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Subject: RP:[chrutli] isle2b (cons snf)
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ISLE2.TXT continued
***
     Kat was off early the next morning, fully dressed thankfully, to 
work on some entertainment committee for the upcoming Midsummer 
festival. I was busy all the next day, myself. I rang up Sara a couple 
times, but she didn't return my calls. It was near dark before I could 
get away from my surgery to look for her. I found her at the pub and joined her.
     Sara was rather grim. Once I'd ordered, she leaned close. 
"Jonathon, something sinister is happening. I'm sure of it."
     "Sinister? Here?" I smiled, but she didn't return it. She was quite 
earnest.
     "I've gone through records of the past fifty years. It all seemed 
so routine at first; mortalities are well within a normal statistical 
distribution. But there was something odd, and I've only just discovered 
it. Every year, as far back as you people have records, a young woman 
has died about this time. Between the ages of fifteen and thirty-five; 
various causes; more than half of them on the same bloody day."
     "The same day? Are you certain it isn't coinicidence? You can read 
most anything into statistics if you try hard enough."
     Sara growled her frustration. "I don't understand why no one around 
here can see this. It's so blasted obvious. Yes. The same bloody day. 
That day is Midsummer Day, June twenty-fourth. Jonathon, your own wife 
died that day."
     "My wife died in an auto accident," I said coldly. "What are you 
suggesting?"
     "Are you certain someone didn't sabotage the car? Was that 
investigated?"
     "I'm certain it was." 
     "Jonathon, please. Don't be angry. Women are being murdered. I'm 
certain of it. Heather is next."
     "Heather? Our little bargirl? I hardly think so."
     "You have your little Midsummer festival, don't you? And you pick a 
pretty girl to be your "chosen?" I think that girl is bloody well being 
murdered, and Heather is in grave danger."
     "I think you've got a bloody goddamn fascination with death, that's 
what I think."
     Sara went still, a bit angry herself. "What I do for- for pleasure 
is different. Not every woman has my tastes, and for your bloody 
information, I'm a goddamn good detective."
     "Perhaps you are." I stood. "I think we shouldn't see each other 
again. And I'll thank you to leave my wife's memory alone."
     Sara was hurt by that, but I was upset, more than she realised. 
"I'm sorry, Jon. I like you. I'll be spending time with Heather 
tomorrow. I'm going to protect the girl. You'll see I'm right."
     I left Sara and I went directly to Heather's flat. It trouble me 
greatly that Sara was seeing Heather the next day.
	Heather was entertaining her father when I arrived; it took her 
rather long to answer, and judging from things, she'd been doing so 
intimately.
     Heather introduced us, and he shook my hand. "It's a bit sad for 
me, of course," he said, "But Heather will do us proud."
     "I'm sure she will. I hate to intrude, but I must talk to her."
     "Of course. I was just leaving. Pleased." He shook my hand and 
left. He was still buttoning his shirt as he went down the hall.
     Heather, wearing a t-shirt and tiny pants, saw me in and closed the 
door. "Dad was pleased as punch when I was chosen and he could fuck me. 
He's going to miss me, though. He's lousy in bed, really, he comes so 
fast, but I like to please him." She grinned, her cheeks dimpling, and 
shrugged.
     She was the chosen, and what she did was no business of mine, though she was quite fetching, standing there half-dressed. She was
the chosen. "Heather, I've come to talk to you about-"
     "About your beautiful black girl?"
     "Yes. You're seeing her tomorrow."
     "She asked me. I thought it best to humor her."
     "I don't think it's wise. She already suspects."
     "Oh, no. She knows, I think. She knows, but she isn't prepared to 
believe it."
     "What exactly do you think she knows?"
     Heather drew a deep breath, her unfettered breasts rising. "She 
knows I'm to die. She suspects some secret organization; she doesn't 
realise everyone on our island will celebrate my sacrifice. And-" she 
took my hands and kissed them- "She doesn't know a certain handsome 
doctor is going to take the living heart from my body and offer it up to 
our gods."
     "Are you going to tell her?"
     "I might. I mightn't need to; she's very bright. Think about it; 
the chosen dies every year, and nobody around here has noticed it? She 
already knows, I think. And there's something else about her, isn't 
there? She has a secret. That's why she found you, and not because you 
think she's pretty. You can give her what she wants." Heather shrugged, 
grinning again. "Don't worry, doctor. I'll keep an eye on your 
girlfriend. You needn't worry at all; I think it's going to work out 
fine."
