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Post by brooklynlove on Nov 20, 2008 22:18:25 GMT -5
Basie sighed. Wind like this made it difficult to imagine her surroundings away. Summer had gone and winter was fast approaching, dragging with it the bitter, biting winds she'd come to dread. Conjuring up a lush, sun-dappled meadow filled with fluttering fairies was no easy feat when torrents of sharp, bone-chilling air insisted on tearing through every other minute. But the winds were becoming more violent every day, and so was her urge to escape. Summer had disappeared, inside and out.
Sympathy, tenderness
Warm as the summer,
Offer me their embrace...
She kicked at a stone and watched sullenly as it skittered across the path, wishing there were some way she could will the thing she'd dreamed of most to happen. It had always puzzled her how most of the people she knew struggled desperately to push all thought of the thing they wanted most from their mind, as if forgetting would somehow fill the void left by the something they'd once known and lost. Basie didn't think like that; she'd been reliving Caspar's presence since the second he'd gone.
Friendliness, gentleness
Strangers to my life.
They are in his face...
Basie's hand wandered absently to the pocket of her dress, her fingers seeking what they knew they would find, what they'd found so many times before. The smooth of the wood was light and soft to her touch, the intricate engravings a tangible token of a world far beyond her own. She closed her eyes, searching her memory for the face she'd worked so diligently to preserve, chiseling every feature, etching in every detail.
Goodness and sweetness
and kindness
Abound in this place...
As the corners of her mouth turned up into a slight smile, Basie pulled her coat more tightly around her shoulders, burying her face in its collar as another gust of wind swept through her small frame. She stopped, breathed in a breath of cold, sharp air. There was no forgetting.
I am in love with the things that I see in his face;
It's a memory I know time will never erase.
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Post by rainier on Dec 2, 2008 21:56:47 GMT -5
The lodging house was rampant with activity. Boys spoke as loudly as they pleased, shouting as they played games, whether over a triumphant win or a crippling loss. The younger boys ran, burning off whatever energy they had left over from the cold morning of peddling newspapers. Motion was everywhere, save for the far corner of the lounge. No one paid much attention--everyone knew it was just the Professor plowing through another one of his books. Caspar was unaware of the chaos around him. His eyes scanned the page of complex English writing, but his mind absorbed nothing. He would occasionally have to blink and force his attention back to the words, in order to keep his eyes from glazing over and his mind from wandering. Most frustrating was the fact that his mind always wandered to the same place. His dear friend. The angel at the harbor.
Caspar hadn't stopped reading since he returned to the lodging house after the encounter, who knew now how many days ago. He had devoured tome after tome, cover to cover, trying in vain to get another name and another face fastened to his memory. The difficulty of this task lay in the fact that part of him didn't want to forget. Part of him never wanted to forget. He snapped shut his book and laid it in his lap. He was becoming restless at last, and decided quickly he needed to head out for a while, to clear his head. Morningside Park in Harlem wasn't all that far away, and it wouldn't be as crowded as some of the places in Queens. He stood and went to the hooks fastened to the wall for his coat and hat.
Shrugging on his coat, Caspar turned to the boy nearest to him. "I am going to Harlem. I shall return before nightfall." The boy nodded and waved him away, intent on learning to shuffle the deck of cards he held awkwardly between his hands. Caspar paused, and slowly turned away toward the door, pulling his hat firmly on his head. He didn't quite expect to be acknowledged, but it hurt him nonetheless. He was friendly with the other newsboys, but he knew they weren't his friends. His books had alienated him, but he knew he had to choose one evil over the other. The people in his books meant more to him, somehow--they were people he knew, and they gave him comfort. They did, however, detach him from real life and the world around him. And so, Caspar Schulyer, the Professor, set out alone for Harlem in the sun of that chill October afternoon.
