39. Corruption

Dear Sam,

I suppose I should have felt better about myself than I did. But I was out of sorts all through dinner, and couldn’t manage to eat much.

I found myself blaming Inzilbêth. And Alagos.

Every evening after dinner, Northlight takes the others, including Raven, down to the beach or into town so that Anemone and I might have some quiet time alone together. The girls wash the dishes and put them away before they leave, and are gay and noisy and songful about it, and delightful as it is, I am glad when they finally go.  Usually we sit for a while together on the terrace or in the garden, or walk down to the beach and sit apart from the others, watching them play. Or we go boating, or for a walk down the other end of the beach…and yes, sometimes we do a little “celebrating”...but mostly, we simply revel in each other’s company.

The others often go to the Sporting Center, for they all love sport except Raven, so Northlight usually takes her to the dance-theater, or just ambling about, talking to acquaintances of hers they meet. More often, they all go to the Park. Passers-by smile hugely to see them all, children shouting and pointing, their elders gently reproving them. Sometimes children get up a ring-game, and all join in. They all love children’s games still, and behave nearly as child-like as the elflings, even the more serious of them, namely Northlight and Embergold. And Onyx, who is oddly solemn for such a little chap, unlike his sister who is gay-hearted like the twins, sometimes exasperatingly frisky. I feel I should reproach the little ones when they climb up on the fountain and dive in dramatically, to the consternation of many onlookers, but since I’m not supposed to be watching, I hold my tongue. Anemone just beams, and I shrug and laugh, and let them frolic.

We go to the Park also this time, where a large pond takes up one end. There is a small dock where one may rent a row-boat, but the owner never will take my money. He just says “Go on with you now!” and gives us the smallest boat, which I suspect he has had made special for us. It has a small ruffled canopy on one end and a nice cushioned seat, and I like to have Anemone sit there so I can face her while I row.

She is wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat with silk flowers pinned onto it, to keep the sun out of her eyes, which are now sensitive. She looks so maddeningly sweet in it, I have all I could do to watch where I am going. I have to admit she looks all the lovelier in the hat with the shorter hair, and it holds a curl better now this way, she says. She wears a gown of pale pink to match the flowers in her hat. It's most gratifying to me that she likes to dress nicely without being obsessive over how she looks.

She kicks off her slipper and caresses my foot with her toes.

“You look so handsome in that suit, I don’t know how much longer I can restrain myself,” she says with dancing eyes as we pull along, waving to other boaters we saw. “We are the prettiest couple in the Park. Everyone is fuming with envy.”

I have to laugh: “They do not look fuming to me. On the contrary, my Love, people greatly delight in seeing us together. They light up in a way they do not when it’s just myself. I would venture to say it brightens their entire day.”

“Well, they are fuming,” she insists, teasing my ankle with her big toe. “You merely don’t see it because you are so ridiculously modest. We shouldn’t even be here, we are ruining their day. AND we have the prettiest children, and they all know it.”

“I can scarcely argue there,” I grin. “And they are the smartest, and bravest, and sweetest, and funniest, and most gifted of any besides. I think so, anyway.”

“I’m so thankful you are able to love them,” she says more seriously, putting her foot back into its slipper, “instead of merely tolerating them for my sake. You’ve no idea how happy that makes me.”

We fall silent for a few minutes, taking each other in, the sheer wonderfulness of just being there, together, two souls eternally knitted in love and poetry and destiny and soft magic. A pair of swans float by, their downy offspring trailing after them. Anemone takes some pieces of bread she brought along in a bag to feed them, and tosses them out.

“Why, look,” she says nodding toward the shore, “there’s Findëmaxa.”

The artist is walking along with two other ladies and a fellow. She recently took up with a community of artists and has moved out of her flat to live among them. They live in a building near the Museum, and are regarded as eccentric and even a trifle daft by the population in general, and I can hardly picture Findëmaxa among them. It’s said they have no furniture other than a chair and small table, they don’t wear underwear, and many sleep in hammocks strung between the trees outside. They do the sort of art she once denounced as “a slap in the face of True Beauty.” Now she is wearing an ankle-length tunic of a black silky stuff painted over with rose and gold flowers, a white under-dress with full sleeves underneath, and several strings of beads and gold chains around her neck. Her fair hair is loose and flowing, held back from her delicate face with a beaded scarf. Her feet are in little black slippers, and one of her ankles has a small gold chain on it. Her companions are similarly clad. We wave to them and they all wave back, rather solemnly, but Findëmaxa gives us all a shyly beaming smile.

“Now there is a sight I NEVER thought to see,” Anemone says. I laugh.

“It’s a far cry from that pale, spinsterish get-up she used to sport,” I admit.

“Do you think she’s really much happier now?” Anemone asks.

“Well, she looks as though she’s enjoying herself at the moment,” I say thoughtfully. “As for ‘happy’…well. I’m sure it’s a push in that direction. She’s feeling her way. And something tells me she will get there eventually, whether in our lifetime or no, I couldn’t say. But she will get there.”

“Do you suppose she’s wearing underwear?” asks my irrepressible wife.

