Better

We are in a shady bower, out in the air of high summer, scented like hay; I am leaning against him, and he is weaving daisies in my hair. The little ones, the English type, which we do not have around here. He is all in green.

It is good to be Pagan.

He sighs, then says, "Tell me a story."

Oh. Me? Tell him a story?

I think about it a moment.

"All right," I say, "but it's a sad one."

"Yes," he says, shutting his eyes. I begin:

"Once there was a boy who became lost. He lived in a little stone cottage by himself on the edge of an old dark wood, an ancient and enchanted place. But familiarity had made him unwary; and he would go for walks in that little wood, thinking himself safe. But he wasn't.

"For while he walked the forest sang to him, quietly but steadily, of circles and sleep and the easy way, though it was all lies. But the boy was lonely, and the song sounded comforting; and before he knew it he had let it into his heart a little and so become ensnared. And so he walked in circles, for that day and many others; and he slowly came to know that he had been fooled after all, even though he had thought he was safe in his own back-yard.

"Finally he had to accept what his heart had been telling him all along: that he would never find his way out. But in recognizing that his despair and loneliness became too great, and his heart broke within him. And soon after he laid himself down on the forest floor, and he died."

He looks at me, troubled but silent. Ah, me.

I continue, because that is of course not the end.

"But this was an enchanted forest; and though the boy had died, and though his body went the way of all, dissolving into the forest, his heart remained. For the magic on it was strong. And it became hard and imperishable, like a jewel; and it lay there on the forest floor, in two pieces, like a ruby cleft down the middle. And because it was a place of magic, his heart began to sing its own song, quiet but sad.

"And it remained there for many years, and the leaves fell about it.

"Then one day a girl came to the little stone cottage on the edge of the wood, the one that had been his. She was a determined sort, and hadn't had much use for people; also she was a bit of a witch, if you will, and an old abandoned cottage on the edge of a wood with a very bad reputation suited her quite well. But unlike him she was not fooled by the woods, and though she had a healthy respect for it she recognized its lure and was unimpressed.

"So she took up house there, and lived well and contentedly in solitude.

"But after a time she found the place was haunted. Now, as I said, she was a no-nonsense kind of girl, and so ghosts as a rule did not particularly frighten her; but this ghost, well, he was just so sad that she could not feel anything other than compassion for him.

"And his sadness began to affect her, to cast its own little spell on her and make her sad in turn; and so, out of compassion both for her ghost and her self she determined to see what she could do. She was a witch, after all.

"So she called to him, her ghost, to come to her; and she sang songs of comfort, true comfort, whenever she remembered, whether she could feel him there or not. And sure enough her gentle coaxing worked, and he slowly grew more present, more solid; and one day she found him standing before her. So she said, 'Come sit with me.'

"And he did. And she sang to him, again, of comfort and of sympathy. Then she said, 'Tell me.'

"But he just looked at her, sadly and silently. So she sang again, of kindness and of healing. Then she again said, "Tell me."

"But he was yet silent. So she sang a third time, of compassion and of love. Then she said, "I hear you."

"And he shut his eyes, and he said, 'Oh.'

"And so, with time, and with patience, little by little she coaxed his words from him, by offering a kind heart; and the more he spoke the more solid and stable he became, though he was still a ghost, and though he was still very sad. And so, eventually, she was able to piece together what had happened.

"Now, though she appreciated the forest's evil repute in keeping pesty neighbors from her door, she was, as I said, quite unimpressed with its ways herself. And though she knew it was enchanted, and that many others before her had been ensnared within it, she knew herself to be clear-eyed and level-headed, enough so that she doubted the forest's songs would have any allure for her. Besides which, she could sing a few of her own.

"And so she set her foot on the path into the forest, the one that began at her back door; and sure enough, soon the forest took up its song. But to her ears it sounded discordant and conniving; and instead of feeling confused, or obedient, she found herself angry that it was trying to fool her too when she was on a mission of compassion.

"So she said one word: 'Cease!' And the forest did. For she knew herself.

"So she stood there, then, in that new silence. And she tasted the air; and she found that little strand of sadness, that quiet quiet song made by the two pieces of the boy's broken heart. And she followed that strand, deep into the forest and the dark, until she came upon the pieces, shining like gems among the leaf litter; and she picked them up and held them to her.

"And she walked out of the woods to her home, and the forest gave her no trouble.

"Then she cleared a table in her bedroom, and laid the two pieces of the heart on it; and she began to sing a song of healing. Before long she found that her ghost was standing there, watching her with wide eyes.

"When she had finished her song she picked up the two halves of his heart. Though they were still separate, they now had a magnetic force about them, the two pieces being drawn to each other. She laid them down carefully on the table again, lining the two pieces up.

"'Now Love,' she said to her ghost. And she took his hand, and found it solid enough; and she brought him over to the bed. And she sat down on top of it and drew him down to sit next to her; and she put her arm around him and kissed his forehead, and they sat there together on top of the quilt. 'Tell me again,' she said then, 'I hear you.'

"And he did, and he wept, and the more he spoke the more real he became; and when he had finished she sang again, of healing and compassion and love.

"And she knew that his heart, over there across the room, was healing; but it was not mended yet. So she again said, 'Tell me. Tell me the details this time. I hear you.'

"And he told her what he had left out, the things both little and shameful; and when he had spoken, and wept again, she sang to him, of gentleness and patience and cleansing.

"But she knew his heart was still not mended, not quite; and so she said, 'Tell me. Tell me why you fear healing. I hear you.'

"'Oh,' he said, surprised. But he told her, and she listened, as he wept yet again; and she wept with him. And when he had finished, she sang one last song, of strength and wholeness and completion; and he looked at her, in wonder.

"Then she got up, and went over to the table. And there was his heart, in one piece, solid and shining and whole, without even so much as a hairline crack. And he stood beside her. She picked it up.

"'Open your shirt,' she said then, and he did. There, on his chest, just to the right of center, over where his heart should have been, was a small red shape, like a birthmark.

"'Here,' she said, holding it up to him, 'now you sing.'

"So he did; and he took his heart, still held in her hands, and laid it against the mark; and he closed his hands around her own, and he quietly sang a song of wonder and grace; and when his song was sung his heart had vanished into him, and the mark was gone. And he stood there, solid as any living man; and he looked at her, smiling a little in pure wonder and surprise, and he said, 'Beloved.' And he put his arms around her.

"The end."

"Oh," he says, like the ghost-boy, his eyes dark and wet.

I brush his hair from his forehead and kiss his brow. There are leaves in his hair. "How are you?" I ask.

"Better," he says.