Carmen Ferreiro-Esteban - Immortal Love

“Don’t play with me, Carla.” His voice was cold. His face unreadable.

“I’m not playing.”

“I overheard the nurse talking to you. I heard her asking you to pretend you love me.”

“You think my kiss was a lie?”

Bécquer said nothing.

“You’re wrong, Bécquer. Besides, what the nurse said does not apply anymore. You will not be paralyzed for long. Nor human for that matter. Once you tell the Elders what really happened the day Beatriz became immortal, Federico is certain the Elders will reverse your sentence.”

“They won’t. Because I did change her, and I’m taking full responsibility for it.”

I frowned. “But that’s not true. Why should you — ”

Bécquer’s face hardened into a mask, but for a brief moment his eyes met mine, and, as they did, an image jumped to my conscious mind: the image of Beatriz holding Ryan over the dam and of Bécquer facing her. And I knew, as clearly as if I had heard their words what the pact between them had been.

“You promised her,” I said, and my voice came out broken, almost unrecognizable. “You promised Beatriz you’d take responsibility for her change if she let Ryan go.”

It wasn’t a question. Had it been, his silence would have been answer enough.

“I cannot, I will not, let you take the blame.”

“I’m afraid it’s not your decision, Carla. You were not there. You have no proof.”

“I may not have proof, but now that you’re human you cannot lie to the immortals anymore, for they don’t need your permission to search your mind. Federico we’ll have no problem learning the truth.”

Bécquer swore and I knew I had won because he changed his tactic.

“Carla, you don’t understand.” His voice that had been hard before was now pleading. “I gave her my word. If I break it, Beatriz will not abide by her promise and Ryan will be in danger again. Not only him, your daughter — ”

“Madison,” I supplied my daughter’s name automatically.

“Madison will be in danger too.”

I hesitated for a moment. Fear for my children weighed against my responsibility to make things right for Bécquer.

“I have to tell the truth. I can’t let you take the blame for something you didn’t do.”

“You said your kiss was not a lie, Carla. This is your test. If you care for me you will respect my wish.”

“I can’t.”

“So I was right. You don’t care for me. Or maybe you did. You cared for me when I was immortal. Not for this broken human I have become.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Prove it to me then. Stand by me. Don’t tell Federico about my pact with Beatriz. Convince him he can’t tell the Elders what happened between us.”

“But — ”

“Carla, listen. I’ve lived for a long time. Your children haven’t. They deserve to live more than I do. Besides, you saved my life. I owe you.”

I sighed.

“All right, I’ll support your decision.”

“Thank you, Carla. So maybe it’s true you care for me a little.”

His voice was light and teasing and his eyes were asking me to come closer. But I couldn’t move. I felt dirty. I had agreed to Bécquer’s request in order to save my children’s lives, but, deep down, I knew it was wrong. If the Elders knew the truth they would allow Bécquer to be immortal. But if I didn’t tell them, he would remain human and, maybe even, paralyzed.

“It’s all right.” Bécquer said, serious now. “I understand you won’t want to stay with me under these circumstances.” Briefly, his eyes moved to his legs, then without a hint of self-pity, held mine again. “You owe me no explanation.”

“Of course I want to stay with you,” I said, angry for letting my silence give him the wrong impression. “I love you, Bécquer. Your present circumstances are of no importance to me. I’ll stay with you as long as you’ll have me.”

Bécquer stared at me for a long time. “Do you really mean it?”

“I do.”

Bending over, I kissed him again.

This time his lips opened as they touched mine, and, just before I closed my eyes, I saw myself on his black pupils, dark mirrors reflecting my soul as it met his own. His lips were soft and warm, inviting yet demanding, his kiss both pleasure and pain. I wanted to scream and I wanted to die. I wanted this kiss never to end and I wanted to flee for I was scared of losing myself, of forgetting everything I’d ever been, or was, or planned to be. Yet, I didn’t mind. I didn’t care if I ever had a thought but this: That he was mine and I, his, this moment and every moment. He and I but one, a single soul. Forever.

“Carla” he said when we at last parted. “Could you — ?”

“Kiss you once more?”

He smiled. “That too. But first could you untie me?”

I considered his request. They had bound him so he would not kill himself, but now that he knew the Elders didn’t want him dead, he wouldn’t try again, would he?

“Should I trust you?”

Bécquer smile widened. “I’ll be a gentleman. I promise.” The mischief he infused into his words, made me believe, at last, that he would fight to stay alive.

Bécquer flexed his arms when I finished, disregarding the UV tubing attached to his left hand.

“Be careful.” I reached over the bed to stay the tubing that swung wildly.

Bécquer winced.

“Sorry. Did I hurt you?”

He lay back and shook his head.

But I knew he was lying because his eyes were full of pain. “Seriously, Bécquer, how do you feel?”

Bécquer shrugged. “The truth?”

I nodded.

“If you were not with me,” he said, with a deprecatory smile, “I would think I had died and gone to hell.”

“Maybe you have,” I teased him. “Maybe, like Sartre claimed, L’enfer c’est les autres . Hell is other people. And I am yours.”

“No. You’re not, that I know for certain. Although, once upon a time, my private hell did have a woman’s name.”

“Lucrezia.”

I said the name without thinking, the name of the woman he mentioned in his diary.

Bécquer frowned and, as I blushed under his dark stare, he sighed. “You read my diary.”

“Only the first page. Rachel wanted me to read it to prove Cesar was real, although you had denied it. She thought you might mention him in your diary.”

“Did she read it too?”

“No, she didn’t.”

“Nothing happened between us.”

“Rachel or Lucrezia?”

“I meant Rachel. As for Lucrezia — ”

“You don’t owe me an explanation.”

He smiled ruefully. “Come,” he asked me and when following his suggestion I sat by his side, he took my hand. “Yes. I have to tell you about Lucrezia. But I fear that when I do, I’ll lose your respect. And your love.”

“Because you still love her?”

“No, Carla. I don’t love her. That’s not why. I’m afraid that you’ll think poorly of me because I’m ashamed of who I was and how I lived my life when I was human.”

“You were Bécquer, when you were human. Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer. How can you be ashamed? You’re admired, adored by legions of fans that have read your poetry, your legends, your letters.”

Bécquer laughed. “My fans, as you call them, do not love me. They love the myth I created after my death. My so-called death, anyway. During my life, I was an unknown, a failure as a writer, a dilettante of sorts, working clerk jobs I couldn’t keep, writing pieces for newspapers, articles nobody read, searching all the time for that elusive perfect nirvana Lucrezia gave me when I was a child.”

“So you loved her back then?”

“If you call that love. What I felt for her was more like an addiction, a disease that stole my soul and poisoned my mind. And because in my ignorance I called that love, I spent my life searching for the intangible — a silver moon ray, a pair of green eyes, the impossible I could never have.”