The Girl with no name, chapter 2

At first the man did not know what to do. He held the young woman, clasped her, as if to never let her go...again. She seemed weightless in his arms. The years hadn't changed her much as he was scanning her face. Her features were sharper though. And she was pale. But her lips.

He wanted to kiss her so much.

But this wasn't the moment.
He needed to get her inside.

With his hand under her chin he gently shook her head.

"My love." He whispered while a tear wandered over his cheek to mingle with the raindrops.

"That's okay, sir." A sharp voice suddenly came from behind him. "I'll take her now."

"Why? Who are you? She...she fainted."

"Yes. It's all right. I'll take her to her room. Thank you, sir."
"What, no...my place is just over there." Edward objected.

"Thank you. But I'll take her now. I'm an employee of the old man, her grandfather. I know how to handle this." The big man said more urgent.
"But it's raining! She need to be inside quickly!"

"Let her go, Edward." Another voice joined in.

Desperate Edward turned in the direction where the voice came from.
He saw the faint outline of the old man and another man holding an umbrella and a blanket.
"The strain was too much for her. We'll help her. She'll be fine."

"Please." Edward begged, unwilling to let her go.
"Sir. Let her go. Now." The first man said while he grabbed Edward's shoulder, forceful.
"Robson!" The old man spoke.

"We shouldn't argue. You carry her to the big house, if you wish, Edward. But let's make haste. We're all getting soaked."

While the old man had draped a blanket over the young woman's body, Edward - carrying his precious bundle - and the other men ran over the lawn back to the big house. The doors to the courtyard were wide open and the light and the warmth inside welcoming.

A fire in the hearth was burning.
Edward followed the old man's instructions and laid her down on the couch in front of the fire. The man with the umbrella pushed back her sleeve and gave her an injection, in a professional manner.

"No! What are you giving her?" Edward cried out.

"Calm down, sir. Just to make her more comfortable." The man said.

With a worried look Edward saw the man leave the room after the old man had given him a reassuring nod.
The old man sat down in a chair next to the hearth and seemed to doze away.

All was quiet in the room. Just the ticking of a pendulum was heard and the slight snoring of the grandfather.

"She looks so calm and ethereal lying like that, but away, far away. Like the snow queen has frozen her heart." Edward thought.
He was siting on his knees beside her. His eyes caressing her.

The slow breathing of the young woman, the crackling fire and the warmth in the room made Edward a bit drowsy too. The only thing keeping him from laying his head in her lap and falling asleep too was the man called Robson standing at the door with a severe frown on his face. Staring at Edward, a grimace of disapproval around his hard mouth.

Edward lifted his brows in a questioning manner.

"What's your problem?" He said.
"I have no idea why you're here.  You have no fucking right to mess her up like that."

Edward averted his eyes.

"I would never hurt her." He whispered.

Carefully he stroked a damp strand of hair from the young woman's forehead.

"Who the fuck are you anyway?" The hostile man was now standing next to Edward.

With a frown Edward looked up.
"Don't be an asshole."

The man suddenly grabbed Edward by the throat.

"If you fuck with her, you'll fuck with me. Do you hear?"

The man gave Edward a shove that made him slam backward against the thick carpet.

"Now get your pretty face out of here." The man sneered.

A bark sounded.
Some scratching at the door and then it opened. Letting in a dog with a mixed fur of grey and brown spots. It walked straight to the young woman and started licking her face.

The man called Robson wanted to grab him by the collar, but it growled so he withdrew his hand.

A soft grunt was heard.

Both men looked eagerly at the young woman who appeared to wake up.

The girl with no name

The girl with no name turned into the woman with no name, and years, wasted on staring out of the window, passed until one day it was enough and she said to her caretakers that she was going away.

She'd been staring out of the window for some weeks now, but not with the nothingness that was inside her but there was a spark. Curiosity.
Something was different.

At night she could see bright lights burning on the lakeside, where she knew the boathouse was. When she opened her window she could hear unfamiliar sounds, noises, like a construction site in the distance. And some nights it was quiet and she could see a fire and heard faint music playing.

