He had only to stretch out his arms, seize her in an overpowering embrace and smother her with kisses. Yet he dared not do it. He felt certain that, instead of responding, she would do her utmost to fight him off. Then, whether he succeeded in having his way with her or not, everything between them would be finished. She had come to mean so much to him that the thought of losing her was unbearable. It would have sent him mad with grief.
Again and again since he had met her he had cursed his upbringing and his total lack of experience with young women.
During their youth other men all seemed to have gradually acquired the ability to attract girls be semi-serious chaff and clever little compliments, leading up to declarations of their feelings; but he simply did not know how to begin on such a normal type of courtship. In the three weeks they had been together his self-confidence in handling all other situations had enormously increased and, with her, he had for the first time really found his tongue. He could talk, laugh or sit silent with her more naturally than with anyone he had ever met. Yet the one thing that still froze him with shyness and embarrassment was the thought of saying anything which would reveal that his feelings for her were more than those of a friend.
While his thoughts were still racing, she threw another stone into the pool and said: 'What else are you going to put in your book? Aren't there some love stories that would counterbalance a bit those full of horrors?'
Her mention of 'love' brought him back with a start. It was a golden opportunity for him to begin talking of love, not as between the ancient Greeks but living people, then reveal how much he had come to care for her. But, even before he thought of taking it, he found himself replying:
'Oh yes; there are several. Pyramus and Thisbe, Pygmalion and Galatea, Hero and Leander. Then there's Cupid and Psyche.'
'Tell me some of them.'
By that time he felt he had lost his chance so, after a moment, he started off. 'Pyramus and Thisbe lived in Babylon, and theirs was the original case of "the girl next door". As children, they planned to marry. By the time they were well into their 'teens, their love had developed into a grand passion; but their fathers hated each other's guts, and were so dead against their getting hitched-up that they forbade them to see one another. A high wall separated the gardens of the two houses, but it was built only of mud and straw; so they made a hole in it just large enough to whisper sweet nothings through when no one was looking.
'At last they became so fed-up with not being able to get together that they decided to elope. Thisbe was to slip out of her home at midnight and make for a place in the woods outside the city, known as "The Tomb of Ninus", and Pyramus was to be there to meet her. But she was so impatient to have Pyramus cuddling her that she set off too early. With a white veil wrapped round her head, she scurried through the dark streets and into the wood, only to find when she reached their dating place that her boy friend was not there.
'She knew that she hadn't mistaken the place because a big tree with white mulberries grew beside the tomb.'
'White mulberries?'
'Yes, I'm coming to that. When she had stood round for a bit, she heard a rustling in the bushes, and ran forward to get
Pyramus in a clinch. But instead of Pyramus she found herself face to face with a lion slobbering blood from a prey that it had just devoured. Letting out a yell, she threw her veil at the lion and sprinted off down the track for dear life. However, the lion had had his supper; so he just mauled her veil about a bit, then went off on other business.
Ten minutes later Pyramus turned up. He recognized her veil, saw that it was all bloody and concluded that a lion must have killed his sweetie-pie, then dragged her body off into the bushes. Frantic with grief, he drew his good and trusty and killed himself.'
'How awful!'
'Wasn't it? But worse is to follow. Thisbe, meanwhile, finding the lion was not after her, had pulled up; then, half an hour later, she plucked up the courage to creep back to the tomb. There she found Pyramus lying on his side, apparently asleep. With a yodel of joy, she threw herself upon him, only to find herself clutching a corpse. Snatching up his sword, she stuck it into herself and fell dead upon his body.'
'Oh dear,' sighed Stephanie. 'I think that must have been the original from which Shakespeare got Romeo and Juliet. But what about the mulberries?'
'The blood of the two lovers soaked into the roots of the tree and that is v/hy the fruit of most mulberry trees afterwards became dark purple.'
'Now tell me about Hero and Leander.'
'Leander was a handsome Trojan and he lived at Abydos on the Asiatic side of the Dardanelles, or the Hellespont as the ancients called it. Hero was a priestess who served in Aphrodite's temple at Sestos on the European side, and all Aphrodite's mortal stand-ins had plenty of what it takes. These two fell for one another in a big way, but they were separated by about three or four miles of water.
'As Leander was a strong-limbed chap, he didn't let that deter him from get-togethers with his honey-bunch. Every night she came down to the shore with a lamp and he swam over to her. For them every night of the spring and summer was a night of gladness, and he swam back in time to get to the office, or whatever he did, every morning.
'But autumn came, then winter, and the Hellespont got colder and rougher. Still drawn like a magnet by what was waiting for him on the other side, Leander continued to take the nightly plunge; then one night there was a terrible storm. The wind blew out the lamp Hero was holding. In the pitch darkness and swirled about by the strong current, Leander could no longer tell in which direction the shore lay. Lost, and with the icy water numbing his limbs, he swam round until he was exhausted, then he went under once, twice, thrice. By the time dawn came, Hero was right off her rocker, because by then she felt pretty sure he must have had it. Gazing desperately round, she suddenly caught sight of his body washed up on some rocks; so she rushed into the water and was drowned, too.'
Stephanie pulled a face. 'What a gloomy ending.'
'Never mind,' Robbie smiled. 'I'll cheer you up with the story of Pygmalion and Galatea. He was a king of Cyprus and immensely rich. But he didn't care about power or lolly or the things it could buy. He was interested only in his art, and he was the all-time sculptor of his day. Girls left him cold, because he said he had never seen one half as well made as the beauties he could carve himself, and at length he made a life-size ivory statue of one that was an absolute smasher.
'He called the statue Galatea, and the more time he spent looking at it the more it got him under the fifth rib, until he was hopelessly in love with it. His statue was so life-like that he almost thought he could hear it breathing, and he fondled it and kissed it madly, hoping that it would come to life; but, of course, it didn't. The only warmth it had was from his embraces, otherwise it remained just cold ivory.
'Then the feast of Aphrodite came round. Being a pious type, Pygmalion took a whole lot of rich gifts to her temple, and although he knew that it was a silly thing to ask, because statues don't come alive, he begged the goddess to take pity on him and give life to Galatea. The altar fire flared up three times, which was usually taken as a sign that the supplicant's prayer was to be granted. He simply couldn't believe it; but, all the same, he ran all the way home. When he entered the studio, Galatea smiled at him, stepped down from her throne and melted into his outstretched arms.'