The shore around the hill was also gray rock, with no trace of color or vegetation, or any kind of life. The only crabs you could spot on the gray sand were dead shells. Little gray stones covered the place for several miles, thus this colorless landscape extending all the way to the dusty road that led to the nearby town. That road was far away though, so it doesn’t take place on the scenery we’re describing; the abbey was far away from the road, and farther even from the town, or any house, or anything, or anywhere.

The old abbey was alone, secluded, neighbored only by the cold gray sea and the cold rocks around it. Frosty north wind blew every morning from the ocean bringing gray fog that covered the picture, and the gray clouds dimmed the sun that fought to shine beneath them.

The whisper of the quiet waves mixed with the soft voice of the sea breeze, like a wordless prayer, surrounding the holly place. In this sanctuary of seclusion, loneliness and silence, the monks found inner peace. Their vows forbade them otherwise: there was no world for them: once they crossed the great wooden door it was forever. No return to the outside world, no sharing more human feelings or mortal thoughts.

Life in the abbey was devoted to religion. The monks woke up at sunrise for the first mass, followed by the chores each one had assigned within the building, and the study schedule, occasionally interrupted by the prayers of the day, at pointed hours, and the shallow meals their fast allowed them.

The days passed measured only by the clock for the sun was never to be seen inside the abbey, and very seldom outside too. Sunsets were drowned in dark silence. Evening prayers broke up their nightmares from time to time, replacing silence with whispers and then with faded steps, along the narrow corridors, back to the black rooms, up the high stairs, their resounding echoes filling the bolts of the ceiling as a million voices raising again in a strange prayer, melting with the rumor of the sea that peeked through the tall windows, the sound of the wind blowing between the towers, the crunching of the wood beams cracking in the ceiling, the tick ropes of the bells swaying in the air.

These were the only sounds around. Nobody ever visited the abbey and nobody left it either. They needed no contact with civilization: they grew their own food, nursed their sick ones, buried their dead in the cemetery behind the construction, repaired themselves whatever damage was suffered during storms.

And it did suffer a great deal of it, for the abbey was really old. Each heavy rain was a thread of God to blow it down. The proximity of the sea made double danger; since the waves attacked the hill, eroding it, threatening to weaken it make it crumble under the building that would fall with it the day it gave way. On those big storms, the wind blew so violently against the bell tower that its rotten beams nearly broke under the weight of the great bell, that swung in the air, creating terrifying sounds, like the echo of a million demoniac giggles that crept down the spiral staircase and invaded the small chambers where the monks laid awake, praying for their lives.

The fog was thicker than ever in those storms, the ally of the darkness, the accomplice of the frost, covering the abbey, like a ghostly hand or an invisible sea monster devouring the small place. The frames of the windows trembled as the fog and rain pushed to sneak in, the cold air trespassed the black doors and slowly filled the oratory and library, making its way up as the night advanced.

That night they all laid awake, praying for their old abbey to make it through, as the storm tried its best to destroy what was still left of that poor building. The roaring rain made it impossible for any of them to sleep, so they just warmed in their beds as they waited for the great bell to call, with its hoarse voice, the midnight mass, just to be relieved from the pressing emptiness of their dark bedrooms.

Instead a hard loud noise, distinct and clear, not a rumor or an echo, resounded in the stillness, once, twice, even three times! It was no thunder, nor the falling of the old wooden beams, nor the sound of a stone breaking from the walls. The monks all raised their heads in the dark, hesitating, wondering, fearing. The sound repeated, delivering its echo to each ear. One by one they lit a candle and, shivering in the night air, tip-toed outside, down the narrow stairs, greeting each other with a look full of confusion, lingering at first in their descent, then hurrying down decidedly as the thunder struck again.

The great wooden door at the entrance had announced the presence of a visitor.

Who could be foolish enough to wander outside at such hour and with such weather? The great abbot stepped forward holding up a lamp and unlocked the door as the knocking outside became despaired.

