Work Text:
And The Waltz Goes On
What gives meaning to life gives meaning to death (Cit. Antoine de St. Exupéry)
There is no life without death and there could be no Curator without her who replenished both his repository and a fairly important part of his thoughts.
Whereas the Curator was the guardian of any story ever written, Livvy Valadi was the guardian of any event that had yet to be told; just like him, she didn't remember for how long she had been fulfilling her task or if someone else had been fulfilling it before she had. She only knew that she travelled almost more than he did in order to obtain fresh material for him and to what extent it kept her busy: she was a tireless explorer, an adventurer, even an archeologist or anthropologist time granting. However, in between her trips she always found an opportunity to pay a visit to her colleague.
Today the Curator was actually expecting her. Only to himself he would admit that he was impatient: no point in confessing it to Livvy who would figure it out for herself. He'd swear that a long time had passed since they had met last, although an exact estimate was impossible considering the relativity of the days or even years that elapsed inside the repository.
When he heard her vigorous footsteps coming down the corridor, his eyes turned to the door.
-There she is- he whispered to his precious volumes while putting some of them in better order on their shelves. He was uncertain of how to decipher the tone of his own voice: did it hide a note of fidgeting? Of anxiety? In the dusty grey cocooned atmosphere of his repository Livvy represented a blast of fresh air and a spot of bright colour. On the other hand it took time to adjust to her explosive energy.
When neither the rich carpets nor the notes of Mozart's Requiem could muffle the sounds of her steps any longer, the Curator knew she was right behind the double doors. They were opened wide, clashing against the coat rack and a wall.
-Curator!- Livvy's voice rang out through the hall -You old dude! Come here and hug me! It's been a lifetime since we last met! Well now, of all people is it me saying this?! Hahaha!-
And here she was in all her exquisite eternally blooming beauty: skin coloured golden brown by the sun, fleshy lips and pinky cheeks, thick wheat-blond hair usually tied into a long dishevelled braid, an athletic body whose outstanding features were the large hips and abundant bosom. A portrait of fertility and perfect health.
She stayed on the threshold for just a few seconds before starting to move frantically around the room.
-I saw what happened in Little Hope and I've come to celebrate! First of all more important issues though! I mean, what's all this wimpiness? Open those windows, some oxygen will be good for you!-
After unlocking the hooks on the windows, she dropped her bulky backpack in the cold fireplace. As she was forever on her way her personal belongings were only a few, but the backpack, a tent and a laptop of mysterious capacity represented her must-haves.
Livvy now placed the latter on the mahogany desk. Although her movements were all but dainty, this particular piece of technology didn't seem to suffer from it no matter how often it was being pushed around.
-I've brought you the incipit of five, nay, six! Magnificent new stories!- she anticipated with fervour, then shrugged -Not among the best we've ever run into, but first-rate anyway-
The Curator who had continued to rearrange the leather-bound volumes turned his head when all of a sudden the music coming from the recordplayer was interrupted. He noticed that the girl who quite frequently went to concerts and discos was changing his LP with one she obviously wanted him to listen to. The live performance of “High hopes” by Panic! At the Disco started to reverberate in the room.
-As I was saying, I’ve come to celebrate! Anthony, the bastard from Little Hope has nailed it! He’s overcome his traumas and left his demons behind!-
The moment she had taken off her white felt newsboy hat and thrown it across the room, a cascade of soft ringlets had fallen down her back to her waist. Now she was taking two cans of energy drink from a pocket in her backpack of which she left one on the desk. Popping the other she walked to the blackboard set in an angle beside the projector.
The Curator, arms full of books, observed: the flamboyant design of the cans, the sensual way his devoted friend was striding around, the bright fluent bobbing of her blond hair as well as the sparkling music spiced up the atmosphere so that the two of them truly appeared to start a party. Mysteriously, even the old backpack, tatty and dirty as it was, seemed to be a living presence as it vaguely looked like a no longer candid Swiss sheepdog left to regain its strength after the recent trip. As Livvy was snapping her fingers to the rhythm of the music, the man dealt with the last volumes, picked up the drink and joined her.