     I wasn't much assured. "I hope so, Heather," I said.     
	I stood to leave, but Heather stopped me. She was at once shy and 
radiant. "It's going to be soon, you know. And I- well, I know you've 
never touched me, but I've come to think of you as my lover. To hope 
anyway, the only lover who matters to me, really." She looked up at me. 
"When you do me, do it slow and wicked? Please? Like a lover, like you 
want something from me. Don't please be cold."
	"Heather, I couldn't be cold to you, you know that." She smiled 
timidly when I touched her face, then blushed when I touched her 
breasts. Her hands went for my trousers directly.
	"Well," she laughed softly, "A big fellow, isn't he? I should have 
guessed." She went to her knees; she was anxious to please me. She used 
her mouth until I pushed her away gently. "Let me," she whispered. "I'll 
do it all." She led me to her bed. "Lay back. I'll do it all. I want to 
please you. I want you to be pleased with me."
	In a few moments, the lovely young woman was straddling me. She had 
a spattering of freckles on her chest, and her breasts were generous, 
though not as big as Sara's. They were snowy white, so delicate I could 
see veins beneath the creamy surface; her nipples were pale as well, 
erect and silky, blunted, with pale aureolas that swelled like plums.
	"Never thought you'd want me," she murmured, riding me slowly. Then 
her fine, firm buttocks hardened and trembled in my hands, those lovely 
breasts danced and bobbled eagerly, and she stopped saying anything 
recognisable as language for several minutes as we worked towards 
orgasm.
     Afterward she lay against me, her body filmed with sweat. "It's 
going to hurt, isn't it? When you cut my heart out."
     "Yes. It will. But only for a moment."
     "Can you give me something? Morphine, so it doesn't hurt as much?"
     "I could. Is that what you want?"
     Heather drew a deep breath, her fine, white breasts rising. "No," 
she said. "I suppose not. I want to be there. I want to feel it, to feel 
your hands on my body. The knife. I won't cry out. I promise."
     She laid her head on my chest. "It's sexy, isn't it? Killing a 
woman. A pretty woman naked and helpless, and you-" she shivered and 
stopped.
     "Yes, deeply so, especially a woman as beautiful as you." I fondled 
her lovely breasts thoughtfully. I would cut the left breast to open 
her. I often made love with the chosen; with Heather, though, she had
been timid with me; I had taken it for reluctance. I might have had her
all year; I was, at least, grateful for this now.
     "Will you promise me something? Promise me you'll fuck my body once 
I'm dead. Please? I know it's odd, but it'll make it easier for me, 
knowing you'll do that."
     "I promise, on one condition."
     "That is?"
     "That I fuck you again right now."
     Heather gave a throaty laugh. "Yes. Hard, okay? Don't be so 
gentle."
***
	I had hoped to see Sara the next day; Heather was with her, though, 
until late afternoon. The village was busy with last-minute preparations 
for Midsummer Fair, two days off, and I was as busy as ever with my 
practice. It surprised me that Sara would not see me that evening. She 
refused my calls and wouldn't answer her door when I asked John, the 
owner of the pub, to knock. I had wanted to apologise to her, but she 
wouldn't speak to me at all.
     I was concerned about what she'd learned, and about her time with 
Heather. Heather herself rang me at my surgery before I left that 
evening.
	"You needn't worry about her," she said. " She has a lot to think 
about."
     "What did you do? What did you talk about?"
     "Women may have secrets as well," she laughed. "Don't worry." She 
rang off. 	
***
     Kat was up at dawn the next morning, off to work on festival 
preparations. She wore a tiny bikini, one of my old shirts, and tennis 
shoes, and nothing else. "You're going to burn in the sun," I said, 
disapprovingly. I was scandalised in truth, but expressing outrage only 
made her defiant.
     "I'll just have to get a lad to lay on top of me then, won't I?" 
she said cheerily, and went out the door before I could reply. Single 
men should not be cursed with teenage daughters.
     I finished my breakfast and my paper and went to my study for a few 
minutes to go through my mail before I went to my surgery.
     Sara appeared at the door of my study presently, her eyes blazing. 
"You're a monster," she said hoarsely. "A despicable fiend." She drew 
her little pistol and pointed it at me. "I should kill you here. Now."
