JULIAN WAS WAITING FOR ASHTON AT ARRIVALS IN Heathrow. Ashton was tanned, blond, happy. He was wheeling a suitcase and a duffel.
“Jules, you showed up at the airport!” Ashton said with a delighted grin. “Are you trying to prove you’re not deranged?”
“Yes, or as it’s called everywhere else in the universe, being a friend, but whatever.” Julian smiled back.
“Same difference. Are we taking the tube? Fine, let’s go. I’m starved.” The men made their way to the people mover. “So what have you been doing with yourself?”
“Oh, you know,” Julian said with a shrug. “A little bit of this, a little bit of that.”
“What the hell is that on your face?”
Julian hadn’t shaved off the bushy facial hair that now curled and twined halfway down his throat. He stroked his beard. “You like it?”
“Are the razors being rationed again in London like during the war? Shaving cream, too? Scissors? No, it’s a good look for you. Perfect. You’ve heard of insect repellent? Well, what you’ve got going is a babe repellent.”
If only. Julian didn’t know why but the girls for some reason dug the crazy-ass beard. Nearly every day he had random women strike up conversations with him on the tube and in the street. Maybe he looked like he was in need of salvation, and they were just the ticket. Julian appraised Ashton’s luggage. “This is all you brought to live in another country? Two bags?”
“What else do I need? A suit, some jeans, a toothbrush, and a duffel full of condoms.”
Julian shook his head. His friend was incurable.
“Just kidding,” Ashton said. “I solemnly swear there’s not a single condom on me.”
“Aren’t you the eternal pessimist.”
“Okay, okay, just one”—Ashton grinned—“but I brought it for you. I was hoping your terrible streak with women would end now that I was here, but by the thing on your face I see that even one condom was shockingly optimistic. Oh, and why did you sign a year lease instead of a month-to-month? You think we’re still going to be in London in a year? Nuts to that. Not me, baby. I only brought two bags.”
“It was only available on a long-term lease.” But Ashton was right. There was no reason to stay in London for an entire year. Julian just had to get himself sorted, and with Ashton here, that would be easier, and then their time would wind down and another life would beckon, and things might actually get better. “Wait until you see the apartment,” Julian said, trying to sound upbeat. “You’re not going to want to leave.”
Indeed Ashton liked the new spread. “And I love what you’ve done with the place, Jules!” There was an air mattress in each bedroom and linen from Marks and Spencer. In a kitchen cabinet stood two water glasses and two shot glasses, and the fridge was stocked with a 12-pack of Heineken and a bottle of Grey Goose. The pantry contained a box of Corn Flakes and a tin of raspberry Pims cookies, which Ashton once had and said he liked.
Mock sniffling, Ashton toured the apartment, his arm hooked around Julian’s neck, nodding in hearty approval and clutching the Pims and Grey Goose to his chest. “Oh, Auntie Em!” he kept exclaiming. “It’s so good to be home!”
They furnished the place together. They painted it all sorts of manly colors, dark blue, dark gray, dark green. As a joke they painted the bathrooms girly pink, “so when the girls come, they’d feel right at home,” Ashton said. “Well, by girls, I mean just Riley, of course.”
“Of course.”
“And by come, I mean visit, not . . .”
“Of course.”
“Though I still have that one condom, Jules. It’s waiting for you. Rubber burning a hole in my wallet. You want it?”
“Thanks, man. You hold on to it for me.”
“Anything for you, buddy.”
They bought real beds and stage lights. Ashton bought a king bed for himself, since he took the large master, but when he saw that Julian was about to buy a twin bed, he rioted.
“I swear on all that is holy,” Ashton said, “I will beat the shit out of you right here in the mattress store. You are not a monk, you’re not in prison, you’re not in college, you are not an asshole.”
Julian relented and bought a full-size bed, but in his room he pushed it against the wall. For weeks after, every time Julian showered, Ashton would run into his room and drag the bed out into the middle of the floor.
They bought a big TV and two long leather couches, one for Julian, one for Ashton. They stocked the fridge—with more beer—they hammered framed movie posters into their blue walls, hired a cleaning lady, learned something real about Notting Hill, became dues-paying members of the local Electric Cinema Theatre. They got up every morning and together took the Central Line to work.
“How are you enjoying Notting Hill, bro?” Julian would say after spending an hour each morning strap hanging on the tube.
