“The Calliope Series”

Sarkney meets Pablo Neruda

A Vignette Series based on the poetry in “The Captain’s Verses”

 

 

El Amor/Love

 

“Your Laughter”

 

“My struggle is harsh and I come back with eyes tired

at times from having seen the unchanging earth,

but when your laughter enters

it rises to the sky seeking me

and it opens for me all

the doors of life.”

 

 

The first time Sark made Sydney laugh, it was by accident.

 

She was pretending to be asleep in bed. One eye peeked open and spotted Sark wandering about in the darkness of the room. She kept quiet until he was close enough to her.

 

He walked into the moonlight that was streaming into their window. He looked down at her and Sydney could feel his penetrating eyes watching her sleep. She wanted to open both of her eyes and surprise him with a smile.

 

Before she could, he took a step towards the bed and let out a yelp. He lifted his bare foot and looked at his stubbed toe.

 

Sydney couldn’t help it; she had to laugh. A small giggle at first and then she couldn’t hold it in any longer. Her loud laughter echoed in their small room. She rolled over to her side to face him.

 

Sark growled at her and sat down at the end of the bed, rubbing his wounded toe. “I didn’t know you were awake.”

 

“Well, if I was sleeping, you would have woken me up anyway,” she said in between giggles.

 

He let her laugh some more before crawling over the sheets to her.

 

Something about the way he was moving made her stop laughing, but her amusement made its way to her eyes, where they twinkled and smiled for him.

 

His mouth twitched once just before a smile broke out.

 

She placed her hands on his face and felt the smoothness of his skin that was juxtaposed with the weary lines of life and experience. She leaned back into her pillow as she cradled his head to her chest.

 

He was still smiling.

 

So was she.

 

**

 

“Absence”

“My love,
we have found each other
thirsty and we have
drunk up all the water and the
blood,
we found each other
hungry
and we bit each other
as fire bites,
leaving wounds in us.”

 

He came back covered in blood.

The first thing Sydney thought was, “Their blood?” but upon closer examination she realized, “No, his blood.”

She helped him into a chair and removed his bloody shirt. A knife to the side. Luckily it hadn’t cut too deep.

“What happened to the other guy?” she asked.

“Dead.”

She had meant for the question to be a joke.

She cleaned his wound and bandaged him up.

He kept still the entire time, and when she was done, he parted his lips and said softly, “Sydney.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” she said.

 

He lowered his eyes. All right.

She got on her feet and looked down at him. Hard.

“The next time you go out,” she crossed her arms, “you take me with you.”

Sark tilted his head to look up at her. One hand was on the white dressings around his cut. The other hand reached for Sydney. He grabbed her arm, causing her solid stance to collapse. He took a hold of her hand and intertwined their fingers.

He stared at their conjoined hands. Sydney with long fingers and spotless skin. His the color of red, blood from another.

**

“The Infinite One”

“In that territory,

From your feet to your brow,

Walking, walking, walking,

I shall spend my life.”

 

“Sark.”

“Hmm…”

“Where did you get this scar from?”

“Wasn’t it from you?”

“Shut up.”

“If I remember correctly, you threw that ice pick at me.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“The one on your stomach, where is that scar from?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want to know?”

“I used to.”

“What’s changed?”

“Everything.”

El Deseo/Desire

“The Tiger”

“And I remain watching

for years in the forest…

motionless in the rain,

relentless sentinel

of my murderous love.”

 

She managed to seduce the man right away. He knew she was capable of doing it.

Sydney was dressed in a tight black dress, her dark hair hidden under an auburn wig. Even from across the banquet hall, Sark could see how beautiful she looked tonight. But she had barely acknowledged him since they arrived to the party.

She was doing a great job.

Acting. Wasn’t it?

Sark bit down on his bottom lip as he watched the dark-haired man slide a hand down Sydney’s back and rest it on her hip. His right hand balled into a fist.

I am under control. Keep it under control. Con. Trol.

He stayed at his post in the far corner of the room and continued to watch Sydney flirt with the man. A smile. A laugh. A touch.

His left hand balled into a fist.

Con. Trol.

 

Sydney was making her move. She took the man’s arm and guided him away from the party.

Sark quickly followed. He walked down the hallway just in time to see a door close.

From behind the shut door, he could hear the bed springs squeak. Then, the man’s deep voice murmuring in Italian, “Beautiful…love…lovely…right there…more…”

Sark turned the doorknob and quietly entered the room. Sydney was sitting up against the bed frame as the man busied himself with kissing her neck. The Italian reached up to pull down the straps of her dress. Sydney was feigning ecstasy. A soft moan escaped from her throat. Her eyes half-shut.

