The Lover: A Short Story(11)

“Yes.”

He lifted her hand and delicately pressed it to his lips, in a mockery of a gentleman’s courtly kiss.

“I’ll think of you the night of the party, Judith, when I rush through the forest and tear open a stag’s throat with a single bite. I’ll remember how the red of the ribbon matches the red of its blood.”

“You’re a madman,” she said, freeing herself of his grasp and adjusting the shawl. “Go, chase the moon, tell it your lies.”

He smiled and began humming again as he walked away from her.





On a night when the moon was round and surrounded by a frozen halo, Judith’s sister threw herself her birthday party. It was, as usual, a grand happening. Alice wore a new dress, cream colored, while Judith was swathed in gray velvet, the dress she’d worn for three years now during the festivities. Judith had threaded the red ribbon through her black locks, and she stood with a cup of punch between her hands, smiling mildly and mostly staring in the direction of Nathaniel, who was attired in a black suit that she’d carefully pressed that morning.

He hardly glanced at Judith, his smile evading her.

“My darling, how lovely you look, so grown-up,” the baker’s wife told Judith.

“Not nearly that grown-up,” Alice said.

“Nonsense, dear Alice, your sister is soon for marriage—look at her. Peter was remarking on that.”

“I hope not too soon,” Alice replied. “I need Judith’s help around the house for a little while still, especially now that our family will be growing.”

Judith did not quite hear what the baker’s wife said after that, for she was much too busy trying to hold her cup between her hands. She managed to set it down at some point and raised her eyes, only to find Alice now standing by Nathaniel’s side, one hand on his arm.

Alice glanced at her sister with cool, steady eyes.

One of the twins approached Judith and tugged at her skirts, demanding a piece of bread with jam, and Judith shushed the child. Then the boy began to wail.

In the middle of the night, Judith woke up to more wailing. But it was a wolf. A wolf howling in the forest. Judith buried her face in her pillow and wept in unison with the creature.





She headed to the hut the day after. Where else might she go? Her feet knew this path, and they followed it blindly. She’d threaded the red ribbon in her hair again in a sign of false festivity that morning, and she brushed her fingertips against it as she walked.

High above, a raven cawed, shadowing her through the forest until she reached the old place and walked in, shaking her head, snowflakes cascading down her shoulders onto the floor and quickly melting. He had already stoked the fire and lit the candles.

Nathaniel sat in a chair and smiled at her. “It’s a bit late,” he said. “Near dark.”

“It’s always near dark now,” she muttered.

The sun set so early; scarce few hours of warmth held back the night. Almost velvet black, it stretched above their heads, the stars like diamonds, the moon a silver disc, and the snow an ivory mantle.

She looked out the window at that pretty sight and considered slipping back into the twilight, into the coming dark. He must have guessed her thoughts. He stood up at once and took hold of her.

“We’ll run away together,” he assured her.

If she had not been certain before, then his words sealed the truth. Or rather, the lies. She realized he had not meant any of the things he’d said. They would never be together. In the spring he’d make an excuse, then another.

“I love you,” he said.

She slapped him. “Fraud! Liar!” she yelled. “You’re not mine, you’re hers!”

“Judith, please, listen—”

“Not this time, no.”

He explained, he pleaded, threatened, cajoled, tried to reason with her, pleaded again. She wept. In the end, she pressed her mouth against his to silence him. He stroked her hair and said she was beautiful, perfect.

She attempted to lie to herself and to believe his finely spun lies, too, in a desperate act of self-immolation. Yet it did no good, and when they moved toward the bed, she remained lost, alone, bone chilled. It was like trying to revive a fire when water has been poured on it: there was only smoke.

She thought she heard a noise outside, a faint scratching. Perhaps it was the wind battering the shutters.

She found no pleasure in his embrace, not the faintest ember of it.

She eventually curled up on the bed, laughing brokenly at herself and the emptiness inside her chest. He must have taken this for honest contentment because he fell into a happy and peaceful slumber even though she lay mangled at his side.

The windows were frosted a ghostly white, and she approached the glass, tracing different shapes with her fingers. Outside, she could see nothing. Not the stars, not the trees, just the ghastly snow.

Again, there came a sound, a scratching, and she frowned.

A wolf howled right by the window.

Judith turned her head, ready to wake up Nathaniel, but something stilled her. She thought she heard a humming she recognized. Was the stranger outside too?

The sound moved, the howl repeating itself, but now it was a little farther away; it drifted until she thought the wolf was at the door.

She moved toward the entrance, the cold nipping at her body as she pressed her ear against the door.