“Yes, you’re right, we both should’ve moved into your attic room on Hermit Street,” Ashton would reply. “Because when you lived there, you always got to work on time.”
After Ashton moved to London, Julian’s life improved. He didn’t want to admit it, but it improved considerably.
Julian was surprised and not surprised by how easily he and Ashton fell into a familiar routine, how good it was to live with his friend again, to work together every day, to debate the top ten Dire Straits songs: “Brothers in Arms,” “Love Over Gold”—and the saddest Tom Waits songs, no question “Time” (time, time) with “The Part You Throw Away” a close second; to order takeout, walk to the local pub, grab a pint and some grub, discuss plans for the weekend, to argue which Kanye album was better, College Dropout or 808s and Heartbreak.
How much Julian had missed Ashton and not even know it.
How good it was not to be alone.
Never one to exclude Julian from anything, Ashton invited Julian to go pub crawling with him and Nigel and Sheridan and Roger. Julian tried to remind Ashton that with his father semi-retired, he was now boss at Nextel, and it was no good for the boss to become too chummy with the help. Often, Julian refused to join them. They drank too much. He couldn’t keep up, and he didn’t like to be hungover. And on top of it, he still couldn’t stand Nigel. The man was put on earth as irrefutable proof that not everything in nature had a purpose.
Sometimes on the weekends Anne and Malcolm from editorial joined Julian and Ashton for a drink and a meal, and when Riley visited, she’d make Julian the fifth wheel, and a few times, to make it less awkward, a Camden chick with a nose ring came along, to round out the number to six, almost like a dinner party, though Julian didn’t want to think of Callie as his date or anything. Julian met her when he and Ashton had been browsing through the Portobello market one Saturday morning. Callie was selling historical maps of the world for a crazy chunk of change. She told Julian she was a copy editor and looking for work. He asked Ashton to hire her, and to thank Julian, Callie gave him the expensive maps for free.
***
And then one night, when the moon was new, Julian dreamed of Josephine again.
She strolled toward him waving, twirling her umbrella, a beret on her head, a smile on her lips and love on her face. When he woke up, Julian sat in his bed for a long time, staring ahead, not moving, barely breathing. He was trying to catch the threads of Devi’s words and the pattern of the dream and knit them together to make a fragile tapestry to cover himself with, to comfort himself with.
Had he been looking at everything all wrong?
Mary wasn’t dead.
She was alive!
She was still alive.
He didn’t save her that time, yes, but if Devi was right, and her soul was new, didn’t that mean that she was still out there?
Didn’t that mean that she was out there . . . waiting for him?
“What?” Devi said when Julian expressed this in a poorly worded, stilted monologue. “Waiting for you where?”
“In the future. I dreamed of her, Devi. Why would I dream of her again?”
“I don’t know, but so what?”
“She doesn’t have a future. That’s what you said. That means I’m dreaming of her in my future.”
“Or you could just be dreaming.”
“Thanks, Dr. Weaver.” Awkwardly, Julian tried again to express the inexpressible. He had nine months before the equinox in March. Their lease wasn’t up until next April. Julian would do what he could. He’d prepare. Improve, recover, be better.
“Go where?” Devi said. The shaman almost laughed before he saw the somber expression on Julian’s face. “Oh, you’re not joking. Um, no. You can’t go again.”
“Why not?”
“Because. You know why not.”
“I don’t. Tell me why.”
“Why is the sky blue. Why is the grass green. That’s why.”
“Because you think it will change nothing?”
“Yes, Julian.” Like Devi was talking to a child. “That’s one of the reasons. Because it will change nothing. Also, not for nothing, but it nearly killed you.”
“It didn’t though.”
“It took a terrible toll on your body.”
“What do I care about my body.”
“Oh, you should care,” Devi said. “It’s the only one you’ve got. And it’s got to last you a long time, the rest of your life, really. You don’t look the same, you don’t walk the same. The trip has aged you a decade. You survived it once, I don’t know how, but you won’t survive it again, Humpty Dumpty.”
“I’m fine,” Julian said. “Good as new. I started boxing again.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. To get strong, get in shape. Plus, let’s be honest, what took a toll on my body was the involuntary return. I’ll just have to make sure not to return.”
“How do you plan to do that?”
“Um, by not returning.”
“Please, please tell me you’re not serious.” Devi looked stunned and troubled.
