The Domino Effect

So. She has been found. And more than....she. One of my men has brought to me a letter. It is her handwriting, there can be no mistake in that, even as weather-worn and faded as it is. And the secrets it reveals to me..... There is a depth of will I did not think I still possessed. But my mind is clear again. I have set a plan in motion, and like a domino effect, one part hinges upon the next. When the first one falls, and I do not say if....when that happens, then it cannot be stopped....until I have again what is mine. She? Oh no. I care not for the cunning conniving of a she-bitch. She played me false, after all. But her whelps....are mine as well. They are more mine, they will be more mine, than they have ever been hers. For them, I have made this plan, I have come back to life, I have purpose. It is started. It will be finished. So help me God.

The Year In Hell

I have spent the last year of my life in hell.
I have traversed the globe, not once, but thrice, in search of that which was mine.
I have occasionally returned to Spain, for the rest and strength that it provides, so that I can continue in my search.
Early reports were that Brazil held the answer, and I have spent much time there, looking under every rock, and in every corner, for that which has alluded me. Indeed, I have spent so much time there that I have purchased land there, a small ranch, austere but comfortable in its furnishings. It is a working sheep ranch, under my ownership, yet I employ men to oversee the business, allowing me to pursue....other ventures.
Such as the venture of finding my wife.
She is the reason that I have spent this last year in hell....she once my salvation, now my condemnation.
It matters not what I do in the remnants of this life, therefore, for I have no fear of death. Most men fear death because they fear hell. I hold no such fear for I have been there, lived there, for longer now than a year.
Commit murder and wind up in hell eternally?
Oh, to be sure, it phases me not in the least.
I dream of it, in fact.
I dream of my hand closing around the length of her pretty neck, my eyes trained upon her face, as I squeeze and watch her life, finally and totally in my hand, in my control, where at last she will know her place, as my wife and I her lord and master. I grin at her, sneering as I complete the deed....or grant her mercy.
It is the only thing I have left to smile about, so beware.
If you chance to meet me in the street, and I am smiling, you will know.
There is murder in my dream, in my eye.
Look closely, little one. Recognize what you have done to this man.
This bastard of a Spaniard.
Now....this murdering bastard of a Spaniard.

I am coming....for you, Gabriella.

Driven

So....she has run from me.

At first, when I turned around to find her gone, I thought she merely stood aside to let me worship at the altar of my god in my own way.
She was nowhere to be found, but still...I was unconcerned....until I returned to the hacienda, until I had the men conduct a search of the island.
Then I feared the worst, thinking someone had taken her to do her harm, or to get at me through her. Incredibly, my fears turned even darker, that she had fled from me....ME!!...and staged her own taking.

I put aside all thoughts of why, concentrating only on the where was she now. I hired a hundred men to span the globe, even as I did myself, to find any trace of her. The search seemed futile, until now.

A convent....she's taken refuge in a g** d**ned convent, of all things. A woman of her description has been found by one of my men and even now, I am on a ship, bound for the island off Brazil's eastern coast where she is reported to be.

And when I find her.....when...I...find...her....
There is no reason in the world she can give to me for this.
She is my wife.
And soon she shall learn what that means....to be the wife of El Sabatier.
She thinks she has seen me angry.
She has seen only a glimpse of what I can be.

I am a driven man, and anger is a very powerful propellant.

The Gifts of Being Home

We are home.  Espania.  Spain.

How perfect that the winds, the gods, the spirits have brought us to this place, and I feel it as I never have before.  Home.  With my wife, with Gabriella.  I am completely hers.  There is not one inch of me that she has not touched, held, healed, and I am content. 

I am content to be hers and have her hold my everything.  I trust her as I have never trusted anyone before and it is such a thing of freedom, such a lifting of heaviness from my soul.  It sounds trite but it is the only way I can put it.

I love her completely.

Tomorrow I will show her the island and with it my sanctuary.  I have never shown another living soul that.  I suppose I have never allowed anyone this close, trusted anyone so totally, as I do Gabriella.  If she has played me false, if this is all some trick of her magic, then I am doomed.  But I think at this moment I do not care, for I do not care to live the life I would have without her.

