“Come on,” I said, aiming my beer can at a trash bin and catching hold of her hand. “Let’s take a walk.”
“Where to?” she asked, as I drew her to her feet.
“Fairy land,” I replied. “The fabled realms of yore. Eden. Come on.”
Laughing, she let me lead her along the beach, toward a place where it narrowed, squeezing by high embankments. The moon was generous and yellow, the sea sang my favorite song.
We strolled hand in hand past the bluffs, where a quick turning of the way took us out of sight of our stretch of sand: I looked for the cave that should be occurring soon, high and narrow . . .
“A cave,” I announced moments later. “Let’s go in.”
“It’ll be dark.”
“Good,” I said, and we entered.
The moonlight followed us for about six paces. By then, though, I had spotted the turnoff to the left.
“’This way,” I stated. “It is dark!”
“Sure. Just keep hold of me a little longer. It’ll be okay.” Fifteen or twenty steps and there was a faint illumination to the right. I led her along that turning and the way bright- ened as we advanced.
“We may get lost,” she said softly.
“I don’t get lost,” I answered her.
It continued to brighten. ‘The way turned once more, and we proceeded along that last passage to emerge at the foot of a mountain in sight of a low forest, the sun standing at midmorning height above its trees.
She froze, blue eyes wide. “It’s daytime!” she said.
“Tempus fugit,” I replied. “Come on.”
We walked through the woods for a time, listening to the birds and the breezes, dark-haired Julia and I, and I led her after a while through a canyon of colored rocks and grasses, beside a stream that flowed into a river.
We followed the river until we came, abruptly, to a precipice from whence it plunged a mighty distance, casting rainbows and fogs. Standing there, staring out across the great valley that lay below, we beheld a city of spires and cupolas, gilt and crystal, through morning and mist.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Just around the comer,” I said. “Come.”
I led her to the left, then down a trail that took us back along the face of the cliff, passing finally behind the cataract. Shadows and diamond beads . . . a roaring to approach the power of silence . . .
We passed at last into a tunnel, damp at first but drying as it rose. We followed it to a gallery, open to our left and looking out upon night and stars, stars, stars. . . . It was an enormous prospect, blazing with new constellations, their light sufficient to cast our shadows onto the wall behind us. She leaned over the low parapet, her skin some rare polished marble, and she looked downward.
“’They’re down there, too,” she said. “And to both sides! There is nothing below but more stars. And to the sides . . .”
“Yes. Pretty things, aren’t they?”
We remained there for a long while, watching, before I could persuade her to come away and follow the tunnel farther.. It bore us out again to behold a ruined classical amphitheater beneath a late afternoon sky. Ivy grew over broken benches and fractured pillars. Here and there lay a shattered statue, as if cast down by earthquake. Very picturesque. I’d thought she’d like it, and I was right. We took turns seating ourselves and speaking to each other. The acoustics were excellent.
We walked away then, hand in hand, down myriad ways beneath skies of many colors, coming at last in sight of a quiet lake with a sun entering evening upon its farther shore. There was a glittering mass of rock off to my right. We walked out upon a small point cushioned with mosses and ferns.
I put my arms around her and we stood there for a long time, and the wind in the trees was lute song counterpointed by invisible birds. Later still, I unbuttoned her blouse. “Right here?” she said.
“I like it here. Don’t you?”
“It’s beautiful. Okay. Wait a minute.”