I laugh so hard I make the boat wiggle. “I’m sure I don’t know. I never entirely believed that report, anyway.”

She laughs also: “I wonder if she still means to embrace chastity all her life. Somehow, I think not. I think we corrupted her. We should do so more often. It’s such fun, isn’t it?”

“By the way,” I say after we calm down a little, “Aredhel is going to have a child. Rûdharanion told me so this morning.”

“Truly? There seems to be a good deal of that going around lately.”

“Isn’t there? In Middle-earth, it seemed scarcely any Elves were having children. Perhaps there will be a good many of them come about now that there is peace abounding.”

“How does Rûdharanion feel about being a great-great-grandfather?”

“Most thrilled…and a trifle kerflummoxed.” We both laugh. “To think he was once betrothed to her, and now...But I think it will do Aredhel a great deal of good to be a mother. Having a baby will propel her into adulthood very quickly.”

“Look,” Anemone says sitting up straight. “There’s Guilin--with Nessima. Doesn’t she look splendid? There’s another you’ve hopelessly corrupted. Although I’ve a feeling she’s got on underwear.”

We row back to the dock. Nessima does look very striking in a conservative but stylish and well-made gown of grey-green with a tiny figuring of black silk embroidery at the neckline, her hair neat and flowing. She has one hand draped over Guilin’s arm.

“So you had a little excitement at the theater today?” Guilin says cheerily as we disembark. “Northlight and Fairwind told me all about it, just a while ago. Why do I always miss all the good stuff?”

“Because you’re too busy pursuing the wives of your benefactors,” Anemone says with a wink, giving him a poke in the chest with her forefinger. I can hardly believe the audacity, even from her. After a startled moment, however, I begin to roar with uncontrollable laughter. So does Guilin. Nessima looked a trifle puzzled at the way we have taken the incident so much in our stride as we have.

“You look darling in that hat,” she tells Anemone as we walk to the other end of the Park. “Your sense of style is amazing.”

Now there is something I never would have expected to hear from Nessima! I also never would have expected to see my Anemone get pink cheeks at something “the tall one” said either. Whatever Guilin’s gift is, I certainly hope it is a good one....

It is growing dusky, and Nessima says she must get home. Guilin offers to walk her back, but she thanks him and says the officials would frown on seeing her with a male companion so near the Home.

“So do you feel better now, Beloved?” Anemone asks as Nessima’s figure recedes in the twilight, laying her arm over mine. The three of us sit on one of the benches near the fountain, Anemone in the middle.

“Much better,” I say. “I think a bit of that...thing...tried to follow me home. But fortunately, we lost him.”

“He knows better than to trifle with our family,” Anemone says. “So will Inzilbêth really give up acting?”

“She didn’t say she would,” I say. “I believe she has this idea she can make a new start in Aman. I hope she can, if she goes about it in the right way. But she will be a smaller fish in a much bigger pond.”

“Know what I think?” Guilin says. “I think she’s tired of the Island, and wants to break away into bigger and better things. And so she got up this whole hoopla in order to get away without a breach of contract. I bet she doesn’t even have a daughter. I think she made up that whole story to gain your sympathy, and to get you to use your influence, put in a good word for her and all that rot.”

“She asked me for no favors,” I say.

“She knows you better than that,” he says. “You may not be the worldliest of chaps, but you’re not anybody’s fool either, and she knows that. She figured she’d better come up with a bloody good story, so you’d do it without being asked.”

I shake my head. “The thing with the Witch-king rang too true. I don’t think even she is a good enough actress to pull that off.”

“She is, and she studied her part well,” Guilin insists. “That’s her job, after all. She knows how to make it damned good, I’ll give her that much.”

“You once told me,” I remind him, smiling, “that I've a face one cannot lie to.”

“Did I? Well then, I’ll amend that: You’ve a face one cannot lie to, unless one happens to be Inzilbêth. Lying is a way of life with her. Did she ever mention having a daughter to you before?”

“No, but then, the subject never came up. We’ve never exactly been bosom friends.”

“Even so, those with children usually bring up the subject of them from time to time, whether among friends or not. Just don’t let her fiddle you into any funny business.”

“Oh, I shan’t. But I think you’re wrong about her.  You’re angry about the things she’s said and I don’t blame you. But I think perhaps I’ve corrupted her too, just a little. She’d be so much happier if she had a family like mine.”

“Corrupted whom?” Northlight says, appearing in the dim light near the fountain, Raven coming up close behind, holding lightly to his hand. The twins trot up after, also hand in hand, then Moonrise carrying Onyx, the little one’s head drooping sleepily on his uncle’s shoulder. Sandrose scrambles down from Ebbtide’s back and runs to us, embracing first Anemone, then me, then Guilin, climbing onto his lap and babbling about all the things they’d done in the park. He is most fascinated by her tininess--a little lass perhaps the age of Lyrien, or the equivalent thereof, yet no taller than Little Iorhael. Raven sits down beside us and gathers Onyx onto her lap, hugging the tiny boy close. Fairwind and Embergold appear arm in arm, enjoying the time they have left together.

Sam...I only hope your family is as corrupted as mine....