"William?" She asked the old man one day. He was reading as usual, sitting behind his antique desk with his glasses at the edge of his nose.
"William, is there someone living in the boathouse?"

"Yes, Rain, we have a tenant."

"Who is it?"
"It is a man. An artist. Seems quiet and a bit sombre, but decent enough. He lives in the city, but I guess he seeks solitude."

"Solitude?" The woman with no name asked, staring back in the direction of the lake.

She leaned with her head against the cold window. Breathing hay against the glass.

With her fingernail she started to draw some lines, but then she shook her head irritated and wiped the window clean with her sleeve.

"I'm going to the greenhouse." She said.

"H...Raindis, dear girl, pick some rosemary for my tea while you're there."
She walked to the old man and kissed him on the cheek.

"Sure."

When she walked away, her head low as always, he followed her with his eyes - a deep sigh escaped him, while he massaged the worried frown on his wrinkled forehead - and then he went back to his readings.
"Memoria damnum causa per trauma." He mumbled.

The young woman walked across the lawn in the direction of the greenhouse, but then changed her course and headed to the lake.

It was a mild spring day and with her feet dangling in the cool water she sat on the old wooden jetty. She stared at the boathouse. She knew that it's purpose was not only for boats but the cabin attached to it also had a large window in it, to catch the light, so it could be used as a workplace for a painter. William told her that his wife used to work there and later their granddaughter.
She had been in the atelier once, but she started to get breathing trouble and anxiety overwhelmed her.

"Solitude." She whispered.
She got up and took of her clothes.

The water was still very cold, but she always liked the numb feeling it gave her.

Under the water she listened to the sounds that weren't there. Just faint rumbling and the murmur of the air bubbles around her body, the swishing of the blood through her veins.

Gasping for air she came to the surface.

At the edge of the lake stood a man. He looked at her.

She swam to the jetty and climbed out of the water. Without any sense of demureness she combed her wet hair out of her face, picked up her clothes and walked to the man.
The man seemed to drink in the sight of her nakedness.
For a short moment she felt shy.
But then the numbness blocked it out.

"Hi, you must be the tenant of the boathouse." She said as she held out her hand.

"Aren't you cold?" The man asked without taking her hand.

"Never."

When she tried to cover herself, suddenly conscious of the man's stare at her naked chest with the huge scar, he touched the back of her hand.

"Don't." He said with a deep but soft voice.
"It's ugly."

"No."

She smiled.
"What is your name?" She asked looking up at him. Inquisitive.
His face seemed pained in a way.

"I'm...I'm Edward." He cleared his throat staring in her eyes.
"And you?" A sudden frown between his brows made his gaze intense.

She turned away her head and seemed to ask for help from the lake.

"They...they call me Raindis."

He was quiet for a while.
"That is an unusual name."

"Yes, my...William....he says it means erratic, wondering bride." She laughs.

"In the old language. But you can call me Rain."

"That is...beautiful, but sad....in the young language." He laughed too. It made his soulful face light up suddenly.
She notices his teeth. She likes them.
"What do you call yourself?" He suddenly asked.

"Marbh."

"Marbh?"

"It means dead."

Back in her room she remembered the way the man looked when she told him how she called herself.
Marbh.
She didn't feel dead when she talked to him.
His smile.

He.

White.

Always that damned white that came over her when she tried to feel.
She put on some dry clothes and went to the greenhouse to pick the rosemary she promised her grandfather.
William.
She wondered how she suddenly knew he was her grandfather.

When her grandfather came into the kitchen he heard her whistling.

Surprized but with a warm heart he said to her: "Rain, dear, it makes me happy you seem to feel so much better today. Your hair is wet. Did you swim again?"

"Yes, grandpa, and I met the tenant."

The old man clutched the counter in order to find balance.
"What?" A broad smile on his face.
"I met the tenant. Is that funny?"

"Oh girl...you don't know...."

"I do...grandpa." She walked to the old man and hugged him.
The old man sobbed.
"Is it coming back, grandpa?"