The walk wasn't unbearably long, but it would be lonesome. The wind was cold and harsh, and Caspar shivered as he stepped out from the lodging house. No matter, though. It was better; he could focus better. To be more accurate, he would be able to steer his mind away from that which he did not want to think about. He knew nothing of what was going on in his head. For the boy who was used to the logic and structure of books and the simple solitude of his own life, the idea of feeling so--strangely--about another person was abnormal, and, Caspar admitted to himself, frightening. He remembered his wooden coin, and automatically his had went to his trousers pocket. Empty. As least four times so far he'd reached for his coin and remembered it was no longer in his possession. He felt a pang of guilt, as if he had betrayed his deceased father by letting the coin out of his sight. At least, he thought, it had fallen into good hands...
He walked through the iron gates to the park, and kept his eyes trained in front of him as he walked the winding paths. His walk was calming him, and he thought he would be able to return to the lodging house with a clear head. He glanced up the path and--oh, verdomd! Nee! Maar, ja! There she was! He gasped and halted in his tracks. Mijn engel, he thought. Ik heb je gemist. He caught his breath, and found his voice. "Basie! Basie Blythe!" he cried, still rooted tot he spot. Was it fate that he had decided to come here? He couldn't say, of course. All he knew was that she was here, and...and he couldn't be happier to see her.
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Post by brooklynlove on Dec 4, 2008 22:23:56 GMT -5
"Basie!"
Her head snapped up. Glancing around, she scanned the park, her dark curls fluttering lightly in the cold wind. It was probably a good thing she'd decided to go for a walk; her imagination was beginning to run rampant.
"Basie Blythe!"
Again? No, she thought. I'm not even going to look up this time. He isn't there. Basie lowered her eyes once again, focusing intently on the frozen path beneath her as she fought the urge to search for what she'd imagined might come along. But it wasn't possible, couldn't be possible, and she wouldn't waste another hope on something that wouldn't be true. Caspar existed in her memory, lived in her imagination, and she needed to convince herself that her pining stopped there.
She smoothed her hair, allowing her light eyes to drift slowly upward. She smiled. She always smiled when she thought of Caspar, pictured his bright eyes, replayed his lilting accent. Basie hoped he remembered her, and the thought warmed her a little. She stopped, tilted her face to the silent sky, and breathed in.
"Caspar."
She was reminded of the first time she'd spoken his name.
"You don't know how many times I've thought of you, how many times I've pictured your face or strained to hear your voice when I was alone. Because I'm always alone."
She was talking to herself now. She must be crazy. Somehow, though, she found she didn't mind.
"Always alone, but I don't mind it. I don't mind it because you're always there, too."
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Post by rainier on Dec 14, 2008 21:35:30 GMT -5
"Caspar."
He was about to reply, but then he noticed a certain intonation in her voice, something that made him believe that, somehow, she wasn't really talking to him. So he quieted. He stood where he was, unmoving, and only watched and listened to her. It was strange...hearing someone speak when they didn't know you were there. You got to see a part of them that perhaps you didn't see, wondering, perhaps, if they were the same person around you that they were around others. It was strange, but somehow, Caspar felt as if he could see a part of Basie that he wouldn't be able to see when she was around him. A secret her, something purer and less shrouded in mystery. He could, perhaps, witness her in essence. So, he was content to watch and listen, barely breathing for fear he would make a sound and startle her out of her purity.
"You don't know how many times I've thought of you, how many times I've pictured your face or strained to hear your voice when I was alone. Because I'm always alone. Always alone, but I don't mind it. I don't mind it because you're always there, too."
He was stunned. He didn't know how to react, what to say or how to say it...or whether or not to speak at all. He should go away, he felt. Just turn and walk away, turn up the collar of his coat and hide the back of his head so she didn't know it was him retreating from her. Oh, but he couldn't run. Not from her. It was the affection that frightened him, not her. It was the affection he felt for her, and the affection that she requited, that frightened him. It was not normal, it was not something he was used to. It was strange and new, and his first instinct was to run. But he considered--where would be be if he and his family had run from the new language of America? The new city, the new people, the new jobs? Where would anyone be if they continued to run from whatever was new?
His mind made up for now, he took a timid step toward her, his feet dragging across the pavement and crackling a dry leaf. "Basie..." he said, his voice quieter than he would have thought. "I am here now. You--you should turn around. I am here..." He didn't know what to say. But speaking sounded like a fine plan of action. So he did. And now, he waited.
