LatinosUSA

8^th May 1945, Paris

A standstill crystal clear night under the amorous impressionism of a moon’s intimate ogling, the lioness and the lamb renew an affair. Cemented almost as one upon Pont de L’Archevêché sharing the last of the Gauloises, looking down and out at the magic of perception over nature that is the alchemy of the Seine, they wished they could turn back time and make different those far apart lost years. Instead, they decided that a discreet left bank boutique hotel too good a thing to neglect now that the ‘white dove’ had come home, the hawks of war flown away, bloodshed done with, and sanity returned…so they thought. What they had failed to see was the emergence of the few, yet active, post-war, far-right fascists.  A shame.   

~

 Early Summer 1950 – Kent, England

She examines her defenceless giant, no longer an active solder anymore, searchingly as he bathes. He, the one who is pure portrayal of rare full-fledged innocence, and wonders if the macrocosm inside his head replicates the one outside of hers. She hopes against hope that locked within exists a rainbow’s multi-coloured arc, or is all this lost upon his extraordinary self, empty of speech, hearing and sight, unaware that gesture is the only language he bestows, touch and smell his native inside-out lone connection.

She communicates as best she can. Upon his awakening she is always there for him. Her ‘hello of sorts’ a lover’s tangled tongue kiss. No passion though, they are no longer the passing lovers they once were. More that the sharing of her unique taste serves to let him perceive her, recognize her. Always has him gift a beaming smile just for her. She wears the self-same perfume each day also, it helps him identify proximity.

With no great difficulty she aids him out of the bath, warm towels, warm heart care. Time for drying using his washcloth, though the palaver with it irks him, induces a frown. Regardless he is immune to nakedness within his ambushed consciousness, his curious dominion. Not for him the embarrassment of the early bareness.

The sun shone the day before. Albeit keeping a caring eye open, she chose to let him wander the lawn, uncovered. From nowhere a summer storm brewed, small hailstones. She watched as he held out his palms, threw his head back, greeted the spheres of water ice, an air of amazement, no suffering.

The eternal ”what next’ frustrates her day; muddles her mood. She undresses, calculates he may have no recollection that human beings come in to packages. Her hands upon his chest, fingers spread wide, sensation of touch inviting. Invitation accepted, he mirrors her actions, stroke for stroke, his look curious, questioning, captivated. No folly in innocent exploration.

A telephone outside of his realm rings. It might be important; thus she pulls away, noticing he’d shed a single loaded tear. From which continent of emotion it herald, likely she’d never unearth. He has been this way ever since she rescued him.

THE END

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