"I think it is, child. I think it is."

That night she couldn't sleep. Her head hurt as it often did and somehow the scar in her chest seemed to feel more tight than usual.
It was time for her to move on.
She needed to tell her grandpa tomorrow that it was time for her to get back to life again.
Get a job. Get a life.
When she climbed out of bed and pushed the curtain aside she saw there was still light burning at the boathouse.

"Edward." She mouthed the name of the man she had met this afternoon.
The man with the nice teeth.
The nice teeth and the endless sadness in his eyes.

Silently she closed the bedroom door behind her and tiptoed down the stairs.

The lawn was damp from the night air and a path seemed to be lit over the lake.
When she came to the boathouse all was quiet except for a man's soft humming. No. Not really humming, more like moaning.

She sneaked through the door that was unlocked.

There was music softly playing. Electronic, hypnotic. A whiff of sweet smoke whirled into her nose. That moaning again, no, it was sobbing.

In the middle of the room was the man. He was sitting in a deep chair.

Dressed in a shirt over a tee and a pair of old ragged jeans with paint stains. The man had paint or chalk in his half long curly hair too.

The woman who called herself Marbh noticed that the man was well build. Lean, but strong. Broad shoulders. Smoking a joint. His head in his hand, a bottle of wine at his feet.
And he was crying.

"Edward."

With a start he jumped up. Kicking the almost empty wine bottle.

He looked at her as if he saw a ghost.

She heard him cry out her name.
Well. She didn't really hear it. But she knew he said it.
When he took one step towards her she fled, she fled before the white took over.
White.

White.
And then it cleared away again and she was sitting on the jetty at the lake site.
Her feet dangling in the water. Her eyes fixed at the moon till it disappeared behind thick clouds, to leave the sky in total darkness.
A clap of thunder and it began to rain.

"Hey fl...girl!" The man shouted.
He was standing at the beginning of the jetty.

The rain came gushing down now.

"Come here....it's pouring." He said while holding the tails of his shirt above his head as an umbrella.

Hesitant at first she approached. But he made an inviting gesture with his head to join him under his makeshift canopy, and she was becoming soaking wet already.

Awkwardly she was standing there. Impossible not to feel his body heat, smell him.

So familiar somehow.
When she touched his body to find more shelter he grunted involuntary.
She lifted her head and stared into his eyes. His eyes stirred something inside her.

Images came to live. Images exploding against the back of her mind. Like half frames, images of...hair, long and wavy, falling over a face...a young man sitting on a huge marble stairway, drawing...a crooked smile...a lean body against a lamppost, looking up at her window...a damp bathroom, candles...a mass of people....blood....his face....fear...

And then she fainted.

The sculptor; part 21

He's lying there. Waiting for me to return to his body.
I climb on the bed.

Study his face.

One side of his face is that of an angel. Soft and sweet, vulnerable. The other side; an imp. A faun. Naughty and extremely sexy. His mouth, his pink hart shaped mouth. The line between his lips, drawn by a Chinese calligraphist, and then when they part a little, the glimpse of his teeth. His strong slightly crooked but perfect teeth.
They make my heart spin.
Lashes...thicker and longer then any girl's.

When he smiles. That dimple.

When he frowns. That furrowed brow.

His long soft hair spread out on the pillow while his arms are stretched, bound behind his head, exposing his marvellous armpits with slightly wet curly dark hair.

Oh he's muscled. Strong, but lean.

His chest, hairless. A trail of soft down on his belly, leading to his gorgeous swollen dick.

I stroke his sinewy, well shaped leg. From his shin to his thigh. I cup his balls, grasp the base of his shaft with two delicate potter's hands and slowly massage them upwards, till the top, gently stroke the rim with my thumbs and move my hands down again - along his beautiful pole.

He breathes out with a shudder.

"Hálwen." He pleads.

I take him in my mouth. His taste, somehow so alive - so warm, spicy and sweet.

