The Parting

By
Fred O'Bryant

Alsando stood upon the windy observation terrace and contemplated the enormous space vehicle before him, far out on the docking strip. Sunshine, hot and piercing, caused the air to shimmer and boil, at times distorting his view of the craft, teardrop in shape, which was soon to carry him to far away Menathon. His work as a diplomatic correspondent called him on this mission of a year's duration. He did not begrudge the time, for each man of Calot who affected a life's work in government was expected to serve some time on another world of the Federation. He watched the great ship before him, two-thirds of which rested in its dock beneath the ground. There, tons and tons of cargo were being loaded and the mighty driving engines were being readied for service. It would be a while yet before passengers began to board.

Alsando turned his back on the ship and gazed within to the shade of the waiting area. He beheld Miranda, his wife. She sat at a table quietly sipping a pungent glass of vergun, the pleasant, soothing although non-inebriating ceremonial drink of Calot. He remembered then his own glass, which he held forgotten in his hand. He strode inside and sat down across the table from Miranda. Smiling from behind her glass, she tilted her head to one side and returned his gaze. With their eyes alone they spoke to one another. She could not accompany Alsando, and though it grieved her, she bore the parting well, as all women should. Alsando would return in a year, and she would anxiously await him.

With his eyes Alsando drank deeply of Miranda's visage. He loved her more deeply than he loved life itself, and she in return loved him equally. They had been married only a short time, but they knew each other well. There was no lust in Alsando's look; there was no need. Their physical relationship was full and complete. They were very happy together.

Alsando beheld Miranda's dark, flowing hair, cascading in waves over her shoulders. He knew each and every strand. He saw the unfathomable depths of her eyes and the softness of her face. Within him he tried to find words to express his love for her, something to tell her how she fulfilled his emptiness and permeated the void of his life. He longed to find syllables to speak, concerning all the tender kindness and mirthful joy she brought to him. He wished to tell her of the sorrow he felt at their parting and, too, of the love which would go with him. But there were no words for such things.

Suddenly, the softly urgent boarding signal filled the air. He reluctantly set down the unfinished glass of vergun and went over to the line before the enplaning gate. Miranda went and stood beside him. The official checked his papers; he was cleared. The moment had come for parting. He turned and drew Miranda tightly to him. He felt her warmth and the strength of her embrace. They kissed lingeringly. Then he murmured those piteously inadequate but infinitely expressive words: "I love you!" He entered the boarding car, and in a moment he was gone.

Miranda stood and watched until Alsando's ship had lifted out of sight. Only a single tear ran down her cheek; all the feelings within her were so great as to admit no more.