-Thank you, but no, my dear. You certainly know that I’m not used to ingurgitate this kind of... Concoction- he returned the unopened can to her. Each time his fine lips arched in that cryptic smile in his eyes surfaced an expression that Livvy wasn’t able to define: unnerving? Beguiling? After all a smile was a smile, but should it be as condescending as his was? Well, he could chuck it! She wasn’t one of his guests. At least not an ordinary one.
-Afraid that it may keep you awake at night, old chap?- she mocked him and with a gracious curve his can was dispensed into an armchair -Drink fifty of them a day and you’ll see how your heart explodes... Sleep will no longer be a problem. And anyhow, why worry about sleeping when you’re in the tasting-colour-mode?- she threw her head back in order to theatrically draw the last drop out of her own can.
Her slender throat with its black rubber choker was deliciously inviting; even a sober man like the Curator felt challenged to caress it. Consequently he looked for distraction.
-Be honest with me: how many of these did you have in the last 30 minutes?-
The girl counted on the fingers of both hands, rolling her eyes in search of the right number
-About one each minute- she replied innocently and opened her arms in the dramatic gesture of a junkie beyond saving.
The Curator shook his head; thanks to Livvy’s particular nature her body didn’t require an obsessive care to be glowing and neither could she really hurt herself; nonetheless, in his opinion she excessively abused of its resilience. He threw her a glance of joking rebuke and went to the recordplayer which now reproduced the sounds of blasting trumpets and a cheering public.
-I don’t have to tell you that I’m not in the habit of listening to this kind of music- he said.
The rock band was made to fall silent and quiet settled down over the repository at the first chords of a lyrical aria. He had intended to play Rigoletto’s “La donna è mobile” in a perverse taste to provoke Livvy with its sexist verses, but his innermost thoughts appeared to have betrayed him: the low tones of “L’amour est un oiseau rebelle” were unleashed among the shelves and beyond the wide open window. With an annoyed grimace he was about to lift the needle when the girl stopped him.
-No, no, leave it! I like habaneras and this one in particular as it perfectly reflects our relationship- he couldn’t see her face but was deadly sure that she was chewing a lip in a mischievous smile -Love is a rebellious bird that can’t be tamed. Useless to call it if it has decided to refuse. Nothing will persuade it, neither menace nor prayer, one speaks well, the other is silent- she sang while turning around to him. Her face had the exact expression that the man had imagined -And it is the other I prefer... he didn’t say a thing, but I like him!-
The girl’s big brown eyes stared into his icy ones and for an apparently interminable moment their gazes locked. Not a word was spoken although they told each other all that was necessary.
-Love is a Bohemian child who has never ever observed the law. If you don’t love me, I’ll love you, but if I love you, watch out!- he answered daring her to complete the strophe.
-Watch out!- she concluded whilst the agile mezzo-soprano voice warmed the atmosphere yet more. Livvy wasn’t good at concentrating, some expert would probably diagnose her with attention deficit or chronic hyperactivity disorder if she’d allow them. When the Curator was involved though, nothing but him existed; no matter how different they were, something transcendental brought them together all the same. It was related to disposition and demeanor: the distinguished charismatic Curator had bewitched her a long time ago; breezy and spirited as she was she had an identical effect on him each time they met.
-You were saying about Anthony?- he cut in on the silence between them.
-As if you don’t know!- Livvy shook her head. She drew near the blackboard and fished for a chalk.
-It’s too late for him to start the kind of life you’d like- the Curator wished to point out, but his guest disagreed.
-It’s never too late for choosing to live on instead of killing oneself- she shrugged and searched for an empty space.
This side of the blackboard was covered by so dense a series of marks cut crosswise in groups of three that they formed a white layer along nearly the whole surface. Only in two clean compartments at the upper edge the signatures of both of them stood out: one fluttering and messy, the other sharp and elegant.