This power I have over him makes me feel like a goddess. When I look up at him, my tongue vacuum against his throbbing top, my lips in oral devotion - I see his eyes, his pleading eyes fixed on me- and I see love, oh yes, love.....and yearning, endless yearning.

Without breaking the eye contact I graze my way over his body, up to his face.
A kiss. A whisper.

My hands claw in his beautiful hair when I lower myself onto him and watch his face in fascination while I ride him. Ride him till this thundering feeling of earth comes over me and when I come and cry out his name, I see his face transform from an almost painful grin with gritted teeth to the blissful face of an angel.

"Love." He whispers and in slow motion his lashes fall over his eyes.

Together we cycle to the station.
After I lock my bike we kiss.

I hand him the keys.

"Say thanks to Dave from me. For lending me his bike."

"I will." Eddie says.

"So..." I sigh with a regretful smile. "I'll see you tonight."

"Nine." He strokes my cheek.

"Bye." I turn.

With my eyes squeezed shut and a hollow feeling in my stomach I walk away.

"Flat mate!"

I freeze.

"I love you." He calls.

With a sob I laugh.

"I love you too, son of a bitch." I look over my shoulder.

He puts his fingers on his mouth and then stretches his hand to me.

On the train home I can't stop grinning.

I remember him sitting in front of me with his arms clasped around his knees, biting his lip, tears rolling over his cheeks while he tells me he loves me.
A rapt sound escapes me.

An older man sitting at the opposite side of the compartment looks disapproving at me.
I don't care.

While we we're smoking a little joint after our fabulous lovemaking Eddie had said that tonight he will tell Dave and the other guys from the band that he'll stop touring and leave the band. He'll explain to them that he can't handle the pressure, the inauthenticity, of the music business. He'll finish his year at art school and he will occupy himself with sculpting.
I press my hands against my face and giggle.
He even said he would do an extra year at the academy I'm attending.
And then he kissed me again.
Oh....his mouth.

My grin won't leave my face.

I close my eyes and see his lean naked body, I see him drawing me, driving me insane with lust.

The window of the train wagon is damp. With my fingernail I sketch his features, his furrowed brow and long curly hair, his huge erect penis...

The other passenger scrapes his throat.

Quickly I doodle a bit over the illustration - a heart - then wipe away the whole drawing.
We arrive at my destination.

I'm nervous when I enter the venue.

Eddie told me I could walk on; I only had to show the bracelet he gave me.
Backstage I see Dave, and the other Dave. Both busy.
But no Eddie.

"Well, well." I hear a voice behind me.
"If it isn't the awkward child."

I turn and see Esther leaning against the wall.

"So..." She walks towards me and grabs my wrist, looks disapprovingly at the bracelet that gave me backstage entrance.

I pull back my arm.

She just laughs, then a silent smirk with one raised brow.

"You're falling hard for him, aren't you? Did he do the crying act on you as well?"
Another tinkling laugh follows when she sees my horrified face.
"We are all his slaves, aren't we?"
She takes my chin and kisses me hard on my mouth.

Then she turns and walks away with swaying hips.
Leaving me.
Astounded.

When I walk away a group of people stream my direction. A guy grabs me around my waist and leads me back into the venue.
"You're going the wrong way, love."
As if comatose and unresisting I let him drag me straight up front of the stage.

I know tears are running down my cheeks when the spotlights go on and the first notes of the opening song are heard.

An involuntary shiver goes through me when I hear Eddie's golden brown voice.

I can't look. My eyes are closed. My head bended low.

The crowd makes it impossible for me to leave...girls and men are screaming, the music is loud.

Then I hear my name.

And a hand takes mine, drags me to the stage. Other's push me up.

Dazed I stand next to Eddie.

Who smiles his lovely dimply smile.

And I just can't help seeing love in his eyes. Even though my brain tells me I'm a fool.

Eddie looks at me expectant.

"Well?" He asks.

"Sorry...what?" I wonder.

"What song do you want to sing?"

"Me?"

He laughs.

"Don't be shy...I know you can."