Acting. Wasn’t it?

“So beautiful…so perfect…” the Italian whispered.

Sydney opened her eyes to see Sark standing over them. She lost the charade and pushed the man’s head away from her.

The Italian looked at her with confusion. “Darling?”

Sydney looked behind his shoulder.

He turned to see Sark. A gun barrel aimed at his forehead.

“The disc, please,” Sark said.

The man fumbled in his pockets for the compact disc.

Sark gestured to Sydney with his gun. “Give it to her.”

Once Sydney had it in her possession, Sark walked over to the man and tossed him a pillow. “Put this over your head.”

The man was crying now. He made one last attempt on his life. “Please…I’ll give you anything you want.”

Sark roughly shoved the man to his knees, forcing him to lay his head on the bed. The man put the pillow over his head, shaking and weeping.

“Anything…Anything you want,” the man sobbed.

Sark looked up at Sydney, who was watching him from across the bed. The straps of her dress had fallen off her shoulders. The strands of her wig framed her stoic face.

He placed the gun against the pillow. “I have everything I want.” And he pulled the trigger.

**

“The Insect”

“From your hips to your feet,

I want to make a long journey.”

 

Tonight was filled with silence.

Tonight Sark was sleeping restfully. For once.

Tonight Sydney was awake. Watching Sark sleep. For once.

Tonight she ran her fingers through his hair, felt the softness.

Tonight she traced a line down his cheek, felt how strong he was.

Tonight she placed a hand on his neck, felt his pulse.

Tonight she moved her hand to his chest, felt his heart beat.

Tonight she put her hand on his stomach, felt the muscles contract with every breath.

Tonight she passed the silk on his boxers, felt the scar on his leg. She will never admit it, but Sark was right—it was her fault.

Tonight she smiled to herself.

This exploration deserved another trip.

 

Las Furias/The Furies

 

“Love”

 

“Ah our love is a harsh cord

that binds us wounding us,

and if we want to leave our wound,

to separate,

it makes a new knot for us and condemns us

to claim our blood and burn together.”

 

Sark shook his head after hearing Sydney’s meaningless threats.

“I’m leaving you,” she said.

He didn’t reply.

It only angered her more.

“I can’t take this anymore.” She fought back her tears. “You’ve made me into this monster. I can’t stand myself anymore. I can’t stand you.” She looked him right in the eye. “I hate you.”

And then he finally said, “You don’t hate me.”

She wiped away a tear that had escaped. “Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.”

 “Fine.” He shrugged. “You hate me.”

They looked at each other without saying a word.

“Do you hate me?” Sydney asked.

“Should I hate you?” Sark replied.

“If you don’t hate me, then what do you feel for me?”

He was a little stunned by her question. After all this time, she was still wondering? He walked over to her and she didn’t protest as he cupped her face.

“The same thing you feel for me,” he said.

Neither one of them bothered to clarify whether it was love or hate.

He kept his gaze on her dark eyes. “Are you still leaving me?”

She leaned forward until her forehead rested upon his. “Only if you leave me first.”

**

“The Hurt”

“You among all beings

have the right to see me weak.”

 

Sydney woke up alone. The cold spot next to her was an indication that Sark had been missing for quite some time. She reached for her sweater and pulled it over her tank top as she went to search for him.

She found him standing in the living room. His back facing her, his eyes turned to the white moon.

“Sark?”

He didn’t turn to her, but he was listening.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He still wouldn’t talk so she came closer until she was standing right behind him. She saw his shoulders slump. He lowered his head like it was a sign of defeat. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held him, placing her head against his back.

“It’s going to be okay,” she mumbled.

He took her hands into his.

It was going to be okay.

**

“The Well”

“I am not a gentle shepherd

like the ones in fairy tales,

but a good woodsman who shares with you

earth, wind, and mountain thorns.”

 

Sark turned the corner to find Sydney with the Russian woman. He had his gun drawn, aimed at the woman.

Sydney had her own gun aimed at the assailant.

Pull the trigger, Sark thought.

She did not.

“Pull the trigger,” Sark said.

But still she did not.

The woman had her hands up in the air, completely unarmed, but she had to be eliminated. She had seen their faces. She could identify them.

“Pull the trigger,” he said again.

Sydney remained in place, her finger on the trigger motionless.

He pushed Sydney aside. “I’ll do it.” And he raised the gun to the woman’s temple.

Sydney turned her head just as the gun went off.

Sark took her hand and they raced out of the alleyway.

