[Crossposted in
Dreams]
In a rush, the child reaches the door of the conservatory.
Then I can hear him approaching slowly, carefully, as though he didn’t want to bother me. Oh, that’s the way he is. Only he doesn’t know he never bothers me.
After those few, cautious steps, half his face appears behind the curtain at the door - panting slighly for having run from the garden, flushed, his hair ruffled after a whole afternoon playing outside.
"Come in, boy..."
He pushes the curtain away - a gesture of infinite grace. That is the wonder, the grace of childhood, that small, slender hand stroking the white linen, barely touching it. The grace of children, of this child - adult men just don’t move like that. And here he is, standing by the tea table, silent, ever-so-shy. How can he be so shy, even with me, even now. But there’s something else behind his shyness - the gleeful air of one who is hiding some funny secret. And indeed, he is hiding a hand behind his back.
"Well?" I say, trying hard not to smile too much.
"Is that Earl Grey?" he asks, his right hand, the one that holds his sailor cap, vaguely pointing at the tea cups, always hiding his left.
"Of course. The favourite tea of every civilised person."
"I’ve got something for you" he snaps, delightfully inconsistent, and Earl Grey tea is of no consequence anymore. A bow, half-jokingly, but so genuine and affectionate I feel something melting inside me. In his held-out left hand there is a yellow bloom.
"The last daffodil in the garden" - in near-whisper, and his blush deepens. The flower opens its beauty in the fading light, perfect, almost perfect, still. A petal has begun to wither under the yellow crown. The bloom of daffodils lasts but few weeks.
Oh, and I have an omake pic, even -
Nothing of all this is true. Not the time, not the place. There are no conservatories in Spain. Nor the child, who is no child, but a doll, and cannot speak to me, or bring me daffodils, or love me. But how I delight in these lies, in fantasies that sometimes make such a part of my life that they seem to obscure the rest.
Well, one thing is true - that was the last daffodil I had. At least till I can make last year's bulbs bloom.