The Watchtower

white swan was hidden in them, hiding her face from the sun as she lamented the loss of her mate.
    “Is that how you’ll cry for me when I am dead?” Will asked.
    Stung by the bitterness in his voice, Marguerite withdrew her hand. “God willing, that day is a long way off. Let us not think of that now.”
    “But I must think of it, Marguerite. I have so much less time than you. Please don’t get me wrong. I think it’s wonderful that you can never die, and I will never have the pain of seeing your death, or watching you grow old. I would die a million times rather than subject you to either! But the cruelty of our situation, Marguerite, is that in time I will pass from your sight, then from your memory, in the blurring of other loves you may have.… I will die with you fierce within me, but for you I will be a mere spark of sunlight; a spark on the sea amidst millions of sparks.” He flung his hand at the pond, which had come alive with the rising of the sun. “And I don’t know that I can bear this.”
    “It’s not like that, Will. Not at all. You mustn’t think of us that way.” She took his hand in hers and kissed it gently.
    But this wasn’t the response he was looking for. Will needed her invitation to join her in the immortal world. “How is it not like that, my love? Tell me! Why will you not have infinite lovers if you live infinitely?” He withdrew his hand as if she were threatening to have an affair.
    “I do not experience time the way mortals do. My lives go on, but they are boundaried, and different from each other, in a way a mortal could not understand. Multiple, infinite—whatever you want to call them. But different from one another. Do not lose yourself in silly numbers and the strangeness of time. I am here for you now, fully, and forever. That is all any man can ever expect of a woman. I will never leave you!”
    Marguerite took a deep breath, more like a stifled sob.
    Words, he reflected, with some bitterness. She was giving him words, and near-incomprehensible ones. They might make sense to another immortal, but not to him.
    As the rays from the rising sun reached the side of the pond where they stood, Will held out his hand in the light. Once again he saw his flesh turn transparent. The blood flowing inside seemed to run gold. What if there was an alchemy that could turn not lead to gold, but mortal flesh to immortal? Inspired, Will turned and pulled Marguerite toward him. He whispered, “Make me an immortal, my love. That is the answer. The sadness of mortality will never enter our lives.”
    She broke away and replied in a trembling voice, “I cannot do that, Will.” And she began to weep.
    He embraced her and tried to wipe away her tears. “Why?” he stammered. “I still do not understand.”
    “Being immortal is worse than being mortal,” she finally answered, pulling away. “You watch everyone you know grow old and die. Everyone! Can’t you understand? The desolation far outweighs this splendor that you and I have found. Believe me, it does. Immortality isn’t a blessing. It’s a curse!”
    He knelt before her. “But we would always have each other.”
    Silence.
    “I’m not even sure I can do it,” Marguerite said after several more painful moments had passed. “That crossing is the most dangerous of all. There is always a price to be paid, whether the journey is successful or not. And success can’t be known in advance.”
    “We would always have each other,” Will repeated. It was his only solace, and she tortured him now by not having any interest in it.
    “ I ’d rather die than have you suffer the pain of being immortal,” Marguerite insisted. “That very pain which I have suffered.”
    She burst into more sobs and collapsed onto the grass. Will lay next to her to comfort her, but as he did so, he saw his new world going up in flames. As if the gulf between them had caught fire. That gulf, between mortal and immortal, burned as if empty space were as treacherous and flammable as love.
    They rode back to London together a few minutes later, silent all the way. They went their separate ways at their usual place of parting, also without another word. And neither turned around to watch the other ride away.
    *   *   *
    Until this point, Will and Marguerite had had regular daily meetings. They met at the southwest corner of Prince Street and Orange Lane at 11:45 a.m., a crowded and anonymous spot where their daily time together could begin,