As the door opened, the wind pushed in a violent rain, a whistling breeze, a chilly fog, dragging along a small figure, thin, soaked, wrapped in a brown cape, that seemed heavier than stone with all the water that dripped from it, The figure burst in and threw itself onto the floor where it lay still.

All eyes fixed on it, they waited. The abbot locked the door again and drew the lamp near the newcomer. A steady movement under the cape revealed that the being breathed, panted actually, heavy and long, trembling all over due to a long running in the freezing storm.

Nobody moved; they waited.

The character managed to get up, shaky, still struggling to breath, still dripping water on the stone floor. Next a small silvery voice emerging from the cape sew disconcert in all those presents.

“Thank you”, it gasped in a strange language, “I was afraid the place was empty.”

The dim light of the lamp drew closer to reveal a very round face, pale as wax, with no trace of color on her cheeks or lips, or shine in her round eyes, that scanned the faces around her with curiosity and fear.

“Please let me be your guest”, said the small voice with its best attempt for a sweet tone.

As none of them made a move or spoke a word, the white forehead wrinkled in a despaired expression and the pale lips issued a strangled cry “Please, don’t send me away”, she said in genuine despair. “Let me stay here for the night, I beg you!”

The statues remained still before her. Red tears appeared as the voice trembled. The abbot stepped forward and made a sign to the others, that promptly disappeared. He began to walk towards the narrow stairs. The girl, that had been frozen watching him, seeing the light disappearing up the staircase, quickly followed it, fearing to be left alone with the dark shadows of the empty room.

Watching him from behind she felt she was following a specter: thin and tall, bald, with long ears and skinny neck. The hand holding the lamp was white and wrinkled like old paper. The shadows the light threw over the stone wall resembled evil faces grinning at her, moving around in the black stairs. It was like following the Death leading her to the other world. And perhaps she was, she thought.

Mechanically she matched his steps up the high staircase, her eyes fixed on the lamp, her head not turning left nor right. The abbot stopped in front of a small lateral door and opened it. Hesitatingly she stepped inside a cold little room, furnished only with a bed and a small table, where the abbot placed the lamp before he walked out, without looking at her, before she had time to turn around and thank him.

Once alone, she shivered, looking around. The room was small and empty, with stone walls and floor, and a tiny window high on a corner near the ceiling. She was probably at the top of a tower as she could tell from the diagonal cut of the low ceiling on the other side. The small window was closed, but she had no intention of looking outside. She was scared enough, without adding the picture of the raging black sea.

The lamp began to hesitate and she hurried to take off the dripping clothes that froze her tired limbs, before the light faded out. Creeping under the covers she trembled nervously, trying to warm the bed with her chilled body. As the darkness filled the room her heart began to pound with fright, now aware of the various sounds the abbey whispered: the voices of the storm, the breaking waves of the sea at the bottom of the hill, the whistling wind, the cracking beams, all mixed in a faded echo that floated through all the silent corridors, like the resounding steps of demons and specters that haunted the place, running around the hall, trying to sneak under her door.

She dared not move; she dared not breath. But before she could think twice about the scary environment she was into, her exhausted mind vanished into a heavy slumber.

The next morning, however didn’t offer a much more soothing picture. After spending the night in a series of mute nightmares she opened her eyes with no relief, finding before her a gray room, and the gray light of a sun hidden by the clouds.

The stone ceiling disconcerted her tired brain that took several minutes to remember where she was. However desolating and unfriendly, the sight of this cold room filled her eyes with tears of gratitude and relief, aware that she could have spent the night chilled in the storm, sleeping on the muddy road, but instead she was safe, dry, far away and among unknown people in a stranger place –a scary thought to many, but for her a lucky bliss.

Her clothes, resting on a chair, were dry and nicely folded, which confused and worried her, since this proved somebody had wandered the room while she was sleeping. However she was thankful she was able she wear something dry that day and hasted to put them on, trembling as she crept out of the bed into the chilly air of the room.