“Calm down.” Julian backed off. A little later he tried again. “But what if I was?”
“Julian . . . why would you ever want to do it?”
“Because I didn’t save her, Devi.”
“You didn’t go to save her, Julian. Do you remember what I told you when we first met? It wasn’t that long ago. I had hoped you were listening.”
“You said so many things. I can’t be expected to remember them all. You know what you didn’t say? Bring a flashlight, a flotation device, a grappling hook.”
“You know what I did say, though? That your greatest delusion is thinking you have any control over whether another human being lives or dies.”
“Yes,” Julian said, “you’re right. I forgot that part. I was too busy remembering you telling me that my other greatest delusion was thinking she was mortal.”
“It’ll behoove you to recall all my words right about now.”
“I remember your words,” Julian said. “You told me you couldn’t find her in the spiritual realm because her soul was lost. You told me she ran out of time. That’s how I feel, Devi, now more than ever. That she and I ran flat out of time. When she died, the most important work of my life—I mean her life—was not yet finished.” He took a breath. “I think I could do better if I had another chance with her.”
“Oh, dear boy, trust me, if that’s what you heard, then you heard all the wrong things.”
“You told me I have free will,” Julian said. “Was that another lie? Do I or do I not have it?”
Devi took Julian’s hands and looked him in the eye. “Listen to me very carefully,” Devi said. “What you’re calling free will is nothing but your irrevocable pride talking. Be humble, Julian! Bow your head. Think of your great accomplishment. Not just for yourself, but for me, too. Truly you have done the impossible. Because of your remarkable effort, your faith has been answered. And you’ve let me in on that mystery as well, and for that I thank you. This is your gift eternal—to know the truth and to stand witness to it. You had asked for one thing. And you’ve been given two. You’ve been given proof that you will die. And, much more important,” Devi said, “you’ve been given proof that you will live forever. How can that not be enough? It’s everything. Now, please—don’t tempt the dark forces, I beg you. Don’t get into a fight with them. You won’t win. Take the bounty you’ve been given, take your marbles and go.”
What dark forces, Julian wanted to say. But he knew. The forces of treachery and vengeance. The forces of death and disease and despair.
Devi muttered something in a foreign language under his breath. “Don’t make me regret helping you,” he said. “With faith as your guide, you can start afresh. Your closest friend has moved to London for you. He gave up his life to help you! If that’s not a sign of his devotion to you, I don’t know what is. Does his friendship mean nothing? You’re finally off Klonopin—and have lived to tell about it. You’ve got a good job, you found a nice apartment. You’re young and single. You’re moderately handsome, I suppose—more so if you’d ever shave that thing on your face.” Devi wrinkled his nose. “The women you meet might be even more complimentary. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. You can stay in London, this incomparable city, or you can move back to California. Right now, all you have is options. Right now, all you have is a future. What a place to be. And you’re welcome, by the way.”
Julian sat on the stool, chewing his lip, appraising Devi, by equal measures courageous and afraid, resolved and uncertain.
Devi let go of Julian’s hands and waited with a look on his face that could only be described as desolation. “I asked you about your friend.”
“What about him? He has nothing to do with this.”
“No?”
“No!”
“You only think the answer is nothing.” The two men stared at each other. “What if it’s everything?”
“Devi, help me unpack this,” Julian said. “You’re keeping something from me. Why shouldn’t I go again? The truth now. You told me she’s lived more than once. That means I have another chance. She could be anywhere this time. Things will only get easier. What can possibly be worse than living within a sewage-filled moat with no electricity and no running water?”
“Famous last words,” said Devi. “Pity the fool who thinks he is the reason the bell clinks, and rejoices.”
“Who said that?”
“Me. I’m saying it now.”
“No matter what, I’ll be better prepared,” Julian continued confidently. “I will train my body to be strong, now that I know I need to protect her. Maybe she’ll even remember me.” He smiled.
“Oh, because you’ve trained to be strong? Or because now you know things?”
“Don’t mock me.”
“Now you know only in part.” Devi looked so unhappy. “And Ashton?”
“I’ll be doing him a favor,” Julian said. “He likes it here well enough, but his real life is in L.A. There he’s got his store, his girl, all his other friends. He’d never be here if it weren’t for me.”
“That’s certainly true,” Devi said. “But are you sure you know where Ashton’s real life is?”
