She lay there, unconscious, a thing amongst other things. In her drugged haze she dreamt she was with him, not with him; they were apart and yet together, that somehow without even moving she could get closer to him, which made no sense but then she also dreamt she was in a boat, going by a perilous passage between terrible menacing rocks and a swirling spiralling luscious green whirlpool; beautiful to look at, but death itself. The boat was steered to safety, but she could barely breathe, save for thinking - hoping - he was there.
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He could not face life without her; he was brave enough to know this about himself. He could no longer do it; he had done it for so long, he didn't know what else was possible but this was it. The rumbling and rambling of the crowd meant little to him; he had to figure it out for himself. It would be a crushing weight if he could not find her, or if he found her in a certain way. He would lay there in bed and not move for weeks, or so it would seem. The little bird could only tell him so much. He was a patient and understanding man; obliging; but he would either collapse altogether or erupt at this point. His friend was on the floor dancing and occasionally giving him a glance as if to say; we are not alone here, you know. He smiled and continued to gauge the crowd.
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He fell into a reverie; a recollection of when he met her and vowed to change; vowed he would be loyal to her and her only. It was not a difficult promise in the least, he was proud of it, and proud that he kept it. He could not look away from the scattered twigs and leaves from the tree that he passed by on the way to her house, though; the winds blew strongly there and relentlessly at times, and there would be times when the wind would try to blow them over as well. This was life, simple and plain, and he promised to shelter her as best he could from these winds. He felt vulnerable then, but the tree, though wracked, stood. A good omen, he felt.
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"Hey pal, what are you doing here? Looking for someone?" He looked up, a bit warily. It was his old pal and, he knew in his guts, a witness. He kept his head down. "Sorta. Not sure if she's here." "Well, there's plenty of fine girls who are, if you're looking. Not that you look like their type, exactly." "Hmmmm." He drank a bit more and decided to chance it and look at him directly. "Was the laughing girl here? You know the one? She likes to dance." It was their old nickname for her, due to her laugh, of course. "No, can't say I've seen her lately, but she is still around, yes....you look a bit rough." "Been in hospital you know. The food, the drugs. Feeling better though" he laughed, as his old pal didn't know him from anyone. "Maybe she's upstairs? That's where couples go when they get...you know..." "Thanks." He started upstairs, the song in the background he hoped would stay in the background, thank you very much.
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He reached the top of the stairs and it was dark; far darker than it was downstairs. How cold and mysterious it was! And he felt uneasy. This area was called, illogically yet inevitably, the underworld; he shuddered as he walked past the doors, the various noises coming out from the rooms. This was not a good place to be. His friend caught up with him just in time, before he turned back. "What do you want up here? This is off limits you know." "I know but...a guy who I think knows something said she might be up here." "As if she would want to be up here, really." "I have the feeling that she isn't really...awake. No, I don't feel that about her at all. Damn it's quiet up here. I...let me go through this door--" "No, I don't think you want to do that. That's where we are hiding, after all." "Huh?" The green-eyed stranger, who had been something of a witness himself and who knew perfectly well that he was talking to her partner, stepped out of the stairwell. "Our hiding place is there." There was a pause which could best be described as awkward. "You hide amongst these people?" "She's not there; I have been looking for her myself." "You what?" "She is a symbol for us, of resistance...she doesn't really know about us, but we care for her." He paused and thought for a moment; huh. He hoped this wasn't a tall story.
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"You have been...looking after her?" This was unthinkable to him; he always imagined her having to save the besieged fortress that was them himself. "Well, this is our club...not that that is well known..." "So she is going to be alright?" "Yes. Still don't know where she is though."
He heaved a sigh of relief; the interior burden was getting to be too much for him. He felt like crying, out of sheer happiness that seemed to be gushing from within him the way blood once did; he found a chair, suddenly feeling much safer here than he had before, and even got up and did a little dance. His voyage was not for nothing; he felt like Dionysos now, knowing that Naxos was in sight, merry and yet determined. "I think I will have a drink downstairs. What do you say?" The radical gleamed and said it would be on him.
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