Mila’s sundress hung loose on her body as her long caramel mane did on her slender back. She wrapped a thin shawl around her bare shoulders anticipating the evening cooling temperature. Alexander in a light tailor-made suit walked by her side, content with the moment. A golden sunset bathed them as it did the rows of grapevines, their delicate tendrils cast whimsical shadows on the path where they ambled. Both very much aware of the closing chasm that once separated them. Both reacting to the pleasant warmth of the other’s presence and the fire when their hands furtively brushed against their arms. Their hearts raced, their cheeks flushed, and nervous apologies were offered for those unexpected but desired touches.
Their hours together were nuanced with laughter and conversation, despite the tumult in which both existed, their minds found an oasis of tranquility in simple diversions.
Mila spoke about the book she was reading by a Japanese author, getting carried away and sharing more than she intended to; Alexander listened patiently, interested. Then she apologized, suddenly aware of her long exposition, but it wasn’t often that she could share the little details of her life with a friend.
In turn, Alexander told her that music was his refuge. Because of the hard hours of intellectual work—thinking, reading, and writing scientific research papers—his time for pleasure-reading was limited. Therefore, music permeated his soul with life and provided the solace he yearned for in melodies and good lyrics.
“‘The rain falls down on last year’s man. That’s a Jew’s harp on the table, that’s a crayon in his hand. And the corners of the blueprint are ruined since they rolled far past the stems of thumbtacks that still throw shadows on the wood. And the skylight is like skin for a drum. I’ll never mend and all the rain falls down on the works of last year’s man’.” Alexander recited the words of a song echoing often in his head. He gazed ahead as if in a trance and continued. “‘I met a lady; she was playing with her soldiers in the dark. Oh, one by one she had to tell them that her name was Joan of Arc. I was in that army, yes, I stayed a little while. I want to thank you, Joan of Arc, for treating me so well. And though I wear a uniform, I was not born to fight. All these wounded boys you lie beside. Goodnight, my friends, goodnight’.” He glanced at Mila timidly, “Do you know the song?”
“I’m afraid not,” Mila answered, wrapping herself tightly in her shawl as a reflex response to the cooling wind and the emotional intensity she sensed. “Who is it by?”
“It’s a song by Leonard Cohen, called ‘Last Year’s Man’.” Alexander smiled, sheltering his hands in his trousers’ pockets. “It has become an emblem of sorts these past years,” he said, omitting that sometimes it was the cry of his soul. There was so much he wanted to tell her, but he only knew how to hide his deep emotions and love. He only knew how to repress them in order to survive in a lonely world. He was a master at focusing his mind on what took emotional pain away: work, research, knowledge.
Mila understood with her soul why the song moved him, and though I wear a uniform, I was not born to fight. She thought that just a few words revealed the story of a fighter with the tender heart of a poet. A man who, shaken by life, became a practical and logical man of science. Perhaps he thought he would never mend as the song said, but ‘never’ was such a hopeless and debilitating word. She hated it for both of them. She desired to believe that there was mending, there was wholeness for both of them, if not, what was the point? Be courageous echoed in her head. Because, yes, hope required courage to move in the direction of what they couldn’t see yet. Because hope demanded an honest look into reality to strengthen their steps forward.
“Alexander, could I ask you about my alterations?” She glanced at him, changing the course from gentle to stormy waters, for that’s what it took sometimes to get real. “I need to know what happened to me. How much of me has been edited? How much of the real me is gone? How much of my humanity is left? I know we have tapped into this before, but…”
Alexander, though struck by the abrupt deep dive into a heavy topic, did not evade it. In fact, he welcomed it. He had been deciding how to lead the conversation in that very direction. Being honest with her was now essential for him. They stopped their walk. Alexander reached for her hand and cradled it between his hands, looking earnestly into her eyes. “Everything you are Mila, is you. Every gift and ability you might have, every thought, belief, desire, doubt… all of it is you.”