“Yes, this is just an interlude for him,” Julian said, “the London thing. It’s not real. Not for him, not for me. We belong somewhere else. Ashton belongs in L.A.”
“And you?”
“With her,” Julian said. “Somewhere out there, there’s a foreign country that’s called the past, where she still lives. She lives! I’ve seen her with my own eyes, Devi, thanks to you, and I can’t unsee her.”
Devi groaned. “I wish I’d never opened my big mouth. I wish my mother never spoke to you. I gave you the Transit Circle so you could save your life, not destroy it.”
“How can I not try again?” Julian exclaimed. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t try again if you could?” He was deeply irritated by Devi’s stubborn ambivalence. The conflict over the wisdom of Julian’s choices played out in a cage match on Devi’s impassive face. There was curiosity and excitement, anxiety and fear, there was something for Julian, and something for Devi, too, all in the barely animated face of a Vietnamese man who spent his life hiding his feelings from others.
“So the future I have laid out for you full of hope and promise, it’s nothing to you?” Devi said. When Julian didn’t reply, the shaman persisted with implacable conviction. “There’s great peril in what you’re contemplating. There is mortal danger.”
Julian began to waver. “You’re just trying to scare me.”
Devi said nothing.
“Oh, for God’s sake!”
“I can’t see it,” Devi said. “I can only feel it.”
“Feel what?”
“A weight, a magnetizing block laid on the compass of my intuition. I feel terrible suffering all around you, at the root and the tree and all its branches. Not just for you. For those close to you.”
“That’s crazy. So I’m supposed to listen to your feelings before I decide what to do?”
Devi kept his thoughts to himself.
“Are you really telling me I must choose between my friend and my girl, because you have some vague worries?”
“How hard a choice can it be?” Devi said. “Your girl is gone, and your friend is right here. And you have your life. Seems barely a choice at all.”
But she wasn’t gone! That was the point. She wasn’t gone. She was out there. Smugly, Julian took an assured breath, a lawyer about to dismantle the opposition, a boxer who sees a weakness in his opponent and gets ready to pounce. “Devi, you’re not making sense,” he said. “You just told me I can’t control whether somebody lives or dies. And now you’re saying my actions—that have nothing to do with Ashton—actually control what happens to Ashton.”
“Oh, you’re adorable thinking you can control anything,” Devi said. “You can’t even control your temper.”
“You can’t have it both ways, Devi. Pick a side.”
“It’s not me who’s trying to have it both ways, you mule-headed fledgling.”
“Okay, fine. But if I can be an instrument of destruction,” Julian said, “why can’t I also be an instrument of salvation?”
“You can or you cannot,” Devi said. “It’s a false choice. You can be one without the other. You can be both. You can be neither. That’s not what I’m asking. Have you thought of a worst-case scenario outcome in this? What you can and can’t live with, what you can and can’t bear?”
“Of course not. I’m not a pessimist like you. I’m not a fatalist.”
Devi demanded an answer. “For another chance to save her, what are you prepared to lose?”
The smugness left Julian. He didn’t dare say everything. He said, “Nothing else.”
“Yes, because that’s how life works,” Devi said. “To have what you want, to live how you want, you usually sacrifice nothing. Besides, I said worst-case scenario. Not unicorns riding butterflies.”
“I don’t want to talk to you anymore. Goodbye.”
“I’ll see you next Wednesday,” said Devi.
Julian staggered back to work, a shell on the outside, a whirling storm inside.
***
A few days later, on a Saturday morning, Ashton caught Julian staring into the toilet. The door was ajar, and they were about to head out to the market, yet there Julian was, in a trance in the pink bathroom.
“Um—Jules?”
“Isn’t the toilet remarkable?” Julian said. “Did you know that in half the world they still practice open defecation?”
“Well, you know what they say,” Ashton said, “practice makes perfect.” He grinned. “Still, I didn’t know that, and more important, didn’t wish to know that.”
“In the old days,” Julian went on, “the castles where royals lived had garderobes, which were basically stone seats that emptied down a trough into the moat surrounding the castle. And the gong farmer cleaned out the moat every day. And he never washed his hands, and he’d walk through the house infecting every person he came near. Is it any wonder so many died before they were eighteen.” Julian shook his head.
“What the hell? Lots of people lived past eighteen,” Ashton the history major said. “The eighth Henry. The first Elizabeth. The second Charles. Queen Victoria.”
