“You … what?”
“I want us to mix our blood together. I want…” At first she spoke clearly, but as the sentence stretched out, her voice faded.
“Wow. Never in my life have I thought of that.” The idea of mingling her blood with mine filled my eyes with tears. It felt like the ultimate expression of our bond – a connection beyond time and place. After we calmed down, Lily asked me to bring a blood test kit from the ward. I told her there was no need to wait – there were needles and disinfectants in her dressing kit at home.
The candles flickering in the Finnish candlesticks added to the enchanted atmosphere in the darkened apartment. A blissful smile spread across her face, and the silhouettes of our heads, moving on the wall opposite, only deepened the mystical air. Her creativity never stopped surprising me.
The mutual pricks with sterilized sewing needles, the twin drops of blood on our fingertips, the careful merging of them together, making sure they didn’t break apart, and the electric current I felt at the moment of touch – all fused into what we called a “once-in-a-lifetime ritual.” My heart skipped a beat – maybe two. I was overwhelmed. I’d never imagined how moving it could be to feel the touch of two pricked and bleeding fingers. Finger caressing finger, as if each were its own being searching for its twin. Lily glowed with happiness, surrounded by a mysterious aura. She was so beautiful – more beautiful than ever, dazzling beyond belief. Our fingers pulled toward each other like magnets. The wild abstract patterns we painted on each other’s hands and arms added to the magical atmosphere in the dark room.
“A true pact,” she whispered in my ear.
“A blood pact,” I replied, with tears welling in my eyes.
We fell silent, gazing deeply into each other’s eyes.
I could see her heartbeat pulsing clearly in the veins of her delicate neck. When we finally calmed down, we wrapped each other in kisses, cherishing the experience – a moment that was entirely ours. We never told anyone about it.
Chapter 17
Unfinished Interview – The Maw?
One of the things I’ve learned in life is that when you live with the woman you love, routine isn’t just boring – it’s destructive. That’s why I always tried to find new things that would bring freshness into our shared life. For example, the subject of Lily’s health, which had consumed us at the beginning, was fading into the background. What began to dominate our communication more and more was my suggestion that she study painting in a structured way.
“Stop it!” she would say every time I brought it up.
“Get off my back. I’m a big girl, and I’ve decided I don’t want to study painting. I made a decision, and that’s that!” One time, she was so angry she actually slammed the bedroom door behind her, leaving me stunned. I knew that wasn’t going to be our night together.
“What’s the harm in trying?” I nagged from the other side of the door.
“Enough! We’ve already discussed this. You know nobody would accept me. I’m too old. I have nothing new to contribute, and I have no desire to be a student again. High school and university were enough for me. I want to be free and do what I want. You know me!”
“You? Too old? Maybe you’re just afraid of failing! Since when are you like everyone else? You’re special!” I tried to soften her resistance, but it didn’t help.
“Yes, you’re right. I’m like everyone else. Leave me alone!” She shut down my words, and I decided to back off. I didn’t want to anger her too much. I sat down on the floor outside the door and waited. She didn’t budge.
“But everyone who’s seen your work has loved it,” I broke the silence.
“At least they reacted…”
“Who saw it? Your friends? You know they don’t understand painting. My family? Enough, enough, enough. I don’t want to talk about it.” I stayed quiet. I knew she wouldn’t hold out forever.
“They – your friends – proved they don’t understand painting at all.” I realized she must also be sitting on the other side of the door.
“What? What do you mean?” Without realizing it, I had set her up perfectly.
“Didn’t you see how they stared at your idiotic painting and completely ignored my latest one?” she finished, ending the discussion.
A few days earlier, we had argued about art and taste. I claimed people could recognize real art even without knowledge or formal training. Lily disagreed.
“I have an idea!” I suddenly exclaimed. She looked at me, puzzled.
“I’ll paint something on one of your canvases and hang it in the apartment. Let’s see if anyone notices.” I teased.
We bet on it – as always, the prize was a big hug and then some.
I found a blank canvas in her studio, 30x40 centimeters, and smeared random colors on it in the shape of a gaping mouth. We both laughed at the ridiculous result, which I named “The Maw,” and hung it in the bathroom, figuring that was the most appropriate spot.
“I bet you they won’t even notice it,” I told her when friends came over that evening.
