Ryan emerged from the Washroom with the thermos wrapped in brown paper... when had he done that? His hair was damp and his skin glowed...he had done more than just change his clothes. Ryan: I'll be goin' to Jade, now. It's late. Deb: And she's doubtless awake and waiting. She's no fool, Ryan. Ryan: Far from it, lass, as I have every reason to know. Deb: So go home and don't...don't talk about anything to her but her. Or I'll kick your cracked Irish ass for ya. Meantime, Jade's waiting game at the house was nearing an end... I lit another candle. There were four now, four white tapers all in a row, with varying lengths. Burning. I left the bureau where they flickered in the mirror, went back to the bed and sat down at the head, my knees drawn up under my chin. I couldn't stop staring at them. Living flames, dancing without moving, each one a day that he had been gone. Each one a hope that he would come back, as alive as the fire which I watched. I started to get sleepy, and finally my eyes fell, my forehead resting on my knees. I sighed deeply and wondered where he was. It was Christmas Eve... in two short hours it would be Christmas... our first together, and he wasn't there. He wasn't there because of me. I must have slept, for the sound of the door opening quietly roused me. The footsteps were barely perceptable, and I knew, didn't raise my head. Should I have been angry with him for leaving without telling me, warning me... saying goodbye? Perhaps. But it was nothing that touched me that night. I raised my head and spoke. "Nollaig faoi mhaise dhuit." From the look on his face, I thought that I had made a mistake. Instead, he stood near the closed door, the vague candlelight playing on his face, giving it a weird cast. If I'd not known him, it would have frightened me, that look. The black eyes sharp and glinting in the light. His voice seemed to come from deep inside of him, a rough, guarded place. "Merry Christmas to you as well, child." Yet he stood in place, as if he knew not what to do with himself. Watching me. We were like that for a long period, studying each other, the silence of being close to him as much music to me as the band from that Dublin pub long ago. Finally, he glanced at the candles on the bureau. "You sleep with fires burning often, do you?" I held him with a look. "When you're absent, always." Another quiet space. I held my hand out to him. "You look beat. Come on to bed." He moved finally, undressing to his shirt. He left it on, which I found curious, but did not press. He slid into the bed beside me and watched the candles. Still, he was quiet. "Did you have any trouble getting in the house?" I knew that Bill had set the security system, but I'd not heard the usual commotion that occured anytime someone came or went from the house. It always woke me, for I was not accustomed to the noise. Maybe he'd slipped in. "Ah, William was on the porch. Too blasted cold to be outside, but there he was. Fecking eejit." The last was said with an affection that seemed to be lost to the American tongue. I dropped my head to his chest and his hand went instinctively to my head. If this were my Christmas gift, I'd never ask for another my entire life... Yet there was something I wanted to give him, something I hoped not to screw up. I sat up in the bed, turned to him. He looked up at me curiously, the right corner of his mouth turning slightly. "I wanted to give you something... but I wanted it just for you..." This was going badly. I closed my eyes, tried to clear my head, and felt his hand on mine. He waited patiently, and I absently wondered if this was the first quiet moment he'd had in the past four days and nights. I tried to remember what I'd tried so desperately to learn... and before I knew it, my voice started to give shape to the song. "Bhi me seacht seachtaini ar leaba na fuinneoige, Ag eisteacht lena aisling agus feachaint trath geodlodh se; ta dha bhinn m' fhallainge a' falach gach aon phoige, 'S gurb e gra an radaire tharraing me chun triobloide..." I stumbled over the words a few times, the language liquid to my harsh, English borne tongue. My trepedation grew as I started into the second verse. He watched me with no expression. None at all... perhaps he was wondering why I had chosen this song, An Giolla Dubh, "The Dark Lad"? But my fears were put to rest as I saw his lips faintly moving as I spoke, watching me intensely. "I was seven weeks on the bed by the window, Listening to his dream and watching while he slept; The two corners of my cloak are hiding every kiss, And it was the love of the reveller that drew me into trouble..." As the song ended, a piece which I had simply recited than tried to sing with my awful voice, his eyes slowly disappeared in the wrinkles of a smile. I was relieved, but again, he was silent, staring at me. "Did I... was I... ?" My voice was small, had I misprounounced, had I chosen poorly? For the first time since I'd known him, his eyes dropped from mine, and he spoke with such emotion in his voice that I thought my soul would crumble. "I am at a loss, love... 'tis nothing more beautiful than to hear such a song from the lips of an aingeal, is there not? But... I've nothing for you..." My hands went to his face and he looked up. "You came back to me. That is gift enough, Ryan Gaerity." His smile melted me into the bed again, into his arms, and there we stayed until Christmas morning, and again, everything was in place in my life... for those few hours. Jacque Whitworth - 1998
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