	She held the pistol in both hands, steadily. I'd been half 
expecting her, but not the pistol, and not the hatred in her eyes. "Are 
you going to kill me?" I asked.
	"You are under arrest. For murder. For the murder of countless 
young women. It stops now. Heather told me. She told me everything. It 
stops, and Heather shall not die tomorrow."
	"I rather think Heather feels differently, don't you?" I was rather 
too shocked to be frightened.
	"You've drugged her. Drugged her and brain-washed her."
	I scowled. "You know better."
	"You're under arrest, Jonathon. I want you to come with me."
	"I think not. Arrest me, shoot me; it's all the same. Heather is 
the chosen. At dawn tomorrow her heart will be cut from her body. If I 
don't do it, another will. You know that don't you? Our dark little 
practice is shared by the entire island. You can't save her; she doesn't 
want to be saved. It would, in fact, be both futile and meaningless."
	"I don't believe that," Sara said. Her hands were steady, but there 
was a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. It restored my confidence 
somewhat.
	"Have you ever known anyone as profoundly at peace as Heather?"
	"Drugs. Drugs could do that." Her eyes softened a bit, though; she 
wasn't certain, and the hatred in her eyes was weakening. Heather hadn't 
been drugged, and Sara knew that.
	"No. She's alert, intelligent, witty, and happy. She's socially and 
sexually active." I paused; Sara did not contradict me. "There is a 
chosen every year, you know, and she's treated with deep love and 
respect. Heather cherishes that respect without abusing it. She has 
found a remarkable serenity; she found it because she must give her life 
tomorrow. She won't give that up. She'd rather die, you know. She will 
die."
	"It's horrid," she said, her voice showing her uncertainty now.
	"In London it would be horrid. Here, it is our faith and our 
practice. Sara, there has been a chosen since beyond memory. The druids 
on this island were never invaded, nor absorbed, nor civilised. Our 
practices are ancient, and, though your London mind might recoil, 
honorable."
	Sara's aim moved, slowly, from my heart to above my shoulder. "It's 
murder. Grisly sexual murder."
	"There is something erotic about it. Yes. That's between Heather 
and myself. You should understand that better than any woman." I got up 
from my desk, and she stiffened, training the gun on me again. "You're 
not afraid of me; you have the gun," I said reasonably.
     "Cannibalism," Sara said softly."You're going to eat her flesh."
     "How is that different from the Christian Eucharist? Take, eat, 
this is my flesh."
     "That's merely symbolic."
     "It's symbolic because there's not enough of Jesus to go around. 
It's the same."
	I came around my desk and leaned back against it; Sara was perhaps 
five feet away, still pointing her pistol. "Come here," I said, 
gesturing.
	"Jon-" she shook her head, her eyes dark.
	"Come here. You're not afraid of me, are you?"
	"What are you going to do?"
	"I want to show you what I'm going to do to Heather at dawn."
	Sara shook her head; a visible shiver went through her; she licked 
her full lips with a little pink tongue.
	"I'm going to show you, that's all. You see, the heart is quite 
well protected in the chest cavity. In heart surgery, the breastbone is 
sawn apart. That's not practical here; it takes too long, and its far 
too painful. No, what I'm going to do is slice between the ribs about 
halfway up the ribcage. That opens the chest adequately. I reach in, nip 
off the arteries, and there's her heart, still quivering. She'll be able 
to see it herself before she dies. It's painful, yes, but over quickly. 
I wouldn't want her to suffer needlessly."
	Sara shook her head, her lips trembling. She shook her head again, 
then abruptly dropped the gun. "Jon, please."
	I went to her, touched her face, and wiped away the tears that were 
forming at the corners of her eyes. "You'll give me the gun, won't you?" 
I asked softly.
	"You're going to kill me with it."
	"Of course I am. That seems the most practical means, don't you 
think?"
	Sara groaned, then swallowed. "Heather. I could take Heather's 
place."
	"Heather is the chosen. You cannot take her place."
	Sara sighed, looked at the pistol in her hand, then handed it to 
me. "I'm frightened," she said.
	I gathered her in my arms and she clung to me, her lovely breasts 
flattening against me. "You needn't be afraid," I said. "It'll be over 
very quickly. I won't be cruel."
	She didn't say anything, but kissed my throat, her body trembling 
against me.
	"Let's go out in the garden, shall we? I don't want to get your 
blood all over in here."
	Sara squeezed tight against me. "You're hard," she whispered 
breathlessly. "You'll have me first? Before you kill me?"
