because I would die young. Then you came and said I could be immortal. I understand this. What I am accepts this. But I wasn’t raised to be powerful. Women never are.”
Helen paused before asking, “Stephen, what would happen if I did not live on human life?”
“In time you would forget what it is like to be human.”
“Is that so wrong?”
“My father survives that way. One of our women does also. I understand her decision but I think she has lost too much. People are more than food to us. They are the texture of our lives.”
“And we’re their fantasies,” Helen said softly, then added, “I’m still partly human. I might not suffer any loss.”
“Even my father can walk among men when he must,” he said evenly. He dared not hint what vow he wanted. Her choice must be her own.
She held out her hand and, for the first time, showed him the pale patch of skin on her palm. “If I lose my eyes, what color will they be when they grow back?”
When he didn’t reply, she added, “And if I am ever damaged inside, will I lose the human ability you all need so much?‘’
“You could have children and raise them here.”
“No, Stephen. If I don’t go with you soon, our cycles of work and exile will never merge completely. We’ll face an eternity of good-byes.” She smiled sadly and reached for his hand, then spoke slowly in his language trying to inflect each syllable as precisely as the shape of her mouth and throat would allow, “You are my chosen, the one who will be father to my children,” then added in English, “my husband, for as long as you desire it.”
She sensed the tension draining from him as she made this vow, replaced by an old sorrow. There were no words in his language to describe all of her future with him. “You are my chosen,” he began in the Austra feminine inflection, “who will be mother to my children.” And added in English, “My wife, for as long as you desire it.”
“When we leave, take me to a place where there are no people to distract me and remind me of my past. I want to paint the trees and the mountains and the sky the way a deer sees them.”
All the Austra family felt this call to throw off the sham of humanity. To run. To hunt. He hadn’t expected to see the need surface in Helen yet.
Helen sensed his thoughts. “It’s not need; just desire to discover exactly what I am. Then you can be my teacher again. But first you must give me a little time to be nineteen and healthy and almost human; to make a fool out of myself with Philippe or Alex, with anyone I wish. And to become famous. After I die, I want everyone to remember my name.”
He shook his head. “That isn’t wise, Helen. Unlike the rest of our kind, you have a past—a real one—and it could endanger you.”
“We’ll destroy all my photographs and break all but the closest ties. Then I’ll be no different than Denys or Laurie. You see, I want my family to inherit my estate. Fame will be my gift to them.” She imitated his frequent pragmatic tone, “Works of dead artists are worth more, yes?”
He could hardly deny her this brief moment of recognition, especially since she would never have another like it again. So he ignored his uneasiness and asked, “Can you be ready for your first major show in nine months?”
Understanding what he really asked, she considered her response before answering confidently. “Six. Six, and then it will be over.”
II
The next morning Hillary stripped off her nightshirt and angled her wall mirror so she could study her body. She looked at it, front and back, with a complete lack of any emotion other than detached loathing. Then she put on her baggy clothes, picked up a pin, and moved her face in closer to the mirror. As she stared at her eyes, she thought of her mother and scratched the pin again and again over one cheek until the scratch bled. Satisfied, she took an apple from the table and headed toward school. Though she tried not to think
Helen paused before asking, “Stephen, what would happen if I did not live on human life?”
“In time you would forget what it is like to be human.”
“Is that so wrong?”
“My father survives that way. One of our women does also. I understand her decision but I think she has lost too much. People are more than food to us. They are the texture of our lives.”
“And we’re their fantasies,” Helen said softly, then added, “I’m still partly human. I might not suffer any loss.”
“Even my father can walk among men when he must,” he said evenly. He dared not hint what vow he wanted. Her choice must be her own.
She held out her hand and, for the first time, showed him the pale patch of skin on her palm. “If I lose my eyes, what color will they be when they grow back?”
When he didn’t reply, she added, “And if I am ever damaged inside, will I lose the human ability you all need so much?‘’
“You could have children and raise them here.”
“No, Stephen. If I don’t go with you soon, our cycles of work and exile will never merge completely. We’ll face an eternity of good-byes.” She smiled sadly and reached for his hand, then spoke slowly in his language trying to inflect each syllable as precisely as the shape of her mouth and throat would allow, “You are my chosen, the one who will be father to my children,” then added in English, “my husband, for as long as you desire it.”
She sensed the tension draining from him as she made this vow, replaced by an old sorrow. There were no words in his language to describe all of her future with him. “You are my chosen,” he began in the Austra feminine inflection, “who will be mother to my children.” And added in English, “My wife, for as long as you desire it.”
“When we leave, take me to a place where there are no people to distract me and remind me of my past. I want to paint the trees and the mountains and the sky the way a deer sees them.”
All the Austra family felt this call to throw off the sham of humanity. To run. To hunt. He hadn’t expected to see the need surface in Helen yet.
Helen sensed his thoughts. “It’s not need; just desire to discover exactly what I am. Then you can be my teacher again. But first you must give me a little time to be nineteen and healthy and almost human; to make a fool out of myself with Philippe or Alex, with anyone I wish. And to become famous. After I die, I want everyone to remember my name.”
He shook his head. “That isn’t wise, Helen. Unlike the rest of our kind, you have a past—a real one—and it could endanger you.”
“We’ll destroy all my photographs and break all but the closest ties. Then I’ll be no different than Denys or Laurie. You see, I want my family to inherit my estate. Fame will be my gift to them.” She imitated his frequent pragmatic tone, “Works of dead artists are worth more, yes?”
He could hardly deny her this brief moment of recognition, especially since she would never have another like it again. So he ignored his uneasiness and asked, “Can you be ready for your first major show in nine months?”
Understanding what he really asked, she considered her response before answering confidently. “Six. Six, and then it will be over.”
II
The next morning Hillary stripped off her nightshirt and angled her wall mirror so she could study her body. She looked at it, front and back, with a complete lack of any emotion other than detached loathing. Then she put on her baggy clothes, picked up a pin, and moved her face in closer to the mirror. As she stared at her eyes, she thought of her mother and scratched the pin again and again over one cheek until the scratch bled. Satisfied, she took an apple from the table and headed toward school. Though she tried not to think
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