She cast shy glances to the lockless door that didn’t protect her intimacy as well as she would wish. She put on her white slip and on top of it a pale pink dress, with silver embroidery and red and green designs of swirls and flowers. It was much more color than was ever seen around the gray abbey, but also too light for the cold weather. She covered her head with a long cream veil, carefully tugging her black full hair under it, and wrapped it around her neck. She had to put on her brown cape as well, and sat on the bed still shivering, wishing she had warmer shoes than her light golden sandals.

Thus dressed she waited for a few minutes wondering what to do next.

Uncertain and hesitatingly, the girl ventured to peek outside the room and watched the long gray corridor before her. While she tried to convince her feet to continue moving, a noise started her and a young monk passed by her door. He seemed scared and confused at first to see her, then continued his walk.

Instinctly she rushed out of the room and followed him, not waiting to explore the place on her own and feeling more protected in his company.

“Hello!” she called after him, her voice making him stop for a moment, amazed to hear again a human voice addressing him after so many years spent in the silence of his sanctuary. “Good morning!” she continued, ignoring her language was foreign to him. “My name is Khadijha”, she went on, bowing, as she reached his side. “I thank you all for letting me be your guest last night. Your help filled my night with sunshine.”

He continued to walk, carrying in his hand a little brown book, labeled with the name, “Salvatore”, in an alphabet the girl was unable to understand. She hurried to keep by his side, confused, as she got no answer from him. They reached the bottom of the stairs and followed a long corridor to a large chamber with very tall ceiling and no windows, where the others were gathering around a long table.

Nobody looked at her when she entered the room, nobody turned a head, nobody stirred. Each man sat down in front of a plate while the girl stood in a corner by the door, looking at them doubtfully.

The old abbot that had received her the night before appeared by her side with a plate he placed in her hands. She took his hand and kissed it to thank him, since her voice had turned to shy to be heard and crouched and her corner to eat her breakfast. But as she lifted her eyes, she saw the young monk move aside to make room for her at the table and, after a moment of hesitation, she made up her mind to get up from the floor and join them, although it felt terribly unnatural to share a table with a group of unknown males, but she resigned considering her awkward position and remembering she was their guest and was forced to accept their hospitality.

By the time she had barely begun to nibble on her bred the others got up and left her alone, surrounded by empty plates, listening to the silence, absorbed in the contemplation of the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling.

The thunder of the great bell above made her start and jump from her seat. She rested against the wall, her heart pounding from the deja-vu that metallic sound awoke in her. It was the same ringing noise she carried in her ears when the city guard announced the invasion. The same jingling noise that followed her during her escape from her home town, leaving behind a dead family, a burned house and a sieged city, leaving behind screaming voices, rivers of blood and smoke, hordes of savage men that rushed into every house to take the riches, slay small children and rape women of any age.

She didn’t look back while she escaped, her heart pounding in her ears, her breath pressing like a heavy stone in her chest, her betraying legs trembling with every step, her mind blank, her eyes seeing only the burning sand ahead of her, her lips whispering a prayer for the wind to blow and hide the traces of her steps, to let her vanish in the desert before anyone could pursue her, her head burning under the merciless sun, but her soul grateful to almighty Allah that saved her from a fate worse than death.

The silence that followed the great bell ringing in the abbey was identical to the silence she found in the desert, when her run had taken her far enough from the city. The sound of the silence... The sound of the wind blowing on her silk veil and pushed her dress in swirls around her, the sound of the sand crumpling beneath her feet, the faint jingle of her bracelets, her earrings, her necklaces, the chains and tiny bells around her ankles, woven in her thick hair, dropping on her forehead, all the thin gold strings that covered her graceful figure, and followed her every move with a sharp low voice, becoming more silent as the strength began to abandon her. The sound of her own breath, the sound of her heart beating fast, the sound of her thoughts... The sound of the sun falling on her head, blurring her eyes. The sound of her stomach, moaning after two days of endless walk without relief. The sound of death stalking nearby...