	"That's not for you to decide. Come. Let's go."
     "Jonathon, you really shouldn't," she murmured as we went out to 
the garden. "The investigation. It will raise suspicions."
     She was correct, of course, and I didn't intend to kill her then. I 
did want her, though, and I wanted to know if she would truly submit to 
me. "It won't matter to you, now, will it? You'll be dead."
     "Shot with my own gun? What are you going to do with my body? If I 
disappear, it's going to be the same, an investigation, and much more 
aggressive."
     I cupped each of her breasts in turn, stroked; her nipples were 
swollen hard. "You're a beautiful woman, Sara. I'm going to kill you 
now. You want that as much as I."
     She looked back at me as if she'd protest, but there was dark 
desire rising in that look, as well as her fear. I had her undress and 
lay her clothing on the bench in the garden, and then led her to a patch 
of fresh-turned earth. She was beautiful naked, tall, brown, lightly 
muscled and proud. My own desire was becoming quite apparent. When I 
ordered her to kneel, and then urged her to hands-and-knees, she 
complied readily, trembling and panting softly through parted lips.
     Her sex was smooth, freshly shaven. I knelt behind her and dropped 
my trousers and shorts, then presented my cock to her moist slit, moving 
the head up and down, locating the entrance to her, then pressing 
forward only slightly, so that her labia opened around my glans, a sort 
of kiss.
     She moaned, and when I didn't move, she thrust back impatiently, 
impaling herself on me. It was slower and sweeter this time, much 
different than the frenetic rutting on the bluff. For one thing, Sara 
wasn't driven by stimulants; for another, she knew her death was 
assured. She came almost continuously as soon as I entered her, but her 
reaction was deeper, savoring her pleasure, waiting for the end.
     When I was close I gather her wrists behind her. She stiffened, 
anticipating, and didn't resist when I pushed her shoulders into the 
soft rich earth. I lunged hard into her, coming myself, and she mewed 
beneath me, shuddering, expecting a bullet. I wasn't done with her yet, 
though.
     Finished, I moved in front of her and made her clean my cock. She 
did so avidly, licking and then sucking, trying to make me hard again, 
eager for more. When I was satisfied, I moved beside her and drew the 
barrel of the gun across a silky brown buttock.
	I worked the barrel into her vagina; it was a small gun and didn't 
penetrate her deeply, but she shivered at its presence. "I'm going to 
fondle you now. When you have an orgasm, I'll fire. Do you understand?"
	Sara groaned and nodded. Her sex was syrupy wet and her dusky 
clitoris erect. She shuddered the moment I touched it, and it only took 
a few seconds before her buttocks hardened and shuddered.
     She wailed and stiffened, rocking against my hand, against the gun 
barrel spreading the dusky wet lips of her vulva. Her orgasm was 
prolonged and lascivious. She mewed wordlessly and pushed back against 
me. And when she finished, she collapsed on her side, sobbing for air.
	I watched her naked beauty as she sobbed and trembled. She caught 
her breath presently and wiped the film of perspiration off her 
forehead.
     I didn't fire; I hadn't meant to. 
	Sara sighed, then sobbed, then smiled vaguely through her tears. 
"You're going to kill me with those orgasms if you keep this up." She 
sat up and hugged her dirty breasts, still trembling subtly from the 
intensity of her orgasms.
	"Why don't you go inside and have a bath. I'll bring your clothes. 
We can have some wine perhaps, and talk."
	She nodded, drew a shuddering breath, then stood and went in the 
house, her naked body lithe and proud.
     I gathered her clothes and laid them out in the study, then opened 
a bottle of wine. Sara joined me presently wearing a toweling robe, 
accepted a glass of wine and sat at my feet calmly. "You'll have to kill 
me, I think."
     "Yes. But not right away."
     "How many? How many women have you slain?"
     "Ten, a dozen." I shrugged. "I remember each, but I don't count. My 
wife, she was my first."
     Sara said nothing, but looked at me curiously.
     "She accepted her role as chosen eagerly and graciously. She gave 
so much, and she gave her heart. She insisted that I-" I stopped. 
"Forgive me. I loved my wife. It was difficult. I should not have 
enjoyed slaying her so much."
     "Yet you did. And you still do."
     "Yes. It's a monstrous pleasure, don't you think?"
     Sara said nothing, but sipped her wine. "Am I to be your captive 
now?"