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Post by brooklynlove on Dec 18, 2008 23:00:04 GMT -5
The wind was growing colder, and Basie pulled her coat more tightly around her, nestling her face into its warmth. She looked down at the frosty ground, watched her feet as they slowed to a stop on the pathway. She inhaled deeply. Even if Caspar wasn't actually there in presence, she knew he existed as an intangible being in her memory, someone she could remember, talk to, and imagine. It would have to suffice.
"I am here now. You--you should turn around. I am here..."
She froze as the voice broke into her thoughts. While it was true her imagination had often been known to conjure vivid scenes and stories, she knew she wasn't completely crazy. At least, she hoped she wasn't. The cold wind blew through her hair as she stood quite still, arguing with herself, unwilling to latch onto some false hope her longing heart had created.
Finally, after a moment of internal debate, Basie raised her chin and turned slowly. What could it hurt? As she came to face the opposite direction, her green eyes scanned the park quickly, expecting to find only bare, brittle trees, and frosty shrubs. Suddenly, they stopped, widened in disbelief. Her mind was moving faster than she could remember it ever having moved, and her hair whipped her face with the wind. She knew she wasn't imagining anymore.
Caspar stood in front of her, as real as he had ever been, as real as she could ask for. The realization of what she was seeing with her eyes had begun to seep into her consciousness, and she felt a small smile form on her lips at the thought. Suddenly shy, she lowered her eyes, letting the hair fall into her face, and took a small step toward him. She was afraid to appear too eager, fearing that a rash gesture would frighten him into leaving. That was the last thing she wanted. As she approached him, she brought her eyes up to meet his, once again aware of the blueness in his own. Reaching out timidly, she brushed her fingers along the cuff of his sleeve as if to convince herself she was not dreaming.
Basie looked up. "I-I thought...I thought I was only imagining you again. Tell me I'm wrong. Please, tell me I'm wrong."
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Post by rainier on Dec 20, 2008 12:20:24 GMT -5
"I-I thought...I thought I was only imagining you again. Tell me I'm wrong. Please, tell me I'm wrong."
Slowly, he shook his head. Caspar didn't know how to react to her, to any of this, and so he decided firmly to take each step as it came to him. He would make no flying leaps of faith today. It felt as if they had only met a moment ago, and he needed to be cautious, or else things would go beyond his control. He told her in a controlled voice that betrayed no passionate emotion, "Of course I am here. I stand here now. I stand with you." He was wondering, still, what she meant. How could she not be sure if he was here or not? She couldn't have seen him anywhere else. Even if she had been mistaken at some point, he had been buried in his books for all this time. "But why do you doubt your eyes, Basie? Do you see someone you think is me?"
A sudden, impossible thought crossed his mind. Jozef. Jozef was only a year older than Caspar, and they could almost pass for twins when their hair was hidden, because Jozef's was lighter. Was it somehow possible that Basie could have seen Jozef somewhere in New York? Could it be that he had returned after two years of sailing around the world? Caspar's heart swelled at the possibility, but intellectual that he was he could not allow himself to merit his conclusion. What were the odds that Jozef was back in New York? What were the odds that, out of millions of people, Basie Blythe had spotted him? He could not trust his hasty conclusion, and thus discarded it. His spirit deflated slightly. It was the only hope he'd had in a long time.
But he knew he mustn't blame Basie for dashing his hopes. She had said nothing; everything that he had hoped for he had assumed and created out of his own mind, desperate for reunification with his long-gone siblings, even one of them. For all he knew, Caspar reasoned brutally with himself, he could be the only one of his sisters and brothers to be left alive. To avoid dwelling on this harsh possibility, he turned his full attention back to Basie. "What are you doing here, Basie? It it cold, winter is coming. Why are you not at the lodging house?"
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Post by brooklynlove on Dec 28, 2008 18:51:15 GMT -5
"Of course I am here. I stand here now. I stand with you."
Just the words she'd wanted to hear. She'd imagined them, even said them aloud, but only now did she let herself really believe them. She wasn't dreaming, wasn't even asleep, and the boy before her was no less real than she.
"But why do you doubt your eyes, Basie? Do you see someone you think is me?"