The silence carried the sound of her body falling on the sand, by a water well, beneath a much craved shade of tall green trees, surrounded by green plants, like an earthy paradise the lord above had sent to save her.

The silence of her slumber, beneath the shady trees, after the fresh water renewed her energy, the sound of her own dreams where she lost the track of time until sunset. And the sound of footsteps, followed by the jingling of her jewelry as she started and jumped up, perceiving the presence of a stranger.

Only at that moment the silence was broken, by the clear sound of a camel growling, and the giant animal appeared between the green plants, and crossed the oasis to the water, where he rested and drank without minding her presence or the man that lied on his back, his eyes closed, his mouth half open as if dead.

Overcoming the fear of her past chase and danger, the fear of approaching a stranger, the fear of touching an animal she didn’t know how well tamed he was, the fear of touching a dead man, Khadijha walked up to the big camel, while he drank peacefully, and detached the note pinned on the man’s cape.

A trembling hand had written: “You, who find this man, if he’s alive feed him, take care of him, and cure his wounds. If he’s dead, bury him, and say a prayer for his soul. I was assigned the task of killing him, but I have no courage to undertake my mission, and so, I give him to the desert and let Allah almighty decide his fate.”

The man’s clothes were rich and fancy, he had no gems or ornaments, although she could guess he was covered in them before an alien hand had stolen him, his face was young and handsome, his body strong and broad. Tears swelled her eyes as she realized his disgrace was greater than her own.

After she had thanked the lord a thousand times for saving her life, she felt it was now her duty to help this man in return. He was sunk in silence too, and with silence she greeted him.

The silence of the great desert was less oppressing than the silence inside the secluded abbey. It was the silence of death, of a death she had seen so near, a death she was not yet to face.

The great bell thundered one more time and the rumor of a hundred steps from the oratory broke her memories and she finally ordered her tired limbs to move.

What was she to do now? Where to go?

She peeked out of the dinning room into the dark corridor and wandered uncertainly until she found the main door. With a heavy pull she was free to go outside.

Although the abbey felt like a prison, it was a welcoming shelter. Being outdoors again she felt helpless and lost in a world too big for someone as fragile as she.

The sight of the sea again brought back her tears. The mist had lowered above the gray water, blurring the raging waves with a ghostly veil, that devoured the abbey and wrapped around her pink and green dress, making her shiver under the brown cape.

Beneath her feet all the stones looked alike, showing no path, no directions, no sign on where to go. There was nowhere to go.

The world seemed too vast and she felt too small to face it by herself. The sound of the wind brought back the whispers of the green leaves at the oasis, but here there was no green, there were no plants, there was no life. The roaring waves had the same tone of a dead man waking up, moaning as he opened his eyes in painful effort.

He was alive, but barely. She washed his wounds and covered them with her own cape, she cut with her own hands. She gave him water and picked fruits from the trees to feed him when he felt strong enough to eat. She kept vigil by his side the entire night.

When he realized he had been saved, he kissed the hand that had come to his rescue and thanked the almighty for sending this creature to him.

“Who are you?” he had asked. “What is your story?” he was too weak yet to move, so he leaned against the tree and rested waiting for her silvery voice to sooth his pain. He closed his eyes to listen, his lips drawing a soft smile, while his ears received the blessing music. But the answer, soft and sweet, that came from behind the veil, was so bitter that it brought tears to his eyes.

“My city was invaded by barbarian warriors. My house was burned to the ground and my family was killed, from the old ones to the babies, from the nobles to the servants. I escaped for the mercy of Allah that kept me hidden under a curtain and turned their heads the other way so none of them would see me until I sneaked through a window and ran. Great Allah gave me strength to run far away and kept me alive to cross the desert and guided me to find the shortest way to this place before I died under the merciless sun.” the voice trembled.

He looked at her, feeling his heart break as he saw her reddening eyes. “Who are you?”

“A wretched soul.”

“Who are you?” he repeated sitting up, with great effort.

“I am alone.”