I gave her a small token of my feelings tonight, very small.  I was almost embarrassed at the trivial ruby stone set within the silver, at the smallness of its size.  I did not tell her of the ring's history.  I do not know exactly why, I tell her everything, and she has given me no reason to hold anything away from her.  Perhaps when I take her to my sanctuary tomorrow I will tell her of it.  It is the Sacred Lotus ring, handed down to me through my mother, the only thing I have of her, but that is not the most important thing about it.  It was my father's.  My real father's.  A man I never knew, never was told anything of, and until the day before my mother's abandonment of me, I never heard or saw anything about him from her.  That night, though, at the supper table, she pulled out the worn velvet pouch and put it on my plate, before we ate, saying only...."This was your father's.  It is now yours.  Open it later, we eat now."  And that was that.  The next day she left me and we never spoke of it again.       I never saw her again. 

I think I have dreamed of him, my real father.  I think perhaps some of the things I have written in my journal, those things way in the back that do not seem to connect with this time and space, are possibly of him.  But I have no clue, really.  I have no name, no nationality, no face....and no memories.         My father was Benito Santana, in all the ways that matter, save one.                   I was not of his loins. 

That has never been a concern to me, until now.  I did not think of it before I gifted the ring to my wife, but what if it has some evilness to it?  What if he was evil himself?  What if that was the reason my own mother never spoke of him to me? Or perhaps he was the opposite, a great man, greater than my mother could withstand.  I know what she was.  She was not.....great.   She was a whore.  A different man every night in her bed, in our home.  Still, she was the only parent I had, the only mother.  Until the day I did not have even her any more.

Well, what is done is done.  I felt it right to gift the ring to Gabriella...and only now, only she....none of my other wives have ever worn it, have not even known of its existence.

Only Gabriella.

She gave me a ring in return.  I am not sure how she did it, but she seemed to fashion it from the necklace she wears, one of sapphires, that she said her father told her was her stone.  A stone of destiny, that is what a sapphire is.  She placed on my finger a ring of one large sapphire stone, made from her own stones, and then kissed it.  I was quite at a loss without words, for once in my life.  Never has any woman in my life given me a ring, much less such a ring as this, made from their own stone.  I have given rings to all those who had mattered to me, but not once has anyone given me one in return.  Not even a wedding band.  Gabriella now has given me two.

I am a very fortunate man indeed.

 

 

Surviving The Hurricane

SHIP'S LOG
The schooner Anna-Maria, Port o' call - London
Somewhere upon the Atlantic Ocean

Honeymoon Trip, Day Six
September 1, 1888
Morning


I have heard it said that what does not kill us serves to make us stronger. I have learned through experience now that that is so.

I must shoulder much of the responsibility. I make no excuses but only write of the truth, the way it has been for me for so long now. I have been alone, since my last wife died, and at first was prostrate with my grief. I learned to survive but did so by taking the bricks of that grief and constructing a wall around myself, so that I blocked all interaction with others. I relished my solitude, believing it was the only way I could survive, the only thing I deserved, and to some degree I became protective of that solitude, holding it up in front of me like a shield. I let no one through. I thought that was the only way I could live. I did not realize that in reality it was actually killing me, bit by chipped away bit.

That is, until Gabriella chose to come to me, to enter my dreams and my solitude, relentless in her pursuit of me, and she would not take no for an answer. She brought me back to the living, to life, with her love. She did so unselfishly, without regard to what it might cost her, only thinking of how she could help me, how she could heal me. She perservered until I turned to look at her and began to allow her to unbuild the wall, brick by brick. Yet even so, realizing what she had done for me, what she meant to me, I was on a collision course, at odds with what she needed from me in return, not able to see that I was shutting her out and attempting to deal with things as I had been used to dealing with them....in solitude. I moved away from her, when what she needed, was ultimately what I needed, but could not see.

It required the intervention of a far wiser man than I to bring me to my senses, away from the irrational madness of solitude, and back to the gift that my wife truly is. I wish I could have known Joram Dufaigh in this lifetime. Gabriella's father is truly a remarkable man, a man I would love to learn from, and I will wear his ring with awed honor. It was, in fact, because of our rings.....mine formerly Joram's, Ella's formerly her mother's....that we were able to find ourselves in a better place.
Quite literally. But I digress there.