Basie lifted her gaze, confused, and her green eyes moved to his. She tilted her head slightly, letting the dark ringlets fall across her face as she tried to decide what exactly he was talking about. Didn't he know she wouldn't have forgotten his face? Though it seemed an eternity since she had last seen Caspar, his face was still fresh in her memory, etched there as if she'd seen him only minutes before. His strained English, sweet disposition, the way his blue eyes twinkled with his smile, even his scent--all of it. It was all there.
She could see from Caspar's face that his mind was elsewhere, and she wondered if her lack of words had caused him to resent her presence. Maybe he hadn't wanted to see her again at all. Maybe his greeting had been one of obligation, something he felt would be the 'nice' thing to do. As she looked up at him, his expression seemed tense, his eyes distant.
"What are you doing here, Basie? It it cold, winter is coming. Why are you not at the lodging house?"
As his gaze returned to her, her fears began to subside. The sound of his voice was reassuring, protective almost, and it warmed her. "It is cold, isn't it? I get tired of being alone in the house all day...Ewan is always gone. And I like the park."
She fell silent, realizing how meaningless her words sounded. After all, she wasn't sure how much time she would have with him, and keeping her thoughts to herself had never been a strength of hers. Basie let her own eyes wander, let her jumbled thoughts attempt to make sense of themselves.
"Caspar...do you believe in love at first sight?"
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Post by rainier on Dec 28, 2008 19:08:08 GMT -5
"It is cold, isn't it? I get tired of being alone in the house all day...Ewan is always gone. And I like the park."
Caspar nodded. He couldn't remember who Ewan was, but he assumed he was Basie's guardian. "I also am tired of being in the lodging house. But there, no one is ever gone." He stopped, and thought for a moment, his brow furrowed and his eyes cast down to the ground near his feet. "It is strange. Lonely means to be alone, yes? In Dutch it is eenzaam. How strange, Basie! I feel eenzaam, but I could not feel the lonely, because I am not alone. There are so many people in the Queens lodging house. But none of them stop and say hello to me. They whisper to each other, do not bother the Professor, he is busy with his books; only his books are his friends." He could feel his throat tighten from the weight of the eenzaam, and he stopped there.
"So I leave the lodging house. Sometimes I go to the library to read more of my books. Other times I come here to walk. I do not feel so--eenzaam--when I am here." He felt less lonely when he was alone? He could not have the right translation, then. It was the strangest thing. "But you make me feel less like this, Basie! You do not say leave him alone with his books. And, God bless you, you have never, never, said stupid immigrant cannot speak English well. You make me gelukkig. Happy." He wondered, after he said this, if he made her happy when he was with her. He also began to think that his words (he had spoken so much!) had been unwelcome. His body language became withdrawn, and he hung his head, wishing to apologize but unwilling to speak more than he already had.
"Caspar...do you believe in love at first sight?"
Love at first...? He had read about this in one of his books, Leucippe and Clitophon. What was that passage he had enjoyed reading so much, and has asked Miss Claythorne the librarian what some of the words meant...? As soon as I had seen her, I was lost. For Beauty's wound is sharper than any weapon's, and it runs through the eyes down to the soul. It is through the eye that love's wound passes, and I now became a prey to a host of emotions... Why, yes! Was that what Basie referred to? It must have been. He looked at her, glad to know what she was talking about. "Yes," he said, "I am certain it happens all the time!"
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Post by brooklynlove on Dec 28, 2008 22:55:36 GMT -5
"I also am tired of being in the lodging house. But there, no one is ever gone. It is strange. Lonely means to be alone, yes? In Dutch it is eenzaam. How strange, Basie! I feel eenzaam, but I could not feel the lonely, because I am not alone. There are so many people in the Queens lodging house. But none of them stop and say hello to me. They whisper to each other, do not bother the Professor, he is busy with his books; only his books are his friends."
Basie listend intently, savoring not only the words he spoke, but the sound of his voice as he said them. She knew the loneliness he spoke of, knew that often all the people in the world could not fill the void. It wasn't that Ewan ignored her; on the contrary, he often inquired about the day's events, attempting to demonstrate his affection through the small things, like taking time to play cards after dinner. She appreciated his efforts, knew he was trying. It was the best he could do.
