The day had drawn late as moonlight danced on the bushes and trees of the Spanish garden, keeping the hour secret from those captured inside. The cloak concealing and protecting to Marina and Adn, they contemplated the mysteries of the world, alone, and together.

To ignore it, is not a solution. We have to talk about this.

Adn had not listened those long eight years ago, all he heard was, Francesca and I are lovers I want to be with her. Thoughts flickered, never allowed to remain, thoughts of something different, unusual, and foreign to him. Too attentive, too intimate, the visits were sporadic, weeks and months apart. He had considered it nothing more than time and distance in collaboration with the passion of their friendship.

Days would become dark whenever time had grown long and Marina had no word of her. The tiger would begin to pace and with agonizing dissent she would leave, gone for days, weeks, often returning home with a new friend.

I have a very simple question. Why women?

Marina stumbles with the abruptness of his question, her thoughts struggling to form, Why cant be answered unless I say, it was what happened it was me

Adn watched as Marina gazed into herself, seeking that light, that light which is the reflection of self.

It had no prejudice, no premeditation, no remediation, it simply was.

It was what I wanted.

It was me.

The meaning of I am.

Looking upon the horizon, they pondered the statement, in search of the understanding, of the knowing. Alone in silence, joined in thought, they remained for a time.

Tell me how you met Jennifer, what was it like to fall in love with her? Im presuming you are in love with her.

A smile drifted across her, The first time I saw her, she was walking past The Planet. The girls wouldve thought I was ridiculous, but it was the impression of her that first appealed to me her bohemian look the independence and presence of mind encapsulated within it

It was several days later before I actually met her, at a party. Thats when I found out, I was right.

She wrote a short story, Best first fiction Thus spoke Sarah Schuster.

Nietzsche.

Yes pride sparkling, published last year in Best American Short Stories

But that wasnt all there was, her smile softens as she remembers, Our friend Alice started teasing us because we both liked the same books and stories she made a joke thats when I asked her. I asked Jenny what her most… influential, important, life-altering book, of all time was.

Marina contemplated for a moment, She wouldnt tell me So, Alice had us both whisper our answers in her ear

Borges El hacedor (Dreamtigers)

That was your answer of course.

Yes but it was her answer too.

Understanding the significance, realizing his daughter had arrived at a journeys end, Adn tenderly wrapped his arm around Marina, Nightcap?

They walked arm in arm, leaving secrets revealed, treasures uncovered, safe within the garden.

********************************

They sipped their drinks thinking as they often had in the past, enjoying the closeness of the other, their comfort together, with the silence.

How did you know? About the painting

Adn thought for a moment before answering, unsure how Marina may be affected, Francesca I called Madrid looking for you. Several days later, I received a magazine article and a newspaper clipping.

Marinas face drew somber, thoughts lost in the uncertainty of meaning.

Im going to turn in, see you tomorrow night? smiling lovingly at the daughter he had missed so sorely.

Of course… Marina walked into the entryway and watched as her father climbed the stairs. She returned to the center courtyard to collect her thoughts once more.

********************************

When Elena and Marina had joined her parents for dinner, they found they had a guest. Surprised at seeing her sitting there, having not seen her since the night on the landing two years ago, Marinas eyes speculated as she walked slowly past her.

Adn motioned, I dont believe you met my daughter on your last visit, this is Marina and her friend Elena. And this is Francesca Wolff, shes visiting from Madrid. Francesca used to paint for us, but now shes adjusted her attentions to more lucrative endeavors.

I still paint. I just have to eat too.

Francesca smiles as she nods to Marina, Im very pleased, to finally meet you. Marina is stunned by her inference, certain it is there on her face plain for everyone to see, their remembrance of that night.

So Marina, I hear youre a lover of literature. As a matter of fact, your father was telling me how much you love Borges, especially his book of prose and poems, El hacedor.

You know it? I cant find anyone my age who appreciates Borges as I do.