-I don’t understand your grudge against death. After all it’s only the price one pays for having lived- he put his hands behind his back and commented as he was getting closer. Once he stood beside her he realized with how much care she had dressed up for the occasion: gone were the military green explorer outfit, dark top and wellingtons. Lightblue jeans with white embroidery, a crochet sweater and a bustier that enveloped her narrow waist had taken their place. A gold enameled dreamcatcher, a silver chain holding the tree of life, a ring with a black opal on her left hand and the inevitable compass hanging on her right hip completed her looks. The high-heeled ankle boots raised her somewhat more to the Curator’s height.
As always he was impeccable from the top of his elegant dark green business suit with its perfectly ironed shirt, lavishly decorated bronze tie and the antique compass peeping from its vest pocket, down to his black leather shoes. Nevertheless today Livvy definitely was a sight to behold.
-I’ve nothing against death, I’m just tremendously sorry for people who have such a bad view on life that they want to prematurely call it quits- she distracted him from his intention to close the window -Anyway- she said, turning to the blackboard -Anthony survived and this takes our wager to be...-
Since the backside of the blackboard was as covered with scribbles as the front, she was considering equipping the repository with a new interactive item when the Curator took the chalk from her and traced a sign on both their portions, indifferent to the fact that it was lost among the others.
-To be exactly even- he declared -You can’t deny that each beginning sooner or later must come to an end. That’s the way it’s going to be forever and I don’t see why you lash out to it so much: they’re only humans after all... and very gullible at that- He put the chalk back where it belonged and blew its dust from his fingers.
-No, you’re wrong!- Livvy burst out -Each life is important and even though I’m not allowed to decide for anyone, I’ve seen how creative and fascinating people can be!- between the thick dark lashes her eyes had lit up reddish and ardent with life behind their brown irises.
-Enough of these theories! Why don’t you give me a demonstration? I understood you have much to tell me- the Curator took place in a comfortable armchair; before Livvy’s arrival he had arranged for a second one in front of his desk and had turned the couch around to face the projection screen. In tribute to Livvy’s habits he had draped a checkered plaid over an arm-rest so that she could wrap herself up while giving him a rundown of her peregrinations.
Actually, the girl had noticed his courtesies but had no intention of sitting down unless he invited her to. Although she certainly planned to get comfy...
-Please, take a seat- the Curator nodded in the direction of the couch. To his amazement Livvy took a few rapid steps, ignored the couch and landed in his lap.
-Thanks- she said innocently as he jolted in unbelief and pulled his hands from under her body -Look, nobody’s going to die if you touch me!- she chuckled at his bewildered hands-up.
Conscious that her act aimed at intimidating him, the Curator smiled ruefully.
-Shall we begin?- he asked.
-You’re a lost cause!- Livvy shook her head with a great twinkling of earrings.
While she switched on the projector, the archivist decided to cross his arms: a practical befitting solution which above all prevented him from falling into the girl’s trap. He remembered all too clearly where his complacency had led in the past.
The images that were passing by on the screen lit up the twilight in the repository. Each of the pictures reproduced a place Livvy had visited, an example of what she had experienced, a person she had met. Some showed concerts, sport shows, art exhibitions, conventions crammed with public; others depicted natural sceneries, spectacular landscapes, nearly unexplored territories. Their one steady aspect was that at Livvy’s departure the environment would be richer and more prosperous than at her arrival.
As she was entertaining the Curator with her engrossing stories, little by little the temperature in the room had dropped and with effort the girl suppressed a fit of sneezing.
-...so I told them “To hell with it! I’ll eat the whole burrito!” and then threw up. End of story.-
-If you write the same way you are reporting, I fear that the quality of your material won’t be as excellent as you promised- the Curator shook his head as if he didn’t appreciate every ludic moment donated by Livvy’s airiness.
-When will you learn that all my stories are excellent without exception, you man of little fai...- this time the sneeze could not be held back and she tightenened her clothes around her.
-It might be wise to close the window and light the fireplace, don’t you think so, my dear?- the man suggested, rubbing her arms vigorously in order to warm her. Livvy jumped up.
-I’ll do it! I’ve been sitting still for too long!-
Once she had locked the window hooks, she removed her backpack out of the fireplace and bustled about reordering the logs inside. In the background the principal theme of “Swan Lake” was close to its finish.