“Let’s go,” Julian said, pushing past his friend. “Before the market closes.” He could never ask Ashton’s advice about this, even in the hypothetical, much less tell him the truth. “You want to eat at the Granger if the line’s not too long?” The Granger was the hottest brunch place in West London.
At the Granger over ricotta waffles, Ashton caught Julian staring at him. “Jules, why are you gaping at me the way you were just gaping at that toilet an hour ago?”
Julian blinked and looked away. “What way is that, Ash?”
“Like on the one hand you’re pleased I’m so shiny and new, but on the other, ashamed by how you’re about to desecrate me.” Ashton laughed.
And Julian forced out a laugh also.
Before going out drinking they headed to the Electric Cinema in Notting Hill to catch a documentary about a British explorer named Robert Falcon Scott, and his failed expedition to claim the South Pole for Britain in 1912. Failed in every sense of the word. He and his four men had arrived at the South Pole 34 days too late. Roald Amundsen from Norway got there first (“Those damn Vikings!” Ashton said). Heartbroken, the five men trudged nearly 900 miles back to their ship through blizzard winds and 50 below temperatures before freezing to death a few miles from the coast. Some of their bodies have never been found. “I knew you’d like that film, Jules,” Ashton said as they left the theatre. “It resonates with you, don’t it? You love taking the scenic route and ending up where you’re not supposed to be.”
“I wind up on Antrobus Street, not in Antarctica!”
The quote from the film that stayed with Julian was from Charles Bukowski who said that it wasn’t whether you succeeded or failed that mattered most. What mattered most was how you walked through the fire.
Bullshit, Julian thought. What mattered most was whether you succeeded or failed in the one irreducible imperative of your life.
And Robert Falcon Scott had failed.
***
What was the irreducible imperative of Julian’s life? And what was he prepared to give up in his quest for it?
All the documentaries and late night pubs, all the stars over London and the ceilings in his apartment and the pavements under his feet, all the wrong cafés with metal tables and golden awnings couldn’t help Julian wade through a future he did not know and could not know, did not see and could not see.
What should he do?
Julian hated, hated to admit it, but he feared Devi was right. It seemed better to leave well enough alone, make peace, move forward, stay put, rebuild what he had.
Certainly, it was easier.
But was it?
Julian didn’t feel easy. He felt hard and heavy.
When you didn’t know what to do, how did you decide which path to take, with the future unknowable? What was the right choice?
Julian knew how you decided. It was one of his least popular life hacks. The thing you didn’t want to do was nearly always the right choice. That’s how you made your decision in the absence of other compelling evidence. You did the thing you didn’t want to do. Did you train first or go drinking. Did you eat first or go running. Did you stay in bed or get up and get on with your day? Did you stay put or run away. Did you do the impossible thing and fly through a black hole in search of the missing or did you stay put and forge a new life? Were you made to last or made to be broken?
But even here, nothing was clear. On the surface, though to stay seemed the easy choice, it was also the hardest.
Because Julian didn’t want to stay.
Everything felt so fragile, all his mutually exclusive options dangling above him on silk spider threads.
He remembered the debt to Sweeney, returned to Greenwich, gave the man two hundred pounds for the coat, apologized. Sweeney’s reaction puzzled Julian. The guard struggled to remember him. He recalled a man being naked in the middle of the Transit Room, but had forgotten giving Julian his coat. He thought he had misplaced it. “This is what happens when you get to be my age, mate,” Sweeney said. “Your memory goes. Don’t take it personal.” He took Julian’s money, because what sucker wouldn’t, and he shook Julian’s hand, but then without interest stared at Julian who stood by the telescope holding up the quartz crystal to the sky, as indifferent to him as the old guard.
You be sure to come back and see us again, Sweeney said before going on break.
I’m not coming back, Julian wanted to say. You will never see me again. But he couldn’t say it. Couldn’t say it because he didn’t mean it.
Julian kept asking Devi what he would do if he was in Julian’s shoes.
For weeks Devi wouldn’t reply. The man’s black eyes would rest on Julian, bottomless, fake-calm, judging, appraising, beseeching.
“I’m not the center of your newfound life,” Devi finally said. “You are the center of your life. The question in front of you is a question each of us must answer for ourselves. You, me, Ashton, Josephine. Each one of us is the keeper of our own souls. What are you prepared to give up to live how you want? What are you prepared to lose to try to attain it? And what if you fail? Because that’s also what’s at stake here. That is also one of your options. That you will sacrifice everything and gain nothing. Can you live with that?”