"So I leave the lodging house. Sometimes I go to the library to read more of my books. Other times I come here to walk. I do not feel so--eenzaam--when I am here. But you make me feel less like this, Basie! You do not say leave him alone with his books. And, God bless you, you have never, never, said stupid immigrant cannot speak English well. You make me gelukkig. Happy."
His last words came as a surprise, and she welcomed their warmth gladly. She liked the lilt of the foreign words on his tongue, marveled at the thought that this person standing next to her knew more of these words than she could ever imagine. She looked up at him, grinned. "Gelukkig." She stumbled over the strange word. "You do speak English well, Caspar. I understand. But I like this...gelukkig."
Basie swallowed the lump in her throat as she shyly brushed her hand against Caspar's, deliberately averting her gaze. She wished she knew how to tell him that he made her happy, too, but knew that a search for words would be fruitless. Instead, she let her fingers linger a moment, then slowly took a step back. And another.
"Yes, I am certain that it happens all the time!"
She was still walking backwards when he answered her question, and this time, she moved her eyes straight to his, a small smile forming on her face, her cheeks dimpling. "Really? What makes you say that?"
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Post by rainier on Dec 28, 2008 23:40:29 GMT -5
"Gelukkig. You do speak English well, Caspar. I understand. But I like this...gelukkig."
Caspar's eyes brightened after she spoke. "You like Dutch?" he said. Her pronunciation was off, but Caspar didn't hold it against her. It was the first time he had heard an American try to speak his language, and he was enamored by the sound of the two languages combined, but in the polar opposite of what he was used to hearing. He spoke English with a Dutch accent, and from Basie, he heard Dutch with an English accent. "A boy told me when I first was learning to speak English that Dutch sounded like a throat disease..." He gave a small smile.
"May I show you what it sounds like, many words together?" He paused for a moment, ducked his head shyly, wondering what he should say. Then, with an ease that comforted him immediately, he slipped into his native tongue and talked with fluency and comfort that was absent when he spoke English, and no one would know it. Speaking Dutch, he sounded like the genius he was. "Ik had gehoopt dat je eerder gezien had mijn broer ergens op straat, en je faut hem voor mij. Maar ik besefte dat dit niet aannemelijk, omdat hij nog steeds zeil over de hele wereld. Ik wou dat ik hem weer kon zien. Maar ik zou niet willen dat hij je te ontmoeten. Hij is een zeer romantische man, en hij zou zeker proberen om romantiek je. Ik kon hem niet toestaan om dat te doen, omdat..." He stopped there, actually unsure as to how to go on, and hoping that Basie thought it was the end of a sentence.
"Really? What makes you say that?"
He stiffened as if electrocuted when her hand touched his. Then...she was walking away from him. Why was she going away? He realized, after a momentary panic, that she was not leaving--she was just stepping away. He returned her smile and answered, "In a book I read. The protag--protagnest--said that when a woman looked at him, he felt so many emotions that he knew he loved her. With just a look! It must happen, then?" He met her eyes, hopeful for her acknowledgment. It must happen, he thought. Otherwise, he was lost again.
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Post by brooklynlove on Dec 29, 2008 0:32:01 GMT -5
"May I show you what it sounds like, many words together?"
Basie nodded eagerly, but had no time to respond as Caspar launched into a sudden string of unfamiliar sounds.
"Ik had gehoopt dat je eerder gezien had mijn broer ergens op straat, en je faut hem voor mij. Maar ik besefte dat dit niet aannemelijk, omdat hij nog steeds zeil over de hele wereld. Ik wou dat ik hem weer kon zien. Maar ik zou niet willen dat hij je te ontmoeten. Hij is een zeer romantische man, en hij zou zeker proberen om romantiek je. Ik kon hem niet toestaan om dat te doen, omdat..."
As his tongue slowed, the beautiful words rolling fluently from it came to a stop, and Basie stared. She had no idea whatsoever as to what the strange words had meant, but their jaunty rhythm still played in her ears, and she found herself beaming. As she continued her backwards plod, she watched him, smiling, wishing he would begin again.
