“The book is better than the movie, Vincent. I just think that because you read it in English, you didn’t get the irony or the dry humor.”
Don’t tell me we’re going to argue about this while I’m volant and you’ve got the book in your hand. Talk about an unfair advantage.
I ignored his plea for a time-out. “The movie doesn’t have Fezzik’s and Inigo’s backstories,” I insisted.
The book doesn’t have Billy Crystal playing Miracle Max, he rebutted.
“Touché,” I mumbled, unable to argue with that point, “but this debate is not over.”
It’s a date.
I smiled. Placing the book on my bedside table, I sat up on the bed and crossed my legs, as if I were having a chat with a real person who sat right in front of me. At least I could pretend.
I focused on a framed picture on my dresser taken of me and Vincent on my last birthday. In it, we’re about to leave for our rowboat date, and the two of us are smiling like idiots. Something pinged painfully in my chest like a snapped rubber band.
“I can’t believe we’re even talking about this,” I said wistfully, “when this morning I didn’t know if I would ever talk to you again.”
I know what you mean, he responded. But talking books with you is actually one of my favorite activities.
I smiled, remembering the epic book conversations we used to have. We agreed on almost everything except book-to-film adaptations, in which case I almost always preferred the book and Vincent the movie. “I am guessing that if you are here arguing with me about twentieth-century fiction, there hasn’t been any progress back at La Maison?” I asked.
Nope, Vincent said. Bran’s going through the books, page by page, to make sure we don’t miss anything important. There is just as much, or probably more, about cases of migraines and fetus gender prediction than there is about revenants. But he’s worked his way through two of the five books. Pity he has to sleep, but I took the opportunity to pay my love a visit.
I leaned back against my headboard. “Vincent, do you think that this re-embodiment thing has a chance of working?”
Honestly, I think that if it actually existed, we would have heard of it before.
I nodded, outwardly agreeing, but inwardly determined to search every possibility. I agreed with what Mamie had said. My story with Vincent wasn’t going to end this way.
You should sleep, Vincent said.
I lay down and pulled the covers high over my shoulders, closing my eyes. “Tell me a story,” I said.
You want a bedtime story? Vincent asked, laughing.
“Yes. Something that will keep me from worrying. To distract me.”
Okay, he said. There’s a story my mother used to tell me when I was a little boy. It changed a bit with each telling, but I can give you the essentials.
“Perfect,” I said, already feeling sleep creep over me. Today had been exhausting, and I had no clue what tomorrow would bring.
It starts with a knight who has a dream in which he sees a beautiful lady dressed in blue, lying asleep in a boat traveling down a river. A voice tells him that the lady exists, that she is his true love, and that if he searches long and far he will find her. It also warns that if he attempts this journey, he will face danger and possible death on the way. When he awakes, the knight saddles up his horse and begins his quest to find her.
And with Vincent’s story materializing word by word in my head, I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
I was awakened the next morning by the same voice that had lulled me to sleep.
Bonjour, mon amour.
“Mmm,” I said, rolling from my side to my back and attempting to open my eyes. “Did you leave or have you been here this whole time?” I asked.
I went back home. And I know it’s early, but I thought you should know . . . Bran has found something.
My eyes popped wide-open and I sat straight up in bed. “What? What did he find?”
A story. You should come over and hear it for yourself. It’s a really old story, but it sounds credible and may give us some clues.
As he spoke I had clambered out of bed, put my jeans on, and was struggling with a wadded-up top.
You have time to find some clean clothes, my love, came Vincent’s words.
“No time!” I said, and then dashing over to my dresser, swiped my deodorant stick under each arm. “Okay, time for complete necessities,” I allowed. “And this shirt is clean, just not folded.”
Right, Vincent said, laughing.
Mamie was already up and having her coffee. “Bran, the healer, has found something. I need to go.”