No. 2 in the series Tuesday’s Torrent.
Photograph courtesy of Tim Corbeel.
Some loves take the form of binary stars. The double stars orbit a common center of mass and often appear as a single visual or telescopic object when they actually are not.
Blaize didn’t understand spirituality in any form—with or without religion. But he understood something he could never quite articulate, even to himself, when he met Afet for the first time.
“No one names their child Blaize in this day and age.”
“Why-a?” Blaize asked, drawing Afet closer to him as they stood underneath the rotunda of the classicistic building.
Afet was enamored with, and would continue to desire, the way Blaize’s neck muscles stretched along his pronounced collarbones. And the way he would say why, stressing an unnecessary but welcome “a” sound at the end.
“I don’t know. Do you know anyone besides Blaise Pascal named Blaise? And that too with a zed.”
“I like how you are learning my culture. Zed and not Z.”
“Oh please! It is not your culture. Over half the world pronounces the alphabet zed and not z.”
He kissed her. Their first kiss.
They had met two days ago in a park around the same rotunda beneath which they were now standing. Sometimes he wondered whether his only knack was spotting tourists. But Afet had made it easy—she had inquired about a street nearby that every local knew. He had convinced her to see him the next day for dinner. He desired her immediately and reluctantly and therefore knew his feelings were unusual.
“You kiss nice,” Afet said and looked up at him with her blithe grin.
The silence was saturated with possibilities that exist between a man and a woman.
Blaize knew they had no future. He had never been able to take on the responsibilities that came with love.
The air smelt of rotten eggs due to the high concentration of sulfur coming from the hot running water around the rotunda.
“You said at dinner last night you wanted to tell me a story,” Afet reminded him.
“Come. Let’s walk to the park and I will tell you,” Blaize replied. He gently held her hand—peculiarly small—and guided her to the park.
“Tell me,” she said. This is when Blaize first became aware that he liked the sound of her voice; contrarily, it was tranquil when she was eager.
Blaize began, “Saint Blaise was a physician and bishop of Sebastea, Armenia, now modern Turkey. According to his Acta Sanctorum—”
“What’s that?” Afet interrupted.
“What’s what?”
“Acta–?”
“Acta Sanctorum is, you know, like an encyclopedia of the Saints.”
“Oh. I didn’t know,” she replied and realized she wanted him to infiltrate her with everything he knew.
“According to Saint Blaise’s Acta Sanctorum he was endowed with miraculous healing power and is the patron who cured throat illnesses and even healed animals.” Blaize said quietly.
They were now in the dark park, underneath a starless night.
“That’s it? That’s your story? I can’t believe I believed you during dinner!” Afet exclaimed in that calm voice of hers, a puff of exasperation without an exclamation.
At dinner the night before, Blaize had told her he wanted to share a story that could only be told in the night. He had also told her he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Afet wanted to not believe him and at least then dismissed his sentiments as lust.
The rotunda was slightly visible from where they now stood in the park. The cool grass welcomed their walk.
Blaize kissed her again. And again. Her hands awakened into his. Slowly the hungry union reached a crescendo beyond the deep chasm of an ethereal enigma that encompasses human frailty and ecstasy.
“Now I know why you tell stories in the dark,” Afet said jokingly and got up from the ground to fix her skirt.
“Sometimes we love so deeply that it remains close to us eternally, orbiting all other loves, yet that is the one love we can never touch again,” Blaize said.
“Do you love me?” Afet asked him. Her voice had changed. She wanted this to last beyond an eager desire to make a moment last longer than its expiration.
Blaize didn’t answer her that night, nor any other night she was still a tourist in his town.
Five years later when Blaize saw Afet again, for the fourth and last time, he shared that he loved her. He recalled her linen turquoise scarf immediately. It was the same one she had worn the night they were together in the park near the rotunda, wrapped loosely around her long neck. They both sat across from each other and caressed the memory of a night which was full of possibilities despite the missing magic reserved for a night which holds a canopy of stars. That was also the night Blaizze began to preserve the sound of her voice for days to follow. Afet told him this was not a movie and he didn’t know what love was.
Afet did’t cry when she left him but she accepted she had never stopped wanting that kind of love.
If, on the contrary, two stars should really be situated very near each other, and at the same time so far insulated as not to be materially affected by the attractions of neighboring stars, they will then compose a separate system, and remain united by the bond of their own mutual gravitation towards each other. This should be called a real double star; and any two stars that are thus mutually connected, form the binary sidereal system.
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Wonderful Annie! While reading your story I was ‘there’.
Although it’s only afternoon here I could “smell” the night and its atmosphere.
Once again you surprised and impressed me.
Lovely story Annie, the pivotal point for me was that the air smelt of rotten eggs in an otherwise “idyllic” setting…that’s when the story took a twist for me..love it nonetheless…
i woke up today….waiting all night.. .for tuesdays story.What a beautiful narration of love and how you chose the words to describe two peoples emotions, one feels connected to both of them but differently.
Each time I read the story I get a deeper sense of the meaning and a greater appreciation of your skill. The urgency of the short term relationship followed by a very long gap with a final parting. Sad in a way but reality at its best.
Love it!
Your descriptions touched all five senses. And there is so much power and truth in this:
“Sometimes we love so deeply that it remains close to us eternally, orbiting all other loves, yet that is the one love we can never touch again,” Blaize said.
Just beautiful, as always, Annie.
Loved the story, Annie! ‘Afet’ means both ‘disaster’ and ‘stunning beauty’:) Wonderful choice! It fits so well.
Gravity, or in poetic parlance, attraction, rules the heavens and all under it. The strength of gravity is dependent upon distance and love or in scientific parlance, mass.
There is something very familiar with the story that resonates with me. Or perhaps lament is a better word.
I once tried to impress a date with my knowledge of physics and our solar system. The allegorical tale of course was meant to seduce her. It worked but sadly the stars burned out. Ergo my lament.
This story moved me but sadly reminded me of my stupidity.
Very nice!
I enjoyed the story. Then I read the comments and learned what ‘Afet’ means, and it became all the better.
I love writing where there are hidden secrets to uncover, little treasures waiting to be found. Your careful choice of names is such a treasure.
Very well done.
I know a Blaize. I like this piece the way it explores love. The end (real double star) nicely wraps the piece together for me tying everything into a bow and fitting with the scratchy overlay over the photograph.