“You are the daughter of a merchant”, he said, looking at her silk dress and gold jewels.

“No, I was his wife.”

“Take off your veil.”

“No.” Her hand carefully approached her waist, slipping beneath the silk dress, with too suave a move for him to notice.

“Please let me see you”, he insisted softly, as he lifted his hand from the ground and neared her face. In a second the hand was out from under her dress, clutching a dagger, her jewelry jingling all together as she jumped back, her eyes glaring at him. The soft voice turned hard and full of menace, “I saved your life out of pity for your misery and I can also end it for your imprudence.”

His hand dropped to the ground and he remained calm watching her from his position, breathing slowly, as the dagger glistened in the sun, firm and steady in her hand. He saw her grip did not tremble for a minute and closed his eyes, speaking with calm, sad voice. “You saved my life and I vow not to touch you, or come near you, without your permission. But, I beg you, with my life, let me see you, just once, so that I may die, old in my bed, knowing to whom I owe my life.”

The weapon vanished, back in its hiding place, without letting him see where the bee kept its sting. She whispered “Sleep”, as she gracefully removed her veil, leaned over and gently kissed his burning forehead. The night had fallen and the first stars winked at them from above. She was sure this kind man had been sent by Heaven to protect her, the great lord had seen how scared she was at being alone, and answered her prayers. She curled on the warm sand by his side.

“Sleep...” whispered the wind now, as it covered the abbey with thick fog. She stood there for a long time, looking at the great sea, the roaring waves that rose like the dunes in the dessert, the great sky that melted with the dark water, far away in the distance, until the mist erased this landscape from her view. She shivered.

Sadly, the girl walked back inside and closed the heavy door. There was nowhere to go. There was no one to turn to. Her legs bent as the strength abandoned her, and her body slowly lowered, leaning against the cold stone wall, until her bottom touched the floor, and thus crouched by the great door, she embraced her knees and hid her head in her bosom, and in that position she remained for long hours, trying to warm up her chilled body.

Her body was not fit to chill. She has spent all her days warm and pampered. She had not been a virtuous woman; she had known a life of ease, wealth and love. Her body had been used to fluffy cushions, velvet covers, strong arms and broad chests. She had known the company of her husband and her lovers, of her servants and her guards. She was a lover of sweet touches, of powerful emotions, of steamy passions, of earthy pleasures, allowed and forbidden. She had spent countless nights learning how fast her heart could beat, how loud her throat could moan, how slick her mind could be into fooling others to believe her innocent and faithful. Now she was paying the price for all her sins; she was alone, unloved, shivering in a cold place full of strangers, but none of them would mind her.

The stone floor revealed a footstep was approaching and she lifted her head, glad to see a mortal face again, after spending the entire day with ghosts and specters. Salvatore passed near her and turned his head as her movement caught his eye.

“I can’t go”, she said bitterly. “I have nowhere to go. Please don’t send me away. Let me stay just one more night, I beg you.”

It was up to the great abbot to decide, not him. But he was not allowed to speak and tell her so, and he couldn’t have known what she said either. However his eyes softened as he sensed the pain in her voice. Khadijha was struck by this look, the mirror of a tortured soul, a wounded heart like her own. She rose and walked up to him, trying to read on his face the thoughts he could not tell her, trying to guess his story. He had suffered too, he had lost his home too, he had come to that place lost as she was, to find peace, to hide away.

Like a slender ghost gliding on the stone floor, she walked to him, her bright colored dress floating around her, gleaming in the dark room like a rainbow in a cloudy day, waving around her with each step. “If only I could know what tongue you speak and make you understand me...” she sighed.

Her black hair peeked from under her veil, issuing a delicate perfume, fresh and sweet like a garden covered with dew in the early hour of morning. Her dark lashes drew the almond shape of her rich expressive eyes, round, as the features of her face, under her curved eyebrows, that stood out against her white skin, fading towards the temples in a smooth thin line. Her snowy cheek was soft and clear as the velvet that covered her head. Her lips, unusually pale, with a faint tint of pink, were full and round, fleshy and curled as fluffy clouds, as a tender winter blossom.

