| "The Hannibal Variations: Third Movement” Still Buenos Aires, another month later He liked to watch her sleep. Especially now that he had acquired a house for her. For them. The home he shared with her. He enjoyed thinking about that. An image came then, from just over two months ago, he had been in her house, watching her sleep, the first time he had ever seen her so peaceful. He remembered his fingers tucking a bit of her glorious hair behind her ear, and she’d turned her face into his hand, ever so slightly. In her sleep she had accepted his lovers caress, now she accepted it awake. He remembered telling her, during their cat-and-mouse game that he liked to watch her. “No, it does not excite me, it pleases me,” was what he had said, and it was still true. She desired him, he could tell, in that way he had of reading her perfectly. He wanted her to ask him for it, though; knowing that when she did it would be the last tie to her former self broken, the last barrier down. She was completely his, always had been, right from their first meeting, confirmed by that touch in Memphis all those years ago, then long-delayed, but now their journey was nearly over. All she needed to do was accept the truth. What had he said, that evening in Florence, to Pazzi’s wife, Allegra? Ah, yes: “Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for her and find nourishment in the very sight of her?” He had believed it was true then as much as it was now, he drank in the image of her whenever he could and feasted on the vision she presented to him. He had a voracious appetite and even now he began to hunger for her once more. He rose, left his room, and entered her’s next door. When he arranged the furniture in her chamber he had placed a comfortable chair near her bed, but too near, and now he settled himself into it. The moonlight streamed in from the high window behind him and fell across her featured, bathing her in silver. She dreamt of the dance again, as she had so many times of late. This evening when she woke she immediately knew he watched her once again. She opened her eyes and sat up, staring back at him. “Good evening, Clarice.” “Good evening, Dr Lecter.” She made a place for him next to her on the bed, “Sit with me, please.” And he did. “I did not mean to wake you, but I find it pleasant to watch you sleep.” Once he had settled she curled next to him, as she enjoyed doing, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her. “You’re very beautiful, Clarice.” She smiled at that, she never would have believed it coming from anyone else. “Why do you watch me?” she asked. It was a question he hadn’t expected and it took him a moment to answer. “I was once asked if I believed a man could become madly in love with a woman after a single meeting, this was, of course, after I had met you, so I naturally believed this to be so. I replied that I believed he could hunger and that the sight of her could nourish him. Of course there was the question of whether or not she would ache for him in return.” “I think that it is possible, more than that, I know it has happened to me.” He took her face in his hands, “The sight of you is my nourishment, Clarice, but lately I have needed to see you more and more to appease my hunger.” Another of those smiles he loved to see, “Perhaps your appetite demands more than what you are giving it….” She ran her fingers up his chest and neck, then across his jaw. “Perhaps mine is too.” “Are you suggesting what I think you are, Clarice?” “Yes.” “Then tell me what you want, what will satisfy your hunger, and mine. Say the words. I need to hear you acknowledge, admit out loud what you’ve known all along-“ “You mean, ever since we met? No, didn’t know it then, I only guessed it at the first quid pro quo. I knew it that night in Memphis, when you touched me.” “And what did you know then, Clarice, what did you know?” "That you loved me, and I loved you.” She gazed at him for a moment, open and frank, letting him know everything. “I love you, Hannibal Lecter and I want you to make love to me.” When she spoke those words she felt a sudden sense of freedom, but also of belonging. She was meant to be with him, and she had finally accepted her destiny, what written in her stars, their stars. Her former life no longer mattered, all that existed for her was the future, and the man she would share it with. |