“There is nothing to fear.” I say this to Sonia as we frolic in the waves. I have repeated this a few times. Sonia sees the wisdom, the truth of my comforting words. I sense that about her, her willingness to trust me.
I say it again. “There is nothing to fear, my darling.”
“It is so wet. What if we…?”
She is frequently fearful and I admit her constitution is not equivalent to mine. Illness plagues her more than it should.
We are in Reval, on the shore of the Gulf of Finland.
“Come with me,” I had begged. “Your mother will care for the children. We need to be…”
But she knows me. I just want to play chess. Have children and play chess. Now, we have had three children and here, in Reval, perhaps the master, Mikhail Chigorin, will appear. There are rumours that he will, even though this tournament is modest and not sanctioned.
She knows I love her but she also has my measure, knows my true interest.
I am thankful that she is a loving and a forgiving women. She has come with me, faced the storms of the sea, danced with me on the rocks, watched me swim in the pleasure of chess.
Is this not love, I ask you? Is this not freedom of the most intense sort? Love and Pleasure and the sea.
My contribution this week to Jane Dougherty’s microfiction challenge #15: Freedom
The painting is by a Russian painter, Ilya Repin