She placed a sympathetic hand on his arm and he trembled in every limb at her touch. He closed his eyes for a moment trying to erase from his mind the image that seized him suddenly, causing extraordinary movements within himself. A powerful fear filled his soul in a second and he ran away from that bewitching presence feeling a dangerous race in his heartbeat.

Khadijha remained confused, feeling lonelier than before; nobody had said a word to her the entire day, those men deliberately avoided her company and refused to speak or look at her. They were all too busy with their own thoughts, walking up and down, gathering when the bell rang and spreading again around the place like fishes in the sea.

But at least none of them had asked her to leave. And none of them stared at her when she shyly sneaked in the dinning room that night and hesitatingly sat on a corner bench and in front of a plate with bred. None of them stared when she slipped upstairs to her room, later. Tomorrow she could think where to go on, but for now she needed the rest of a warm bed for one more night.

After supper, they all silently left the room, one by one. Salvatore remained a minute to pick up crumbs he had spread on the floor; he had not seen her during the meal, absorbed as he was in his own thoughts.

Overcoming the shame of betraying the hand that had helped and fed her, Khadijha took the opportunity to pick a piece of bred, planning to save it for her parting the next day. But her hand rebelled against the crime, and fearing to be cut for taking what did not belong to her, the bred trembled and fell, and she quickly bent to retrieve it and put it back in its place.

As both pursued the same bred, their hands met on the floor.

He shivered again feeling her cold fingers and she ran from the room, feeling unspeakably guilty for having tried to steal from the very table she had been invited to.

Looking through the window in her tiny chamber she saw the last remaining of day light fade away, the clouds giving way to a shy and weak moon that shined without the passion of the one she had seen in the desert. The ocean had looked less scary when she was in the middle of its giant waves, and now, even being indoors, it frightened her the thought that this giant monster could devour her. But she had been in glad company before, and nothing frightened her then.

The vast water kept her away from the homeland she was not to see ever again. The sheik had promised to take her back home with him, but he could not keep his word. She had saved his life, she had nursed him in the oasis, and after he became strong enough again he had seated her on his camel and rode with her back to the city where his traitor servant and backstabber wife had been properly punished. Everybody had thought him dead, everybody had cheered at his return, for he was known and loved in his community.

She had thanked Heaven for this new chance to reform her life and vowed to respect and honor her new husband for the rest of her life.

She had panicked and grieved when he announced business required his presence, for she knew she could not resist her days without him. Afraid that distance would bring her into the arms of a new man, as it did before, and not wanting to break his vow of fidelity to him, she had convinced him to take her along in his trip He could not refuse anything she asked him. They parted.

By his side the sea had not seen threatening like now. By his side it had been beautiful and full of color. From their little chamber in the ship, the sound of the waves had been sweet music, and she danced to it for his pleasure. Now, alone, the very same waves had an evil accent she hated.

Khadijha closed her eyes and tried to remember the music she had heard then in his company. Her eyes closed, her ears straining to hear, she softly began to rock and wave in tune with this imaginary music only she knew and perceived.

Her hands softly curled as her body swayed, her dress floating around her. The black tresses fell upon her shoulders, around her round face, the veil silently slipped, falling gently to the floor as her head fell backwards, arching her neck, bending her back with a flexible stretch that made her small breasts draw their contour against her pale slip, as the pink silk slid off her shoulders. Her hands pulled another lace, untying the next layer of her outfit, her round shoulders appearing, her shapely arms swirled as waving serpents, with the gentle grace of a thin line of smoke rising from an incense stick.

Her bracelets jingled with each move, creating a mystic music around her that matched the murmur of the distant waves. The pale light of the moon behind her drew her lovely silhouette in the darkness. In her memory she could see the hungry eyes of her husband, watching with pride her beauty, sparkling with lust as she wriggled her hips, jingling her waist chains and ankle bells, approaching him with waving steps, leisurely discarding the soft veils that covered her smooth skin.