The point being, I have begun to share with my wife....in all things. Joram said that together we shall have a life of untold happiness, but apart we would not survive. I think I had known that intuitively, but it took him to put words to the feelings for us. I am trying now, very hard, to hold nothing back from Gabriella. I am allowing her to breach my wall and see me for who I am. I will need her understanding, and her patience, but....truly....I am trying, just as I know, she is. I have told her...."mi aliento es suyo, mi cuerpo es suyo, mi corazon es suyo". I do not know how else to say it, except to perhaps add that.....I am committed to her....siempre.


Gabriella and I have weathered the hurricane that threatened to break us apart forever. The vows we made to each other as husband and wife have bolstered our love and we will survive, even become stronger in our love for one another.

Dawn breaks now, upon a new day, upon a new morning, and we are walking out into the sunshine together.

There used to be a greying tower alone on the sea.
You became the light on the dark side of me.
Love remained a drug that's the high and not the pill.

But did you know,
That when it snows,
My eyes become large and,
The light that you shine can be seen.

Baby,
I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey.
Ooh, the more I get of you,
The stranger it feels, yeah.
And now that your rose is is in bloom.
A light hits the gloom on the grey.

There is so much a man can tell you,
So much he can say.
You remain,
My power, my pleasure, my pain...baby...
To me you're like a growing addiction that I can't deny.
Won't you tell me is that healthy, baby?

But did you know,
That when it snows,
My eyes become large and the light that you shine can be seen.

Baby,
I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey.
Ooh, the more I get of you
The stranger it feels, ...yeah.
Now that your rose is in bloom.
A light hits the gloom on the grey,

I've been kissed by a rose on the grey,
I've been kissed by a rose on the grey.

There is so much a man can tell you,
So much he can say.
(there's so much inside)
You remain
My power, my pleasure, my pain.
To me you're like a growing addiction that I can't deny, yeah
Won't you tell me is that healthy, baby?

But did you know,
That when it snows,
My eyes become large and
the light that you shine can be seen.

Baby,
I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey.
Ooh, the more I get of you
The stranger it feels, yeah
Now that your rose is in bloom,
A light hits the gloom on the grey.

Yes I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey
Ooh, the more I get of you the stranger it feels, yeah....

Now that your rose is in bloom,
A light hits the gloom on the grey.

We're Leaving Here Tonight

SHIP'S LOG
The schooner Anna-Maria, Port o' call - London
Somewhere upon the Atlantic Ocean

Honeymoon Trip, Day Five
August, 1888
After midnight

We are leaving.  Here.  Tonight.

Things between Gabriella and I have deteriorated since early this morning, in fact since we entered the fog and found ourselves on a forced sail to Carthia.  Carthia, despite being her home land, once cherished by my wife, holds nothing for her now but painful memories, and it is those memories that pull at her, claw at her and threaten the very bond I have with her.  I am sure that it is all Carthia.  We have never been so at odds, we have never been so accusitory and hurtful toward one another, and it all started, to my way of thinking, when we felt the pull of Carthia.

I am taking her away, now, tonight.  We are going anywhere, somewhere, just away from here.  I will not stand for anything to tear us apart from one another like this is doing.  I will take her back to the last point in our journey where we were happy with each other, connected, as she likes to put it.  She will have to give me some strong conviction as to why we should not go, and even then, staying will be at the risk of us.  

For my vote, I will not take the chance.  I will protect now what I have found with Gabriella and if that means forcefully dragging her away from Carthia, then that is my course of action.  And if she chooses otherwise, then I suppose I know the true meaning of that.  My plan is not to allow her a choice, but with Gabriella, I have learned, things do not always go as planned.

 

Dear my love, haven't you wanted to be with me
And dear my love, haven't you longed to be free
I can't keep pretending that I don't even know you
And at sweet night, you are my own
Take my hand

We're leaving here tonight
There's no need to tell anyone
They'd only hold us down
So by the morning light
We'll be halfway to anywhere
Where love is more than just your name

I have dreamt of a place for you and I
No one know who we are there
All I want is to give my life only to you
I've dreamt so long I cannot dream anymore
Let's run away, I'll take you there

Forget this life
Come with me
Don't look back you're safe now
Unlock your heart
Drop your guard
No one's left to stop you

Forget this life
Come with me
Don't look back you're safe now
Unlock your heart
Drop your guard
No one's left to stop you now

Scrawled across one entire page, in a sketchy shaking hand, the point of the pen pressed so hard that the paper has torn at the end of the last letter......

Damnit   woman