For a long time Devi waited while Julian gathered his thoughts to speak.
Why would I gain nothing, Julian said, weakened in spirit. That is just one unlikely possibility. One among many.
I’m asking you only about that one, unlikely as it may be, Devi said.
Don’t you think there could be a fate beyond the fates, said Julian, not answering.
“I showed it to you already,” Devi replied. “If there is another fate, I do not know it. Would it help you if I answered your question? All right. I’ll tell you. I would never go.” Devi looked away. “I would never go again.”
While Ashton slept away his hangovers, Julian kept coming back to Greenwich on Sunday mornings, standing as if at an altar in front of the black mute motionless telescope pointing up at the infinite meridian. Julian wished Devi understood something. Not just Devi. Ashton, too, and Riley, and Nigel, and Callie. What Devi was talking about, it meant nothing. London, Los Angeles. The comfortable bed Julian slept in, his liquid brunches, the walks through Portobello Market, the coffee he liked and couldn’t go without, the great new song, the latest book, the blockbuster movie. None of it meant anything without her. He knew he’d feel better eventually. But after what happened to her, life would never again mean to him what it used to.
Devi responded poorly to this. “The sullen are punished by being drowned in muddy waters until the end of forever,” Devi said. “Is that what you want?”
It wasn’t what Julian wanted. He wasn’t sullen. He wasn’t drowning. What he wanted was to take back his life. Not to turn his back on her, not to take a beating, not to be swallowed, hidden, left behind, but to start over. Not to feel so alone. Falling in love with her had changed everything he knew.
Ask yourself the only question worth getting an answer to, Devi said. Are you prepared to risk everything to gain nothing?
Julian didn’t know if he was prepared to do that. But it was also difficult to state exactly what it was he’d be losing.
“Everything you have, and everything you love, and everything you know,” Devi said with dark certainty.
How could Julian take a stand against that? The ground was shifting under his feet.
A small voice tried to make its timid exit out of Julian’s throat. But wasn’t there another outcome? Couldn’t he lose everything—and gain everything? Wasn’t that also a possibility?
When they first met they were lovers for barely a minute. They didn’t talk enough about the future or the past, about the profound or the mundane. They stepped into Eden where the unreal was real and their little L.A. life was nothing but a dream. Who had time to shoot the breeze when they had been so busy living. She acted breathy and carefree, though many things frightened her. The ocean, the fiery Santa Ana winds, traffic, gangs, hard drugs, loud noises, explosives. Don’t worry, he told her, a fake cavalier knight, you’re safe with me.
Once when the ocean was clear, he carried her in and they bobbed shivering in the slow lapping tide, her arms around his neck. Even now he felt her cold slender body in his hands wrapped around him in the Pacific off Zuma. It’s better with you, she said. Everything is better with you. Wasn’t that the truth, he thought, but what he said was, it’s call time. Dante and Beatrice are waiting for you on stage at the Greek. No, don’t make me, she said. I don’t want to go back. I just want to stay here with you, in the ocean. Please. I don’t want to go back.
But they went back.
Julian remained haunted by her face. She had come to him for a few days—once in L.A. and once in Clerkenwell long ago—and walked off with his life. He had hoped for so much more. He had hoped for love. He did not wish to know only the meaning of despair. Would she feel betrayed to be deserted by him when he was supposed to be at his post? Would she even care? Had she already forgotten him, the one who had mourned her, the one who mourned her still, who loved her still?
Julian’s human heart was in conflict with itself, trembling. Josephine . . . Mia . . . Mary . . .
His choice wasn’t the lady, or the tiger. The lady and the tiger were both behind door number two. Behind door number one was nothing.
He stood for a long time on the meridian even after noon had come and gone, his hand half outstretched, the crystal silent, the sun in hazy retreat. The holy girl asked, will you remember me? Will you ever remember how you once loved me, or will you forget that, too, as you’ve forgotten the other joys in your life? How could he leave her. In her was the soul of the prophets and the saints and of all those slain upon the earth. In her soul was a heart that was his. It was by her side that he must end his life. Julian knew it. He felt it. He was a soldier, and she was his country.
As the fool thinks, so the bell clinks. There is no return from death, the wise man said.
And the fool replied, but what if there was?