A Taste of Gardenia
It was about six o'clock in the morning. Beyond the south entrance, the Imperial City was sub merged in an opalescent darkness. Another night had elapsed, and Dan had not moved from his position.
He could feel dawn stealing into the courtyard. A speck of sunlight, bright as a diamond, slanted through the curve of a palace rooftop to beam down upon him. At the booming of the cannon, the citadel roused.
Dan sat leaning against the stone wall and resting his head in the palms of his hands. He was aware of everything around him, and yet he was aware of nothing; he did not know whether it was a sunny morning or midnight or an interim of time between life and death.
The marketplace began to fill with people. They surrounded him with their loud arguments and their scuffling feet, and the noisy rustling of their coarse garments pulled him away from his quiet sanctuary. A pair of wooden sabots, chaste and elegant in their form, entered his range of vision. Red velvet straps were fastened across the insteps of the owner's petite feet. He was thinking of the scarlet rose petals he had once stitched on white fabric. He detected the sweet fragrance of gardenia, and joy infused his mind.
“I am sorry I could not get here sooner,” a soft voice above him breathed.
When he looked up, Dan saw a vision, bathed in the glow of the ruddy, pulsating dawn. The sunlight was behind a human outline, and for an instant, it blinded him. He sat up at once, unable to believe what he was seeing. It was her, Tai May! She seemed to rise out of the glorious sun. His fingers unconsciously pulled at the collar of his tunic, straightening it, and then he smoothed out his hair.
She was smiling. Her jet-black hair, fiery in the sun, framed her small face. At a slight tug of her hand, the hair fell loose over one shoulder. The beauty in that gesture was enough to make his head spin.
“I am not too late, am I?” she said, blushing a little because she was staring straight into his eyes.
“Is it really you?” he asked, touching her neck. Her skin was smooth and soft, and he could feel the pulse of a tiny vein. She leaned closer and placed her lips against his. He could taste the gardenia at the tip of his tongue.
They drew apart, both beaming. The sun was bursting out of the sky and embracing them with its intensity. “Oh, Mouse,” she said, “put your arms tight around me so I can feel you.”
“I am yours,” he replied, holding her firmly. “I will show you how great my love for you is, and how it has deepened through all the years we waited for each other. No one on Earth can pull us apart now. Come with me!” He ran his fingers down her back, and the touch made her shiver even more.
“Where are we going?” she whispered.
“Far from here,” he said, reaching for the bicycle. Its silver frame caught the sunlight. As if he were reciting the words to a poem, he said, “As far as this metal horse can take us—to the end of the world.”
She felt the steering handle under her palms; it was cool. One of his arms was wrapped around her waist, while the other covered her wrist and wove into her fingers. They were sharing the same saddle. She could feel the roughness of his unshaven chin against the nape of her neck, and inside her something that she had never noticed came alive for the first time. She leaned back into his chest; his muscular legs thrust at her side. She was wrapped inside the rippling body of her lover as the bike crunched the gravel on the road.
“Look, Mouse.” She pointed at the single rosebush along the stone wall. “Can you see that last rose of autumn?”
“No, darling,” he said, his breath hot against her ear. “It is the first rose of spring.”