The Curator got out of the armchair and started walking up and down.
-Oh, you don’t have to assert that incessant need of yours for getting on the move- he observed -Life is an elusive shadow, isn’t that it?- his stern tone of voice concealed a deep-rooted animosity.
-Are you going to repeat this leitmotiv until doomsday?- though his companion rolled her eyes, he went on.
-I’m only saying that I’ve been courting you for time immemorial during which you reciprocated my affection with a nearly infinite series of postponements-
A hint of sarcasm was stinging enough to call on the girl’s pride. Being finally succesful in winning the battle against the logs, she got back on her feet and in accusation pointed a finger at the Curator’s chest.
-True, but wasn’t it worth the while? The horizons I’ve broadened for you and which you and I together have broadened for the mortals? The knowledge, the voyages, the nights we’ve spent by each other’s side? Remember all we’ve divided, not only my no’s. Didn’t I perchance pay you back for the waiting?-
Leaving the question unanwered the man just stared at her and a smile sweetened by memory appeared on his rugged but still handsome face. He took her hands in his own, persuading her to relax.
-You always do, my life- he whispered with a kiss on the knuckles of her left hand first and of her right hand afterwards. For a moment he left his lips there and with closed eyes tasted the peace that was descending on them; at a distance the crackle of the fireplace and a new piece of classical music which both of them were fond of, closeby the honeyed fragrance of Livvy’s breath. Despite her apparent tranquillity the girl was attempting to calm down her inner frenzy.
-You’re the only one I allow to use my real name- she replied to his endearment -Anyone other than you would make me feel... uncovered- her focused glance, the wrinkle between her dark brows, even the quick flutter of the lids with their pearly eyeshadow demonstrated how much human intuition about who she really was made her feel naked.
-Wait! I recognize this one!- in reaction to the variation in the melody that filled the air, her hands slipped out of his and she ran to the recordplayer to increase its volume.
-Suite number 2 for Jazz Orchestra by Dmitrij Dmitrievic Sostakovic- the Curator nodded -November 28, 1938. Those were rough years...-
-Have the recent years perhaps been sugar, spice and everything nice?- the girl sneered -How do you think I got this?- she rolled up a sleeve and revealed a long scar winding around her forearm almost to the elbow. Each time a countless number of deaths occurred in the world and life suffered an impairment, on the body of her who bestowed life gashes appeared that took the same time to heal as was necessary for the weighing plates to be restored to balance.
In the course of history Livvy had had to cure only a few of such severe wounds, but she did recall each of them all too well: chronologically the first had been caused by the meteorite that had extinguished the dinosaurs.
-Allow me to list some episodes: the coral reef has been declared dead, the glaciers are melting and the polar fauna is the main victim, Australia has been devastated by dreadful fires, the rain forest hasn’t been in good shape for years and let’s not speak about the past 12 months with all their dead. I can only imagine how hard you’ve worked. In all frankness my own chores seem so many vacuum pumps to me- running her fingers through her hair she made it look more indomitable than ever -For decades I haven’t seen such a mortality rate caused by a disease. Just when fiction writers are mooning over the vanishing of the plague, there it is again! Because of it people lock themselves in and pollution drops to a record low; the minute they come back out, both the disease and pollution re-explode. It’s a vicious circle, do you read me?!- Livvy sighed deeply and tried to locate the energy drink rejected by the Curator -I’m not complaining, let me put the record straight, I just feel all of this is a bit frustrating. And I need to have a drink...-
With special care for her manicured nails she opened the can and fell down in the chair at the Curator’s desk from which she had retrieved it.
On the canvas the series of images had moved on and the Curator’s interest peaked up at the sight of a nursery: the busy personnel under the neon lights, the babies sleeping in their baskets. Since Livvy loved maternity wards as much as the Curator loved funerals, he felt to have found the right inspiration to cheer up his irreverent friend.