A stranger sound broke the music and brought her back to reality: a few feet away, a book had hit the floor.

The hand that dropped it shook like a leaf in the wind, clutched the robe of its owner, while his face, completely red, cast a frightened and amazed glance. She did not stir. The memories of her husband had awakened her passion and the longing for a warm sensual embrace, the desire to display her beauty and feel admired by a male view, to warm and excite a male heart. She saw Salvatore standing on her doorway, the candle trembling in his hand, a thin drop trickling from his forehead, his chest lifting fast as he panted heavily. She smiled.

But as she took a step towards him, he moved backwards, stumbling as he ran up the hall and disappeared inside a dark room, while she watched him, disappointed and confused, once again aware of the coldness of the night and the silence of the dark place.

The young monk closed the door behind him and fell on his knees, his heart pounding furiously, sending waves of heat, as he’d never felt inside that cold building. The fire that scorched him was so intense he had to slip off his nightshirt as he crawled in bed, seized by fever, turning and twisting, vainly trying to get his sleep.

Khadijha, too, struggled to sleep. The warm and safe feeling of the sheik’s arms was gone now. Her protector had filled her life with beaming light, but it was so little time before Allah summoned him from her side.

She had not even had time to mourn him, as they stepped on dry land, on this strange land, or cry one tear for his lose. She had not had time to consider her return to an empty home. She had not had time to witness his face covered with a white cloth, and say good-bye, and curse the hand that had cut his days, when that very hand had grabbed her.

The very hand that had waited all those weeks to clutch her, when she was guarded by her master, did not wait a whole hour to fulfill its filthy intentions once she was alone and defenseless. The same hand dragged her along the port, stopping behind a tall wall on a narrow street and pushed her to the floor. Other six hands had joined to hold her firmly as eight hideous faces surrounded her with evil laughs and ironic words she did not know.

Only one more hand, sent by her guardian angel, fired a gun before she lost her only reason left to live. The captain of the ship made them turn her lose and step away from her side, but she did not wait to thank him. As soon as she was free her feet darted off along the port, heading for the city, crossing all its wet streets, without direction, without looking back, as she once had run through the desert, her feet carried on until they had crossed the city and ran beyond its gates, following the gray shore.

She did not run now, but walked slowly and carefully along the dark corridor, then softly held the knob and pushed the door open. She could not stand to be cold again. Her husband dead, she was free of her vows. And she did not know better.

Salvatore heard the soft noise of his door opening, and saw in the dark a white figure, like a blurry ghost, that glided towards him, her dress floating like the mist outside, then it slipped off, falling on the floor and remaining still.

He felt his bed cover lifted and a delicate perfume slipped by his side, along with the softest contact he had ever felt stroking his skin. He trembled furiously as her delicate body pressed her light weight upon his person, feeling her warm smoothness touch him all along, the soft lines of her figure gently brushing his blazing skin, cutting off his breath as his heart jumped violently seized by a furious emotion.

She took his arms and wrapped herself in them, nestling on his chest, feeling comforted with his proximity, relieved from the loneliness of her cold chamber, soothed from the aggression of the seamen, snuggling against him as if he were her protector and guardian, feeling safe in his arms as she felt long ago, when her bed was not empty.

The feel of her skin sent shivers all up and down his spine, and his hands couldn’t resist to run over this silky surface following its tender curved lines, the dunes of the desert he had never seen, but could perceive now in her company.

She was close enough for him to feel her warm breath upon his face and the sweet perfume of her hair, that brushed softly against his shoulders as she leaned over and placed the soft wet tip of her tongue upon his lips that slowly parted as she sneaked in his mouth, letting him feel her sweet taste, causing an earthquake inside him.