Suddenly I understand what he wants...I lean forward and whisper it in his ear while he combs the slick hair away from his neck.
I inhale, oh, he smells so good....and take a step back.

The look on his face tells me he doesn't understand.

"Why?" He mouths. There is pain in his eyes.

The he shrugs and walks to the rest of the band.
The crowd is cheering. Waiting.
Then Eddie and the guys nod. They are ready.
I take the mic and it feels as if my throat just squeezes shut.

"Come on! Show us your tits!" somebody yells.

"Fuck off." Eddie shouts back. "Hey man, I understand your enthusiasm but if you can't behave....just go....you know...just leave. Show some respect."

He puts his arm around me and takes me to the back while he shushes the crowd with an arm gesture.

"We'll be back." Causing cheering and catcalling.

"Listen." He says while he pushes me down on a case, and kneels in front of me, stroking my thighs, looking me in the eyes.

"If you don't want to I understand. But know...know, I will always love you. You hear? You’re my girl...my Hálwen...my love. My life!
But please tell me...why did you pick that song?

Why?'

"Esther..." I mumble.

"That bitch." Eddie breaths out through gritted teeth.

"Come on...sing...get it out of your system. Let's do this...and after....after this we'll talk."
He pulls me up and brushes his lips over mine.

This time I let the rhythm flow over me and when I breathe in to sing, my voice doesn't fail me.

No more,

It's done,

Crawl home,

Get gone,

Your love,

Is evil,

Lonesome,

My bones

Eddie grabs the other mic and joins me for the chorus. He stands close. His guitar is on his back and his warm body almost like a magnet to me.

Took me such a long time to figure it out,

Now is it too late, I can't do without,

Took me such a long time to figure it out,

Don't take it away, away, oh

Snowstorm,

My heart,

Crawl home,

Your love,

Is evil,

And lonesome,

Just get more,

When you've dared

Took me such a long time to figure it out,

Now is it too late, I can't do without,

Took me such a long time to figure it out,

Don't take it away, away, oh

Together with Eddie, while he pushes up against me.

Making me sing the words even more passionate.

Took me such a long time to figure it out,

Now is it too late, I can't do without,

Took me such a long time to figure it out,

Don't take it away, away, oh*

Totally empty I stare over the cheering, whistling and applauding audience.
"You're amazing." Eddie's lips against my ear.
I turn and look at him.

I smile.
Dave walks to me and gives me a hug.
"You were great." He says.

And then he lowers me of the stage where a big guy with a security shirt awaits me.

When some people try to touch me he gently but resolute pushes them away.

The band continues to play.
I feel exhilarated and happy. I just know Eddie loves me. I know it.

At that moment I hear a sharp, very loud whistling sound and screams.
I hear what sounds like a firecracker. It is loud but the gig is very loud so I think it is part of the show.

There are people falling around me, there is a lot of blood. Blood everywhere.

The security guy pulls my arm, wants me to lie low. But I turn to Eddie who stares at the balcony and then at me.

His face. Aghast.

Something hits me.

As if there is an explosion inside of me the force brings me to my knees.
I clasp my chest.
It's wet and warm.

When I look up I see Eddie being dragged away by Dave. He tries to fight him of, his eyes fixed on me. But Dave has him in a firm headlock and I can see Eddie screams, but I don't hear anything.

I only see his face when everything turns white.

Then.

Nothing.

I never planned this story to end this way.
But Bataclan happened. And I could think of nothing else. I didn't write until now.

I thought of a couple of quotes from Eddie Vedder, like:
" The idea is about if you love someone and they love you, don't fuck up."
And
" Oh, it's a fragile thing

This life we lead

If I think too much I can get overwhelmed by the grace

By which we live our lives with death over our shoulders"
And
".... And if you've got good friends, love them while they're here."

I want to make clear that in no way I want to romanticise the abomination that occurred in Paris by writing about some similar the act of violence in this chapter, but it is merely used to describe the shock I felt after hearing of the horror in Bataclan and thinking of those innocent people that lost their lives.

Never to return home.

* Lyrics : Desert Sessions – Crawl Home