She is trying to interrupt, she is pulling away. He has to make her understand. He talks and talks like he’s never talked before, he loves what he is saying. These are dreams actually happening. He talks about his grandfather, a man her own father knew, he talks with tears filling his eyes, he talks to her,
to her
,whom he now knows to be his salvation.
‘I always knew there was something more. I thought it was my grandfather, I even thought it was Juno. But now I know it’s you.
You’re the one I’ve been groping towards.’
She is shaking her head. No, she is saying. ‘It’s a moving story, and I know it’s heartfelt, but it’s not mine. It has nothing to do with me.’
It has, it has, she doesn’t understand. ‘Your father,’ he says, ‘I’ll tell you about your father.’
She is fierce in her refusal.‘Don’t you dare.’
‘But it’s your story,’ he’s pleading with her. ‘It’s our story. You have to listen.’
‘No I don’t.’ And now taking his hand. ‘I’m not your answer,’ she says.‘I am not your answer. And –’ this last said firmly, defiantly, ‘I don’t want to know.’
She’s wrong, he knows she’s wrong. He’ll not give her up. He’s worked it all out. She turns away. She’s walking back over the lava bench. He sees the play of her torch, the flicker of her body in the jiggling light. It’s too late for her to leave now. He starts after her, he’s calling above the hiss of lava, the roar of the sea.
‘You have to know. Your father, my grandfather, you have to know.’
She doesn’t stop, she refuses to listen.
‘I’ve worked it out,’ he shouts over the boiling sea.‘I’ve worked it all out.’
She continues walking over the lava bench, walking away from him. He stares after her a moment longer then turns back to gaze into the shooting fire and steam. She’ll come around, she has no choice. He sees it all so clearly. Their future. He is aware of a rare contentment as he stands alone on the rock, and, amid the tumult of the boiling sea, he hears a clear voice speaking to him, placating him, protecting him. The voice belongs to her.