The next day on the river, Anthē thought about her meeting with Sophia. She decided that she would follow the woman’s advice and try not to tell anyone about it, not even Zantheus. That was what the woman had said was the safest choice. She had known about things like Conn and Feanna, and Leukos disappearing when they were caught by the bandits, so she was probably telling the truth, she reasoned. Anyway, she was fed up with Zantheus being in a bad mood all the time, so she decided that day that she would try and talk to Leukos –usually a tricky and unrewarding feat. Could it be true that he was only travelling with them in pursuit of that lady? She wanted to know. But he just refused to talk. She had tried out a few things on him, but never got more than a brief reply: She had exhausted her stock of geographical questions about their journey, she had tried to start conversations about different things she saw in the fields, she had even resorted to commenting on the weather, which had been a bit greyer lately. All to no avail. This was frustrating. She wanted to actually get Leukos to say more than a few mumbled words to her. She looked inside herself for the most interesting question she could find. There must be a way, a certain choice of phrase that would set him off, kindling his imagination. She looked hard and long, and in the end she settled on a question. It was a bit embarrassing to ask, but she did not mind.

Out she came with it. “Leukos, what’s the one thing you want more than anything else in the world?”

That must have been a fairly interesting question, since it drew his eyes away from his manuscript, up into the sky momentarily. After some deliberation, the writer answered, “A kiss.”

Anthē was slightly surprised by this answer, in part because she was an experienced woman and knew of many more things in the world that men desired beyond a mere kiss. “Just a kiss?” she asked.

“Yes, just a kiss.”

“Why?”

Anthē was surprised when, at last, Leukos elaborated. “There is something special that happens in a kiss. When you share breath with someone... when your ways of speaking join together... when your world-shaping powers coalesce... Whole worlds can blossom or collapse in a kiss. People can be joined or sundered forever by a kiss. Hearts can turn on a kiss.”

Anthē, who had tasted a good deal more kisses than Leukos at this stage in his life, was not convinced. “I don’t think there’s anything that special about kisses.”

“No, not ‘kisses’. A kiss. I’m talking about just one kiss. The sort of kiss that you can share over and over again with someone.”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever had that sort of a kiss...”

“Oh, it’s not something you can have, it’s something you give, and get given back to you, before you give it back again. That’s what I want most in the world, I think. A kiss.”

Anthē had not been expecting this. Based on her conversation with Sophia, she had thought he was going to say something like “true love” or “to finish my book” if he said anything at all. His book. She watched him writing now. It was so odd –she had still never seen him not be writing. Even when he had been asleep, although he only made squiggles on the page then… What was it that spurred him on? How did he find the energy to always be putting pen to paper, no matter what else he was doing? She did not understand what Sophia had said about finishing his book. Since Leukos appeared to be becoming a bit more talkative, she asked him about it.

“Leukos, why do you write?”

“My my, Anthē, you are full of questions today.”

“Yes, I know. Answer me.”

“Very well. It requires quite some explanation...” Good. This was promising, he was going to say something at length. He was thinking about it. “How to put it best? To say it simply, there was a time, a little while ago now I suppose, when I started to get these...attacks is the only thing to call them, attacks of melancholy—”

“What’s melancholy?” butted in Anthē.

“Sorrow. Deep sorrow. I was besieged by melancholy, you might say. And at these times, I felt like there was a book I needed to read, that in a book somewhere all the characters my imagination longed for were painted on a beautiful canvas, and all the blessed landscape that arose to meet me in moments of profound despair or clarity or joy was arrayed for me, the reader, to traverse. But soon I realised no such book existed. To be sure, there were books that fed my imagination, one in particular, but no one book contained the particular story that flamed in my own heart. That was when I realised that was because it must fall to me to try to render it in words, that I was the one to write it. So I put pen to paper, and began. I haven’t yet stopped. I’m writing the story that I need to read, or at least I’m trying to do that. Even if I don’t manage it, even if I never manage it, I’ll try my best. I write because I’ve got to.”

Anthē was fascinated. She tried probing further. “And do you think that something special will happen once you’ve written it?”

Leukos did a double take. “I’m sorry?”

Had she touched on something there? She asked it again. “Do you think something special will happen when you’ve written it?”

“What gives you that idea?”

Anthē had never heard him speak in this tone. Guarded, slightly on the defensive. She sensed he was suspicious. She had struck upon something. This was exciting. She had to be careful.

“Oh, it’s just that it seems like it’s a very important thing to you, that’s all. I imagine you will feel very happy once it is done....?”

“...yes,” said Leukos cautiously.

“You will be happy to have it completed, won’t you?”

“I hope so Anthē, I hope so.”

“And—”

“That’s enough for today, Anthē,” Leukos chided.

“But—” She had been so close.

“I don’t want to talk about it any more,” said the writer. “When it has been written it will have been written, and that will be that.” He would say nothing more on the matter, and their unusually open conversation came to an end.

The river moved by.