London Bridge in Plague and Fire: A Novel

10. Lucien Torments Morgan at Sea

10 LuCien TorMenTS Morgan aT Sea While the plague was dying out in London, Morgan at sea whispered to Lucien, “a child’s voice singing ‘London bridge is broken down, broken down,’ drew me out of my father’s shop on the Bridge at twilight, but as i followed the sound, it dwindled and faded, gone. i heard it a few days later in the morning, not knowing whether it was a boy’s or a girl’s voice, and went out of my house again and found the singer in front of the House of Many Windows—a girl of about three or four, all alone, whirling as she sang. out of her mouth, the song soared up across the windows, sad-sounding, not a play song, but strangely beautiful, not beautiful as a song sung by a child playing, but unforgettable, as you can see, and all these years, she has been the muse of my memory as i meditate and often write about the Bridge. My spiritual sister, Blythe.” That night, Lucien dreamed he was a child again, before the first shot was fired in the Civil War, playing with Morgan’s “spiritual sister ,” singing, dancing on London Bridge. Morgan’s “sister” was, by his intention to seek her out, now already Lucien’s sister too—the Lucien of this moment—exposed to his lust, to the Luciferian pride that kept him beating his wings at a great height above the petty struggles of men. LuCien TorMenTS Morgan aT Sea 176 The next night, Lucien took Morgan by the hand, speaking in a voice he had not heard before. “i have seen the girl as she is now, thirteen years old, still singing and dancing, not just sad-sounding now, but distracted, mad, savage, almost screaming the song, like Cassandra in Troy. This girl child, i claim as my own, my spiritual sister. although, who knows, she may be a boy, dressed as a girl.” * * * early august, ashore in Lisbon, Morgan sat down beside a seaman , a stranger, sunning on a wrought-iron bench in a public garden. Without opening his eyes, his head tilted back to catch sunrays full face, the seaman spoke to him. “imagine, this same sunlight on London, where the plague is killing every poor soul it touches, thousands, they say, more since months ago.” “They?” “Seamen whose ships were turned away and escaped the lurking dutch. and now i’m telling you. don’t go home, lad.” “How do you know i’m english? and a lad? eyes shut.” “i can smell the difference, youth in general and english in particular , and overall, the sea.” roaming the streets of Lisbon, Morgan sought out seamen from other ships until he had gathered a fuller, traumatic story, that the plague had diminished, wondering whether Lucien had come from London with the plague in his clothes. Lucien gorged himself on onions, scallions, and beans to torment Morgan. Morgan was on the verge of sleep when sickening fumes pulled him back to clear consciousness. “every man, woman, and child on the Bridge, i fear, is dead of the plague.” Lucien’s words came out of black dark, seeming to Morgan like cold water, drop by drop, off a roof onto the neck. “not so. everybody on the Bridge was spared, as they were in earlier plagues.” “You can know only what you are told, and i was told the Bridge is bereft of people.” 177 LuCien TorMenTS Morgan aT Sea Lucien’s tone was not the lulling voice it had been for weeks. “They told me all on the Bridge were spared.” “They? The plague still visits the City. The men who lived who tell about it left before the plague came onto the Bridge.” even as it seemed to abate, the foul fumes sank into his nostrils. “Why are you telling me?” “if you go home to the Bridge, everyone will be rank strangers.” “Why do you want me to imagine that?” Lucien did not answer. “Lucien? are you asleep?” as they rose for night watch, Morgan hoped Lucien would speak to him out of the dark in his earlier lulling voice. as they stood watch in the moonlight, Morgan looked at him, expectant, but either Lucien’s back was turned or his profile was immobile. every night the smell returned, not from something dead, or someone sick or dying. Morgan fixed upon...