Love in a Bottle Read Online Free Page B

twelve of us now… and now we could go… anywhere in the world we wanted… for whatever foolish reason. But this is not a fit story for you, my little sister. It’ll give you bad dreams.”
    â€œNever mind that—tell me more. Where did you go after that?”
    â€œWhere did I go? I couldn’t tell you the number of countries —you would be an old maid, my dear little sister, by the time you’d heard it all. As King Solomon said: ‘To grow in wisdom is to grow in suffering.’ The fact is, since I first held this book under my arm I’ve not had a moment’s rest. The breeze starts to rise just before dawn, and I think, perhaps on the slopes of some faraway hill there’ll be a fountain of wine to quench my thirst; or in some snowy cave of ice, who knows? perhaps I might at last have my wish and get some sleep, and find what I need—a longboat waiting for me on the shore of the Óperencián sea to take me to myrest on the eternal waves. So long as there are country roads under my feet, I shall never find rest.”
    Ajándok asked, rather petulantly, why he had come there if the world was so much wider elsewhere.
    â€œEveryone who goes wandering, my little sister, does so because there’s somewhere he wants to get to. The end of the world is just that, the end of the world, and they say that once you get there you will be able to find rest. When I finally reached this wide plain I saw this mill standing in the distance and I felt happier than I had for years. My dear little sister, you are a miller’s daughter, you can never have known how wonderful it is to be no longer pursued by the wind, when you have lost the power of your wings and are sleeping under the open sky… and suddenly there stands the mill, with its sails.”
    It had grown very late. Wishing one another a peaceful good night, people rose from the table. Lidi’s cheeks burnt in anticipation of the promised kisses that the autumn would bring, and everyone knew that her dream of Bálint would be one of roses. All that awaited Ajándok was the cold bed of a child.
    The old lady led the scholar Máté to his sleeping place, a bench covered with sheepskin. He stretched himself out along it, pulled his cloak over him, and in that manner fell instantly and soundly asleep.
    Silence pervaded the entire mill. The chairs and long table could now stretch out and rest too. Soft, rustling sounds were heard. The happy dreams of warm bodies came to life. Down the cracked and crannied chimney, overthe hearth, in and out of the mountains of grey ash, those dreams, the miracles and nightmares of flowery St John’s Eve, glided silently.
    Then the great bell tolled. It seemed determined to flood the whole plain with its outpouring. Twelve o’clock.
    Ajándok rose, pulled on her dress, took out the bundle, and tiptoed out of the mill.
    The moon was so bright it was like a second day, in a whiter, more silent world where the flowers were less lush. But she did not look behind her, and as she stepped out she no longer felt afraid, and her grief melted away. She felt sure that on just such a moonlit night, in a landscape sent down from another world, the person she was expecting would be sure to appear.
    And there stood the well. Inside its crumbling rim the frogs croaked their ancient watery songs. It was said that the well was as ancient as the mill, and the mill was so old that even to think how old it was would take for ever.
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    She said the three Hail Marys, put the bundle down beside the well, rested her head on it and savoured the smell of the dried herbs. And there she lay for a long, long time, in great peace, as if on her own bed. On her white brow the nimble fingers of tiny dreams spun a bridal wreath… until, after who knows how long, or when she became aware of it… there was a man standing next to the well, a tall, pitch-black figure, his eye raised