Eden Burning Read Online Free PDF Page A

cage.”
    The door slid up. The bird, released, stood still a moment blinking into a shaft of light, as if not yet convinced of his freedom; stood flexing and stretching his brilliant wings; then, with a harsh and hideous cry, seemed to catapult himself into the air. Craning their necks, they watched his almost vertical flight: up he soared and disappeared into the crown of the highest palm.
    An instant later the air was crisscrossed by a flight of parrots, a flapping and beating, a gorgeous flash and rush of wings. In seconds it was over and gone. And the stillness fell back.
    Tee was awestruck. “This place is—is magic. I’ll never forget it as long as I live, never. Or forget you for bringing me to see it.” She took Clyde’s hand. “Aren’t you glad you let the bird go?” she whispered.
    “If you are.”
    “Oh, I am! Can’t you see I am?”
    He looked down at her, murmuring as if to himself, “You’re like ivory. Like those little statues your grandfather keeps on the shelves.”
    “Oh, those! Those are white jade. They came from China, ages ago. We had a great-great-uncle in the China trade.”
    “White jade, then. Or milk,” he said. “Yes, pale as milk.” And taking her free arm, he turned it over, to stroke it gently from elbow to wrist.
    She was surprised, so surprised as to know no affront, only confusion. No one had ever touched her like that, with such tenderness, for theirs was not an affectionate family; they did not demonstrate. This was almost hypnotic, this soft stroking. It made a warmth in her cheeks it made a weakness in her. She wanted it to continue and at the same time wanted to pull away: there was a kind of embarrassment in being examined as closely as this, in not knowing how to respond. And as ifcasually, she tried to withdraw her arm, but could not: he had tightened his hold and taken the other arm, too.
    “You’re lovely,” he said. “You’re one of the loveliest things in all the world.”
    The warmth burned now in her cheeks, burned all through her veins.
    “I don’t know. I never thought I was—”
    “You never thought you were beautiful because you’re not like all the others.”
    How does he know that? she wondered.
    “Because you don’t chatter and preen and do your hair according to the fashion books—”
    She looked down at the ground where dark stems and leafage frothed like ocean spray around their feet. From somewhere a fragrance blew, vanilla-sweet, clove-sweet, making her head swim.
    “You have heart, you have spirit—”
    He drew her to himself, holding her up; she had no strength; he had it all. Never, never had she felt like this, so helpless, so selfless, floating as in a dream. Her head fell back.
    “I’m not going to hurt you,” she heard him say. And she looked up into a face gone unfamiliar, gone stern and strange. She did not understand.
    “I would never hurt you,” he repeated softly. “I love you…”
    Then suddenly alarm shot through her. Why, why? Something was wrong here, something—She came out of the dream.
    “No, no!” she cried, but the cry was cut off by a hand on her mouth. She was picked up, laid down, stretched upon the ground among the froth and foam of green. Not roughly, but with gentle and determined strength, she was held fast.
    “No, no,” she cried again, struggling against the hand upon her mouth; the other hand had worked quickly, so quickly, on the thin fabric of her dress, beneath which, but for the thinner fabric and lace of her underclothes, she wasnaked. Her mind ran, clicking like a frantic, racing machine: Yes, yes, this is what it is. Of course it is. This is what Justine was punished for talking about in school. This is it, this was it all the time. And I not knowing. How could I not have known?
    Pinned down, pinned, nailed, thrashing, with her yellow skirt over her head. Birds, now squawking in the trees. Awful pain, awful pain and shock. Her own voice muffled against the cotton skirt, against the