-It hasn’t been only death and destruction. Many a life had the chance to florish, not to mention earth and oceans which have litterally breathed sighs of relief. A lot of animals will have been grateful for this as well- meanwhile he had taken two crystal wine glasses and a bottle of his best vintage out of a closet -As you say, every life counts so we do have something to celebrate. But not with this brew- he gently lifted the can from her fingers and put an empty glass between them -I’ve prepared something special indeed for this occasion-
He uncorked the bottle of Italian rosato and poured a generous dose of its three-zero-priced liquid in each glass.
Livvy stirred into a sudden awakening from her musings, jumped up, rushed to extract a candle from her backpack, emptied a place for it on the cluttered desk and lit it. Almost immediately its sandalwood fragrance, which during her trips reminded her of her Curator, began to pervade the air.
-Know what? You’re fucking right!- she sounded excited again -What you just said was bloody true, as deep as a shit-hole!-
-I do appreciate your enthusiasm but please moderate your language- he scolded her, somewhat taken aback by her stormy agreement.
-No, I won’t! Not now that I remember what I really came here for!- she grabbed her glass -Let’s drink this toast then!-
-Wait! A wine like this must breathe first- he smiled at her -You, your impatience and your fickleness! As George Bernard Shaw said: “the fickleness of the women I love is only equalled by the infernal constancy of the women who love me”-
-Who in this case would consist in one only, i.e. me. Well, since you obviously have nothing else to do, please go on making fun of me... Though I don’t stand up to comparison with your Mr. Shaw, as I said to my latest travel companions: death is only a dusty old man in need of taking a pass on life-
Under her disconcerted gaze, the Curator burst into a deafening laugh.
-Oh wow! I thought it was funny, but as funny as this? Actually, they all laughed, too, but…-
Between fits of hilarity the Curator revealed the riddle.
-It looks like humans aren’t the only ones to be naive.-
-What do you mean?- she insisted without a clue about how or where she had tripped up.
-Try to repeat what you just told me. Slowly.-
She had rarely seen such a charmed expression on his face; from the eager way he leaned forward, she gathered it had to be something self-evident. Some minutes later her cheeks became purple.
-Hold it! I didn’t mean it in that sense!- her frantic gestures and justifications only enhanced the Curator’s amusement -I intended by means of a hobby, a game of cards for instance! Playing poker with friends! Or gardening, or DIY, or... Watching workers at a construction site!- she hardly kept herself from cursing at the list of platitudes. Was she or wasn’t she intelligent, for heaven’s sake? Were her neurons operating or had they drowned in her energy drinks?
Observing her uneasiness, the Curator fell back in his chair and broke out in a roar of mirth again.
-I easily understand why you’re so popular with your friends!- his eyes brimmed with tears of laughter.
-Oh, pack it in, old-timer! You once had more restraint!- Livvy brusquely overturned the framed picture beside the skull on the desk, but the Curator put it back into its place. It was rather weathered, yet it would hurt him badly to see it go to pieces.
-It sounds like you have regrets- he murmured -Didn’t we both agree that we greatly enjoyed what happened?- a touch of malice curled his smiling mouth. Livvy threw him a glance between her lashes before abandoning all reluctance.
-Greatly? Immensely! I don’t regret anything- she crooned in a vortex of memories and emotions -Least of all the masked ball in 1850.-
With a cheek resting on the open palm of her hand she was staring out of the window into the dark; with a different dress she would have made the perfect model for a french Romanticism painter. The Curator let himself be overwhelmed by delight and recollections, too.
When time began and the earth and life itself were in the delicate process of developing, Livvy had soon met the Curator. Green as she was, she had considered him the destroyer since she constantly ran into him on every single destruction site. Although his activity of collecting was a mere consequence of what destruction left behind, Livvy had always thought poorly of him and when the mass extinction event of the Cretaceous-Paleocene occurred, she had truly felt at war with that elusive mysterious man.
Lucky for her, the surviving creatures had possessed at least half her obstinacy; after a period of adaption they had taken the path toward evolution, reason and, much later, social organization and moral duties. The birth of society, laws, ethics and rules had clearly demonstrated that people did no longer decide according to survival or intention. In any case, right or wrong as people’s choices might be, these were irrelevant in the face of death. The more so because their souls were ordained to a cosmic void.