“What are you saying? I was altered, wasn’t I? I was injected with the neogenesis editing protein… by you.” Her eyes were fixed on his.
“Because I appeared to do what you just said, I can tell you that you were never edited. That unfortunate day, I gave you the sedative I always give you instead of the neogenesis protein.” Alexander turned his gaze toward the horizon which was already covered by a red blanket, spun with delicate strands of blue and lilac. “It was important for the sake of appearances that your body would go under some kind of shock. Masae had been present at some of the testing done on her hybrids.”
“But the strength?” Mila asked, studying her shaking hands: trimmed nails and iron-wired fingers and arms trained to be fast when going for the kill.
“You, adrenaline, and some higher source of power. I don’t know. Call it a case of placebo effect, if you wish. It also puzzled me. Look at the extraordinary power of suggestion.”
“You fooled Masae to save my life, Alexander!” Mila gasped, holding his arm to make him look back at her. She peered into his deep eyes and studied every gesture and line in his face as if it was a map to the truth. “But why can’t I remember who I was?”
“I’ve wondered about this as well. Something strange happened while you were under the sedative. Your brain had continued its hyperactive rhythm, the FMRI readings resembled a rugged mountain chain, going up and down wildly… But in a nanosecond, if you wish, all lights went down, your brain stopped.” He sighed loudly. “I feared I had overdone it with the sedative…”
“Could I have done something to shut down my brain?” Mila turned to the road as if searching for a portal to be transported to that instant.
“I don’t know, Mila, but you were in so much danger…Sometimes extraordinary things happen when we are facing extraordinary situations. Masae isn’t your mother, as you surely have always suspected, but you are related to her in a way.” Alexander stopped and hid his hands back into his pockets.
“By the blood transfusion?” Mila followed him with hurried steps.
“By significant relationships.” He shook his head, wishing he could do more. “Please forgive me for not having had the courage before to tell you all this, but I’m afraid it might not restore your memory or return you to the person you were.”
Mila walked silently, discerning through the avalanche of thoughts and visions of her restless sleep. Alexander followed her, providing distance.
“I must have known something very important…” She mumbled, shaking her head as if trying to put the pieces together. “And feared that after the neogenesis therapy I would betray that knowledge. I must have triggered something inside my head, knowing that I couldn’t escape…” Mila waited for Alexander to catch up to her. “I understand what you are saying. Dumping information on me wouldn’t restore the person I was. It has to happen internally at some point, if ever…” Mila drew closer to him, feeling lost to herself, but less lonely. They gazed at each other for a long time as if communicating with each other’s souls in ways words couldn’t. “Thank you, Alexander!” She whispered finally, leaning her forehead over his chest. “I am human. And everything I am—the good, the not so good, and the scary—is me… because you had the courage to defy her. That is the best piece of information you could have given me!”
Alexander embraced her, squeezing her tightly against his heart.
The sun had gone down completely, leaving the silver chaperone round and bright above them, illuminating the path through the vineyard to the hotel.
“I have my secrets, too,” Mila said, distracting her eyes on the fireflies flickering their lights, dancing around them.
Alexander remained silent, leaving room for her to speak.
“It’s all so complicated. Existing is complicated. None of us is totally good or bad.” She grimaced, recalling the scenes of his life she’d seen. “We are complex beings in a world that is constantly changing. By the time we think we have something understood and learned, a new test is sent our way… and it’s time to move, adjust and change again.” Mila ran her fingers along his arm to get his attention. “Which one are we: the heroes or the villains? Most likely we are both in one, right?”
“Is there something you are trying to tell me?” He stopped and gazed at her.
Mila stepped into the hotel’s garden. She found a solitary bench hidden among ornamental shrubs and a marble fountain filled with floating water lilies. The green walls offered them privacy to confide. She sat down and motioned for him to sit, patting to the space beside her. “Come sit by me, Sasha.” She smiled at him with all the tenderness in her heart, knowing that what she was about to share would be difficult for him. “That’s what your mother called you, right?”