The girl began to move, brushing her lovely skin against him, stroking his chest with her breasts, as her kiss became intense and greedy, her tiny white teeth nibbling on his lips as she wrapped her legs around his waist. She pressed her hips to his, feeling the proof of his excitement rub against her, then she decidedly brought it closer beneath her and let her hungry body have its wish.

He gasped loudly as she covered him with the soft, wet fire she hid within her, sending violent shivers of pleasure all through his veins as she moved slowly, freezing, burning, striking him like a lightening. She quickly put her fingers on his lips to remind him that the silence was their partner and, trying to keep her own breath still, she continued to caress him with steady swirls of her skilled hips, digging her nails on his shoulders, biting her lips to keep her voice from betraying her in the quiet night.

He was too frightened and surprised to answer her caresses as she liked but she didn’t care: the feel of his heart pounding against her was exactly what she needed after such an overwhelming loneliness.

She guided his hands along her silky legs, over her rounded hips and slender waist up to her tender bosoms, applying the amount of pressure she preferred, panting as she felt his fingers tremble against her burning skin, running them over her fleshy belly, waving it as she did in her dance, pushing his hand lower still, controlling his moves as she would with a puppet, leading his caresses where she wanted them until she let her head fall back, her neck arching as her lips parted in a sigh of calm delight he could not understand, dizzy as he was, mesmerized with the sensations her contact awoke in him.

A knife of aching pleasure cut her from the very center of her person, slashing her from inside with electric waves, drowning and suffocating her, making her entire body shake and quiver, going weak under that powerful sensation, that seemed to pass from her to him, with a furious shudder, relieving him from a growing tension, panting hard as he relaxed, letting a heavy drowse fall upon him as she cuddled by his side, heated and wet as if she had crossed the steamy dessert again, her face wearing a sad and guilty smile. While he struggled to steady his heart again, she curled in his arms, pressing her lovely cheek against his chest, her velvet hair brushing his chin, she wrapped herself in his arms and then, with a deep breath, his eyes closed and everything disappeared.

The breaking dawn found him alone. The soft shape had vanished from his arms; the warm skin had deserted him. Realizing he was naked and shivering even under his thick cover, he hasted to get dressed.

The boy did not entirely comprehend his past experience, not even enough to realize it was a major breaking of all his seclusion vows. Feeling dizzy and confused he mechanically climbed down the narrow staircase, as he had every single day of his life, moving like a machine without thinking his direction. As he passed by the girl’s chamber the door was opened, and the bed was empty, neatly made, as if nobody had touched it.

The great dinning room soon filled with his colleagues, that took their seats at the large table, in silence, as they always did, without looking at each other, with no greets and no glances, serious and cold as ghosts, gray as the wide ocean, gray as the thick fog. There was no perfume around them, no colorful floating dress, no sad expressive eyes, no pale face with tender round features, no silvery voice pleading for a response.

The beautiful nymph had vanished like the morning mist, melted in the wind. She was never to be seen around the abbey again, and nobody would ever know where the spirits took her, whether she continued to run, blindly, at God’s will, without direction, searching for her destiny, or whether she returned to her home, somehow, to find the family she had left behind, if there was still anything to return to for her lost wretched soul, or whether she walked herself into the gray sea, to end her suffering in this world, trading it for the peace of a silent grave.

Nobody looked around. Nobody asked where the bred had disappeared before breakfast, nobody discussed why the heavy door was unlocked. Nobody even knew if they had really had a guest or it had been a dream, a mirage the mist had brought to relieve their routinary minds. But none of them would ask the others if the illusion had been real. None of them would ask the others if they had seen her too, if they had heard her sweet voice, if they remembered the image of her floating veil, the sound of her jingling bracelets. None of them could tell if she ever existed.

The only proof the young monk had about the truth of his adventure were the marks her passionate long nails had left on his shoulders, but having no mirror in the abbey he was unable to see them. And, being constantly covered by heavy robes, none of the others could see them either, to confirm to him that the fantastic dream had been an actual fact.

In the same way, he could not see the nail marks all the other monks had on their shoulders...

This story was finished on October 2002

 

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