Saraband for Two Sisters

“I saw something in her. I thought she was young, fresh, healthy. I thought we might have healthy children. I know it was the shadow of you. You are so alike. Often I have watched you riding out in the gardens and I have not known which was which. It is when you talk, when we are together in love, that there is no similarity whatsoever.

There is so much to say to you, I don’t know where to begin.” He led me to the bed and we sat down on it with his arm about me while the candle flickering on the dressing table threw an eerie light about the room. “First my tragedy. Let me tell you about the boy. He is eleven years old ... my son ... my only son. His birth killed his mother.”

“I think I understand it all. I’ve pieced it together. You keep him in the castle and that is why you want no one to go near it.”

He nodded. “It became obvious that there was something very wrong with him in the first year of his life. Mrs. Cherry nursed him. She insisted and she was good. I owe a great deal to the Cherrys, Jesson, and his daughters. They were all here then. They know the secret and they have helped me to keep it. The other servants are old soldiers, and old soldiers don’t talk if they think it would be unwise to do so. There is a strong man-Strawberry John he is called because of a birthmark. He is a man who is thought to be a little strange. He is unusual-extraordinary-and of great strength as you have seen tonight. He looks after the boy and has kept him in the castle since he was three years old and began to get violent. No one can control him like Strawberry John. But Mrs. Cherry and Cherry are good with him. The boy’s strength is growing. He has the arms of a gorilla and could kill with them.»

“Can you keep him there forever?”

“Such people do not live very long, I have heard. I have investigated and learned something of such cases. They usually die in their mid-twenties or thirties. They have the strength of two men, I have been told, and only half their lifespan.”

“It is a long way to go.”

“We have managed so far. It was thought that he died. Oh, Bersaba, there has been such subterfuge.”

“And you are a man who hates subterfuge,” I said with meaning. “I opened the castle, built the wall round it, and he has been there since. A child was buried bearing his name. There have been occasions when he has broken out, but they are rare.”

“And this must remain a secret.”

“This is my son, Bersaba. I am responsible for him. I want to give him the best life I can and I want children ... normal children who will grow up in this house and live here through the generations. I fear what effect it would have on ... Angelet... or anyone if they knew. She would be afraid that the children we might have could be similarly tainted. Clearly he has inherited madness from someone.»

“His mother ...”

“She was a gentle girl of good family. There was no madness in her family. I know you will understand. Don’t you always understand me? I did not want Angelet to know. If she were to have a child her fears could harm it and herself. You understand that, Bersaba.”

He held me against him. ‘What must we do, Bersaba?” he asked.

“What can we do?”

“We can only part and that means that I shall live sadly all the days that are left to me.”

“You have your profession,” I said, “and it seems that in the next years you will be occupied with that. And I must go away.”

He turned to me and held me close to him. “The moment I was beside you I knew, Bersaba.”

“And gave no sign.”

“I dared not.”

“No,” I said, “because you are a righteous man. You were like Adam. The woman tempted me. Oh, don’t protest. She did. You see I am not good, Richard. You must realize that. Angelet is like my mother -gentle, kindly, eager to do right. I am not gentle. I’m kind only when I love, and I am anxious to do the right only if it gives me pleasure.

You see I will willingly do the wrong for that same reason.”

“I never met anyone like you.”

“You should pray that you never do again.”

“It would be an impossibility and, having known you, I have learned this. If you could have been my wife I would have asked nothing more of life.” I touched his hair with fingers. “What now, Richard?”

“Oh, God, Bersaba, what are we going to do?”

“There is only one thing to be done. I must go away.”

“No.” He spoke quietly. “I can’t let you go.”

“We have to think of Angelet,” I went on.

He nodded.

“You must try to understand her. Be patient with her. In time perhaps ...”

“She will never be you.”

“But you married her, Richard.”

“Why did you not come in the first place?”

“It’s no use railing against fate, is it? This has happened to us. We must accept it. She admires you. She loves you. She can’t be blamed for her nature any more than we can for ours.”

“Having known you, I could not live without you.”

“You can and you will. For that is how it must be.”