Northern Downpour

The Open Gates (XII)

XII

“What are you reaching into? You look funny!” she said, while laughing and felt like she was gasping for the littlest of air in the atmosphere, though it was the atmosphere that had enveloped her very being at that moment. It was quiet still, until Micael finally grabbed what he had utterly reaching for, and replied:

“Nothing. Just a thing worth sharing. Hey, Amy.”

“What?”

“Did you drop this? This might have slipped from your beautiful neck while we were walking,” he said conversationally. It was out of the ordinary and quite extravagant at the same time. At first, Amy thought that he was just palavering and messing with her knickers, but it was something more than just that. She raised one brow, and waited. Micael raised his forearm, to the point where it had become perfectly parallel to the ship (not so parallel, but it was) and his arm perpendicular to it, as if it was L-shaped. His feet clenched, as well as his face.  His looks were tight, Amy’s tighter. The two of them paid close attention, and as if the moon and the stars were clearly watching. The splashing of the waves to the ship’s keel sounded like rolling drums.

“What do you mean, Micael?”

“This,” he opened his fist, and then a necklace fell, barely, of course. Half of the necklace was into Micael’s fingers, as one would not want to lose something very important. It also had this pendant. It was something unusual to be given to someone. It was the G clef, one that was frequently used by musicians in order to portray their think-abouts, and then he untwirled it, he translated it to Amy’s back, and he put it onto her neck.

“What’s this, Micael?”

“Something that will make you forget-me-not, I must say.”
And Amy insisted. Who would not insist, anyway? Amy moved her palm into the pendant, looked at it, and it was nice. She smiled, and looked like she really appreciated something which never really slipped off her neck. After it being affixed on her neck, Micael went back to her side, and she said: “That’s very nice of you. Thank you.” She smiled while Micael was talking, seemed like he was very happy, as well: “Thank you? For grabbing what had slipped on you?” and laughed, and hey, the moon and the stars were the living testimony of how genuine it was. It really was. The necklace was gold in color, and it lustered. Amy went on and so did Micael, asked about their very whereabouts after the sail. “Where will you be after this?” said Amy. Micael really did reply, and it was something worth remarking. “I, ugh, am just going to study on Great Britain, while my parents will watch over me and especially maintain their omnibuses, as they've decided to own a transport company on that place,” he said. Amy was surprised because to have a business overseas that time was hard, as flying omnibuses were never a thing before the nineteenth. There were buses, indeed, and there would be flying ones, only if there would be much intelligent than Stephenson, Watt, and Ford and Diesel. Oh, the feat of someone is truly the very revolution of everyone, however involved they might be., like a gun without powder and a steel without a flint. “How about you?” he asked to Amy. “Well, me and parents will just visit France and wander for a bit, for some called it a very great to be into,” she replied. “Is there any chance that I will be with you? Like without your parents, or?” “There will be. All we need is time.” Micael replied abruptly and laughed: “But time was never irrelevant!” and so did Amy. They found themselves comfortable that time, more like leaves falling gracefully from its branch, and they wanted to be more than just comfortable. They wanted to lie down on the upper deck, which sounded so ridiculous an infelicitous, but it was just something more than just that, and they did lie down. They lied beside one another, and at first at was just something they both felt. It was the wood. The wood was cold, colder than the atmosphere of the black night sky. It was really cold, but being with one another, as one would think of, was the thing that would really matter.

“It… is… cold…”
“It is, Amy. Forgot to bring some blanket and jacket.”

“Sorry.”

“For what?” asked Micael. “For being so needy,” replied Amy. It was different. A little different, indeed. One would had been so comfortable if Micael would have only brought something. “Look at the sky, Amy. What do you see?” He asked comfortably. “I see stars. Constellation, the moon, the Orion, Ursa, and many more. It is just fascinating that the world has a myriad of mysteries to offer. I don’t know. It is just so different,” she replied, smiling while her eyes were wandering above. It seemed like her eyes weren’t really there, as if they were flying, like she was really in Neverland. “What do you see, Micael?” she asked immediately, while looking to Micael with quite a smile. “Me? I see stars and moon and black. And you. That’s all I see.” It was different for Amy to hear such words from a guy who he had only knew for hours, but it was something special nevertheless, and she asked once more:

“What else?”

“What else? Do I see?” Micael replied doubtedly.

“Yes. What else does Aleck see?” A random voice followed. It was not Amy's: sonorous, deep; it was never a typical voice for a lassies especially Amy; Micael budged off.

It was spontaneous that he wouldn’t even wince once more. But he couldn’t contain it, and then he made something, a comeuppance, they said.

“I see Aleck, Amy, and I would like to tell a story,” he said. Amy was glad, without knowing who was Aleck as she cared not a single bit, and listened. “Who is Aleck?” she asked.

“A very friend of Jack, spring-heeled Jack.”

And Micael did not answer nor he did answer the wandering voice, of which he knew was coming from somewhere he was not really into of knowing, and then he immediately started telling Aleck’s story, let alone his, while completely ignoring the very fact that the broken man in torn black cape was nearby.

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