     "No. Of course not."
     "I've been followed, watched, monitored?"
     "Since you arrived."
     Sara nodded. "And Heather?"
     "At dawn tomorrow."
     Sara finished her wine and stood. "I- I won't report this. I have 
to think. May I leave now?"
     "Of course." I helped her dress and tucked her pistol into it 
holster before she went. Sara smiled weakly at the gesture. She knew now 
it wouldn't protect her. I didn't need to tell her that if she tried to 
leave, or to expose us in any manner, she would be killed. She 
understood that unspoken.
***
     The altar was in a catacomb beneath the church; Heather's heart 
would be burned in offering upon the ancient altar on the bluff, but 
that was too public in these modern times for the actual sacrifice. At 
dawn, Heather was naked on the altar, her body pinioned by the hands of 
six young men. Her skin glistened with oil, and she was flushed pink, 
smiling nervously up at me. She had been blessed and anointed, the 
invocations had been said. We waited for the moment of dawn; I rested my 
left hand on her left breast, fondling her erect, slippery nipple; in my 
right I held the ceremonial knife, a foot-long blade of black iron.
     "It is time," said the elder tracking the moment of dawn.
     A sharp blade is a kindness. I squeezed the base of her breast, 
cutting through her nipple, and then through the mass of her breast. 
Heather clenched her eyes tight as I sawed through the soft tissue, but 
didn't react otherwise until I cut the pectoral and started into the 
intercostal muscle between the ribs; then her body convulsed strongly. 
Do it slowly, she had said. I did not. I opened her chest quickly, the 
open gash filling with blood, obscuring the lung. I pressed it aside, 
reaching inside her, and gathered the pulsing muscle in my hand. I slid 
the knife along my hand, cutting the pericardium, the arteries; and then 
I pulled heart and hand free of her. Heather raised her head, seeing 
what I held before her. Her head fell back abruptly. The muscles of her 
belly tightened and shivered, and then her body was still.
     I touched her cheek, her belly, and her sex; her clitoris was 
erect, her vagina slick with erotic secretions. It was done. I stepped 
back as the young men wrapped her body in linen. Another elder took the 
knife and her heart from me. Her heart would be burned in a pyre of oak 
wood on the altar on the bluff; her body would go to the butcher shop to 
be dressed and prepared for our feast.
     It was my further obligation that day to inform the new chosen of 
her role, to advise and counsel her of her duties and her doubts. The 
encounter often led to lovemaking, and this time was no different. The 
young woman was frightened and eager and generous- but all that will 
have to wait for another account.
     My obligations- and my lust- satisfied, I went home, took a bath, 
and then had a nap, a true luxury for a country doctor. I dreamed of 
Sara.
***
	I received reports. Sara stayed in her room for two days. She ate, 
she read books, she had rather too much liquor brought to her and she 
drank it all. She made calls, but they were routine reports, all of them 
unremarkable and discouraging further investigation. It seemed she was 
not going to pursue it. She knew, and yet she was helping us to conceal 
our dark custom. The constable was distressed. I was intrigued. I 
discussed her with the other elders, and we did finally arrive at a 
consensus regarding Sara. She was, ultimately, my responsibility.
     After two days she rang me up and asked me to take her to the sea 
bluffs. I half expected a romantic interlude, followed by Sara's murder 
by one means or another, or I thought that's what she had in mind. When 
I picked her up, though, she was dressed in the grey skirt and jacket 
I'd first seen her wear, looking very cool and professional.
	I drove; we spoke little as we travelled to the east side of the 
island, driving up one of the bluffs that Sara indicated. When we 
reached the top, overlooking the sea, I turned off the engine. Sara drew 
in a deep breath, collecting herself as the engine ticked and the cool 
wind ruffled the air.
	"Heather seduced me, Jon. Did you know that?"
	"No," I said, "I didn't."
	She smiled timidly. "It was- I've never done anything like that. 
With a woman. She was so strong. So sure of things. Serene." Sara looked 
over at me, her eyes searching for something. "I've never known anyone 
like her. I'm going to miss her. She told me everything, you know. "
	I said nothing; there was nothing to say.
     "She took me to meet the butcher. He fucked her, right on his 
cutting table. Stripped her and fucked her while he explained to me how 
he was going to butcher her body. And I-" Sara sighed and bit her lower 
lip- "I drank his seed from her. Heather was in ecstasy."
