Soul or How the dragon lost his wings
Josef Baum stands in front of the mirrored closet door in his rented apartment fingering the fabric of his tailored jacket. He casts a critical eye over his appearance, noting the lines at the corners of his mouth and the fullness of his lips. Only his eyes could give him away. They remain the windows to his soul. Hazel, ringed with a hint of green, they stand out against his pale skin.
He opens the doors to the balcony and stands overlooking the park, his eyes drawn to the figure seated under the largest oak in the area. She appears in the same spot, each day at this time.
They'd walked the Nile, and bathed in the Tigris. The banks of the Euphrates had supported them as they'd joined and come asunder, as had the banks of the Seine. They'd watched a heartbroken ruler build a palace in honor of his love and a prince crucified by the jealous.
They'd watched the world collide with itself and break apart, boundaries change, weaken, appear overnight and people align themselves with created places, territories, nations.
They'd been called Tunisians, Italians, Spaniards, Greeks, Soviet Jews and Untouchables. They knew languages lost to man for thousands of years and gazed upon Mount Ararat, knowing that the rumors were true.
Now, flipping through his documents, he was American, apparently from German lineage given his name and fair appearance. The name was close enough to the names he'd held throughout the centuries: Yusef, Youssef, Joseph, Giacomo.
He'd tracked her down, followed her across seas after he'd broken her heart. A lifetime of loving one another shaken apart in a moment of time so small that it couldn't be tracked.
"Youssef" Her smile was brighter than the midday sun, the corners of her mouth turned upwards, teeth gleaming.
He reached his hand towards her, forgetting for a moment that they were in the middle of the village, in view of everyone. Forgetting that she was meant to be submissive in this patriarchal landscape.
"Not now" he whispered fervently, noting the men looking at him. It was always difficult when they took over the lives of people with family and friends. Whenever possible they tried to choose someone who had no one in their lives, assuaging their guilt by telling themselves that the body they were taking was better off this way than lingering until the finality of death.
He pushed her away, to the approving nods of the males. The other men in the room, all relatives of the woman seated in the corner, were judging him silently. Wondering if he was suitable to take this woman as his first wife. As though his suitability mattered. He possessed land and connections that would ensure that her family was rewarded for foisting this young woman upon him.
Certainly her life under his roof would be better than under the rule of most.
After the wedding ceremony had concluded and the relatives were still making merry in the celebration tent, the females in his family bundled the young bride into his bedroom, presenting her as though she were some expensive gift, as he supposed she was.
He had no intention of consummating their union; he was merely following what had already been set into motion for this Youssef.
Anat burst into his bedroom after the rest of the house had settled down for the night and stopped suddenly. Her eyes flew to his. His new bride was on her knees before him, running the tip of her tongue over his hardness, his eyes closed and head thrown back.
At the sharp hiss of breath, his head snapped forward and his eyes sought hers. His new bride smiled to herself. He pushed her away, now uncertain as to whether he'd made a suitable choice. She had not been pure when he'd wed her, but that was his choice. He'd not allowed anyone to inspect her, offering up a measure of safety for the pretense of a traditional wife.
He sat on the edge of the bed, watching her as she wiped her hand across her mouth. He hoped she fared well in his absence.
"Youssef...Anat is gone."
"What do you mean, gone?" He knew that she was likely still angry; she hadn't been at breakfast that morning.
The guard looked down at the floor, flinching inwardly. Everyone knew that Anat was Youssef's favorite and he didn't relish being the one to have to let him know.
"Her body was found in the river this morning. The old women are saying that she drowned herself because of heartbreak and misery."
Yusef became dizzy for a moment. They were no doubt correct, she'd died of heartbreak.
He walks up the cobbled path towards the lone woman, her scent calling to him as a beacon. Myrrh, sandalwood, preserved lemons. She'd held on to her rituals, even as perfumes were mass-produced and slathered over the populace so heavily that he often had to recoil. He'd once watched a woman spray herself in the grocery store, from a perfume bottle she kept in her purse.
He sits on the bench behind her, smiling. She was fond of dark skin for herself and had kept it this time as well.
"Anat". He watches her shoulders stiffen.
"What are you doing here, Yusef?"
"It's Joseph, now."
"It's also Ana, now."
"I've come for you. I left you alone as long as I could."
"Do you call following me to Scotland, leaving me alone?" He hears the slight hint of humor in her voice and scoots forward on his bench.
"I've come for you." He repeats.