Marina clasps her hands together against her chest, tilts and raises her head, quoting Borges, enveloping serenity he loves the words, he loves the writing as I do sometimes I feel we are one, he is my writer and I am his reader

Do you feel the same, finding you cant stop reading? Sometimes, after Ive gone to bed, Ill get back up and read more. I think the school library has it permanently checked out to me. Beaming at this new-found confident, a kinsman, someone who surely sees within her who now knows the essence of her being

Well, darling Marina, I cant say Ive read it. But, I will say youve convinced me that maybe I should. smiling fondly at the girl as she reaches beneath her chair pulling out a package wrapped in a shiny copper colored paper bound by a leather string. This is for you.

Her mood sobers realizing the absurdity of her outburst, revealing that which has been falsely discovered. Humiliated, she politely accepts the gift, thank you, Francesca.

Francesca chuckles, Well arent you going to open it?

She looks about the table, its okay if she opens it isnt it. Please Marina, open it, her look is warm and faintly alluring.

Marina pulls the string and slowly folds back the paper. Her mouth gapes open as she sees whats inside.

Francesca winks, open the front cover

Inside, in his own hand, are his words, Poetry always remembers that it was an oral art before it was a written art. It remembers that it was first a song. – Jorge Luis Borges

Marina runs her fingers over his words, the tracings of his hand, then looking at Francesca bolts from the chair running to her. She throws her arms around her hugging her tight, redeemed, emotion low and soft in her voice, thank you Francesca, thank you.

Francesca hesitates only for a moment, then pulls Marina to her, savoring their first touch.

********************************

Marina couldnt keep her hands off Elena that night, exhausted from the persistent overtures, Elena sleeps.

But memories torture Marina, filling her with unsatisfied wanting, wanting not Elena, but Francesca. She slides quietly, out the door, towards her lover.

Turning the *****, she wonders, will it be latched. And if it is, will she hear. And if she hears, will she let her in. Happily, she finds, the door opens. Leaning against it as it shuts, her breathing becomes heavy with anticipation and desire.

Standing by the window looking out, a small candle flickers soft streams of light against Francescas naked body. Come Marina. Marina is once again enchanted by her beauty, legs are weak, as she steadily closes the distance between them.

Timidly she reaches her hand out, certain it will burn at the touch, certain the fire will consume her. Touching, fingertips touching, the warm soft skin of her dreams, dreams that had been relentless in their torment over years of sleepless nights.

Francesca turns, awestruck are Marinas eyes as she looks at her, all of her, her head light from the waves surging through her. She grabs her face and pulls her mouth hard against hers, tongue searching demanding entrance, demanding satisfaction.

Francesca leans back and steps from Marinas reach gradually making her way to the side table, Take off your gown.

Francescas eyes struggle to mask the desire rampant inside, pleased to find nothing but Marina beneath the cloth.

Marina starts for her, No Stay there in the moonlight I want to look at you… Do you know how beautiful you are how easily you could command anyone to your side

The tiger leaps, no longer willingly caged, for freedom is near.

They fall back onto the bed entwined. Marina devours her, the wanton, is not to be denied satisfaction. Frantic is their love making, possessed by their imaginings, frenzied in their feast of the other.

The beast quenched, fierce pawing transformed to calm caresses, soothing strokes of adoration, exploring slowly deliberate in the capture of detail.

I love you Francesca.

Francesca glides her hand tenderly along her body, resting upon Marinas chest. Her look is warm appreciating the youth of her lover, Sweetheart, this isnt love. Its something very powerful, very passionate, but its not love.

Love comes from a place deeper inside us. Darling, this is lust. Its a wanting that comes from our bodies not our hearts. Our bodies speak truths, but our hearts, speak in riddles fairy-tales fantasies. I prefer the truth.

********************************

Remembering, honestly and openly with herself, Marina travels across time to her fantasy, her love.