"In a book I read. The protag--protagnest--said that when a woman looked at him, he felt so many emotions that he knew he loved her. With just a look! It must happen, then?"
She studied him for a moment, wishing she could see something else in those bright blue eyes of his. He was smiling, and his expression made her heart flutter almost as it had a moment ago when she'd touched his hand. Her dark curls were whipping about her face again, and she raised a hand to smooth them, tucked a piece behind her ear.
"That's the only place I've ever really believed it could happen--in books, I mean. Soulmates, and romance, and...and love at first sight. I never really thought those could happen."
She stopped walking, let her hands drop to her sides as the wind caught her hair. She licked her lips, felt the sting of the cold, biting air on them, and looked Caspar full in the face. "It must be lovely..."
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Post by rainier on Dec 30, 2008 22:48:31 GMT -5
"That's the only place I've ever really believed it could happen--in books, I mean. Soulmates, and romance, and...and love at first sight. I never really thought those could happen."
Caspar inclined his head at her, questioning. "You think not?" he asked. He had thought about things like this, many times, when he was alone or at the library. Books, he had been told by his late father, were windows to different worlds. Some of the worlds, he knew, did not exist. The fairies in A Midsummer Night's Dream could not possibly be real. But the world of Huckleberry Finn: the raging Mississippi river, the rafts and impostors and treasures. This would could very well exist. Caspar knew that the aspect of "love at first glance" walked that fine line. But he did not compare it to the fancy of fairies or the fiction of Poe. So, he reasoned, it must be on the other end of the spectrum.
"Some things are fantasy, and some things reality," he reasoned along to Basie. "Some things are clear fantasy. Like Shakespeare's fairies and Poe's hearts under the floor. Others are clear reality. The works of Jacob Riis, and the story of Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer. This is different. I would not compare it to fairies and horror stories." He paused, and pondered for a moment. "It was written about, was it not? And people always write about things that are real to someone, if it is not altogether fantasy, yes? Then, logically, someone must have felt love at first sight..."
"It must be lovely..."
He smiled warmly, and he took a step toward her again, wondering if she was playing a game and wondering how he could play along, if at all. "Truly," he replied softly.
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Post by brooklynlove on Dec 31, 2008 1:30:14 GMT -5
"You think not? Some things are clear fantasy. Like Shakespeare's fairies and Poe's hearts under the floor. Others are clear reality. The works of Jacob Riis, and the story of Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer. This is different. I would not compare it to fairies and horror stories. It was written about, was it not? And people always write about things that are real to someone, if it is not altogether fantasy, yes? Then, logically, someone must have felt love at first sight..."
And he thought he didn't speak English well. She watched the boy before her, taking in his contrasting expressions, letting herself smile at the extent of his knowledge. How many people had she met in this city who not only could, but would, dive into such depths? Over such a concept? She loved the way his blue eyes lit up when he spoke of his books, the way he furrowed his brow in concentration, and realized that when he smiled, her own face instantly brightened.
She knew there were things she'd given up on, ideas, hopes. Was it possible that Caspar understood these as well, could awaken her belief in such things again? She watched the boy with the blue eyes, the light hair, and the beautiful words, and her heart swelled.
"Truly."
He stepped toward her, his voice quiet. Basie was glad to see he was still smiling, but his unexpected response had left her speechless. She stared at him for a moment, her mouth pulled into a half smile. Averting her gaze, she looked down, twirled a strand of dark hair around her finger. "Do you think you'll ever find it?"
She chanced a look upward, slightly anxious.
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Post by rainier on Dec 31, 2008 18:33:54 GMT -5
"Do you think you'll ever find it?"
Caspar stepped forward as he pondered, closing the distance between him and Basie. Her question was valid under the circumstances, and followed a logical train of thought from the current topic. There was nothing strange about her question, nothing suggestive or expectant about it. In vain, Caspar tried to convince himself of this. But his intellectual mind, reasoning that there was significance in her bringing it up in the first place, did not allow him to be swayed so easily. Neither did his heart, which wanted beyond all things for her to love him. He wanted her to think of him as often as he thought of her. He wanted--well, he was unsure what, exactly. Caspar was so used to thinking and analyzing with his mind, he was unable to trust his heart and let things simply be. He knew that he needed to open his heart to her. What did that entail? He wondered for a moment, and then, like an epiphany, he knew what he should do.
