(5 ratings) Rate this Story (5 best) 1 2 3 4 5

I didn't consider myself shallow though that conclusion begged invocation. Rather, I considered myself a generalist, able to report on anything and everything, not confined to a specific genre.
Huilang now suggested I change, that I become specific to her and this place.
For ten thousand generations.
Somewhere in the house, Huilang began to sing, her voice that deep alto that synchronized my emotions, every nerve in my body aligning itself with the sound of her voice. Love songs, ancient love songs, sad because all love songs are sad, because time is long and love is short even when it fills all the time available.
I found a bench on the far side of the garden. Her voice still carried to me but I could let my thoughts run on against that background. A rivulet passed below the bench to fall to a pond three or four feet below, the sound of the water cascading a joyful counterpoint to the sadness in Huilang's songs. Both the songs and the water seemed to develop a cadence to match the cadence in my mind: for ten thousand generations.
I should leave. I should go back out into the world and finish what I had been doing, get my story on the Reformer, go home, live my life without Marissa. I should miss her as I'd always done, as was natural but I should not stay in this unnatural place. This was wrong.
Oh, shit! Did that mean I did not really love Marissa? That I could let her go, act my part as the bereaved but, secretly, underneath, it was just that: an act?
Quickly, I rejected that accusation. No, I loved Marissa, with every bit of my being. No one ever loved more. No one missed their beloved as I missed mine. Honesty saved me. The truth turned the ugly suspicion into dust. Nothing could be more true than our love was....had been.
Had been. Past tense. Finished.
Time to go home.
Home? Truth took a chunk out of my fantasy. I had no home. There was an apartment where I got my mail, a rest stop between stories. Home requires family; Marissa was my family.
Well, then, time to go back.
Back to what? That terrible need for truth jolted me into an unsettling awareness. Going back meant spending my days looking for distractions, anything to take mind off missing Marissa. Here, in Refuge, the need to forget would be forgotten. Here, in Refuge, Marissa would be part of my life for ten thousand generations.
Getting up, surprised that evening was almost upon us, I resumed my trek around the garden knowing my decision made. Step by step around the garden, I rolled that decision round and round, examining it from every angle that presented itself. I discovered nothing to make me doubt, nothing to make me reconsider. I came upon Huilang at a bridge.
Is it only in memory that the night came in shades of gray, water, clouds, stars, rock, shrubs, all substantial but secondary to the riveting flame of the woman? Dragons, Imperial jade-dragons, nine jade dragons for nine dragon sons rampant on her dress, the dress its own brilliant take on Burmese jade. Jade and the woman, the woman and jade, the phoenix displaying her affinity for the dragon, yin and yang, classic chip'ao with un-classic undershirt, the yaodai blazing the color of life itself, ancient and modern, contradiction and continuity. All that beneath the Mona Lisa smile, nestled behind the modest placement of her hands.
Is it only in memory her songs re-play, sad love songs, loving sad songs, everything in opposition, lyric, melody, rhythm?
Is it only in memory her voice comes from the deepest alto ranges? Or that her eyes and lips join forces to question my motives, to summarize our encounter as "I played my part; will you now play yours?"
My part. My role. My quest.
Now that I knew it, making it happen seemed effortless.
End