Bohemians of Sesqua Valley by W. H. Pugmire Read Free Book Online

to sink into it now.”
    They retired to the small kitchen and she allowed him to serve her a small bowl of stew and a plate of bread that was still warm from the oven, on which she spread delicious garlic butter. As they shared their repast, she studied the young man before her, and he smiled at her investigating eyes. “Do I meet with approval?”
    “You’ve aged.” He frowned in response. “Rather, you’ve matured. You still resemble a very young Rudolph Valentino, albeit with larger ears. Your sleek black hair quite shines, and your profile has never seemed so handsome. I think it’s your eyes that have changed—they’ve lost their juvenile frivolity. They’ve darkened with experience. This bread is delicious.”
    He grinned at her change of topic as they sipped the last of their wine in silence, and then she rose from the table and returned to the living room, the aura of which caught her curiosity. Akiva followed her and seemed suddenly anxious. “Do you really find me so changed? Aren’t I as charming as I used to be?” She turned to him and saw a flicker of his former adolescence, his uncertainty and need to be liked. Walking around the room, she studied the various figurines, the objets d’art, the queer paintings on the walls.
    “You’ve developed a taste for the macabre.”
    He shrugged. “I’ve always had it. It’s become more acute since coming here.”
    “You’ve been here half a year? How long do you plan to stay?”
    “Indefinitely.”
    “But what’s here that holds you?” He shrugged again, yet she thought his eyes were cautious, as if he knew secrets that he could not yet share with her. That was another new element in his personality, for he had been so garrulous with her in the past, sharing his ideas and passions and miseries without hesitation. Suddenly weary, she yawned; and then she went to him and kissed his brow before retiring to her room. It was in the bedroom that she sensed the lad Akiva used to be: here were the shelves crammed with Penguin Classics paperbacks, of which he had been so fond, and here the walls wore paintings that depicted scenes from Shakespeare and Dante and Milton. The atmosphere of the room seemed lighter than that of the living room, where his new and darker nature seemed to lurk. Stepping to a window, she looked out and saw nothing but thick mist. Not bothering to close its curtains, she walked away from the window and went to where her bags had been placed.
    Sarah undressed and got into bed, resting her reading glasses on the bedside table next to its ornate antique lamp. Just as she was about to switch off the lamp, Akiva appeared at her door. Quietly, he entered the room and sat next to her on the bed. “This is my newest work,” he whispered, handing her a notebook. “It’s still very rough, but I thought it might interest you. No, don’t look them over now, you’re sleepy. Wait for the morning, when you’ll be rested and attentive.”
    “My dear child, you cannot give me this and not expect me to glance at it before retiring. Now, go and close the door. I’m in need of silence and solitude.”
    He took her hand and kissed it, and then he vacated the room. Reaching for her glasses, Sarah donned them and opened the notebook. Akiva’s admirable hand had written out the lines of poetry in violet ink, the same shade with which he penned his correspondence. Sarah glanced at the first two poems, which were his usual kind of sonnet, the form he liked best. They were admirable poems of praise that paid tribute to the beauty of Sesqua Valley, one of which sang of a twin-peaked mountain of white stone that seemed to stand as emblem of the region’s unique nature. She then turned the leaf and came upon the curious thing. She read it twice, her forehead furrowed.
    “Out of the depths of dreaming came
    The antique thing that called my name.
    It shook me from my placid rest,
    Commanding me to kiss its breast.
    My mouth pressed to its marble