15

The stones were gray words pressed into a surface as black as a burned field. I could not see them—but if I looked away, toward the totally empty black, they were all around me.

So I have come again. They all knew why I was here. I could sense them inhaling the emptiness around them. Inhaling the dark.

Breathing me.

I was empty. There was nothing left. There was only the Other in me now, that Voice that called me and breathed into me.

I was fading, like someone overexposed. Even in the darkroom film will cloud. Even far away from light. I was blank, now, empty.

I thought: You have not left me alone.

Of course not, He said, His Voice in me like pleasure. You know how much I love you.

Not wanting to say it. And wanting it. That was all that was left of me.

Yes. I know.

Why have you waited so long?

I thought: just a few pictures. Just a few, and then I’ll go.

My camera. I clutched it, thankful for it. Ideal for this. Not as ideal as the Hasselblad, but that camera needed a tripod and I did not want to drag a tripod over the walls and into this place. It would slow me down, and they could catch me here.

Oh, Len. I have waited so long.

Just a few pictures. I held my breath. The Leica would see. An M6, with a Summilux lens. My hands trembled. Just a few pictures. The camera was cold and heavier than usual, because I was weak, all the strength evaporating from me.

Before His strength.

I’ve waited so long.

Just a few pictures. Then I’ll go.

Come and see me Len. Let me love you. Bring the camera. I want everything you want.

Granite is so cold. So perfect, entirely, from its skin, through to its heart. Pressing my forehead against a stone, I could not enter it. I could not plunge into the perfect, other world.

Come to me.

That Voice like a bow across a cello string, a tight, hard string, and I knew He had me, and I wanted Him. I could feel myself tighten, wanting His Voice across me.

Come to me, Len.

He was all that I was not, and his Voice everything I wanted, and yet I trembled. It was too cold, and the camera too heavy, and my arms water clouding into ice.

I ran. The spear-pointed fence burned my hands with its chill, and I fell on the outside, weeping.

Please.

He was begging.

Come back. That Voice like silk across granite. Please.

His voice is me, His perfect strength:

Don’t make me wait any more.