five people to whom he’d given eternal life in exchange for blind obedience and service. I asked Adair whether he had been in touch with the others and he admitted that he avoided Alejandro, Tilde, Dona, and Jude. “I can’t abide their company anymore,” he confessed, saddened. “There was a time when I needed them to be a buffer between me and the rest of the world. They served a purpose, but that time has passed. I’d rather live simply and privately.”
I thought about inquiring after my dear old friend Savva. He, too, had been one of Adair’s companions once, and we’d spent a lot of time together when I was on the run from Adair. Savva had fallen very far from the brilliant, irascible, and maddening young Russian I’d known a hundred years earlier. He had turned to narcotics for respite from his demons and become a bad heroin addict. He’d driven away all his friends and could no longer cope with the ever more complex demands of modern life. Savva was living proof that eternal life was not a gift to everyone—for the very unstable, it could be a never-ending hell. When Adair and I had last parted, I’d asked him to show mercy and release Savva. Now, I couldn’t bring myself to find out if Adair had done as I’d asked.
No, I wouldn’t ask about Savva. Since I’d come to the island, I’d seen many promising signs that Adair had truly changed; it gave me hope. If only every day could be like this: the two of us lying together in the sun, enjoying each other’s company.
A dangerous and seductive thought had begun to take root in my mind: I started to think how nice it might be to stay right where I was. After all, I had nowhere else to go and no one waiting for me. I could put off the lonely job of building a new life—which, frankly, got more tedious and seemed more pointless each time I had to create a new identity. If I could put out of my head all the bad things that had happened between Adair and me, if I could pretend that there was only the here and now, then I might be able to manage it. I could live with Adair day to day, never needing to look ahead, never daring to look back.
I knew that if I asked, he would make it happen. He would send the girls away so I could take refuge in his bed, where the nightmares would never dare to follow me. And what waited for me in his bed but days and nights of stupendous sex? Sex so pure and powerful that it would keep me focused on the moment, on the physical pleasure of the body, and free me from my overburdened mind. More than any man I’d ever known, Adair had the ability to turn sex into both a physical and spiritual act. We would stay in the bedroom for days at a time, feasting on each other, right down to our souls. I ached to give myself up to Adair like this. It would make life so much simpler. . . . As long as I remained in that state, as long as I could stay drugged up on pure experience, it could work. It would be like being drunk and never sobering up. It was very tempting to consider and if I’d been just a little bit weaker, or more selfish, I might’ve let it happen.
But then I remembered all the terrible things we’d done, Adair and I, and I knew we wouldn’t be so lucky. Fate would not let us be happy, not truly, not when so much remainedunaccounted for. My sins were slight—minor deceptions, a white lie told here or there—compared to Adair’s, which ran past duplicity and theft, all the way to murder. Fate could not possibly be finished with the two of us. Besides, I didn’t come here looking to escape. There was something I had to do, and I would never find peace until I followed through with it.
FIVE
I was playing solitaire with a worn, old deck of cards I’d found in a desk drawer, while Adair read, reclining on a bower of pillows on the floor. He broke from his reading to roll onto his back and cock his head in my direction, as though he was about to speak. I don’t think he was aware of how very appealing he
I thought about inquiring after my dear old friend Savva. He, too, had been one of Adair’s companions once, and we’d spent a lot of time together when I was on the run from Adair. Savva had fallen very far from the brilliant, irascible, and maddening young Russian I’d known a hundred years earlier. He had turned to narcotics for respite from his demons and become a bad heroin addict. He’d driven away all his friends and could no longer cope with the ever more complex demands of modern life. Savva was living proof that eternal life was not a gift to everyone—for the very unstable, it could be a never-ending hell. When Adair and I had last parted, I’d asked him to show mercy and release Savva. Now, I couldn’t bring myself to find out if Adair had done as I’d asked.
No, I wouldn’t ask about Savva. Since I’d come to the island, I’d seen many promising signs that Adair had truly changed; it gave me hope. If only every day could be like this: the two of us lying together in the sun, enjoying each other’s company.
A dangerous and seductive thought had begun to take root in my mind: I started to think how nice it might be to stay right where I was. After all, I had nowhere else to go and no one waiting for me. I could put off the lonely job of building a new life—which, frankly, got more tedious and seemed more pointless each time I had to create a new identity. If I could put out of my head all the bad things that had happened between Adair and me, if I could pretend that there was only the here and now, then I might be able to manage it. I could live with Adair day to day, never needing to look ahead, never daring to look back.
I knew that if I asked, he would make it happen. He would send the girls away so I could take refuge in his bed, where the nightmares would never dare to follow me. And what waited for me in his bed but days and nights of stupendous sex? Sex so pure and powerful that it would keep me focused on the moment, on the physical pleasure of the body, and free me from my overburdened mind. More than any man I’d ever known, Adair had the ability to turn sex into both a physical and spiritual act. We would stay in the bedroom for days at a time, feasting on each other, right down to our souls. I ached to give myself up to Adair like this. It would make life so much simpler. . . . As long as I remained in that state, as long as I could stay drugged up on pure experience, it could work. It would be like being drunk and never sobering up. It was very tempting to consider and if I’d been just a little bit weaker, or more selfish, I might’ve let it happen.
But then I remembered all the terrible things we’d done, Adair and I, and I knew we wouldn’t be so lucky. Fate would not let us be happy, not truly, not when so much remainedunaccounted for. My sins were slight—minor deceptions, a white lie told here or there—compared to Adair’s, which ran past duplicity and theft, all the way to murder. Fate could not possibly be finished with the two of us. Besides, I didn’t come here looking to escape. There was something I had to do, and I would never find peace until I followed through with it.
FIVE
I was playing solitaire with a worn, old deck of cards I’d found in a desk drawer, while Adair read, reclining on a bower of pillows on the floor. He broke from his reading to roll onto his back and cock his head in my direction, as though he was about to speak. I don’t think he was aware of how very appealing he
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