| Flight from Romania - by Lisa Stock Day, and all night, they fell from darkness… Toward the heavens, she thought. She hoped. Something had roused her from sleep. The window slid back and forth in its frame. The compartment was cold and she lay tangled in his arms with her head against his chest, the beat of their breathing together. Cold air whispered through the panes, but she was too comfortable to move from her sanctuary, her lover. She was dreaming of home when the urgent voices of her subconscious, rushed by the compartment door and faded down the hallway. Two men? No. Maybe three or four? Something about leaving the train, stopping the train. It was all a rush, and her few words of Greek were failing her. Fire, she thought she heard; the word for horses. The train pulled to a stop. But something deeper had disturbed her. A few hours ago, urgent voices had escorted them from the village. All was forgiven, they'd pleaded with him, all was forgiven. But they knew better and sought to flee. He wasn't done battling that world, but it was a first step to leave it. In the beginning, he'd told her not to come, but she was the only one that could hold him. The fog had been so thick she could barely see him standing next to her on the platform, the landscape of her home disappearing before she left it. She clenched her teeth wanting to let go of everything from the last years, particularly the past two weeks, and desperately wanting the train to arrive. He sensed her sadness and set down his suitcase to pick her up. He held her tight and whispered something in her ear – but the roar of the engine drowned out his words. And just before the train pulled into the station she saw them: torches moving among the trees, voices calling out a name – her name… She lifted her head and kissed him as he slept. His face was torn with scars. His sleeves were rolled up revealing the burned skin on his left arm. She took it in both her hands and held it to her. The door next to their compartment slammed, and there were more voices coming from outside. She reached over him and pulled back the curtain on the window. Black mountains rose up to the midnight sky. Stars and a half moon wavered beneath gray clouds, and in the distance she could see the bright orange flame of fires. Torches. The voices moved back onto the train. They were arguing now, and more doors were being slammed. Then they quieted, another door shut, and the voices worked their way down the car, coming closer to her. They were looking for someone. They were looking for them. The torches outside suddenly grew brighter, but held their distance. The flames twisted as a horse raced by and vanished into the blackened range. Her lover stirred violently in his sleep- And let go. Another horse, another inhale pulled at his chest. She kissed him again, her Hephaestus in the outer world. Caught between their wars, between his duty and his conscience. Soaking up their anger, burning it in the forge within him. She could hear the hooves now – but still they seemed no closer. Another horse, another pull at his chest and she held him down against the seat. She'd use all her strength to keep him from being dragged back. Their greed and fear of him had all but diminished his will and his heart, she knew, could take no more. The torchlight swelled once again and suddenly through the flames she caught a glimpse of her lover. He stood in the center of the riders, dodging their gallops, fighting them off with a bar and hammer. And calling out to her. Calling her name, to come for him, to come to him. She felt herself let go of his body and lean toward his vision, drawn to his cries- "No," he was awake. "I'm right here." He held her face in his hands, her eyes in his. Sweat mixed with his tears, and "Don't let go-" he pleaded. The voices were in the compartment next to theirs. She quickly rolled down his sleeve to hide his arm, and pressed his scarred cheek to hers. And covering any part of him she could with her body protected him the best she knew how. The compartment door was thrown open and she turned to face their pursuer. A dark hulking man, with hollow eyes, and scabs threading his jaw line and neck. A man cursed by his own hand, her grandmother would say. No true mercy or insight for what was before him. And somewhere behind him the frail shadow of another. He held up a photograph and compared it to her, then craned his thick neck to see her lover. "You've seen these two?" he showed her the photo. There they stood, embracing on the platform. Legendary lovers, star-crossed and eternal. An image, a moment in time, the only thing left of them in their former world. She looked at the pursuer and saw the spark of recognition. She leaned back against her lover; their hearts and breaths beat together. "No," she said to the pursuer, more a demand and a plea than an answer. The hooves were outside, the flash of the torches, and another pull at his chest. The man looked down at her lover's scars, and the recognition was deeper than she first realized. He nodded to her and let the door slide shut. His voice carried away and disappeared off the train. She wrapped her arms around her lover's waist and held on as tight as she could, wanting to get inside him. He was a myth now, a forgiven and forgotten son never to walk the streets of his home. His wounds would grow more fantastic over the years, and her name called out from the trees would change with every version of the story. And only they would know the truth. He stroked the back of her head. "We've made it," he whispered, "they can call off their search now and turn us into dust." He held to him the only one who'd kept him from the fires that burned him and he would live on because of her. The train moved away from the mountains, leaving the flames behind them racing for the celestial heavens. |
| copyright Lisa Stock 2004 |