     Sara gave a small laugh. "A very handsome young man, your butcher, 
a black man. He wouldn't touch me, wouldn't let me touch him. Yet he 
fucked her happily. Why is that?"
     "It's our custom," I laughed. "The chosen may have any man. Indeed, 
its considered a blessing on a marriage if she choses a married man. 
Patrick is married, you see, to a very pretty little girl. He could do 
the chosen, Heather. But if he'd done you, he'd have been cheating on 
his wife. Patrick is rather devout."
     "What a peculiar custom," Sara said softly.
     "Sacrificing women is peculiar. It all makes sense, though, from 
inside our community. I hope you'll come to understand that."
	Sara nodded and looked out the window. It was still but for the 
wind and the ticking of the engine. "When you make out the certificate, 
put down the date for the winter months. Make it arbitrary. That was the 
one thing that gave you away."
	"Thanks, I'll do that."
     "She waited for your knife like she was waiting for a lover. She 
died proudly?"
     "Yes. With serenity."
     Sara nodded and took a deep breath. "Well, she said, opening the 
door, "Now it's my turn."
     She startled me; I hadn't expect quite this. She strode to the 
highest part of the bluff, and went carefully to the edge, as close as 
she dared. Close enough for risk. She looked out over the sea, then 
down, then straightened her shoulders and looked back at me.
     "I'll need a hand. I can't- I don't have the courage to do this 
myself."
	Sara turned and stood proudly on the edge of the bluff. "Just a 
push, Jon. I won't fight. Everything is in order; my bags aren't packed, 
my gun is holstered. It'll look like a simple accident. There's nothing 
to prove otherwise."
	"Sara, wait." I started towards her, and then stopped. I didn't 
want that; I didn't want her death, not now, not this way.
	"Please?" Sara said softly. "I can't go back and keep your secret. 
I can't jump; I haven't the courage. And I can't be your chosen. 
Please?"
	"Wait." I approached her slowly, afraid some sudden move might make 
her slip and fall; once I had my arms around her, I pulled her back to 
relative safety. Sara sighed and shook her head, tears welling in her 
eyes.
     "Jon, you mustn't. We mustn't. If they find your semen in me it 
will raise suspicions."
	I ignored her and took her to a sheltered spot beneath a rocky 
ledge. We lay together. I unbuttoned her blouse and fondled her 
delightful brown breasts. Sara was submissive and melancholy.
	"You think you love me, Jon. You don't. You're being unspeakably 
cruel. I don't want you to love me. That isn't what I want at all."
	"I know what you want. I'm not a fool."
	She shook her head. "Jon, no-"
	"Yes. Listen. You're going back to London. You'll continue as you 
have. You'll protect us here, with our secret practices. When you're 
ready, you'll resign, and settle your affairs, and you'll come back to 
us. To me. You'll be our chosen, according to our canons."
	Sara caught her breath. "You said that I couldn't. I couldn't be 
chosen."
	"No. I said you couldn't replace Heather. You can be chosen in your 
own right. The other elders have agreed. Midsummers day, the first after 
you return, you'll be chosen. I'll see to it. You'll have a year among 
us, a year we can honor and cherish you."
	Sara sat upright, looking out over the cold North Sea as if 
listening for something, holding her breath. Then she settled against me 
with a sigh. "Thank you," she said softly, then laughed and opened my 
trousers. "I wish this fellow was five feet long and you could kill me 
with it right now," she said. Her soft lips, then her mouth, and then 
her throat engulfed my cock, her lips descending to the root. She was 
talented as well as beautiful.
	Two days later she returned to London. She wrote me often; once she 
even told me she didn't want to be chosen, that she'd changed her mind. 
Another letter followed, asking my forgiveness, and asking if I might 
send her a book on the druid faith, so she might prepare herself 
properly. I did so, and asked her to return it when she came back to our 
island.
	Sara wrote me in January two years following that she had resigned 
her commission, that she was busily closing up her affairs. She would be 
arriving in April.
	She had chartered a small boat from England, and I met her when she 
arrived; she was wearing jeans and a bulky sweater, hugging herself 
against the cold winds off the water. She had cropped her black hair 
close against her scalp, and she looked beautiful.
	She ran to my embrace, laughing and shivering. "You can't believe 
all the things I thought about coming over."
	"I might very well," I smiled. "You're staying with me. Is that all 
right?"
	She smiled eagerly. "For a year?"
	"For a year."


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