Monrovia

Abstract

Abstract The white does lay in the yellow-green grass, very still, dark eyes sad. Monrovia was stretched out by the oldest, one arm round its neck, thick black hair pushed back from her forehead. Her gray eyes watched the beach down beyond the cliff. “How purple the sand and how silver the little fish washed up by the sea,” she was thinking. The magnolia blossoms in the trees above gleamed like star-beams. The water was green as jade. Monrovia watched the tiny red crabs that flecked the shore. She felt the doe beside her move a little. It brushed her arm with its nose, breathing warm sweetness towards her. Over her head the leaves rustled. There was a hum of bees in the salty air. Her scarlet gown spread about her, the grass still cool underneath it. Through the heat came a sound of bells-as if from under water. Monrovia held her breath. All morning she had been waiting. She felt the doe’s heart, like her own, beat faster. A sharper tinkle of bells. Along the beach below swift feet sliding. A sudden crash in the bushes. A louder chime. The does about Monrovia made an arrow flight, disappearing obliquely in the thick brush behind. Their eyes quickened but were still sad. Monrovia seemed about to follow when Asrael caught her. The silver bells on his coat clanged with the quick movement of his arms. He had one flash of darkening gray eyes before her face hid in his shoulder.