Chapter 43: His Dream
The world shook for a time, but Amon did not care. He lay back on the sand with Nyima beside him as the beach stretched quiet under a fading sky, waves rolling in steady and low. He turned his head toward her.
"I always wanted to bring you here."
She looked at him. "Hmm...when? You told me a dozen times while you were drunk. Never when you were sober."
Amon pulled her closer against his side, smiling. "I was never sober, darling."
Nyima pushed at his chest, glancing around. "There are people here..."
"I couldn’t care less, love."
He kept his arm around her as they talked. The heat of the day eased off. At ease, she rested her head against him and listened while he spoke about nothing in particular, old jokes, half-remembered places, the way the sea smelled different from the mountains.
Her replies came soft and steady.
When the sun finally dropped, the light turned orange then violet, and the few remaining walkers began to leave the shore.
Nyima shifted and settled fully against his chest. Her breathing slowed. After a while she asked, without opening her eyes, "Will this...last forever? This peace, your love towards me?"
Amon did not answer with words. He only nodded once, the motion small enough that she might have felt it rather than seen it.
Time passed and gradually the beach emptied. Night air cooled the sand and Nyima stirred even closer.
"Amon...I’m cold..." she murmured. "We should go back to our room..."
Amon sat up, then stood, and lifted her without warning.
"Aaaa!" She made a small sound of surprise as he carried her the way someone carries a bride across a threshold.
"Whatever my queen says..." he muttered as he kissed her forehead once and started walking.
The road to the hotel was lined with low lights. Shadows stretched long from the poles. In one of those places where a shadow should have fallen clean and empty, a figure stood.
It was visible only to him, thin, still, shaped like a woman but without clear edges. The figure spoke in a voice that reached no one else but him.
Have you not had enough?
Amon kept walking anyway. He did not answer. He didn’t need to. He did not even look at it longer than a second as Nyima, still in his arms, felt the slight change in his face.
"What happened, dear?" she asked.
For a moment the sadness showed. Then he smiled again.
"Nothing, love. Only some flies bothering me..." he replied.
"Oh, my great handsome guardian of the village, bothered by some bugs. That would make quite a novel..."
She accepted the answer and rested her head against his shoulder for the rest of the short walk.
Meanwhile, Claude waited in the lobby. He said everything was ready, rooms, clothes, the private side of the bar if they wanted it.
Amon nodded thanks and carried Nyima upstairs.
Thud!
The moment the door closed behind them, he kissed her, and she kissed him back, passionately, like both of them were waiting for some privacy.
"Love..." Nyima said, already breathless. "You said we would go to the bar? Don’t you...want to relieve your urges?" She asked.
Amon stopped and smiled. "Oh, how good of a wife you are. You must be the first one who would say to her husband to drink more..."
They changed without hurry as she chose a dark one-piece that caught the light in small sparks when she moved.
It sat close to her skin and left her shoulders bare. She turned once in front of him.
"This...isn’t this too revealing?" She asked.
"Black suits you, and don’t worry. I already booked the bar. No one would even dare look." he said.
They went down to the bar. Now, Claude stood behind the counter and poured without being asked.
The place was quiet. All the other tables were empty as Amon and Nyima took a corner booth. She sat close enough that their knees touched.
"You look really good in that dress. I want to rip it apart right here and now," he whispered.
"Dear, you always say that when you’ve had a drink."
"I’ve only had one."
"Then say it again after ten. Then you can do whatever you like to me..."
He smiled and ordered the next round. They talked about small things first, the food earlier, the temperature of the water that afternoon, a joke Claude had made in the lobby.
The alcohol settled in slowly. Amon’s shoulders loosened. He watched the way the light moved across the fabric of her dress when she leaned forward to reach her glass.
"I really missed you," he said after a while. He finished what must have been close to his hundredth glass of the stronger stuff Claude kept pouring. The count had stopped mattering hours earlier.
Nyima set her own glass down. "I’m here. With you. You don’t need to miss me."
He reached across the table and took her hand. His thumb moved once over her knuckles. "I know. But still, I missed you."
She did not pull away. The conversation shifted into quieter territory, memories of the mountains, the first time they had shared a fire, the way she used to fall asleep sitting up when the nights ran long as Claude kept the glasses full and the background noise low.
At some point Amon stood, swayed once, and decided the bar was no longer enough.
He took her hand and the world folded.
One moment they were in the hotel. The next they stood on a high ridge of the Himalayas under a sky full of hard stars.
Cold air hit their faces. Nyima laughed, startled and delighted at once. Snow crunched under their shoes.
"It’s like we are back home..."
"We haven’t finished it yet..."
He held her steady until the dizziness passed, then moved them again.
Paris appeared around them, night streets, wet pavement, the smell of bread from a late-night bakery.
They walked a short distance, ducked into a quiet restaurant that somehow had a table waiting, and ate without speaking much. The wine was good, and the whole time her eyes stayed bright. Like always.
How could I ever forget those eyes.
Amon thought.
America came next, a city whose name he did not bother saying. A high room with wide windows and a bed large enough for two. The city lights spread out below like scattered coins. He set her down carefully and her dress came off without ceremony.
What followed was slow and close and unhurried. The whole time, Nyima screamed his name out loud, her usual shy side all washed away.
After three hours or so, when it ended, he stayed beside her for a long minute, one hand resting on the curve of her waist.
"Sleep, dear. I will go to the washroom real quick." He whispered.
The bathroom was small and brightly lit. He turned on the water and looked into the mirror. For a second his own face stared back—tired eyes, like something was sucking his energy from him.
Then the reflection changed. The womanly figure from the roadside stood clear now.
Uriel.
No shadow this time. Solid enough that he could see the exact line of her mouth.
"Come back," she said. "Come back to reality and stop this childish dream. You need to finish your mission, did you forget?"
Amon’s hands tightened on the edge of the sink. The water ran unheeded as he avoided the reflection.
"Amon!" Uriel bellowed.
"This all started because of you," he finally replied. The words came low and hard. "You killed Nyima on the mountain. It’s because of you!"
"Don’t you dare shout at me. I would have destroyed you if you had shown up in reality..."
Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes but did not fall yet. Uriel remained silent for several breaths. When she spoke again, her voice held no heat.
"Come into reality and I will let you kill me."
"Ha! Do you think that’s enough?" His throat worked. "Heaven and hell and the whole world need to pay...nothing else matters."
From the bedroom Nyima’s voice called, soft and a little sleepy. "Baby? Where are you?"
Amon’s face changed at once. The hardness drained out of it in mere seconds. He answered in the same gentle tone he had used on the beach.
"Coming, love."
He turned toward the door as Uriel spoke one last time before he could leave.
"I will help you destroy everything then. Only put Claude out of this. Give him the freedom he deserves...stop pulling him back into your mess."
Amon stood still for a couple of seconds. Then he said, "Let’s see," and closed the bathroom door behind him.
He walked back into the bedroom. Nyima was sitting up against the pillows, the sheet pulled to her chest, hair loose around her shoulders.
She smiled when she saw him as he sat on the edge of the bed and brushed a strand of hair from her face.
"You were gone a while," she said.
"Just cleaning up, love. Nothing more..."
She reached for his hand. He let her take it. Outside the window the city lights kept their steady glow.
Inside the room the air still held the warmth of the earlier hours. Amon leaned down and kissed her once, brief and careful, then lay back beside her.
Peacefully.