Instead she restlessly mulled
over the ‘situation' with Kalus, as she called it: the doctor's
explanation for his actions, and his relayed message that, 'There
could never be anyone else.'
But this only made her angry with herself for having been so obvious in
front of the others. What did it matter to her what he said or did? He
had given her her ‘freedom', and seemed intent on exercising his
own, no matter what his words might say. So she tried again to make
herself interested in the young botanist, Smith, who had already asked
her a number of leading questions, under the pretense (she assumed) of
scientific inquiry.
But the bed was still empty, and her thoughts still vague and rootless,
without Kalus there beside her. She felt again the primal urge to go to
him, just go to him, and renew their bond through physical love. But
remembering the pain of her last submission to it, she stubbornly
refused. Or tried to. Until it was too late.
Kalus lay on his back on the ground, the sleeping bag giving him warmth,
but little else. He put his hands behind his head and looked to the
sky, while the cub nestled at his feet.
How far away the stars looked, how indifferent and utterly unreachable.
Thinking yet again of his love, he felt the loneliness and broken
longing that every unfulfilled man must know: that of useless labors,
and barren seed.
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