The Sacred and the Profane

           Shelookedattheglowingbandsontheskinofherarm,spacedlikebraceletsfromherwristtohershoulder.TheywerestripsofsunlightfromtheVenetianblindsonthewindowofanunfamiliarroom.Shesawabruiseaboveherelbow,withdarkbeadsthathadbeenblood.Herarmlayontheblanketthatcoveredherbody.Shewasawareofherlegsandhips,buttherestofherbodywasonlyasenseoflightness,asifitwerestretchedrestfullyacrosstheairinaplacethatlookedlikeacagemadeofsunrays.

           Turningtolookathim,shethought:Fromhisaloofness,fromhismannerofglass-enclosedformality,fromhisprideinneverbeingmadetofeelanything—tothis,toHankReardeninbedbesideher,afterhoursofaviolencewhichtheycouldnotnamenow,notinwordsorindaylight—butwhichwasintheireyes,astheylookedateachother,whichtheywantedtoname,tostress,tothrowateachother’sface.

           Hesawthefaceofayounggirl,herlipssuggestingasmile,asifhernaturalstateofrelaxationwereastateofradiance,alockofhairfallingacrosshercheektothecurveofanakedshoulder,hereyeslookingathimasifshewerereadytoacceptanythinghemightwishtosay,asshehadbeenreadytoacceptanythinghehadwishedtodo.

           Hereachedoverandmovedthelockofhairfromhercheek,cautiously,asifitwerefragile.Hehelditbackwithhisfingertipsandlookedatherface.Thenhisfingersclosedsuddenlyinherhairandheraisedthelocktohislips.