Later that night, Sark said, “I was protecting you.”

I’m starting to believe him, Sydney thought.

“I don’t believe you,” she said.

**

“You Would Come”

“I was waiting for you,

I did not suffer looking for you,

I knew that you would come,

a new woman with what I adore out of the one I did not adore”

 

Sark and Sydney stood together in broad daylight. Both dressed in similar white business suits. Both armed and dangerous.

Their target exited the office building and proceeded by foot down the street. They followed him. A predator after its prey.

The man walked into a parking garage. He was making this too easy.

Sark withdrew his gun from his holster, but Sydney was already one step ahead of him. Her weapon was out and aimed at the back of the man’s head. She shoved him against his car and rammed the gun’s barrel to his head.

“Where’s the disc?” she asked.

“My briefcase,” the Frenchman said.

Sark opened it and retrieved the compact disc.

Unlike the Italian, the Frenchman didn’t even bother to shed tears or plead for his life. He placed his hands flat against the trunk of his car and he waited.

Sark waited with him.

They didn’t have to wait long.

Sydney fired her gun.

Blood splattered onto their white suits.

 

Las Vidas/Lives

 

“The Soldier’s Love”

“In the midst of war life led you

to be the soldier’s love.”

 

Sydney stumbled upon her CIA badge while searching for a clean shirt in her closet. She stopped what she was doing and just stared at the picture and the label.

United States of America

Central Intelligence Agency

Agent Sydney Bristow

Time had gone by so fast. How long had it been since she left the CIA? Since she left her father and her loved ones? Since she took a hold of Sark’s hand and never looked back?

Until now.

“Sydney?” Sark’s voice called for her from the hallway.

She threw the badge back under the pile of clothes just as he walked in the room.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said quickly. Too quickly perhaps.

He looked at her skeptically, but didn’t ask anymore questions. He went to her and placed his hands on her arms.

“You look tired,” he said.

“I do?”

He nodded. “Maybe you should get some rest.”

“Maybe.”

He led her to bed and got in with her. He enveloped her within his arms and nestled his face against the back of her neck.

She closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of Sark’s arms around her and the sound of his breathing so nearby.

Don’t look back.

**

“The Dead Woman”

“If suddenly you do not exist,

if suddenly you are not living,

I shall go on living.

I do not dare,

I do not dare to write it,

if you die.

I shall go on living.”

 

“Sark.”

“Hmm….”

“Do you ever think about death?”

“What about it?”

“Do you ever imagine how you will die?”

“No.”

“Why don’t you?”

“If I think about my death, it will make me mortal.”

“But you are mortal.”

“And thinking about my death is just another painful reminder of that.”

“Oh.”

“Why are you thinking about death, Sydney?”

“If I was to ever lose you, Sark…”

“Don’t say that. Don’t talk like that.”

“…or if you were to lose me, what would happen?”

“Life goes on. We have no power over that.”

“So, you would go on?”

“Yes, and I would expect the same from you.”

“I will. I’ll go on.”

**

“Not Only the Fire”

“Ah my life,

it is not only the fire that burns between us

but all of life,

the simple story,

the simple love

of a woman and a man

like everyone.”

 

“Things change all the time. The weather. Time. People.” Sydney let out a low laugh. “Especially people. That’s why human nature is so complicated. Too many layers. Too many sides to everything, to everyone. You never know which one is the real thing.” She raised her gun and she heard the rifles surrounding her turn off their safety.

The CIA agents had formed a circle around her. She saw Vaughn and Weiss from the corner of her eye. She wondered why her father wasn’t there. She wondered why Sark wasn’t there.

“So, is this the real thing?” she asked the group. “Am I still one of you guys? Or am I the enemy now?”

She looked over at Vaughn. He was frowning, concerned, worried for her. So why was his gun aimed directly at her?

“What’s real?” she said softly to herself.

“I am.”

She raised her head at the sound of Sark’s voice coming from the communicator in her ear.

A second later, a shot rang out. An agent fell.

Everyone ducked for cover.

“We’ve got a sniper!” someone yelled.

Sydney took advantage of the distraction and fled the scene. More shots were fired. From the sniper. From the CIA. She ran and ran until she collided with someone.

Sark.

One hand was holding the Beretta; the other was extended, waiting for her to take it.

Now, Sydney, now.

She clutched his hand and they ran.

When they stopped running, Sark said, “I was protecting you.”

I do believe him, Sydney thought.

“I believe you,” she said.

 

THE END

“And because love fights / not only in its burning agriculture/ but in the mouths of men and women…”—Pablo Neruda