After ample reflection the Curator had approached Livvy with a peace offering and a plan to unite their efforts: together they would create a life after death, a place where spirits would receive the just reward or chastisement for the decisions made. The girl had accepted with skepticism, but had soon changed her mind: the guardian who up to that point had never stored very intriguing stories in his repository, proved to be an honest courteous man of compassionate feelings. What was more, he had never looked with suspicion at his new associate, on the contrary admired her tenacity and willfulness.
As time went by the concept of life after death assumed a concrete shape thanks to their combined undertaking. They had calculated the smallest details and evaluation criteria, had left nothing to chance. Except the possibility that one day their relationship might become as captivating as their task. Even though both were endowed with the necessary wit to take a step backward, look at the picture and understand what had come about, lack of initiative and insufficient exasperation stopped them from taking a step forward. Theirs was a dance with sidesteps only.
Guided by her impetuous temperament it had been Livvy to cross the invisible line between them. The man wasn’t unexperienced and had anticipated that one day the girl’s impulses might take on a passionate shade; in part he felt responsible as he had been the one to seek her friendship. Therefore he had sincerely tried to make her give up, even pleading age as evidence to his case. Livvy had dismissed this as ridiculous for someone who had never grown old and never would, and had taken the lead. So after years maidenly spent beside a goddess of birth and life, the Curator had surrendered to her lures: better to risk unknown perils than to face the affliction of “what ifs”.
Soon after their union people had started to have visions of their late dear ones roaming in search of peace; peace that only the resolution of their unaccomplished affairs could give. Once people gathered the opportunity to contact the departed, they got caught in such a craving for finding out more that only wizards, medicine men and necromances could quelch it. Neither Livvy nor the Curator regretted their liaison but the girl in particular felt profoundly sorry for the torment inflicted on the living by some of the dead. With the assistance of dreams, clairvoyance and a few oracles this had motivated her to provide human beings with defense.
Centuries had passed, the two authors of human destiny had met and separated from time to time as each one was busy with his or her travels and engagements. The mutual feeling that had grown had never ceased to be on fire. On occasion they had globetrotted together, had indulged in other moments of passionate tenderness and had witnessed memorable historical periods. Meanwhile though Livvy had set her heart on one wish yet to be fulfilled by him.
In the course of her existence she had attended or participated in innumerable celebrations, parties and rituals of which the masked balls that were peculiar of the 1800s were her favourites. Due to his commitments the Curator had never been able to perform as her date but had at last accepted her invitation, defeated by her siege –and by the idea of leaving her in the greedy hands of a bunch of suitors.
Looking smart himself in a black tuxedo with a thin white feather rim along its silk lapels, a necktie in antique pink and a vulture mask, to see Livvy adorned in feminine garments had taken his breath away. Masked as a bunny she was wearing an all-white frock. From the bodice with its sweetheart neckline encrusted by pearls and crystals flared down a long many-layered silk gown. Even her forever unruly ringlets had been subdued to plaited ribboned bands which from her temples down were secured into a stylish chignon. She had been an enchanting sight for all to see. On that occasion the Curator had given Livvy the ring with the black opal from which she had never parted since.
They had revelled in introducing themselves as Curt and Olive Tyrnanog and in calling each other “husband” and “wife” maybe somewhat too often. Rubbing elbows with the crowd and dancing had been followed by their brazen coupling in the seclusion of their private lodgings.
That was the only day in history when no births or deaths had been registered, whether the events had been close at hand or not.
Shortly afterwards research into the spiritual world had become more accurate and the scholars in that department had started to call each other with the specific title of medium.
It was exactly the picture of the two of them attired for the ball that stood on the Curator’s desk. The print was shriveled and had turned yellowish, but his fondness of the bond it represented remained unaffected by time.