Alexander sat, confused, peering into her eyes. “It’s a term of endearment and short form of Alexander.”
“Why did you never correct Masae when she calls you Alexei?”
“Simply because you don’t discuss terms of endearment with the person holding the gun, do you?” He looked into the shadows ahead. “Did you read about it somewhere?”
“I learned it from your mother.” Mila said softly.
Alexander turned to Mila, peering at her wide-eyed, asking without words. A mixture of wonder, pain and shame emerged from the pit where feelings and memories of his childhood hid.
“I saw a moment between you and your mother in your room in an English flat,” Mila replied, providing no other detail prior to that visit in time out of respect and compassion. Despite the dimmed lights around the garden, she could see the pain flooding Alexander’s heart and bursting into his face, turning from pale to red.
“I’m not a naïve man after all I know, but I still have to ask, what does it mean that you saw a moment between my mother and me?” asked Alexander with a grimace caused by the tightness of his chest. He sat rigidly and deep grooves formed on his face as he waited for her answer.
“I don’t think I’m ready to tell,” Mila excused herself from trying to explain something she still couldn’t grasp.
Alexander lifted her face in his hands, looking at her and pleading. “If it is out of fear to be betrayed, don’t be afraid. I won’t let you down.” He let go of her. “Your secrets are safe with me for when you want to share,” he got to his feet and walked to the fountain in front of them. He stared at the smiling baby angels fixed in a perpetual merry-go-round.
Mila spoke in a low voice. “I don’t know how to explain what happens to me. It’s something I also need to figure out… I think it started in Hong Kong…” It was her turn to feel vulnerable again.
Alexander turned to her, her shoulders hung, her hands had dropped to her lap. He sat by her side again. In the simple as in the complex, he would be there for her he promised in his heart.
“Whatever this is, it started in Hong Kong. I don’t really know what happened, but I seem to move ahead or backwards in Time. Is it a gift from a Higher Power or Time showing me certain things at certain times?” She buried her face in her hands. “That’s how I got to moments in your childhood yesterday when we jumped into the void. My body trembled and rays of light enveloped me so that instead of falling along the waterfall, I fell into some scenes of your life.”
Alexander remained quiet, gazing at the ground and followed the pebbles’ patterns.
Mila glanced at him and imagined how he felt about her seeing his broken childhood. So maybe, she thought, it was better to tell him exactly what she had seen. “You can also count on me, Alexander. I won’t betray you either.” She leaned her head on his shoulder and held his hand, speaking softly. “I saw your father; I saw his brutality toward a helpless child. I saw your bruised cheeks.” Mila could sense Alexander’s body tensing; his hand became a rock. “But your story doesn’t end there, does it?” Mila whispered, wiping her own wet cheeks with one hand. “I don’t see you as what you could have become if you had replicated your father’s methods. The person I see is a courageous man, trying to rectify the past, trying to do what is right. Your mother was the most important variant in your life. You are a good seed, Sasha, as she said to you,”
“Would you mind giving me time to process all this?” Alexander asked, without lifting his face. He hadn’t counted on this turn of the tables, but he understood that he was on a new beginning, and he had to deal with his own broken pieces.
“I don’t want to leave you alone, but, I understand your need for space,” Mila got up and pressed his shoulder gently before leaving.
Alexander propped his elbows on his knees and his face on both hands like when he was a child. He looked at the dirt. There was nothing but ancient dust brought by the wind from distant places to the road where he rested his feet and his gaze. He considered that the heart broken by childhood beatings and abuse takes the longest path to healing. Tiptoeing, every once in a while, over the open fringes that still festered. He hadn’t had time to mourn his childhood, but apparently, the time had arrived to make peace with the loss. Maybe a heart that was brave to mourn could also be brave to truly love.