“Precisely. It depends on who you ask.”
“I'm asking you.”
“I couldn't tell you because I do not know. I have heard stories, but it is impossible to tell what is true and what is fiction. I do not bother to dwell on what is done.” It's quite an answer without being an answer. I'll get it out of him yet.
“What was the word you used? Noctalis?”
“It is a combination of the Latin words for night and forever. Ironic, really.”
“Oh.” Now I get to the more personal questions.
“I was nineteen when I died.”
“What year was that?”
“April 15, 1912.” He fires off the date quicker than Tex could. I shove the image of the two of them having a date battle to the back of my mind.
“You know the date?” Something about that year rings a distant bell. Of course Tex would know what it is.
“It was the night the Titanic sank.”
“Oh, yeah, that's right.” I want to slap myself in the forehead. “How did it happen?” I'm not talking about the ship sinking. Everyone knows about the iceberg drama.
There is a pause, almost like a sigh. He doesn't breathe, so it isn't that. He's considering. I think he's going to give me a one word answer. Instead, he begins. I'm so surprised I meet his eyes for a second before he looks past me at something I can't see.
“I was traveling with my family. My father had recently come into some money and had taken us on a vacation to Europe, and we were on our return trip to New York. The ship was a wonder. The first Unsinkable Ship.” I feel like I should put air quotes around the Unsinkable Ship part. Thinking about doing it makes me want to laugh, but I don't. He keeps talking.
“We enjoyed our trip until the night of April 14. There was no panic when the ship initially struck the iceberg. It was hours before reality set in, and people needed to get into the boats. The captain ordered that only women and children should be accepted into the lifeboats.” He's so calm, as if he's reading the story out of an old book. I never imagined he would talk this much, especially to me. I almost feel guilty, as if I've held a gun to his head and forced him.
“My father and I got my mother and sisters aboard one of the lifeboats and watched as it was lowered down the side of the tilting ship. I was resigned to my fate. We knew how cold the water was. My father was not a stupid man. He shook my hand and told me that we were men and we were going down as men. We waited near the band, which kept playing, even as the ship sank. The lights went out. I grew more and more scared.” He paused.
“The water was cold. Beyond anything I can explain. I prayed for death, but still, kept my head above water that churned with the hundreds of people who had survived not being sucked under. The screams filled the air. I lost my father, but kept calling for him. My voice was lost in the night.
“It was dark, with only the light of the stars. I swam, but my strokes grew weaker as hypothermia set in. A hand grabbed at me. I tried to shake it off, but it was too strong. 'Do you wish to live?' she said to me. I looked into her eyes. I nodded. 'Then come with me.' She pulled me toward some floating debris. 'They will come back for us.' She was confident. I started to fade. 'Here,' she said, pressing her arm to my mouth. I didn't know what she was doing. 'Swallow, my dear.' The liquid mixed with seawater and trickled down my throat. I choked on it, but she kept her arm pressed to my mouth. I could barely breathe. 'Drink if you wish to live.' So I did.” He finally looks at me. I find his unblinking gaze, coupled with the seriousness of the story, unnerving.
“She was right. A boat did come back for us, but by that time, we were some of the only people left alive. I don't remember this. She told me after. It took three days for the transformation to complete, and then I was this.” I have to wait a second before I say anything. The story is so fantastical it can't possibly be real, but I saw him last night. I saw the wings. I've never seen him breathe. The truth is right in front of me.
“What about the wings?” I whisper. I have to keep asking questions so I don't have to think.
“They emerged when my transformation was complete.”
“Do you all have wings?”
“No. We are as different as humans.”
“Can I get some examples?”
“Perhaps.” I wait for him to finish. No dice. It's like trying to chip that last bit of ice out of the freezer when you're defrosting it. Impossible and frustrating.
“So you're just not going to answer when you don't want to?”
Blink.
I resist the urge to throw my list at him and ask something person. He seems to be more free with that stuff than the noctalis stuff.
“What happened to your father?” I'm walking on unsafe ground. I do worry about provoking him, after that one time, but he seems so calm about it all, as if he knew this exact thing was going to happen the moment he met me. I don't like thinking I'm that predictable. It gives him an advantage.
“He died. I didn't know until the name of the passengers that had perished was printed in the newspaper.”
“And the rest of your family?”
“They moved to back to our house. My father had left enough money for them to survive.” He stops there. I don't ask him if he ever saw them again. I know the answer, based on what mine would have been. He may not be human, but he was once. There's a fierceness with which he talks about them that tells me he would have done anything for them. I can understand that.
I don't say anything, but lay down on the grass for a moment. I need to breathe and look at the clouds and try to work out the tangled thread of my thoughts. My heart sounds ridiculously loud in my ears. A crow caws in the distance.
“Are you upset?” His voice sounds next to me. I turn my head to meet those amazing eyes.
“Not upset. I just don't know what to say.” Deep down, I know there is nothing I can say. That doesn't stop me from wanting to say something wise and comforting.
I've got nothing.
“You need not say anything. It is enough to unburden myself. Thank you.” It's the second time he's thanked me. I roll over and prop myself up on my elbow. I can't sit up just yet.
“You don't need to thank me.”
“I do. You have taken it very well.”
“Have you ever told anyone else?”
“Once.” A selfish flutter goes through me. Part of me wished I could be the only one. Him and me and the sky and the tombstones. I stomp on it and move on.
“How did it go?”
“Not very well.” I laugh. It's the first time I've heard him use sarcasm. Thank God, I was afraid he didn't have it in him.