”
He left the room only briefly, then came striding back through the door straight to Sylvanne on the bed. He carried a fresh-cut switch in his hand, a whip suitable for herding cattle or goats, and without hesitation he slapped it down hard on the table next to the bed, so that a pewter goblet tumbled and fell to the floor. Sylvanne involuntarily jumped to her feet.
“You’re a bastard,” she spat.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to save my daughter,” he told her. “If you stand in the way of that, you will suffer. Do you understand? Now. Do I need shackle you, and