He did not answer her question. "My mother left our family, I was very young. We lived in an Amsterdam house, and we were poor. Years later, my father take us here. He became ill--consumption--and died. I was abandoned, I felt. But it was made worse. My brothers and sisters left me as well. Viona and Siemen left on a train. Jozef is a sailor. He is somewhere at sea now. Helena wans to return to Amsterdam. I do not know, now, where are any of them. I do not know if are any of them alive. But I have been alone for a long time. I could have gone together with one, but I chose New York. I knew there had been reason for Vader to bring us here. I felt there would be my future in these streets. I want now what Vader wanted. A new life in America." He stopped there, and held her gaze. When he had first met her, he had thought she was somehow divine, an angel. Now, of course, he knew that she was not, but he still thought of her as his angel. How could he not?
His chosen action was illogical, it was not practical. But he had followed his heart, and that was what had come of it. He wondered if it would bring them closer to their conclusion, whatever it may be. Or would it set them back several steps? Caspar had no way of knowing. He was certain, though, of one thing: no matter how many backward steps Basie took, he would always take another one forward.
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Post by brooklynlove on Jan 5, 2009 19:40:17 GMT -5
Again, she watched him, waited for him to speak. She was afraid he wouldn't, was afraid that her attempt at casual indifference had failed entirely, and her heart ached as she imagined the scorn he must have for her. The wide-eyed, dreamy girl who never could manage to say the right thing. While it was true that most of her thoughts eventually made themselves known aloud, never before had she allowed herself to be so direct. She knew Caspar wasn't a fool. Basie gazed at him uncertainly, sure that he must have understood, yet praying that he hadn't. It would have been better to leave the words unspoken. At least then she could have clung to some sort of unrecognized hope.
"My mother left our family, I was very young. We lived in an Amsterdam house, and we were poor. Years later, my father take us here. He became ill--consumption--and died. I was abandoned, I felt. But it was made worse. My brothers and sisters left me as well. Viona and Siemen left on a train. Jozef is a sailor. He is somewhere at sea now. Helena wants to return to Amsterdam. I do not know, now, where are any of them. I do not know if are any of them alive. But I have been alone for a long time. I could have gone together with one, but I chose New York. I knew there had been reason for Vader to bring us here. I felt there would be my future in these streets. I want now what Vader wanted. A new life in America."
Caspar brought his eyes to hers, and she held his gaze weakly, certain now that he had understood. He hadn't answered her question, had instead chosen to elaborate on a different thought, but somehow Basie felt that he had not ignored her. He was standing quite close to her now, and she felt almost as if she should step back once more. It wasn't fair for her to have asked such a question.
Knowing she should say something to break the silence that threatened to engulf them, Basie bit her lip as she struggled for words. None came. Here Caspar had shared his life with her, and she could not even think of a response. She wanted so much to know and understand, to share in that life he had so freely spoken of, and yet she simply stared at him. This was getting to be quite a frequent problem of hers, she thought dismally. Words had never seemed to be so meaningless before, and now she couldn't think of a single word that would express what she wanted to say.
Feeling a slight blush warm her dimpled cheeks, Basie managed to pull her eyes away from Caspar's, all the while reassuring herself that he would still be standing there when she looked up again. She bent her head slightly, reached a hand deep in the pocket of her dress, and felt what she was looking for. Its smoothness was light to her touch, and drawing it out, she looked at it a moment, a piece of the story she had just been told. Not yet moving her eyes back to Caspar, her fingers sought his, nestled the small wooden chip gently in his palm. As she drew her fingertips reluctantly back, she looked up. "It's beautiful. It's a part of your family, and it doesn't belong with me."
This time she did take a step back. Not a large one, however, and only so she could look more fully into Caspar's face. She hugged herself, wishing the wind were not quite so cold, and added in a small voice, "I don't have brothers and sisters, but my mother left me, too. They wouldn't tell me what happened, but I know that she fell in love with someone else, and my father was never the same. Something changed. I'm so scared it will happen to me, too."
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