Microscopes and Canvases - Chapter 48

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 48
The streets swelled with evening crowds—those heading home from work mingling with shoppers, all of them animated and alive.
Beatrice and Patrick wove through the modest throng, walking side by side, drinking in a freedom that went unnoticed. No one watched them closely.
It occurred to Beatrice that she had read about this street once, in a newspaper.
It was famous as the place where young couples who had escaped Brionia’s social circles came to court without regard for the city’s watchful gaze.
For Patrick and Beatrice, hemmed in by noble rank and the eyes of High Society, such behavior was not yet permitted—and yet watching the young men and women pairing off and strolling past, something brave stirred in them both.
“Times really have changed, haven’t they?”
Patrick murmured with a smile. Some couples walked hand in hand openly along the street, indifferent to the disapproving clicks of the elderly who passed them. They exchanged kisses on the cheek or drew one another close without a trace of shame.
“Do you like ice cream?”
Patrick gestured toward a street vendor.
Children and young lovers gathered around an ice cream cart stationed at the corner. Without hesitation, Patrick approached and offered a penny coin.
“Two Penny Licks, please.”
The vendor scooped cold ice cream into two small glass cups, each with a thick bottom and shallow bowl at the top.
“A spoon?”
Beatrice’s question drew every eye in the vicinity. Patrick lowered his voice to a whisper.
“You, um, Beatrice? You’re just meant to lick it.”
“Oh my.”
Now she saw it—everyone around them had their tongues out, lapping at their ice cream. It was slightly awkward, but Beatrice carefully extended her tongue and licked the cold mass.
The cold, sweet cream touched her tongue—not an unpleasant sensation, though the smudge of ice cream that appeared on her nose was rather mortifying.
When she returned the empty glass to the vendor, he plunged it into a bucket of water, gave it a quick wipe, and immediately handed it to the next customer, heaping fresh ice cream into it. Hygiene was nowhere to be found in the scene.
“Ugh.”
Beatrice made a small grimace, and Patrick quickly wrapped an arm around her shoulders and turned her away.
“Let’s pretend we didn’t see that.”
At the end of the street, a small park appeared. In its center lay a modest lake, and the open vista was refreshing.
From a low pavilion nearby, the brass band’s voices rose in unison, and the two of them turned toward the sound as though answering a call.
A deep drum thrum carried on the summer evening air, bright brass melodies dancing above it.
“Shall we sit here?”
A bench with a clear view of the lake stood conveniently empty, and they settled side by side. Here too, no one regarded them with special attention. No titles, no propriety, no familiar faces—only the evening.
The music was lively, and the first gas lamps flickered their light across the water’s surface. The band’s brightest passage swelled to its climax when—
A young couple on a nearby bench kissed.
They made no effort to conceal it.
The man didn’t bother catching his hat as it fell away, and the woman wrapped both arms around his neck. The band’s trumpet blazed like a fanfare in their honor—or perhaps like mockery.
“Tsk, tsk. Shameless, really.”
A middle-aged couple on the next bench clicked their tongues.
“Kids these days have no shame. In our time, merely brushing hands set the gossips talking.”
“The world’s gone mad.”
Yet despite their words, the couple—now well into their later years—could scarcely tear their eyes from the passionate kiss unfolding before them.
“Good heavens.”
Patrick had turned to Beatrice with a rueful smile, only to notice that she too was staring intently at the young lovers—which made him laugh despite himself.
Then, quite suddenly, he asked:
“What does it feel like… to kiss?”
“…I beg your pardon?”
The abrupt question caught Patrick off guard; he nearly slipped off the bench.
“Well, I… that is…”
He fumbled for words, unable to find a proper answer, and in the end simply confessed the truth.
“I don’t know. I’ve never done it.”
“You’ve never kissed anyone?”
“Of course not.”
Patrick bristled despite himself, but Beatrice merely raised an eyebrow without concern.
“I assumed you’d have kissed at least once. Men are usually free to do whatever they please.”
“I’m a respectable man. A gentleman.”
“Pfft.”
Beatrice burst into laughter, her shoulders shaking, and Patrick’s brow furrowed.
“What’s so funny?”
“The day we first met. You were quite the ruffian in the Museum.”
“A ruffian—”
Patrick tugged self-consciously at his collar. He remembered it well—one of the rudest exits of his life. And yet, because of it, the most important meeting of his life had come to pass.
“Did you… hate it?”
“I nearly fell in love.”
“Don’t… don’t say things you don’t mean.”
Patrick drew his reddened neck up with his hand. Beatrice laughed softly once more, then turned her gaze back to the lovers by the lakeside.
“I’ve always wondered what a kiss feels like. Does the bell really chime inside your head, ringing and ringing?”
… A very faint sense of déjà vu.
It was then that some feeling, like a water-lily skimming across the surface of sleep, swept coldly through Patrick’s memory.
My Romeo.
What does a kiss feel like? Does the bell really chime inside your head? All the novels write it that way, but I simply cannot believe it.
That bold girl, Juliet, who had once granted seventeen-year-old Patrick Bennett a burning, aching fever of love — suddenly walked out from the depths of his memory.
“Patrick, Patrick?”
“Yes?”
Patrick came back to himself and looked at Beatrice. The fleeting feeling that had passed swiftly was soon swept away by the waltz’s melody and Beatrice’s playful words.
“When we eventually kiss, tell me what it feels like. Whether the bell really rings.”
“What kind of thing is that to say so openly…”
“What’s wrong with it? The world is changing, isn’t it?”
Beatrice laughed. The increasingly bright gas lamp light flickered delicately within her green eyes.
“I’m waiting for that day. When I’m older, when no one meddles in my affairs. I’ll share my first kiss with someone I’ve chosen, someone I love. Not some partner numbered and selected by High Society.”
As one song ended, applause burst forth from the direction of the lake. The band soon began the next piece. This time it was a waltz slightly slower, slightly more grave.
“… I agree. Completely.”
Patrick spoke with a smile. He meant it sincerely.
“I don’t wish to be forced together while suffering others’ pressure. The person by my side is someone I want to choose myself.”
The two sat in silence for a time, listening to the music. A boat glided slowly across the lake, and the lovers beneath the willow had already leaned their shoulders together.
“We should head back soon. It’ll be difficult if we stay any longer.”
Patrick rose from the bench and turned to look at Beatrice. Though time had flown swiftly and he felt the pang of parting, it had been a thoroughly delightful evening.
A pleasant romance descended thickly beneath the sunset glow spreading in crimson hues.
The heat that had scorched the city throughout the day gradually subsided, and the rich fragrance of nameless summer flowers filled the streets.
The lengthened shadows of the lovers walking away from the sunset touched and parted, again and again. The summer dusk, burning bright and intense, carries something at once distant and bittersweet.
Lost in unspoken sentiment, Patrick suddenly murmured a line of verse.
“…And summer’s lease hath all too short a date…”
*William Shakespeare, Sonnet 18
It was a passage that had flowed from his lips without his own awareness.
“…And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d…”
Patrick turned to look at her with startled eyes.
“You’ve memorized it?”
As if to say, what a question, Beatrice raised an eyebrow and continued with the next verse.
“But thy eternal summer shall not fade,”
Waiting for Patrick’s reply, Beatrice gazed silently into his eyes, and Patrick in turn whispered the remaining lines to her.
“Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st.”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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