-As you have no regrets about it, why not celebrate by sharing the same boudoir again? It’s one of the human traditions you relish most if I remember correctly: candlelight, good wine, good music and good company- the Curator grinned ribaldly when he noticed the jaunty light in Livvy’s eyes; choosing to beat around the bush, he took a deck of cards from a box on the desk -Or perhaps you’d rather place a bet on winning some card game for which you need all your brainpower?-
The moistened finger Livvy drew over the rim of the crystal glass reproduced a note in harmony with Michael Nyman’s “The heart asks pleasure first” on the recordplayer.
-Can’t believe you fancy playing cards with me- she shillyshallied in her turn avoiding to meet his eyes -Aren’t you sick and tired of touching things of paper the whole day long?-
-My dear girl, right now it’s your presence I fancy most and I’ll submit to any decision you feel inclined to make. So what is it going to be: heart or head?-
Faking little interest in the matter, Livvy unhooked her compass and opened it as though it could clarify her doubts. After clicking it shut she announced her decision.
-This once I’ll accept a bet on the destiny of someone poised between this world and the next. After a toast obviously.-
Her companion was skillfully hiding his disappointment.
-I thought the sight of people in the split second that is most decisive for their lives distresses you.-
-That depends. If people are intent on doing good to others and live their own lives as fully as possible, I cheer them on and am sorry to entrust them to you although I know they are in good hands. Viceversa, if somebody is cruel without motive and enjoys ruining somebody else’s journey, I’d rather they stay with me and pay for their sins. I’m not allowed to interfere with anybody’s choices too much nor to provoke certain events, I only know that some people deserve you and others don’t. It depends on how they look upon stepping over the threshold of your repository.-
In the meantime the Curator had shuffled the cards and was about to deal them when Livvy put a hand on his.
-No! Let me do it!-
The man’s boyish astonishment at her haste was so genuine that she felt the urge to lean over the desk, pull him close and kiss him, denying whatever she had said before. Instead she succeeded in admonishing him severely.
-We both know what tricks you would be capable of.-
-You treat me like a street hustler- he grinned, but let her deal the cards before inviting her to pick up her glass once more -I propose a toast to us and to our highest bet: may it never come to an end!-
-Because as long as life on earth prospers I go on winning and you’re quite happy to lose?- Livvy asked.
-No, my adorable Liv, I don’t refer to life on earth alone. You realize as well as I do that our activity goes far beyond. No life can exist without death, however, and the day that existence ends, when there will be no more creatures saving themselves or perishing, we too will cease to have a task. It’s to the now and here I wish to toast, to the waltz that gives it meaning. And that goes on.-
-Well spoken as usual!- the girl laughed. Wasn’t the man’s sharp mind one of the infinite reasons why she had dedicated her eternal life to loving him?
-I’m doing my best to conquer you- he smiled.
-Didn’t you once claim that conquering oneself is a lot more valuable than winning a thousand battles?-
-Some victories are worth noting down, though. For instance that of having gained your affection. Remember your first love letter? The one you nailed on my door?- he chuckled -Let me see where did I put it now.-
Livvy stiffened.
-You mean the letter in which I threatened you with my creation of an indestructible being that could resist any temperature above or below zero, any pressure and even a lack of oxygen?-
He could only nod to keep himself from laughing right into her face. A face that now took on the colour of a red pepper.
-I discovered only later that the cute little tardigrade had a lifespan of just three months- she stuttered.
-Right...- the Curator hid his face bending over the lowest drawer in his desk -... so where is it... I really should read it to the end... Interrupted it halfway... the names you called me were so many!-
-If you bring it out, I’ll make you swallow it!- she growled.
He re-emerged, still grinning.
-You wouldn’t, I’m sure you adore me- the smile was shameless.
-Well, yes, as much as you adore me- she surrendered.
-One serious thing must be said at last- the Curator raised his glass -Clumsy as it was, your attempted intimidation was also enlightening. You could still feel ashamed by it after centuries, but it made me understand that you mistook me for someone else.-
-How very!- she exclaimed with little enthusiasm.
-Shall we toast to us then?- the Curator invited her once more.
Eventually Livvy smiled, raised her glass and clicked it against the Curator’s one.
-To us!-